Halloween Night

I watched Halloween III: Season of the Witch, and The Miracle at Morgan's Creek. Huzzah. Still recovering from my week with God.

Find a city, find yourself a city to live in.

Batman and/or Robin
That Bird's got Crystal Plumage
7 Deaths in a Cat's Eye

I spent a week with God

Jesus. Not Jesus, Jesus, but Jesus. God called me Sunday night, and told me it'd been arranged for me to have the week off. And that I'd still get paid, and that I'd pull a couple of hours of overtime. Like the Military, when it comes to this stuff I have a don't ask, don't tell policy. I mean my boy acts in mysterious ways, like that U2 song.

God picked me up in his Jag at noonish on Monday (so to make sure my car was safe for the week) and dropped me off about thirty minutes ago to find my laundry done, my cat purring and my reviews written, while my head throbbed from a six day hangover. It was a long week.

Monday, we get in the car, and God's got a sixer of Newcastle sitting on the passenger side in a mini cooler. He tells me to crack two, and we drive around Hollywood drinking. God decides to mix things up, so he whips out his flask, and we takes pounds of Jaeger (God likes girl drinks, what are you gonna do), as we ride the strip. Our first stop was at the Arclight and Amoeba, as we looked for imports (I ironically bought God Bedazzled) and then headed over to the Arclight to catch A History of Violence for my third time. I loved it, God was mezzo-mezzo on it. "Eh, I don't think he had the balance of The Fly for a Cronenberg commercial effort." I thought he was wrong, but he loves eXistenZ, so I didn't press it. We then went to the Cat and Fiddle for more drinks. By the way, God (God has these huge balls) smuggled in a couple of beers to the screening. I'm getting kinda wobbly, but that doesn't stop the Fiddle from serving us. Some snacky type foods and a burger later, I'm leveling out. We head back to God's pad, and Jesus catches up with us, and makes us all some Apple Martinis (I told you these guys love their girl drinks) with PBR chasers, and pop on 48 Hours. Jesus decided it'd be funny if we took tugs every time the N word was said, and for Jesus that wasn't good enough (outside of the bar scene), so he decided that it was only worthwhile if we drank at every swear word. I started faking the funk, and by the end Jesus was hammered. By this point Lot showed up, and it was decided to watch Beverly Hills Cop, and (I've weighed putting this on the blog, but whatever) Lot whipped out some X. I've never done it before, but I think Lot's batch was more speed than the other stuff, so I had to start smoking a cigar to counterbalance the jittery teeth grinding. And then another. God then gave me my "year in LA" gift, which was a pipe, and some nice apple flavored tobacco. It's a nice pipe, and I smoked the hell out of it. Cop is not that good all things, but Murphy knew how to deliver, and the film works on that level.

After our four hour Murphy marathon, we were all rather high. Jesus couldn't stop rubbing the arms of the chair he was sitting in, and God decided we should go to Cheetahs. I'm not really a strip club dude, but when I'm hanging with the boys, I find it hard to say no. We get there, and I'm feeling uncomfortable but loose, and we go in. Now, I could count the times I've been to a strip club on both hands (mostly a place in Portland that had - I shit you not - a one eyed stripper, and a crooked pool table that cost a quarter), and it's not my normal scene. But we go in and these girls don't take off their clothes. I went from shame to indignation in less than 60 seconds. God wanted to sit up front, and we kept drinking. It was nine, and it was only modestly busy, so we got up front, and God just kept throwing ones at the girls like a fiend. A couple of the girls had a total mastery of the pole, and they had some great moves. After about a half hour I was ROLLING, and I notice that Lot comes back asking if we could leave. Turns out he got a lap dance, and well... We took off. Then we went to Shelter and God ran into Shannon Doherty. They had an off again on again thing for a while, and they went to a back room area for a while. Having been drinking pretty regular since noon, by eleven I had to head to the toilet and yakked the contents of my stomach fairly well into the middle stall. By some sort of miracle the bathroom was empty outside of Jesus (Lot got dropped at home, and... Well, he smelled like what we figured happened at Cheetahs happened at Cheetahs) who totally applauded my vomiting. "Go like a pro, Houx, go like a pro!"

For some reason, Doherty slapped God, and she took off, but we took a private corner for most of the night, and I was still rolling, so God introduced me to this girl Rachel, while he and Jesus took their shots. I was high, and I had a couple of pills left, and she was down, so we both took two hits, and with Lot out of the car, she came with us back to the pad. Rachel works in films as a key grip, and really likes Earth Wind and Fire. With God's guest room my bungalow we listened to some good music and by about six in the morning we were both coming down a bit and passed out.

When I woke up Tuesday it was four in the afternoon, and there was a number by the dresser, and an unopened cold beer by the bed. God popped in and told me that I was poked prodded, and tossed around, but was out out out for those ten hours. Hoping that the hair of the dog would help, I downed the beer, and ate one of Jesus's gourmet quesadillas with chicken, roma tomato, cillantro and four kinds of cheeses. I hit the TV room, and we threw on the first Bad News Bears, which was a perfect hangover cure. Alas, the four cheeses caught up to me and God, and we had a bit of a farting contest. After two hours of being awake it was decided that the only thing to do was to keep drinking. Keeping to beer, God had some Fat Tire imported to us (YAY), which I hadn't had in about a year, and we decided to do a BNB triple feature. It, as was expected, followed the laws of diminishing returns. Jesus stopped checking what's what on the internet halfway through Breaking Training and Solomon showed up briefly while we were in Japan, only to bail quickly when he realized we were on a mission from God bender. Then God played greatest hits with Chappelle Show Season Two, and it was decided we should just hang out at the place, while God ordered some great Meat Lovers style pizza from this place off of Delongpre (I think, I'm still kinda drunk from the week), and Jesus kept calling me Turtle. Jesus then decided we should watch Santa Claus Vs. The Martians (MST style), and then we all worked on some Glenlivet. At some point I blacked out during the screening of Manos, and then at some point we moved on to My Science Project, and then Top Secret (I think).

Wednesday, I want to say around five in the morning, I remember that we were at the La Brea tar pits, and Solomon, Lot and Jesus were digging in the tar, and God was taking pictures. I was camped out on a blanket drinking Chablis, and I don't really remember how we got there. Jesus did a variation on his walking on water bit, and some security guards came by about eightish telling us that we should get out of there by nine, which became "immediately" when I vomited in/on one of the pits. I have no idea how much sleep I got. I wasn't sure if I was still drunk or hungover, and not helping matters was our pit stop at Burger King. We get home, and God throws on De Palma's Dressed to Kill, which I watched all of, and then crawled my way to the guest room. I got up around eight at night, and felt sideways backwards. I got cleaned up, and got my Hugo Boss out of the closet, which God's maid had cleaned and pressed. I was looking nice, if not a bit dressy for this town. We went to some club on Fairfax, I think it was Largo, and hung out. Amiee Mann wandered in and gave God a hug. Of course if you're hanging with these guys, you have to get used to the banter:
Lot: Hey, Jesus you had sex yet?
Jesus: Does anal count?
Lot: Giving or getting?
Etc. The more Lot and JC get in them the nastier it gets. Generally it revolves around Lot calling Jesus a homosexual, and Jesus teasing Lot about how his wife cheated on him, and how he got Herpes from Gwen Stefani (which Lot usually considers a low blow, and then God tends to separate them). It's a loving thing, strangely. Rachel showed up with another girl, and I thought maybe she brought someone for one of my friends, but it turns out they are partners and as luck didn't have it, they didn't swing that way. In fact, I was so coldly rebuffed that as I walked back to our table the boys stood up and mooned me. The thing about hanging with these guys is that they get away with everything. If I returned the favor, I'd get thrown out, but I catch an eye of someone who sees the three moon fever and it's the bouncer and he's just laughing his ass off.

Lot starts claiming the place is a Sausage fest around 1:30, so we head over to Canters and I get a Caesar salad, and try and pick up the bill, though God's not having any of it. We get back to his place around three, and Lot tells us he's got to take off because Claire Forlani needs a ride back from the airport. Which should be a euphemism but isn't. God tells me around this time he hasn't been checking his messages for a couple of days, cause he knows what's going down in D.C. so he just tunes out. Around six in the morning after numerous shots, and some cigar and pipe smoke (ahem) it was decided we should go to Disneyworld in Florida, and we should all be on ether at the time.

The next two days are an absolute blur. All I can tell you is that Jesus broke my glasses, I now hate everything Disney, I vomited five times, with the last time me heaving up some rather serious quantities of blood. Most of what I remember is asking repeatedly to go see Captain EO. And shouting, I remember shouting, and walking around. I know that we went to at least two strip clubs, and I had some badunkadunk booty rubbing all over me, and deriving no real pleasure from it. Sometime on the plane ride back today, I opened my eyes and realized they were bloodshot, though I was thankfully sobered. I hit the bathroom, and the private jet had some visine in it. My eye were dying. God made a makeshift repair of my glasses, and I found out I missed getting tickets for the LA Metric show. When we got in to Burbank, we all wore sunglasses and God got us a Taxi to the nearest In and Out burger. He even bought the cabbie (Ronald P. Hassir) a 4x4. Food helped a lot. I don't know if I ate in Florida, though we may have just gone to Burbank. I haven't been to Disneyland in twenty years, and I'm clocking never on Disneyworld. Frankly the ether (which I think we all dosed about five times) just ruined me, and when we got back to God's place I crawled into bed and curled up for at least twelve hours. I'm finally home, and after a week like I had, I can't wait to go back to work.

I wouldn't live there if you paid me to.

Fatman Forever
Le Samourai

This blog will eventually become more than simply me linking my reviews, we'll see how the winter season goes.

The Musician Who Fell to Earth

Hey, guess what? There's a new Talking Heads box set out, and I've been listening to it on the drive to and from work. 77, More Songs about Buildings and Food, Fear of Music, etc. etc.

David Byrne was born in Scotland. He's mentioned this often. He also mentioned in the Once in a Lifetime that he can no longer write the lyrics he wrote back in the day. What strikes me as most obvious about Byrne's lyrics is the sense of a mostly benevolent alien who's amused and amazed with both the human condition and the banalities of American life.

There's a party in my mind..
And I hope it never stops
I'm stuck here in this seat...
I might not stand up
Other people can go home...
Everyone else will split
I'll be here all the time...
I can never quit
Everything is very quiet
Everyone has gone to sleep
I'm wide awake on memories
There memories can't wait.

And of course, what I connect to is this sense of distance and alienation mixed with a sense of amusement. As a would be artist, this sense of detachment is something I feel all too well. And like Byrne, I've often felt the outsider. I grew up in a mostly black neighborhood, and went to school in the richest public grade school in Portland. This was my status in middle school as well. I had no real connection to either the people I went to school with or the people in my neighborhood. One group I didn't have the ducats to compete with, and the other I wasn't around enough to be accepted into the whole. As such, I received the occasional beatdown in my neighborhood, and felt out of place with my schoolmates. What are you going to do.

I have always felt a kinship with the Talking Heads music. As I've gotten older, I've grown more integrated into a social world, but I've never outgrown my affection for their music, and listening to them now, it's interesting to note Byrne's progression into acceptance. The further his career went on, the more he was taken into the American way of life, and the more his music became less interesting. Though up to and including Naked there are interesting elements, and I still have a place in my heart for "Uh Oh" there is the sense that Byrne got too old and familiar to feel alienated. Alas. But the joy and discovering of writing lyrics like "I'm painting, I'm painting again" still hold true and meaningful in their particular gibberish.

Gayer than sucking on a circumsized hot dog

I went to my local Best Buy, and they were sold out of the 2 Disc Batman Begins. They had the Unrated Land of the Dead, but it was full frame. Then I went to Target, and they too were sold out. SUCK.

Chris Got Married

Batman!
Batman Returns!
The Mark of Zorro!

I went to my friend Chris's wedding yesterday. I've known Chris for 15 years, and it's a trip to see him settling down and settling in. We both grew up in Portland and now live in Los Angeles, and he's been with his now wife off and on for ten years. I'm happy they've decided to make it permanent, and I hope they have a great honeymoon.

The wedding itself was a lot of fun. I've known Chris for over half my life, but many of his friends are complete strangers to me. This would be off putting, if it weren't for the fact that as I was sitting next to some of them they were asking for the scores to the games going on that day. I'm just not a sports kind of person. He and I have always hung out and watched movies and that's the way I like it. If I had gotten laid it would have been similar to that movie about guys who crash weddings to get laid, you know Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but that didn't happen. What did happen was I tore the dance floor a new one, dancing with old ladies and one of the ringbearers. You know you've got the moves when the band's all like "yeah, that dude!" By the time I left I was a mess of sweat, and had I maybe worked harder, or had the festivities gone later than four in the afternoon perchance it would have been more like that film. Alas.

I did catch the garter. Most of the men were unenthusiastic about this part of the ritual, and when it was flung near me, I stuck out my hand and got it, mostly because if I hadn't, it would have hit the floor. Perhaps that would have been funny, but also it would have seemed rude. I got my moments in with Chris, and I was on the phone with my mom for a moment, and Chris talked to her, which was nice, and she told me she had to euthanize her dog Musa. A strange confluence. Chris and drank some whiskey, and I have to say it was one of the most loose and fun weddings I've been to. That's what happens when you have the priest quote Boy George, I guess.

A story that will depress many of my readers

I don't drink coffee much. In fact, I tend to limit myself to Diet Pepsi for such stimulation. But I've been fighting a cold the last couple of days (which I've thankfully kicked it seems, with some lingering snot issues), and I can't afford to miss work, so on Wednesday I had two glasses of Starbucks brew mixed with hot chocolate powder. Which is also known as the ghetto mocha.

It's strange; because I don't drink it that often the side effects are rather intense. After two cups I'm flying, I get sweaty, and I start speeding. It's about like doing cocaine to me. Seriously, the effects are about the same, I even start to grind my teeth. And the first couple hours are FUN. I'm literally flying, and it feels great. But Wednesday night I get home, and I'm watching a DVD and I'm hit with a wave of self-doubt and self-loathing. Like, hating myself and thinking of all the things I've done in the last year that have made me feel like a tool. I was standing in the middle of my apartment wondering why the hell I was having a freak out. Was it because I had been so sober for the last week due to my illness, was it my cold or was Los Angeles finally having the effect on me that others warned might encroach?

When I was twelve I had some coffee and it had such a depressing effect on me, I was feeling a tad depressed over an episode of Mr. Belevedere, an episode about the family helping a homeless dude that I ended up hiding out in the family bathroom for a couple of hours (TMI, you better believe it). And after that I rarely drank coffee because I realized it caused such a strong physiological response. And it was only Thursday I remembered why I don't drink coffee. In the interim my mood has improved tremendously, and I now have to keep in mind my issues with it. Which is funny, because I was enjoying my two cups so much I was thinking I should drink coffee more often, until I remember what it does to me.

You know what, Prince's Batman soundtrack? Not that bad, all things.

Also, it seems when I'm getting my flirt game on, I play with my hair - I push my hair behind my ear. Not that I have so much of it that it gets unweildy, I guess it's a nervous reaction, especially when things seem to be going well.

Lah de dah...

Sunday, Sunday

Dracula 72
Night of the Lepus

"the sight of a hundred overgrown rabbits isn't exactly panic-inducing; in fact, it may be more cuddle-inducing. There's nothing all that predatory about a bunny, even when its face is smeared with blood or it's made to protrude its front teeth (which aren't frightening incisors because, well, they're not pointy or threatening)."

It's more fun to write about that movie than watch it, but just the same.

I am fucking beat. Not because of any weekend daliances, but due to a cold that has kept me under the covers for the last two days. Yesterday I had to watch the films I reviewed, and I couldn't keep my attention focused on the film for longer than fifteen mintues without getting distracted. Colds do that to me. Fortunately I think my ill mood helped the reviews. I will be getting all four Batman movies this week. I'm going to try to review at least two of them (possibly three) next week. Today, with the heavy lifting done, and the DVDJ put to bed, I'm going to curl up under my blanket, watch some Star Trek and some Val Lewton, drink lots of liquids, and hope I feel better for tomorrow. Lame.

I like to have sex, therefore, I like Marvin Gaye.

I'll post more tomorrow, I swear.

You gots to chill

Inside Deep Throat

Watch out! You might get what you're after...

Cool babies, strange but not a stranger. I'm an ordinary guy, living in LA. During fire season. Taking photos with his phone. Here's your ticket, pack your bag; time for jumpin' overboard, the transportation is here. Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are... Fightin' fire with fire: