Autumn Chill Pill
October 25, 2005:
I confess to being thoroughly unAmerican for the following reasons:
1. I’ve never carved a pumpkin during my childhood (I finally lost my jack-o-lantern virginity at the ripe age of 24).
2. I’ve never eaten SPAM.
3. I’ve never seen "Aladdin" (shoot me).
4. I never dug "Seinfeld."
And usually I’m the one who blows a gasket when someone doesn’t jump on a pop-culture bandwagon. But it’s true; George Costanza annoys me, and my Disney experience will never be complete. And I’m okay with it.
October 27, 2005:
In New York City you’d be fortunate to get a decent view of the metropolis from a 25th-floor apartment. In Los Angeles, all you need is a 4th-floor space to see the entire lay of the land. Sadly, the first thing that greets me from my office window is a ginormous power plant that juices up West Hollywood and most of L.A. proper. Since my office faces west, I can make out the skyscrapers of Century City, smog permitting. Today is one of those off-white, gloomy days that would be fitting for a Ray Bradbury vignette in which the world was nearing a quiet apocalypse brought on by sinister forces unseen.
Perfect Halloween weather.
October 29, 2005:
Would you believe I’m already experiencing 90s nostalgia? Just finished burning a 90s mix CD called "Nineties Nirvana." I can’t help that I’m a product of the Instantaneous Gratification Age during which I need to revisit a past that has barely passed. So, without further fanfare, here’s the playlist:
1. "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket
2. "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover" by Sophie B. Hawkins
3. "Shy Guy" by Diana King (from the "Bad Boys" soundtrack)
4. "Sweet Surrender" by Sarah McLaughlin (from the Queen of Lillith Fair)
5. "Return to Innocence" by Enigma
6. "Every Day of the Week" by Jade ("90210" soundtrack anyone?)
7. "Push" by Matchbox 20 (from my college hunting days)
8. "If You Could Only See" by Tonic
9. "Creep" by TLC (memories of my first high school dance in the gymnasium of Ursuline)
10. "You Learn" by Alanis Morrisette (an all-time fave)
11. "Criminal" by Fiona Apple (I remember listening to this on my Gap Grooves CD)
12. "All That She Wants" by Ace of Base (from Jeanette Tanner’s 14th birthday party at some club in New Rochelle)
13. "Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money in My Hands" by Primitive Radio Gods
14. "Lovefool" by The Cardigans (listening to this on the van ride back from a forensics tournament in Natick, MA)
15. "Dreamlover" by Mariah Carey (I remember the video constantly running on VH1)
16. "Found Out About You" by Gin Blossoms (just screams GenX)
17. "Stay (I Missed You)" by Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories (a definitive 90s track)
18. "Everything Falls Apart" by Dog’s Eye View
19. "Love Can Move Mountains" by Celine Dion (couldn’t help it…bowing head in shame)
You too can relive the Clinton era by purchasing this nifty mix of hits for a low introductory price of $12.99, plus shipping and fondling…I mean, handling.
October 31st, 2005:
Halloween weekend kicked off with some pumpkin carving and Indian dinner at Doug’s while "Friday the 13th Part 3" played on the tube. A costume party in Burbank, thrown by a former co-worker and his wife, followed at ten. I was happy to see Grant and Laura properly decorated for the occassion - bleeding candles, skull punch bowl, body outlines chalked on the driveway, tombstones in the backyard. Finally, someone got it right. When my 30-minute cameo was done, I jetted back to Hollywood for a birthday party at White Lotus, where the deejay spun tired old hip-hop and sloppily scratched Gwen’s "Hollaback Girl." There I was, sitting in the VIP booth, my ears nearly bleeding from the blasphemous remix. Come on! How can you mess up Gwen? The birthday girl in question, my friend Ramina (another former co-worker), didn’t seem to mind shelling out the bucks for the room, where a bottle of Ketel One went for $250. Ketel was later joined by Jack, Absolut and the necessary mixers; I cringe to think about the total on the tab at the end of the night.
Another cameo was called for on Saturday when I was invited to the party of our writer’s assistant, Joe, in North Hollywood. He and his wife offered Jell-O shots at the strobe-lighted doorway. I helped myself to three and then popped two Pepcid AC tablets, which I learned could prevent the dreaded Asian glow.
I had been running late as it was. I took some snapshots of Joe, who was dressed as Will Ferrell from the now-famous "SNL" skit spoofing Blue Oyster Cult (remember cowbell), and headed to THE party of the weekend: "Halloween 2005," hosted by Doug, Alex, Paolo, Jim, and Mark. I realized I was beyond fashionably late when I parked by the driveway and saw the throng of party people oozing out onto the porch, into the driveway, and in the backyard where a port-a-potty stood like an ancient monument built for the bowel-movement-challenged (the boys had construction workers redoing their property earlier that week).
Carrying a plastic bag full of Absolut Citron and several bottles of Smirnoff Twists, I made it through the fog-shrouded entrance, stepped into the couchless living room where I recognized no one, and beelined to the kitchen, which was filled to capacity with various boys and girls who vultured over a veggie platter and several bags of chocolates. Alex, decked out in neon raver gear, managed a "Welcome" through the candied pacifier he sucked on, and told me to grab a drink before the bar was run dry. I parked my punk-rock ass on the patio near some friends I hadn’t seen since the last major social gathering and small-talked my way through the catty chatter.
Throughout the night I kept directing people’s eyes to my hair. It was just as pointless as ‘NSYNC’s Greatest Hits CD because no one could tell I had dyed it black for my costume. Thanks for nothing Clairol Natural Instincts for Men! "Your eyeshadow is great though," was a typical follow-up response.
My costume was a rebellious collision of couture. The metal chain necklace was courtesy of the Great Dane I was babysitting. The black mesh, fingerless gloves were five bucks from Jetrag. The pinstriped pants were Gap. The black-and-white tee, Express. The black vest was taken from my Bob Mackie suit. And the skinny red tie was Barneys New York via my boss’s closet. Some thought I was channeling Billy Joe from Green Day or Brandon Flowers of the Killers, but I like to consider my look "Generic Contemporary Rockstar."
November 1, 2005:
The West Hollywood Halloween Carnivale is known to attact many walks of life, all 350,000 of them. Last night, Kerry, Swaga and I dived into the chaos. There were the obligatory drag queens, the fake cops, and scandalous costumes of the God-what-were-they-thinking variety. Suffice to say, low-riders should NOT be worn to display one’s pubes.
I was ready to be festive and hit The Abbey for one of their signature martinis. After squeezing through the mass of masked madness on the boulevard and waiting in line with dozens of fellow cocktail-craving cuckoos, I got my mixed berry on the rocks…in a plastic cup. Damage: $12 (the non-holiday price is $10). I gulped that shit down like a camel enjoying a fountain of Evian after braving the Sahara. It was after I finished the last raspberry at the bottom of my cup when I remembered I hadn’t taken any Pepcid beforehand.
Damn.
We did two laps around The Abbey and decided to hit Motherlode around the corner. There, I hit my wall. Would it be presumptious to say I felt like someone had slipped a roofie into my martini? I could not stand up. Therefore, I became friends with a nearby parking meter.
NOTE: I’d like to point out that I have never vomited from alcohol consumption…
…And I wasn’t going to break that tradition. Swaga and his co-worker, Dan, ushered me in and placed me on a stool at the end of the bar. I ordered a cup of water from the bartender who wore the most flaming red wig I have ever seen. I slurped it up, ice and all, and ordered another. And another. And another…Hiko, meet hydration. Hydration, Hiko.
Needless to say, I was fine after my agua intake. We were ready to see what other festivities were waiting down the boulevard. I couldn’t count how many Napoleon Dynamites and Clockwork Orange uniforms I spotted as we headed towards O Bar.
November 2, 2005:
Overheard in my office: "She’s not a lesbian. She’s just a vagina gardener."
November 3, 2005:
Since NBC has cut our order down to 7 episodes (!), production will wrap in New York shortly after Thanksgiving. This means there won’t be any New York office to visit when I fly back on December 16. It is now likely I may have to stay in L.A. to assist my boss through post-production and fly out to NYC a few days later than planned.
This recent bummer of a development had hit some of us hard. Unfortunately, the writing staff had to find out when "Variety" printed the story before Jack could break it to us. I had had prior knowledge of it because I had been on that fateful conference call with the president of the network. I had to keep mum until word was official.
What is that? Is that the sound of everyone’s career taking a plunge?
This is where I beg all of you to spread the word, watch "The Book of Daniel" in January on NBC, and give us the ratings that will blow the proverbial socks off the network.
Thank you.
