Bacon Bits

If you can picture myself, Megan, Tally and Abraham dancing and jumping and screaming our heads off in the very front row of Duran Duran's sold out Staples Center show on Saturday, you might be able to imagine how I'm feeling today.

I didn't wake up on Sunday until 11:20, already making me 20 minutes late for a brunch in my honor being held across town. And by the time I arrived it was 11:50 and I could barely focus or speak. Suddenly, an angel appeared in a hot pink wig to answer my prayers: unexpected guest Miss Megan MacEachern came walking up with two bottles of champagne and two even more unexpected guests visiting from Canada. Thanks to them, the focus was shifted away from me, and I slunk out of the spotlight, into the kitchen for champagne and talks with friends 2-3 at a time.

The champage kept flowing all day on a gorgeous afternoon. Finally it was time to leave for Brad & Lisa's Oscar party. More bubbly with a new crowd. Tivo is the only way to tolerate the Oscars or any awards show. And it also helps to have in your audience some sharp-witted friends. Watched the LIVE post-party report on the local news stations for a bit (only in L.A.) and finally got to bed around 1 am.

Today it's Monday and the events of the weekend are finally catching up to me. My back is sore from jumping up and down at the show. My head is foggy and my stomach feels weird from the nonstop booze and whatnot assault that started Friday and never let up. But it's not all bad. I break out in the giggles when I think about meeting Simon Le Bon, or Nick Rhodes leaving a message on Shelley's answering machine. And getting down on Danielle's dancefloor at the after-after party was memorably funny, as was seeing someone who I used to think was hot wearing a terrible outfit, and wondering later whether or not it was a good idea to make out with that guy with braces. And I can only imagine what sort of impression I made on my ex-boyfriend's current dude, who I finally met for the first time near the end of the night, a.k.a. start of the morning.

I did manage to make it to the gym today, and that helped shake off a bit of the aftermath. I'll be there every day this week, as tonight kicks off four solid days and nights of lunches and dinners with clients and friends.

I thought living in Los Angeles was tough... but visiting town might be even more extreme.

Just how boring has my life become here in San Diego? Here’s a perfect, hard-to-believe example: I’ve become a gym rat.

As a member of the 24 Hour Fitness chain, I can avoid working out wherever there’s a local outpost. I’ve avoided exercise everywhere from Honolulu to Houston. There happens to be a 24 Hour Fitness on Miramar Road, just about 10 minutes from my parents’ house. I’ve actually visited this gym a few times over the years, usually in a desperate effort to work off just one home-cooked meal.

But with the gym now being one of my few good reasons to leave the house, I’m really into it. It started slowly at first, a quick 30 minute workout on the cross-trainer. I was laughably sore the next day. But it also felt kind of good. So I went back the next day. And the day after that, until it became a daily routine. And once this week when I woke up unusually early, I actually went to the gym TWICE in one day.

The funny thing is, there’s zero incentive at this gym for anything other than working out. The clientele is not that hot, surprising given its location across from Miramar Marine Corps air station. But the Marines probably have their own concrete, steel and hidden webcam-studded facilities on base. I should borrow one of my parents’ cars with the military access stickers and do a little investigating. I’d probably be laughed right out of the building, if not actually thrown out for ogling. Or otherwise.

Back to my gym. It’s ugly, with whitish/pinkish walls. It’s not that big, only one story, about the size of a roller rink because that’s what this building used to house. There’s no pool. The steam room is decidedly un-titillating. There aren’t many TVs in the cardio areas and the few they have are tuned mostly to boring sports channels.

But have iPod, will work out. Thankfully I’ve got some really good breakbeat and hard house stuff on mine. It’s almost ancient in electronica terms, but it works.

I often wonder if people can tell that I’m actually kind of doing tiny dance moves in my cardio, or how clear it is that my pace and movements are tied to the music I’m listening to. At this gym, I couldn’t care less if anyone noticed. Maybe that’s why I’m having so much fun at the gym--- I’m following that horrible mantra seen on inspirational posters, greeting cards and online profiles: “dance like no one is watching.” Eeesh. I’d better stop thinking that way or I’ll never go back.

Actually, I’ve caught a few people checking me out. Not really in a “nice moves” kind of way…. more like, “Are you really a firefighter?” because I always wear a fire department t-shirt to the gym. It probably frightens people to think that I’m the guy coming to the rescue.

I was really looking forward to returning home with a Southern California tan. As we’ve had way more rain here than in Seattle, the only way that’s going to happen is if I pop into a Mystic Tan booth before I hit the road. Even a fake bake would look a lot better on a slightly tighter bod.

Besides the gym, I’ve been spending a lot of time online. So maybe my gym-going is also a result of wanting to have the kind of body that would allow me to pose shirtless on a webpage. Not that I would ever do that in a million years, at least not in some posed shot that I had a friend take for me, or the classic “headless man in the bathroom mirror” solo shot. But it would be nice to feel like I could do that, if I wanted to.

There is one nice shirtless shot of me up on the web for all the world to see. But in the picture I have the aesthetic advantage of being in a hot tub with my arm around a sexy, wet, shirtless and smiling guy. And I think the most attractive aspect of that picture is how happy and at ease we both seem, in general and with each other. I look at that picture when I want to remind myself how it feels to be truly comfortable, and how good that looks on me. It feels good to look good, whether from situps or satisfaction.

Will all this working out continue when I do get home? It had better. I’ve got televisions to appear on this summer.

The weather here in San Diego is behaving so much like Seattle’s. Rain one minute, blue skies the next. It’s kind of like that inside as well as outside, at least at my house.

The day I arrived back in San Diego (Tue Feb 15) was my parents’ anniversary. I got home around noon. On that day, Mom was having a lot of pain. But she didn’t want to take any pain meds because she was afraid she’d sleep through dinner with my Dad. And when she finally broke down to take the medicine, she also broke down to me, sobbing uncontrollably and begging me to make sure I stayed home for dinner so my Dad wouldn’t be alone on their anniversary. But I managed to calm her down and just stayed close to her and tried to convince her that everything would be okay.

Surprisingly to all, it actually turned out okay. The meds got her pain under control enough that she was able to take a snooze and later join Dad and I for dinner. My parents opened some anniversary cards and presents, including my contribution of a Ganeesh idol that I picked up at Uncle Jer’s in L.A. “Removes Obstacles” said the little identifying card next to Ganeesh, which of course made it the perfect gift. So now there’s a little brass elephant-shaped idol hanging out with all the other angels and totems and healing knickknacks that people have sent.

Ganeesh may have done the trick (or just timed his arrival right), because the next day was my Mom’s first pain-free day since November. And the day after that was pretty good too. We actually got out to run a few errands together, had some laughs over “The Office” DVD that I brought and had my brother and nephews over for dinner.

Now we’ve entered another phase, this one with its own unique mix of good and bad.

My Mom is currently riding high on steroids, part of the chemo regimen that she began again yesterday. This time they fitted her with a little “to go” type fanny pack (though she’s wearing it in a much cooler ‘messenger bag’ style) so the treatment is happening right here at home. And when Mom’s on steroids, she’s almost back to her version of “normal.” But in the immortal words of Dr. Kimberly Shaw, just before she blew up the building on “Melrose Place”--- “It’s not what you think. It’s worse.” Because my Mom, who has a tendency to overthink and fret over the tiniest details, is micro-managing every move my Dad or I attempt to make, and thinking aloud about people and places and dates to remember and notes to write and, above all else, things to buy. “We should get some daffodils from the farmer’s market.” “You should go to Costco, look at the tires, then go back tomorrow and get them.” “When I’m feeling better we’re going to eat at new restaurants, it’s time to break out of this rut. Let’s look at some menus now.”

While it’s encouraging to see my Mom in this energetic state, I must admit that it’s also annoying when she’s so overboard. And my poor Dad! He’s the one who does all the running around, as neither he nor my Mom seem to want me to ever leave the house. My main role is phone and door answerer, which keeps me surprisingly busy. And I do much of the housework. But oh my GOD would I love to be entrusted with something as minor as the grocery list, just to have something to do, a reason to go somewhere. I know my parents are just happy to have me around, but I’m starting feel like… a pet. Like a talking, colorful bird or a big lazy dog.

At the same time, I’m really torn about leaving. I want to but I don’t. I need to but I can’t. I still haven’t told my parents that I’m probably leaving Thursday and probably not coming back. I might stick around longer based on my Mom’s condition, work stuff and other factors. But things have got to change. I’m just sort of stagnating here. I don’t have enough to do to help out at home, so I feel useless and bored. Meanwhile, I have tons of projects of my own that could use some attention, from my taxes to my TV show to my website. But it’s hard to even get started on them, especially without a place to really do any work.

I guess the numerologist lady was right on when she said that as a Libra, I need balance and control over my environment. But with my Mom going from meltdown to micromanagement over the course of a few days, it’s tough to feel like I’m on steady ground. Or know which way to turn.

put your hands over your face for Miss Jackie Stallone!

"Jackie pix"

She's giving Jocelyn Wildenstein (aka The Lion Lady) a real run for her money in the plastic surgery department.

The pix are from the recent celebrity version of "Big Brother," a UK reality-type game show that I got hooked on last summer.

I actually walked right past Jocelyn on the streets of Manhattan once... wow! I nearly had a heart attack. Right up there with meeting Tammy Faye as one of my most treasured/disturbing celebrity encounters.

Have to backtrack for a moment to relay something funny from Sunday.

I always attend the Stupor Bowl party (and have actually thrown it a few times) because it's the one party of the year where you know you'll see some old cronies who you won't see for another year. Strange how people always seem to return to it, given the Super Bowl association that the majority of my friends could care less about. But we always have great DJs... myself included!

Anyway, this year one of those 'once a year' people was Thea, an ex-girlfriend of Adam's. We said hellos at first, then chatted a bit later on, then found ourselves side-by-side on the dancefloor and had a hilariously good time bumping and grinding together.

And later, after the party was over and the lights were on, the guy who brought the sound system (old-school Moontriber Christian) came over to Thea and me and said, in all seriousness, "I really liked the way you guys were moving together out there." Which of course prompted us to fall all over ourselves in slightly self-conscious laughter.

One minute you're trying to remember each other's names, the next you're wowing the crowd with your synchronized dance moves. That's the kind of company I like to keep.

I’m in San Diego now with my folks. Spent Saturday and Sunday nights in LA at Abe & Louie’s fab new pad. The Stupor Bowl was a blast, a really good time and as usual a chance to catch up with some old friends. My DJ set was short but sweet, with a few choice tracks donated by DJ Freddy, King of Pants. Thanks Freddy! I got into some trouble that night. Good trouble! The kind of trouble where you're up too late and you do things that make you laugh and cringe a little the next day. But it was all good.

I was a bit of a mess when I finally woke up on Monday. After 15 minutes of quality pooch time with Spencer, I started running around the house, gathering my shit up. My Mom was still in the hospital, having been admitted Friday afternoon for a variety of reasons related to her cancer. She had made it clear that I was not to skip out on the Stupor Bowl, but now it was time to get my ass to San Diego and I was not in great shape.

Finally got my gear into my muddy, tape- and trash-littered truck and hit the road. In a classic flashback to my previous life in LA, the most pressing issue was finding gas and food and the shortest, fastest, most efficient way to get them and go. Just figuring out what to have for lunch is the kind of thing that used to take me hours in LA. I wound up sitting down to pad see yew at Mae Ploy in Echo Park, which was actually perfect as I didn’t realize until after I’d ordered and eaten that all my cash was gone. I forgot that I had given the last of my bills to Art for his post-party plans with some dude he'd met.

Afterwards it was my truck’s turn to get filled up. While pumping gas at a nearby station I was dumbstruck by just how LOUD everything was. I felt assaulted by a deafening roar of traffic, music, people, choppers, etc. It was really just a typical LA day, the kind of environment that I paid no mind to as an Angeleno. After less than a year away, I guess I’m already used to my quieter life on top of Queen Anne.

Finally made it to the hospital, just in time for my Mom to take a snooze. I went downstairs to the cafeteria and my phone rang. It was an agency I hadn't worked with in a while. Was I available for a meeting at 10 am the next morning? I kind of laughed and explained that I’d just left LA to be with my Mom in the hospital. “So…. you can’t make it then?” Uh, no. The only bad thing is that the project was for a client that had previously contacted me a few weeks ago to let me know they had a lot of projects for me between now and June. But this one just couldn’t be done.

My Mom finally came home from the hospital Wednesday morning. I’m now on “Mom watch” at home while my Dad does his thing at work. When I was down here in November, the drill was based around my Mom’s good days and bad days. Now it’s good hours and bad hours. This is going to be a very long month.

Time moves very slowly here at my parents’ house. I had some other projects that were due this week and I got them all done early. I spent fifteen minutes the other day throwing rocks at a huge lizard sitting out on the deck. It never moved, so I concluded it was dead and prayed that a cat or a gardener would come along to take care of it. A few hours later it was gone. I've made some really good pre-production progress on my TV show. I think I also need a book.

My back problems are starting to come back a bit. There’s not really a good place for me to sit and work here. You’d think in a two-story, four-bedroom house there might be one decent spot to plug in a laptop. You’d be wrong. My first night here, when I was really stressed out about my pending deadlines, I worked in bed until 1 am. When I got up, that old familiar stabbing pain came back. No more of that. I think I also need to keep up with the exercising and get back on some of the supplements I’d been taking. If I can survive a three-day drive down the entire west coast without any pain, I don’t want to start deteriorating here in a San Diego suburb. Which means I also need to stay out of my parents’ kitchen, which is stocked mostly with junk we’d filled our Christmas stockings with. Chocolate-covered “moose droppings,” anyone?

I’m hoping to make it back up to LA this weekend to see some more people, hit the MOCA opening on Saturday and maybe catch a show. Monday is, of course, Valentine’s Day (“fucking hearts”) but even better is that it’s also Tim’s birthday. And! Filet Mignon Night at Taix! So maybe I’ll stick around for that. Tuesday is my parent’s anniversary so I’m sure something will happen that night. If it’s a good day.

Greetings from Willows, CA.

The goal today in my drive south was to reach Redding, CA. When I made it there around 5 pm I decided to keep going until I couldn't take it any more. My new goal became Santa Nella, where there is nothing much but a lone Pea Soup Andersens' hotel, restaurant and BAR. I have always wanted to throw back a few in the vaguely Bavarian-themed Pea Soup Lounge. Sadly, I couldn't possibly have made it, as my time calculations would've had me arriving around 10pm, just as the bar would be closing. (I called and checked)

Instead I wound up in Willows, which isn't all bad. I have free high-speed internet in my room, not wireless as promised by the plastic banner out front but it'll do. The one thing that really sucks about my room is that the TV is off to the side of the bed instead of at the foot, but after adjusting both the furniture and my position in bed it will be fine. I tried moving the bed itself but it seems to be attached to some sort of ancient hydraulic-type system. I didn't do too much poking around back there-- ignorance of what's lying behind my hotel bed is my only hope for semi-blissful sleep.

It's quite funny that I ended up here in Willows, because I actually was thinking about this town today but forgot the name. On my drive/move up to Seattle in April, I stopped here to pick up some KFC to eat later in my train-car room in Dunsmuir, about 90 minutes north. While at KFC I asked the chicken handlers if there was a liquor store nearby, as I had learned that neither the restaurant nor 'bar car' would be open at my beloved Railroad Park Inn in Dunsmuir, where I was planning to stay. Turns out there was a liquor store right across the street.

I walked in and there was a line of migrant worker types waiting to get their Bud Light rung up. I wanted some wine, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a dark, paneled room near the back with dusty wrought-iron wine displays. And as I poked around in there, I was even more pleasantly surprised to see all these reasonably priced, fairly decent wines. They even had quite a few Australian/New Zealand wines, which I love. But here's the best part: business was not booming in that particular department, as indicated by the cobwebs and dust. So all these okay wines had been sitting there on the darkened shelves, literally gathering dust for who knows how long... in other words: cellared! At their original low-rent prices! I think I bought six bottles.

So I was thinking about that place today and meaning to keep my eyes open for shitty, out-of-the-way liquor stores. And it wasn't until after I checked in here and went wandering around Willows that I located that very same store. Perhaps I told too many people that story from my drive up, because the selection was not as good. But I still got some really great deals on what I hope will turn out to be really fantastic wines. A 97 Mondavi merlot for 8 bucks is nothing to sneeze at... even if it is covered in dust.

In my line of work, it’s not uncommon to get confusing or downright contradictory direction from my clients. It’s really not surprising anymore and totally comes with the territory.

This is, after all, an industry where we sometimes resort to a “mis-direct,” which involves setting the audience up for one type of emotion/experience, only to do a fast switch. Surprise! It’s actually this kind of movie! This can actually work well for either horror movies or comedies, but it’s a trick that’s been done to death.

The other trick we sometimes pull is to tell our own version of the story, focusing on the most “sellable” aspect of a film and making it seem like that’s what the movie is all about. For example, I once worked on a depressing movie about drug abusers that became (in our trailer) a sexy movie about star-crossed lovers.

And sometimes you get direction that just makes you laugh out loud. The all-time best I ever heard was, “We want something like, ‘In space, no one can hear you scream.’ But funnier.”

Last week I was working on a movie about a girl with unbelievable luck. I was really happy with the job I did, with my one concern being that I might’ve been a little too edgy/racy, as the audience for this movie is strictly teenage girls.

Surprise! The client felt my stuff was “too old-fashioned,” that I needed to be more hip and current.

So what do they want instead? “Position her like Ann-Margaret, Mary Tyler Moore or ‘That Girl.’”

I’m fairly certain that most teenage girls have never even heard of any of those examples, and doubt that an average 15 year-old would relate to them. But that’s studio logic for you. It doesn’t get more Hollywood than that.