Puckerooms Are Not Fit For Children.

Anyone who knows me on a personal level knows that I love candy.  It’s a food group for me.  It didn’t matter when I learned to cook and started enjoying the variety of culinary gifts this world has to offer.  I could make homemade gnocchi or bagels or stuffed pork chops or steak au poivre.  None of it changes anything.  I love candy.

People who lived with me in college witness my dorm room where I had a drawer filled with Skittles purchased with unused dining dollars.  I don’t mean bags of Skittles.  You opened the drawer and (above picture) is what you saw.  I would write for hours and just go on sugar/caffeine/nicotine benders the likes of which have never been seen.  I was Beavis when he became the Great Cornholio.  I have told my cousin (we lived together downtown at a time when malt liquor and Skittles sounded like a balanced dinner) that there is not currently a bag in existence of Skittles that I cannot finish in one sitting.  During my marathon running days I could eat and metabolize an entire family size bag instantaneously.  They do not have the technology to contain me.

So, me and Lamar Odom are on the exact same page.  Same paragraph even.  I get it.  Candy is rad.  Halloween for me as a kid felt the same way Thanksgiving feels for me now.  All that said, there’s a reason I just went 1000 words on my love of candy.  That’s because I want you all to understand how crazy it is that I am about to come on the record and throw a big WTF to my peeps at Wonka.  I’m sorry, but it has to be done.

Really, guys?  Puckerooms?  Might as well call these things Peckerooms.  Look at these things.  They are straight up gummy penises.  I saw these last night with my girlfriend at the supermarket and I laughed for ten minutes before becoming really afraid for the youth of today. There are few things that would make me more uncomfortable then watching a child eat a grape Puckeroom.  I’d probably rock a citizen’s arrest on the parent who gave him one.

Honestly, how on earth do these things pass all tests en route to becoming a product?  Wonka makes some awesome stuff like Nerds.  They are usually smart.  When they first saw the drawings, no one said anything.  Maybe when they built the giant machines they use to mass produce these?  There had to be one guy working on the plant watching gel poured into thousands of corn starch mold who said to his fellow worker:

“Hey, Bob.  These things kinda look like cocks, don’t they?”

“Quiet, Jim.  I really need this job.  My kid needs braces.”

“I know times are tough, Bob, but honestly we’re making gummy dicks.  I don’t know.  Just kind of thought my life would have turned out different you know?”

“Shut up, Jim.  I’m sick of this Commie shit.  Would I rather work at Jelly Belly?  Yeah.  I would.  They’re brilliant.  But Wonka pays the bills, got it?  If they want me to make gummy dicks, I’ll make gummy dicks.”

“I was just saying…  I know times are tough, but I feel like a creep.”

“I’m going to kill you, Jim.”

And scene.  Sorry, just got lost in the show.  That’s what happens when you have to point out the obvious to the universe.

So other than for a bachelorette party or the Erotic L.A. convention, I am not sure where these things fit in.  Maybe when Khloe wants to really get Lamar in the mood?  I don’t know.  I’m at a loss.  What do you guys think?

The Awkward Times Eating Club.

Society works pretty hard to define when things are acceptable and when they are uncouth.  The same action could be totally appropriate in once situation, but totally bat shit crazy in a different situation.  For instance, shaving your head in your bathroom is a pretty reasonable thing to do.  Shaving your head during a job interview is bat shit crazy.

I think we should all spend more time examining society’s finicky standards by pushing the limits of time and space through the inappropriate timing and selection of meals.  In more simple terms, we should eat things at the wrong times and keep a straight face.

There are a couple rules to joining the Awkward Times Eating Club, or ATEc as it’s called in some circles (and by some circles I just mean by me).

1. The first rule of ATE Club is you do not talk about ATE Club.
2. The second rule of ATE Club is YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT ATE CLUB.  (unless it is to get a girl)
3. You must always keep a straight face when you are questioned about your food choices.
4. Always offer other people in the room a bite of what you are eating.
5. When questioned about your food choices, make the questioner (or el preguntacito in Spanish) feel like they are bat shit crazy for questioning you.

So how do you get started?  First I’d suggest you schedule an “all-hands-on-deck” meeting for 8am.  Get everyone in the office really early.  Tell them they can bring coffee or breakfast.  When the team comes in tired-eyed and intent on forcing down some burnt office coffee, it’s time to spring on them what you have decided to eat for breakfast:

Fettuccine Alfredo and a glass of cheap Chianti.

Casually tell everyone sorry that you are going to enjoy breakfast during the meeting, but inform them that if you don’t have your Fettuccine Alfredo in the morning, you get very cranky.  Make sure the garlic bread you eat alongside your F.A. is so pungent that it is offensive.  Also, if you can find Chianti in a box, definitely go for that.  You’ll want to get lots of cream sauce on your face and clothing and apologize a lot in vague ways like, “I’m sorry, this is really garlicky” or “I’m sorry, but this pasta is fantastic”.

At lunch, I think you’ll want to go to a fancy place with your boss.  He will order a Chinese Chicken Salad or perhaps something arrogant like a ceviche or even some crab cakes.  That’s okay.  You will be ordering an ice cream sundae and some orange soda.  Your boss will not know what to do when the waiter takes away your fork and knife.  Eff that noise, you only need a spoon for your backwards lunch.

Dinner can be difficult to use as a platform to make a statement.  After all, it’s not weird in America to have breakfast for dinner, or lunch for dinner or even dinner for dinner.  So how do you make a statement?  There’s two ways to do it.  There’s the subtle way and then there’s the bat shit crazy way.

The subtle way is simple.  You can order whatever you want to eat.  The kicker is, you are going to use most of the utensils and sauces of the person sitting next to you.  If you get chicken in a balsamic reduction over artichoke hearts, that’s fine.  After all, you will be drinking out of your neighbor’s water glass and using their knife and fork to eat whenever they put it down.  You’ll be dipping your fries in there ketchup.  You’ll pick up their napkin to wipe your face.  Make everyone feel awkward about commenting on the fact that you have just wiped your face on the sleeve of the person sitting next to you.

The other way to disrupt dinner requires that you are the last person at the table to order.  This is tough, but a good way to solidify your spot in the food chain is to go eat with only women.  After all, waiters think letting women go first means a bigger tip, but let’s be honest, if the man there lets the woman order first, he is going to try to pay in hopes that it will lead to sexual relations.  If the people are splitting their bill or if the man has no problem ordering first, they are just friends and the tip will suffer anyway.  The point is, I was a waiter.  Probably avoid being a waiter.

Anyway, after your friends order and the waiter turns to you, ask him about a porkage fee and what it costs.  Then when he asks what a porkage fee is, start pulling out a separate dinner from the backpack you have under the table.  Tell him you saw Fast Food Nation and now you only trust meat that you have personally slaughtered and that you only eat inverted steak sandwiches now.  Inverted steak sandwiches, of course, are where you wedge a piece of bread between two steaks, not the other way around.

Are you guys in?  You should be.  Send me your stories with pictures.  You’ll be on the blog right away.

Honesty.

Let’s be honest.  Yamazaki 18 year old is the pinnacle of human achievement.  My upstairs neighbors are content to drink vodka red bulls and simulation the noises of violating elephants.  Manny is back for another year.  This is like the last scene of Empire Strikes Back.  I’m looking at the spaceships.

See you at Molly’s tomorrow.  Don’t hate the hater.

Girls Soccer is For Keeps.

When girls decide to fight, a lot of time men describe it as a “cat fight”.  I think this is because of the stereotype that women will claw each other and pull each others’ hair.  I mean, I get it.  I remember the lunch room in middle school (sometimes high school) when two girls would fight and us menfolk would have the oddest of excitement over such a thing.

Then I saw this video of a soccer game between BYU and New Mexico.  This was no joke.  At times it was a Chuck Norris movie.  This clip defies some pretty established laws:

• Soccer is a sport about flopping (these hits were real, yo)
• Pulling hair is girlie (not when you do it like that)
• Womens sports are soft (this thing looked like Running Man)

 

Douchebag Video.

There are no words.  This shit was just awesome.  I no longer feel alone in this world.  I need to meet the filmmakers.

 

Halloween Changes As You Age.

Halloween is a kids holiday, right?  Kind of.  I mean, Halloween serves a lot of functions.  Depending on what age you are, Halloween can cause a variety of strange events or circumstances to occur.  Today, I wanted to get into Halloween a little bit.  Let’s just do it.

When you are a kid, Halloween is totally fucking bat shit awesome.  You get to do the most ridiculous list of things that you are not allowed to do on other nights.  Kids get to:

• stay out late with their friends
• scare the shit out of old people
• scare the shit out of people and demand candy
• eat so much candy you almost die
• throw eggs, toilet paper and shaving cream at everyone all the time
• dress however the fuck you want to school

When you are a teenager, Halloween goes a little further.  It is in the pimpled throws of adoslescence when you can:

• wear a mask and call it a costume
• beat the shit out of little kids
• ring doorbells for candy to refuel after beating up little kids
• trash the houses of people you don’t like

captain jack douchebag (sorry actor in costume website. i know it's just a paycheck. still, you didn't need to throw that smile out there)

Halloween gets awesome once  you hit college.  That is when you really appreciate it that you can:

• use your metabolism to wear costumes like “spartan from 300″ or “braveheart” and not look really fat like you will in only five short years
• fully experience the full array of girls wearing lingerie and animal ears dressed as creatures known as “slutty mouse” and “whore cat”
• forget the annoying candy part because there are no kids anywhere near you
• dress as a pirate and actually use real rum as a prop
• sleep with someone and never call them because there were at least ten people you know at the party dressed as jack sparrow and you’ve been needing a slump buster

When you hit the workforce, Halloween gets older and younger at the same time.  You work in an office, which is like a school.  If your office is into dressing up, you better get with the program dude.  At the same time, you get to freak out a lot less now and this is a big chance to get your game on.  You will get to:

you were the man, heath. the 2,000,000 peeps dressed like you playing Joker need to limit their numbers.

• finally see the secretary and what she is working with
• see how many of your friends are still having trouble getting over heath ledger dying (30 guys, 27 Joker costumes)
• weed out people you will never have sex with (people in iPhone costumes)
• get to drink jungle juice again and then remember why you stopped sometime in college
• go on Facebook and see 90 percent of the girls you know, have met or have randomly friend-ed basically naked for free
• find out how many people are a little too obsessed with their dogs (they don’t know what Halloween is, sicko)
• dress like a 1970s gym teacher with bad intentions (if you are me)

When you get older and have kids, you will get the pleasure of:

• leaving the house at night without your wife yelling at you
• knowing for certain your doorbell still works
• look at pictures of when you were young enough to dress as “whore cat”
• take pictures of your kids that one day they can use to show their high school girlfriends how cute they were and hopefully parlay that into getting to second base (and god willing legging it out for a triple)
• ignore good parenting and let your kid eat so much candy they pass out from over-caffeination affording you and your spouse the time to try on your ill-fitting “spartan from 300″ and “whore cat” costumes for a quick roll in the hay in time to catch Leno

The ultimate joy comes when you reach an advanced age.  Even if you have your faculties about you and even if you like kids, you finally can:

• hand out pennies because people did it to you and it’s payback time, assholes

 

 

No Post Today.

Undertones of extreme personal danger.  I will post tomorrow.  There is not much time for it right now.  The good news is, it’s Monday.

Beware of the Super Shark.

Guys, we’re totally fucked.  I was sitting at my desk today drinking espresso and listening to some bossanova inspired smooth jazz when my coworker sent me an article that has me terrified.  I literally almost spilled espresso on my ultra fancy, loose-fitting linen drawstring pants that I like to wear to the office on chilly days just to keep things interesting.  Why was I so frightened?

The Super Shark.

I wouldn’t fuck with a tiny shark.  I definitely wouldn’t mess with a bigger shark.  A great white shark?  No way!  But the Super Shark will fuck with anyone, anytime.

The Super Shark exists.  By the look of the bite it took out of this great white shark, it’s clear we’re dealing with a real deal ocean murderer.  Get this, they find the shark pictured above (well, half  a shark) near a place in Australia called Deadman’s Beach.  They say the Super Shark is over 20ft long.  That’s almost 3 Michael Jordans in length.  The previous largest shark was 1 Michael Jordan, a Pete Carroll and a stack of 15 Pop Tarts.

So what is pissing off the Super Shark so much that he is eating other sharks?  What has made him be a cannibal?   I went undercover and found lots of clues.  For one, the Blockbuster Video – Deadman’s Beach location told me that recently the Super Shark had rented Silence of the Lambs.  Two days later, he was back renting Red Dragon, Hannibal and Man Hunter (the old Michael Mann version of Red Dragon with the dude from CSI and the other dude from Super Troopers).  Clearly his cannibalistic whistle had be wet, or whet.  That always confuses me.  Like when people pronounce the “H” in the word “white”.

Perhaps it was the Super Shark’s love life that turned him to bloody mania.  Rumors of a relationship between he and a sexy sea turtle were proved true upon news of their breakup.  Apparently, the Super Shark was always moving, which pissed off the Sea Turtle, who was “looking for a man who didn’t require constant motion to get air in his gills”.  The Super Shark was later seen at the Great Barrier Reef (the nightclub, not the actual reef) drinking a seemingly endless deluge of Washington Red Apples and demanding the bartender play Michael Bolton’s “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” on a continuous loop.

After 2.5 hours, the bartender (a starfish named George Washington — yes, it’s just a coincidence) demanded the Super Shark leave.  Washington claimed it was scary to tell a 20 foot shark to leave, but in the end he felt another hour of Michael Bolton would kill him anyway.  Getting eaten just sounded like a cooler way to go.

The Super Shark later swam into a school of fish and just started eating everything in sight screaming cryptic taunts like “sushi” and “sashimi”.  A marlin who wouldn’t disclose his name was quoted as saying, “The whole situation was really fucked up.  He didn’t even seem hungry.  He was clearly just being a dick.  He kept yelling ‘om nom nom nom’.  I’m still bent out of shape.”

Some people believe the whole thing is a publicity stunt and Super Shark is looking for Hollywood dollars by way of a motion picture deal, but friends of the Super Shark say that it’s unlikely.  The reality is, this case is probably related to heartbreak.

If you are in Australia, watch your ass.

 

Making Friends With Nike.

When I got an email from Nike inviting me to an event, my first thought was, “They are going to kill me”.  Not the kind of “kill me” where they tell you they are angry at you.  The kind of “kill you” like  Phil Knight taking you down cold with a sniper from a helicopter Sarah Palin style.

I read up about the event.  Nike was asking certain members of the L.A. blogging community to come participate in and cover the Nike+ Human Race event in Los Angeles.  In exchange for my services, Nike would give us some shoes and gear to run in, race registration and access to the runners’ VIP tailgate party before the USC/Oregon State game (plus some game tickets with the other runners).  Still not convinced that I wasn’t being set up for assassination, I tread lightly.  At the same time, the race benefit Pete Carroll’s A Better L.A. foundation, which is one of my favorite charities of all time.

There was one problem.  My band Fight From Above was playing in San Diego on Friday night and the race was at midnight.  I was angry I couldn’t run in the race, but still wanted to support Pete and the cause.  Running is one of my favorite things, I have always worn Nike clothing (my feet are flatter than Nebraska so I usually wear Brooks shoes), so this seemed like a good event to make peace with Nike, assuming Phil Knight didn’t kill me with a bomb hidden in an iPod.

look at that thing.

I asked someone if I could run a 10K on my own, then show up to the event.  After all, only when Oregon State is in town is it socially acceptable to yell things like “hit those Beavers” and “man, that’s a lot of Beaver” without coming off like a total pervert.  Nike accepted, which meant one of two things:

1. they were willing to make peace with me in support of a good cause.
2. they had me right where they wanted me.

I got my last will and testament together before heading down to San Diego on Friday.  I spent the afternoon at George’s in La  Jolla trying every strange drink they had on the menu and staring at the sea lions chilling in the bay.  I had gone to Hodad’s the week before for the University of San Diego homecoming and I think once a year is enough.  That hamburger ate me, not the other way around.

Eventually, it was showtime and we made our way to the venue and got into significant trouble as there was a bar tab for us.  Somewhere between the queso fundido, Guiness and whiskey I was eating, I was pretty sure something inside me would break.  Regardless, we played our set and our singer (a hero for not drinking) was ready to drive Ichiro (my whip) back to L.A. in the middle of the night.  I had a 10k to run.  Yikes.

looked like mordor out there

The freeway was fogged in from La Jolla all the way to Irvine almost.  I am talking about 30 feet of visibility tops.  In the middle of the night, past the witching hour, I was sure we might just drive off the road and right into a tank drill at Camp Pendleton.  Was Phil Knight using the Nike fog machine to make it look like an accident?  Note to self:  queso fundido makes you paranoid.

Somehow we arrive off Saticoy to drop off the amps by 3am.  The valley looks even more like hell at this hour.  At least we’re home.  The fog seemed to lose us and by now, I am really not sure what I ate was queso fundido at all.  It might have been orange play-doh and soon I will die.  I press on home over the hill to my 37-acre chateau (1000 sq. ft apartment) and catch 4 hours of sleep.

Morning.  Go time.  Throw on the gear Nike was kind enough to hook me up with and set off to run my 10k.  I am not a liar.  I owned that 10k.  I felt pretty good.  Took a shower, threw on my USC gear and took Ichiro to the city.

Parked at Adams so I could walk The Row and Trousdale.  Ran into some friends from school, work, all of that.  Found Miner wandering campus looking for me.  We hit an ATM and then made our way to the Nike event.  Time to see what was up.

Diplo was spinning and we spent a good half hour drinking the incredible amount of Heineken they provided and watching him do his thing on the turntables.  I realized I should have been a DJ.  He was doing all kinds of crazy stuff.  When I saw Oakenfold in London years ago, I couldn’t really tell what was going on.  In fairness, I was 19 and in London.  I was just stoked I could order beer.

Eventually, I met a rep from Nike who hands me our game tickets.  He checks my name off the media list and a couple minutes later comes back.  He has put it together.  I am the sweatshirt guy.  He tells me it was funny, but that someone in charge of PR wants to meet me.  I am pretty sure I am dead now.  I start to call my mother, but a very nice woman arrives and we actually joked about the situation for a few minutes.  Apparently, Nike has a sense of humor and that makes me feel better.  Everyone is super cool.  They even started inviting in people who were watching this party go one, even if they didn’t run the race.  People are learning about running, learning about A Better L.A.  It’s good.  No one is trying to kill me, there are no blue/gold sweatshirts around.  I shake hands with Nike’s reps and officers and decide we’re good.

I’ll be honest, it’s a big weight off my chest.  As was the case with the beef jerky incident, all I ever look for is a reason to get behind a good product.  As I said many times during the whole USC/UCLA sweatshirt crisis, I have always liked Nike products.  All I wanted was to get rid of the tainted gear, which I think we did.  Mission accomplished, Lost Angeles.  Jack Links sent me some replacement jerky, which I gave out to friends at the office.  I learned about their company and their product.  It worked out.

I think I got that experience with Nike on Saturday.  They raised a lot of money and awareness for Pete Carroll and his foundation, which as an Angelino, is one of the most important charities around.  They raised awareness for running.  The Human Race is a really cool initiative.  It was a really cool day.

I took off my kevlar vest that I wore just in case and decided to head into the game.  We beat the Beavers all around the field.  I got to meet a really cool cat who kept yelling crazy pump-up speeches when the game got close at the end.  Picture the dude from White Chicks who sings Vanessa Carlton.  He said things like:

• We gotta PUNISH these guys!
• Let’s treat them with some good old fashion Christian vengeance.  Southern Christian style!
• You gotta put a hit on some of these Beavs!
• I want to see some blood, baby!
• Hit somebody!  We gotta make them boys PAY!
• Pay the toll!  Woo!
• When he wipes the towel he’s gonna pass!

Basically, this guy was awesome.  I wanted to bring him to work with me for ultimate pump ups daily.  I don’t even know what the hell he was talking about half the time.  But he was awesome no-less.

So what did I learn?  That’s what you need to ask yourself after a weekend like this.  Here I go:

I like La Jolla.  Calpirhinas are strong.  Basil works well in booze.  Sea lions have it better than me.  Detroit Lions have it worse than me.  Fog is scare.  Phil Knight doesn’t make fog.  Queso Fundido is a hallucinogen.  10K feels like 40K after a night in San Diego.  Nike isn’t trying to kill me.  Nike has a sense of humor.  Hint is a pretty good flavored water.  The best kind of beer is still free beer.  Veggie burgers dress up as hamburgers for Halloween.    If Phil Knight is trying to kill me, he is being patient about it.

So.  For those of you who are upset my Nike battle is over, don’t be.  I have a HUGE bone to pick with someone.  I am going to take things to a new level.  I plan to be a narc, a jerk, a prick and a scoundrel.  Even better, I have pictures.  I have license plate numbers.  There is a real estate company in Beverly Hills that will find out what it’s like to be hunted.  So don’t worry, I haven’t lost my edge.

I just needed to make peace with Nike.  I thought, we could drag this out, or I could help them support A Better L.A.

In the end, I said, “Just Do It”.

Off to San Diego.

Playing a show down there tonight at Tio Leo’s by USD if anyone is around.  Tweet to me @lost_angeles and let me know.  I am going to use my PowerShot I hooked up for my birthday to try to make a little short about the weekend.  Mostly because I will be going lots of places, sleeping very little, meeting lots of strange people and possible abusing some Beavers (from Oregon State that is).  I will get to run into Nike again, which should be fun.  I’ll play nice because I do support The Human Race and A Better LA, the program it is benefitting.

I will have a lot of tweets going out starting at around 12 noon, so as I said, follow me here.  I suspect by 11pm they will become entertaining.

Sorry it’s been a slow two days on Lost Angeles.  I think with the Steve Phillips post I peaked a little early this week.  Plus the Dodgers made me sick for like two days.  Know what made me feel better?  Ron Artest.  I decided he will be the focus of all my sportswriting until there is Dodger news again.  I want to do stats for Ron.

RON ARTEST:

• two “fuck yous” to the referees
• eight hard ass stares at opposing players
• one cool ass hand gesture to the crowd
• three awesome pump ups with kobe

OK.  I’m off to Diego.  Holler at me.  <— I sounded pretty hood right about there.