A + B = Starbucks

I started my new job on Tuesday. It's totally awesome, and it's for a very big show in comparison to what I've worked on in the past.

But what this entry is about, is location, location, location.

Six or seven months ago when I didn't even have my own place yet, I was driving someplace I hadn't been to before. I don't even remember where I was going. However, I knew that I could get Starbucks on the way there.

Why is that?

Easy. Because if you live in West Hollywood, Hollywood, or the surrounding area there is about a 98.7% chance that during any drive between point A and point B, you will pass a Starbucks.

I honestly put this into practice. I looked for a Starbucks on the way to anywhere. It stood up to multiple tests.

My NEW job is in Sherman Oaks, which is just inside the Valley. For the uninitiated, going to the Valley when you live in Hollywood is sort of a big deal.

Fortunately, I'm driving the opposite direction of traffic. Most people are driving from the Valley to Hollywood or downtown in the morning, and back at 6.

I assumed that there would be a Starbucks in the valley in between the exit and my office. As fate would have it, my office is only about 3 blocks from the exit...and no Starbucks.

Since there was so little traffic I got to work much faster than I estimated. I had about 25 minutes to spare to look for my coffee joint of choice.*

I chose the busiest looking cross-street and headed in a random direction.

Distance to the closest Starbucks; .3 miles.

*While I like Starbucks just fine, it's really my first choice because we have a stack of free drink coupons from when Jami worked at the Bucks of the Star.

Bold Performances about 80's Halflings

Over the past two years, I've become quite fond of Dungeon Majesty.

Recently a friend of mine in LA and I talked about it. He didn't like it much because he didn't like the production values and thought it was a little hokey.

I told him to watch it with the assumption that the creators embrace, no...live for postmodern irony. They play it to the hilt, and to the death like Andy Kaufman would have.

The newest video by DM is a partnership with a woman named Leslie Hall.

If there were any doubt about the tone that DM embraces...this latest piece pretty much lets it all hang out.

The Stuff of Legend and Ho Hatin'

So I like fighting...yadda, yadda, yadda. Most of my readers are familiar with MMA.

For the one or two readers who've sparred, fought, or grappled, you know how difficult it is to "sink" a submission quickly. This video is of the "grand master" of Brazilian jiu jitsu, Royce Gracie taking well over two minutes attempting to set up a triangle choke and never getting it (he switches to an armbar).

This is a moderately ranked Pride fighter Ryo Chonan executing the fastest, most cinematic ankle lock I've ever seen in my life. Not only is it freaky fast, it's also applied to the current middleweight Champion of the World of the UFC.

This is a relatively old fight, but it's like something out of a kung-fu movie.

In other news, I officially have zero patience for the women of Los Angeles that frequent my club. When they walk up to me, I can predict 80-90% of the time if they're just going to ask where the bathroom is (which they walked past to get to me, by the way) or if they want a favor.

I started a new policy last night. When this girl walks up to my rope at the VIP (or one of her 40,000 twins)*, I start the conversation by telling them what I'm not going to do for them. They say "But you don't even know what I'm going to say!", but really, really indignant and bitchy. I then say "you just want to come into VIP for a minute to look for a friend, right?" Now that their script has been scrubbed, they don't know what to say.

They were planning on rubbing up against me, fluttering their eyelashes, and bounce on into VIP to do the same thing to some douche bag for a free drink. However, if they stand at my rope for about 3.6 seconds, that same douche bag will come shove money in my hand to let the girl in, so he can give her a drink and then not have sex with her. Or maybe they do, I don't really know or care.

By contrast, this girl is nice as pie. She self-made and actually, you know, does stuff. She doesn't leech off other people's status at a nightclub or expect free crap because she's hot.

*It actually took me a little while to find the exact right type of women. They have to look really trashy and look like they've put a lot of effort into being "hot" and yet still look like there's an outside chance they're a dude.
I think it's because the trannies out here get so much platic surgery, as do aging club whores. The result is the same facial structure, which creeps me the hell out.

300 is the new black

I haven't seen 300 yet. I'm going with a group of people tomorrow.

In the past couple year, perhaps two, I've noticed that reviewing films has become a wildly popular format for voicing one's political convictions in place of quality and aesthetic evaluation.

God knows it's more important to hate George W. Bush than murderous, clitorectomy-loving fanatics that want to blow you up. I mean clearly making poor decisions in good faith and being a bad leader is worse than wanting to kill everyone that's not like you. We can all agree on that.

But that doesn't make SLITHER the best horror movie ever.
I never wrote about this, but I was rather disturbed by SLITHER. It was perfectly cute, well-done, competent horror/comedy.
Oh, and it's hatred and contempt for anything Midwestern was beyond obvious. In short, everybody good had embraced "enlightened" concepts like vegetarianism or mouthing off to your dumb hick parents (really). The Indiana-born and raised sheriff (who's the hero) naturally has a distaste for hunting. 'Cause you know... sheriffs in small Midwestern towns are usually members of PETA.

But it's venomous bile towards the flyover states made it FAR more popular than it would have otherwise been received. There's no way to prove this but I'd bet the farm on it.

Similarly, SYRIANA, GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK, THE INCONVENIENT TRUTH, and anything else that gets all heads knowingly nodding in agreement get a little extra helping in the praise department.

Which brings me to 300. I'm getting the feeling, based on a couple of the fairer-minded sounding reviews, that it's not going to be as good as I'd hoped. But that doesn't forgive the pile of reviews that seem to hate the movie for anything other than political reasons. Some reviewers come out and say so. That's not a useful review, but at least it's honest. Lots of others make cowardly sideways comments about righteous aggressiveness and using a sword as diplomacy.

If your primary goal in life is to make a statement about what the US should and shouldn't be doing in this world, run for fucking congress. Or work for Moveon.org or whatever the hell else gay crap you want to do. But don't muck up my goddamned rottentomatoes system with your whiny horseshit. Review the fucking movie. Is it good? Is it derivative? Does the acting suck? These are all fair and pertinent questions.

Like I said, I saw some negative reviews that stayed on topic. This moviemay be overwrought, have poor character development, and try to overcompensate with style what it lacks in depth. Whatever, that's all fair.

But if the movie shits on things my family likes to do back home and that just tickles your balls blue, fuck you. Tell me if the movie's any good. That's your job, asshole.

Observations from Hip Hop Night

Every once in a while, I have to work a Thursday for my weekend gig. Last night was a Hip Hop event called "Unity".

There were asian, mexican, white, and black rappers.* The crowd was a little bit thug and I knew nobody had any money.
So I wasn't going to make any money.

The bottle service area had been converted to a VIP for the evening. So basically the servers, the bartenders, myself and anyone else at the club in a service capacity were screwed. The security, I actually wagered, were going to earn their money that night.

Security #1: Hmmm. This thing's called "Unity". Wonder what that's about.

Security #2: It's 'cause they've got chink and beaner rappers. **

Me: So who's taking odds that when a fight breaks out, it's interracial.

Security #2: (laughs) yo, that's fucked up!

Security #1: Naw. They wouldn't be that stupid....

Me: Are you twenty dollars confident in this group of mouth-breathers to keep their hands off one another?

Security #2: Hellllll, naw. I wouldn't take that. Uh-uh. These niggas look wild. ***

Security #1: Make it ten, and I'll take it. There's not a lot of girls here. There probably won't be a fight.

Me: Ten it is. (we shake hands)

Security #1 is not a dumb guy, nor inexperienced in the club industry. How many wimens is in da club is obviously a huge factor in odds of a fight breaking out. The only thing I think he may be is optimistic. Granted, I was gambling on the interracial thing, but this crowd was -without a doubt- going to fight.

I won the bet.

I couldn't see most of the action, as it was way up by the stage, but security #1 ran out to the south alley to see one guy getting kicked out, and I looked at the north alley to see the other guy.

We got back to my spot.

Me: OK, on three, we both say the race of the guy that got booted.

Securit #1: OK

Me: One, two, three...

Me: White. Security #1: Black.

Security #1: Shit.

I should say I don't think the fight was racially motivated at all. I honestly believe the premise that all these people have agreed upon the same cultural and social identifiers. They're all "hip hop".

This hip hop crowd was a bunch of thugs, and fighting is what thugs do. I was just gambling on the poetry of the title "Unity".

On a final note, I've noticed that hip hop MC's only want people to make some noise if it's the "mother fucking" variety.

If you're going to make any other kind of noise, I don't think they want to hear it.


*You'll never guess who the best act was...

** Yes, he really said this.

***Yes, he actually said this as well.

Other People's Funnies, Part III (I think)

I try to not just link to other people's stuff as content, but I wanted to make sure all of my six or seven regulars read this.

Also, t-shirt printing in LA is effing expensive.

True Stories of The Glizty VIP

Last night, there was an event at the club. It's unusual for Thursdays, but it does happen once in a while. It's usually an Israeli event.

It's an odd mix of traditional Israeli music, techno, a live drummer and live singer.

When I first started at this club, I really hated all the douche bags equally. Armenians, Israeli, Persians...all of 'em.

Long story short, I get along with the Israelis much better these days. Turns out they respect you when you don't back down from their macho crap. I know quite a few of them now. I still hate their music and recreational activities, but they're OK. I even know a couple phrases in Hebrew, although I really only need one; raga tov (I'm not sure of the phonetic spelling, but it's something like that.)

It means "calm". If you say it twice, it's the equivalent of "heyheyhey! Everybody chill".

At any rate, there was a party last night. Some chick sang. She was like the full Hebrew Celine Dion, mixed with techno music...yes, welcome to ear hell.

By 1:30 I still only had three tables, which is terrible even for a slow night. Nevertheless, one group was making quite a go of tearing it up. They were dancing on our leather seats, clapping loudly, spilling drinks, dancing in the VIP, and generally being rowdy. They had taken very good care of me all night, so the only thing I stopped was the dancing on the seats.

One guy was clearly trying to get with any of a number of girls at the table. He was dancing on, grabbing, or trying to kiss at least three or four different girls. And he was about four different kinds of drunk.

He finally convinced one of the girls to make out with him. I had -just- looked at my phone to check the time, and glanced into VIP to see how the tables were doing on their bottles (they had 25 minutes to finish them before I pulled them off the tables).

So Don Juan was making out with an unsuspecting girl, and he stops. He looks at her funny for about 1.5 seconds...and pukes all over her. It was on her neck, her chest, arms, and our floor.

It was the most powerful combination of disgust and comedy I've ever experienced. I couldn't stop laughing to radio for a barback* to come clean it up.

The girl rushed to the bathroom. Calling her "a little freaked" would be like calling Robert "sorta smart". It doesn't adequately cover the situation.

*The 5'2" mustachioed barback took one look at the mess and, -I swear to God- his face said "I've gotta fuckin learn English".