Dec 18, 2006


Okay, I'm half-joking about this and half-not.

How would one cite Lindsay Lohan's Blackberry Message in a paper or article?

Are there even MLA/AMA rules for Blackberry Tributes/Eulogies?

I ask because I'm considering writing a Lohan-related article to kinda "pitch" myself for freelance work, like for magazines and whatnot. I mean, I write about her enough here, so why not? Plus, the only relevant stuff I've written for this "type" of "work" was working for the daily paper back in high school and I always got assigned the boring crap articles. So I kinda have to write an article on spec, I guess, and be all "look what I can do!"

Elsewhere on teh interwebs, I've been joking about it like this:
"making a fearless and searching inventory of myself (12st book)*"

*[Lohan, Lindsay. "BE ADEQUITE!" Blackberry Eulogy, mixed media on Blackberry. November 2006].

But that almost seems like a proper citation, right?

Can I make the rule that "BE ADEQUITE!" is its "official" Academic title? I also like how I sorta cited it like an art project, but if someone can think of something better, let me know.


Look. I know that Time has named the collective "You" the person of the year.

But really, it's "me you" NOT "you you."

I'm sorry.

You may ask yourself, but "huntergrayson, you've never posted a video on YouTube, why are you more deserving of this title than I, with my awesome 'look at my kitty doing cute things for 90 minutes?' video that shall make De Sica himself weep with envy?"

[special inside joke/aside: "That wasn't fantasy so much as feline neo-realism." ]

Well, because everything I've ever made or done or put out on teh interwebs is a work of genius. It's Just. That. Simple.

Also, Lindsay Lohan and Al Gore and I traveled back in time when we were hopped up on Strawberry NesQuik and invented the internet, which made this whole thing and "person of the year" thing possible.

Oh and then Al actually caused global warming so he could release a blockbuster film later on.

True story. The end.

Dec 16, 2006



A requiem in three parts:

  • While filming License to Wed earlier this year in a certain building belonging to a certain BFF, Robin Williams is milling about downtown. Besides the two of us starting the only interesting (i.e. completely false) rumor ever to exist about Mandy Moore, I stumble into this hilarious idea, which I consistently joke about with aforementioned BFF: "Hey, since the only time Robin Williams was agreed to be super funny was the 70s - which was when he was really coked out - wouldn't it be absolutely hysterically awesome if we invite him back to your place to drink and do some lines? Yeah, I don't know where we're going to get blow, but come on, it would be so funny! And then he could be awesome in the movie and be funny again! I mean, he'd have to go back to rehab after filming, but we'd be doing the world a favor by making Robin Williams funny!" Uh. Prophecy Much?
  • I was watching bits and pieces of On Her Majesty's Secret Service the other day and kept thinking how sorta hot George Lazenby was. Then I remembered that Lazenby was Australian, and mused on how based on the experiences of me and selected friends, they tend to be both (a)pretty hot, as a people. And (b)absolutely awesome in bed. [whereas the Brits have the cute accents but couldn't shag to save their lives. This is probably why Fleming actually wrote Bond as a Scot]. I was thinking how nice and hot it would be to, well, BAD PUN AHEAD, "go down under." Lo and behold, later that night? Exactly that scenario happens!

  • Less conclusive is the fact that Miss Kay Rose (aforementioned BFF) bought me an much-needed umbrella the other day when it was raining and now I'm going to see her again and it's raining again. But still. COINCIDENCE?.....or evil?

Superduper irony alert:I love how my very first post was slagging Broadway Bar and now I'm looking for a place downtown preferably within walking distance of it, Miss Rose and Miss Magnolia. Bizarre to the max. Massive hugs to the cool bartenders who enable us so. Just, uh, try to get a pair of indie rock glasses, J. Miss Rose would like it so. And by "her," I mean "me." And by "a pair of indie rock glasses," I mean, "assless chaps." Doesn't everyone?

Nov 30, 2006

a vague glimmer of hope...

Can it possibly be true?

Page Six is reporting that LiLo is flirting..., not with a new man, but sobriety.

Good luck, honey. No, seriously, good luck.

[We need both a sarcasm and anti-sarcasm/sincerity font/symbol/etc. Our society demands it. Holly? Irony asterisk?]

That said, isn't the second word in AA anonymous?

It's pretty shitty for someone to go to an AA meeting and then call up Page Six. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would've probably done the same thing. But I would expect LiLo to retaliate by calling up my (hypothetical) boss and tell them about my (not so hypothetical) drinking problem.

This does help explain the mysterious "90 Days" Button she was sporting a while back.

You know, there's Narconon, Nicotine Anon and so on and so forth. And yet we lack the one thing that is most needed in LA for people like Lindsay - famewhorers anonymous.

I find it pretty amusing that I'm considering using the 12 Steps as a jumping off structure for my "favorites/best of/year in review" wrapup, which contains two LiLo movies.

No, Just My Luck is decidedly not one of them. Sorry, extremely hot guy who sometimes wore Krystal-baiting indie rock glasses.

However, if aforementioned movie is re-released on DVD with a LiLo commentary ("I hated this film...I hated this...seriously, I think I walked off set and did 20 lines in my trailer after this scene") and a special all-shirtless Chris Pine viewing option, well, that's another story.

Oh, man, they're so gosh darn cute together. Suits are *so* my kryptonite, though. And a semi-fresh faced and redheaded Lindsay makes me all misty and nostalgic. My, how times have changed. (that's Donna Karen, btw. And it's been less than a year between the two faces of LiLo).

So, LiLo, before you get good and sober, for real this time, have a "La Lohan" on me and Krystal (it's basically a redheaded slut, with a ton more booze) and know that I've got your crazy, cooch-flashing, potentially bisexual and/or lesbian, possibly self-mutilating back.

But while you're making life changes, you may want to consider getting some learning of some kind. We all read your Altman "tribute," and while your heart was in the right place, it wasn't helped by your mind being at the bottom of the Jack Daniels bottle (or you thinking it's acceptable to compose an eulogy on a BLACKBERRY!). So get yourself some schooling to undo having the last 6-7 years of your life be a haze-filled haze. BE ADEQUITE!

Besides the good news in the land of Lohan, that Page Six reports that 50 Cent put Oprah on blast. I hate the word Oreo and its implications, but his words ("[she]has been catering to middle-aged white American women for so long that she's become one herself") have the faint ring of truthiness about them, no? Disagree? One word: Hermes.

In yet another "Borat ruins lives!" tale, Page Six and ONTD report that a private screening of the movie may have been partially behind the Pamela Anderson/Kid Rock split. Frat boys are one thing, but Pamela's happiness? You have gone too far, sir!

She's better off, though. Also, Mommy Rock/Ritchie may have worn fur to one of the four weddings of her son to a super noted animal activist. So that might've been a factor.

ETA: Gosh darn it! I post this and then Defamer takes it on and does it so much better and funnier than I.

Nov 28, 2006

comeback?: I never left, beyotches!

For reasons that will be apparent in forthcoming days, my year in film, TV, etc. pretty much came to a crashing thud last week. Naturally, I'm still planning to see all the fantastic Oscarbait pics and the TV year doesn't really end until the last Battlestar Galactica of 2006 (12/15/2006, before the big Sunday move of '07), but, yeah, the arts kinda died a little, for me, over the week of Turkeyday.

That said, I'm trying to move toward optimism, toward celebration rather than fear, apathy, dullness. Let's start handing out the fun "Stuff That Rox My Sox" awards for 2006, 'kay?

The "COMEBACK?: I never left, beyotches!" award goes to:

Desperate Housewives (9 pm/Sundays/ABC) for its surprisingly dark turns this season.

I know. I *know*, right? But the thing is I've been there since the beginning, since before the hype, the catfights, the obscene ratings. And this season is pushing us to places that aren't just "shocking" or "controversial" (which the show never really was, to someone like me who watched Nip/Tuck and Twin Peaks) but are downright unsettling.

We're talking pedophilia.

We're talking a character most never really liked getting gunned down and you still feeling it, gasping with dread in the pit of your stomach, watching with uncertainty as Felicity Huffman goes iridescent with rage, fear and madness.

We're talking suggesting that Orson may indeed be Bree's soulmate due to their love of Martha Stewart-level cleanliness, even though he's probably a psycho adulterer-murderer-dude (but isn't Bree as well, kinda?) They would be able to get the blood stains out of the carpet...together!

What strikes me is the increasingly tossed-off quality to the enveloping darkness. Rather than a wink-wink-nudge-nudge "oh, aren't we being subversive!" quality, the show just kinda tosses bits and pieces of truly pitch-black humor aside and let's it hit you on the rebound.

I'm talking Dixie Carter's "Well, it's one way to kill time while you're waiting for death"

Or Bree's skewering of her friend with "We all have convictions, Susan. I believe Mike's last one was for manslaughter."

Or Gabby's truly awesome line, "I look like something Ike Turner would hit." *

Whoa. Like all good laughter, it comes with a sting.

If you've never watched the show because it's overhyped and popular, well, guess what, kiddies? High school is over. Hating something because it's popular is just as stupid and simplisitic as mindlessly liking something because it *is* popular. You're a sheep, just of a different wool. S1 and S2 are out on DVD, and the latter isn't nearly as bad as everyone suggested. And included the awesome "everyone dead is alive again" finale.

Plus, with people like Kathryn Joostyn, Dixie Carter, Alec Mapa and a zillion others (including, as Evany on TWoP has pointed out, half of Roseanne), Wisteria Lane has become a rich, fully lived-in place, perhaps the wackiest this side of Stars Hollow, sure, but an unceasing delight of randoms, guest stars and HITG!s.

There's a woman who walks her cat on a leash.

Cat. On. A. Leash. = Comic Gold.

Superduper bonus points:
For adding megagenius Joe Keenan to the staff, who not only is behind Frasier's greatest years (and wrote "Bang," the aforementioned Huffman showcase and one of the finest hours of TV this year. period.), but is also a genius, wicked satirist in his novels. My Lucky Star is all of 8 BUCKS at Amazon (hence the linky-linky) and it's the funniest send-up of the TomKat madness there is (though it was written prior.) He makes madcap screwballs like Bringing Up Baby seem sedate.

Bonus points to Dougray Scott. For being mad sexy.

Didjaknow that amnesiac James Denton is a fellow Tennessee boy? True story, he went to UTK.

ETA: I started writing this at the beginning of watching "The Miracle Song." Holy. Fracking. Shit. That final scene between Matt Roth and Felicity? That's darkness. That's pure black as vinyl, night, coffee sans cream darkness. Simply bone-chilling. Who would've thought that a mainstream, hit show would *dare* to go to such a place five, ten years back?

* - there's nothing funny about domestic violence. except when there is. see what i mean about the unsettling?

Nov 27, 2006

team firecrotch forever.

Besides Blogger being a bitca and rendering me unable to format properly in Safari (biting the hand that publishes me, no?), there's VERY IMPORTANT breaking news:

Paris. Hit. Lindsay.

x17 has the video up here.

(see how easy it is to link rather than steal? coughcoughPEREZcoughcough. Sidenote and true story: I saw that jackhole wearing an ugly scarf in the middle of August. In Los Angeles. When it's 1000+ degrees out. No thanks to global warming. Which Lindsay causes, you know.)

Meanwhile. Certain people - Joan, Krystal, everyone - know of my undying Lohan love and obsession. I hate her! I love her! She's a scoundrel! She's a saint! She's crazy! She's a genius! (apologies to Orson Welles and Citizen Kane). But seriously. Not cool, Paris. And unlike you, Lindsay has actually done something with her life. Okay?

ETA: Just Jared has pictures of that other lovely Firecrotch, Prince Harry, being all shirtless and playing Indiana Jones.. Wow. I know he's pasty and British. But hot damn. Plus, he seems cheeky and fun and if you check the CPMCoG forums, you know the boy is hung like a horse. A very well-endowed horse. Sure, he wore that Nazi uniform, but so did Rolf in SoM, right?

Shut up in advance, teenyboppers,William is rapidly balding and losing his looks...and favoring his dad's features. Also, you're not a 14-year old girl anymore.

EETA:Meanwhile, the LiLo drama (I won't dignify to call it a "feud") grows stranger as Lindsay calls Paris a "cokehead" (the Columbian calling the powder Bolivian, no?), Nicky drops the "firecrotch" bomb. Then Hilton flack/evil genius Elliot Mentz arranges for a photoop as BFFs? With Britbot? Huh? What is going on?

Nov 25, 2006

COBRA. third act and denoue-something.

These postings were written while I hadn't had a good night's sleep in DAYS. Lack of sleep makes me, well, punch-drunk (despite what H----- told you on her blog on lies, I was not ACTUALLY DRUNK while writing these entries). But, yeah, no sleep makes for a slightly manic, incoherent me. Oh, and I know nothing about football, but, man, that TV Class sure did a number when it came to analyzing advertizing and tropes and shit?

Proceed at your own risk. You may probably be offended if you're a person who knows or cares about Football, Trojans, letting quarterbacks and Joe Scarborough *not* be sexually harassed online by me, etc.

So I recorded the last five minutes of King Cobra during halftime and will catch up on it later. Here's the psuedoliveblog wrapup:


I love the word “rout.”

11/25/06 7:20:55 PM

PIZZA. FINALLY. And a drink. Finally.

Now the liveblog/recap will become even less coherent.

But more entertaining!

11/25/06 7:27:59 PM

Alls I know is that we scored while I was away.

And commentatorbot3000 says that Brady Quinn is pissed. I could always “comfort” him later. Sleeping with the enemy makes the sex SO MUCH HOTTER! (That’s why my embarrassing crush Joe Scarborough and I are gonna have bed-breaking action. Imagine all that hate and yelling channeled into more, uh, productive arenas).

COMMENTATOR: “We’ve seen [Brady] come back after taking a hard sack!”


Wait, that makes no sense.

The coaches’ nicknames are Little Tuna and Big Tuna? Are we sure I’m not accidentally watching the Office? (and Ed Helms’s brilliant turn?)

Okay, now the commentator just said “penetrating front.”

I have only had a sip of my drink. So dirty, right?

Oh, now he’s breaking out big words like “infallible.”

So…is the line “infallible” or not? I can’t tell.

INCOMPLETE! One of my favorite words. Except in a school context. Then it was bad because I had too many.

How can one take a phone call on the field? Why is it an old corded phone? Wouldn’t a cell be easier? Plus, hello, easy, breezy, beautiful product placement. The Cingular Cylon Blackjack: The Official Phone of Bradyquinn when he’s pissed.

Wow. Another incomplete. But for us. Boo.

Man, I love movie ads and their fuzzy math. I mean, yes, Bond 21 is technically the number one movie in THE WORLD. But I remember when The Breakup was like “number one comedy in the country” for weeks after it dropped from the box-office.

My TiVo is about to change to the CW (pronounced Cwah, per someone smarter than me) to record the Gilmores and Miss Mars (it was preempted on Tuesday for Clippers/Lakers).

COMMETATORBOT3K: “Long enough and he’s got it!” DIRTY!

31 USC/ 17 ND. Still no comment to prevent jinxing.

Per H-----’s question: Anyone know anything about “The Terrace” in Pasadena? There’s a band we need to see on the 8th and want details.


11/25/06 6:27:00 PM

“Brady Quinn brings the Irish up.”Is that different than “get your irish up?” One means fighting. Speaking of Irish. I still haven’t had a drink.

Would a Rob Roy with Dubonnet Rouge rather than Sweet Vermouth be totally gross? I don’t have soda for the New School Old-Fashioned. Yes, I invented the New School Old Fashioned.(after the game, I did).

How did I get so sweaty? I have to move. I need real AC.

Commentators make a Will Ferrell joke.


Oh, Yeah, commentators. John David Booty is shaking. Because he knows what I will do to him tonight. That’s shaking with joy. Not fear.

Why is the past footage all color-treated? Weird.

Football has too many timeouts. I went out and was able to smoke a Nat Sherman and order a pizza at 2:45 left. And now there’s 30 seconds. And Nat’s take forever to smoke.

Rose Bowl! I know a queen. Sophia Bush, FWIW. And yes, she’s as pretty (if not moreso) in person. And nice. I just wish I still had her number so that I could tell her that I would punch the Chadster if she asked.

USC 21/ND 10. At the half. I’m saying nothing because I don’t want to jinx it. I am my mother, you know, and she has wicked bad jinxing mojo when it comes to football.

Pete Carroll has REALLY KIND eyes.

I love the word “rout.”

This insurance ad will make me cry.


[This is what happens when I attempted to watch the USC/ND football game - despite knowing *nothing about football* while channel-flipping to a crappy movie called King Cobra, while drinking and IMing H----- while semi live-blogging my thoughts. Be afraid, be very afraid.]

Southwest ad. Lavender explodes. Hell no.

Oh, Bonaventure Hotel! SHOUTOUT!

does queen latifah get a houseboat everytime a pizza hut ad airs?

David Landry would be cute if he shaved.

Our Song Girls and Cheer Guys (they have a specific name) could kick ND’s lame cheer asses. And then have cheer sex with the enemy.



I hate that. Seriously. Only one ad per company every few hours. Or else you should get fined as much as CBS did for Nipplegate. If it’s different versions of the same ad or there is a narrative continuing, then it’s okay. But otherwise, stop running the same ads NONSTOP. This is why I don’t watch anything “live” anymore.

I want a Blackjack though I think it may be a Cylon Device. Nothing that fancy and lust-worthy, tech wise, is possible without the potential of it becoming a killer robot.

But they may be a risk I’m willing to take. If only it came in a Number Six model.

Why is everything breaking? How is showing a car breaking a good car ad? Because the other cars are unbreakable, I guess. Or something.

Dudes. I love this ad with the jockstrap and the phone and the killer huge lockerroom dude. Man is built! And I even love pudgy pale average guy. I hate John Madden. HATE. But that’s what having an ex who would rather play Madden 04 on PS2 than get a mind-numbing blowjob will do to you.

Plus, I think he may be evil. And he collapsed into self-parody many years ago. Just like Jack Nicholson. There is no John Madden or Nicholson. But only “Madden” and “Nicholson.”

Pete Carroll has kind eyes.


Sophie's Motherfracking Choice:

5 PM on SciFi: King Cobra. With Pat Morita and a cast of thousands. Dozens. Whatever.

Same time, different bat channel: USC versus Notre Dame.

Now, you know I don't know nothing about football. But. Still.

I wanna watch the game to see K's cousins weep. (True story: they flew into LA to watch the game. And didn't buy her a ticket! And K went to SC and they're ND alums. It's both schools! On her turf! Rudeness, much.)

Plus, Masa + beer and/or scotch, plus flipping back and forth to Cobra? Potential best day ever. The game can be no more confusing/exciting than King Cobra. Perhaps I will finally understand football.

I wish I had a fancy TV that could do picture-in-picture, but I don't. It's too bad my parents don't love me enough to get an HDTV. Hint hint winkwink nudge nudge.

it's okay....

We have all the time in the world.

Unfortunately, no we don't.

R.I.P to Sven Nykist as well. He had one of the best eyes and best careers in the business. Plus he got to shoot the gorgeous Miss Lena Olin twice, so not a bad life, eh? Which brings me to -

sidenote: despite my paper arguing that Alias is/was the successor to Bond, it's taken me until now to realize that title of the last episode equals the last line of OHMSS.

sidenote to the sidenote: As pissed as I am about MGM screwing up the DVD release AGAIN, it seems like the Bond DVD Set 3 will be worth it since there are at least two other good films in it. It seems like the best combination would sets 2, 3 and 4 (since it has Dr. No, among others) and get Goldfinger as a standalone DVD when it is rereleased. Since I hear the transfer is absolutely killer. Unfortunately, I'm still unable to buy an HDTV yet but who cares until the whole BluRay/HD-DVD fiasco is settled anyways. And yes, despite or perhaps because of the Madonna cameo and invisible car, I do think Die Another Day is a okay movie.

May 17, 2006

vignettes are the new black....

disclaimer: this post was written under the influence of several whiskey sours. keep that in mind:

The scene: The day before my final(s) frantically typing a late paper, outside Leavey Library.

So there I am, by the gorgeous reflecting pool, chugging Rock Star (oh, 'SC, remember RedBull? I do. And fondly.
Wha happened?) and pounding away on my laptop like Colin Farrell with a sorority girl. A blandly beautiful, vaguely familiar looking girl passes and waves to me.

So I look up and kinda, sorta acknowledge her prescence - because I have taken a leave of abscence (or two) in my time and could have easily blanked on recognizing a former classmate/acquaintance/whatever.

Unfortunately, my semi-acknowledgment of her existence leads to this: A too-sweet like saccharine smile and "Just remember, Jesus loves you."

A beat. No real response on my end. I half-glance at my laptop again and dread the work I have to do.

"Well, I'm praying for you!"

Again, a beat, no movement on my part. I have basically 20ish pages to type in the next 24 hours, so that's where my priorities are. She walks away and delivers the parting shot - "You're a very self-absorbed person, you know that?"

Oh. Dear. Fuck. You. Bitch.

I don't say that of course, just sit sorta stunned and nonplussed. Okay, yes, I am. I never denied that. I know I can be shallow and self-absorbed, but it's a defense mechanism and an ironic choice. And my self-absorption has NOTHING to do with the fact that I won't join your Jesus Brigade considering I am
obviously working on something for finals and don't want to be interrupted by people who act like they know me but are just trying to win the Conversion Toaster. Seriously, who does that? Yes, it's a campus. But it is still one in a major city. Learn some boundaries, fool. Or else some crazed homeless person is gonna stab you because you didn't just keep walking and chose to listen to their sob story about the car breaking down and do you have 40 dollars or a cigarette or some crystal meth? No, well, enjoy this knife in your stomach.


The scene: Post-graduation, mom in town highlights.

Is it (a): Fully stopping, holding up the rest of the group walking in front of her, while she proceeds to listen intensely to said crazed homeless woman's need for a Triple A card due to the car breakage. Mom, if you can't understand what they're saying due to a faulty grasp of English or teh crazy, that
doesn't mean you should try to decipher it. My mom isn't good with the accents -- evidenced when she tried to convince us that a waiter's misunderstanding at a fantastically upscale restaurant was due to the fact that they can't speak English as opposed to the gesture being vague.

(b) Being a fucking split Nazi, once again. Granted, it is mother's day brunch, but just ORDER YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD! She does this at every meal. Rather than order what she wants and live with the consequences, she FORCES us to split things with her so that she won't deal with the failure/responsibility if she doesn't like it. I chose Hungry Cat specifically because I wanted the burger, with blue cheese. Mom. doesn't. like. blue. cheese.

At first, she opts for the "oh, i'll just scrape it off option." Then it becomes blue cheese on the side. Even though the melty goodness is the whole point. I don't get it. Order your own. That way, you can control your order like the insane control freak that you are rather than having everyone else compromise to please you. I think my favorite was when she said that we shouldn't order the shrimp (though I was asking Krystal if
she wanted some shrimp) because her stomach was upset and she's trying to save money. Okay, well, I don't understand why the rest of the table can't have shrimp because your stomach's off. (Which it is apparently ALL THE DAMN TIME). Don't talk to me about money when you spent the entire two days before my graduation buying expensive things at Nordstrom's, Fred Segal and god knows where else rather than asking what I - the graduate, remember? the reason you came to LA? -- wanted to do while my family was here. (Hint: not watch you and Mollie shop for 6 days straight).

Needless to say, she ate the shrimp and proclaimed it a good choice.

(c) The reason for all this anger? Hmm, while at her friends in Sherman Oaks, she debates whether their mutual friend loves her daughter or son more. Mom says that the son is going through a tough time or something so it's "easier to love" the daughter. I make some comment, not too snarky. Without prompting, this causes the conversation to turn to me - namely, mom telling me
to my face that "Mollie (my sister) is easy to love. You're not easy to love." And somehow, when I get pissed off and sulky at this, she has the audacity to act as though she did nothing wrong and I'm crazy to be offended all how dare you! not take this insult with a smile.

No, Mom, it's great. That's just the perfect thing to say to someone who believes that they don't deserve love, will never find love and are going to die alone. Thanks a lot, love you too.

Apr 13, 2006

does UPN even *have* a standards & practices dept?

Cases in point, both from Veronica Mars:

Last week's episode, Plan B. (roughly)

Veronica to Weevil: "It's not time for Plan B just yet, Dirty Harry."

Weevil: "In case you haven't noticed, I ain't no mick cop."

Veronica: "Dirty Sanchez?"

OH. DEAR. LORD. What the hell, is this HBO?

From this week's, I Am God.

Dick Casablancas: "Sometimes you don't need the prettiest horse, just one that will let you ride bareback."

And no, I'm not linking because you can find gay porn on your own time. Tune in now, y'all, before the CW move renders this show much more sanitized in the post-Gilmore slot.

On the subject of shows to watch, AMC/BBC's HU$TLE is awesome and a sheer delight. It's pure entertainment, funny, extremely cinematic and stars the most gorgeous, charming black man this side of Taye Diggs. It's like Ocean's 11 on a weekly basis and *now* networks are bringing out Heist and whatnot. Seriously, tune in -- it's as effortless and enjoyable as a glass of champagne, minus the hangover.

Apr 9, 2006

the thing about rejection is...

You feel like a fucking reject afterwards.

Sigh. Look, I know that certain situations aren't ideal and I shouldn't take it personally. But god/Xenu help me, I do. Completely hypothetically, one of this situations would be, say, posting a Craigslist ad, getting a response and having a guy come over (after a good deal of back and forth-ing via email).

30 minutes later, guy arrives, guy calls, guy is downstairs.

I go downstairs, open the door, the guy says "it's okay' and just fucking walks away.

No explanation, no apology, nothing Not one goddamn thing.

What the hell, dude?

Seriously, I sent a picture, you made the drive -- what did you fucking expect?

Should I not have been wearing sweats? Should my hair be shorter? Should I have come down holding a football and a fucking Maxim to butch it up for you?

Honestly, I don't think beggars can be choosers at 4 in the morning.

And yet, I take it personally. Which says more about my state of mind than anything else. Because god forbid it should be his problem because he's probably a fucking weirdo cokehead or something. Nope, it's *my* fault. If there were a crime scene and I was standing next to the person holding a bloody knife, I'd probably find a way to blame myself for being a bad influence and not preventing the murder.

Any wonder why I want plastic surgery at 25? If it's good enough for Jessica Simpson...

And yes, I may have been told I had "movie star looks" a mere 48 hours earlier. But I didn't believe them -- the rejection, the outright snubbing? That I believe in.

Because the thing is, I never had to rely on my looks growing up. So I don't have the practice for it. Don't have that confidence in my skin. But now? I want to rely on those looks. I'm tired of being funny, being smart, being charming. Being one of the few guys in the bar who could manage a decent conversation, who could banter with the best of them.

Yep, six years in LA and I'm broken & bruised enough to give up and join the beautiful people.