Sunday, May 29, 2011

I used to hate you, but now I don't - oh, wait - I still might

You know how sometimes you think you hate something, but then you try it again after a long while and you find out it's not true?  And then you feel kind of dumb because you've totally been missing out on that thing?  And then you feel great because now you can take so much advantage of your newfound love and abuse it until you hate it again??  YEAH.

So.  This is about me and donuts, mainly.  I know: how can I have hated donuts?  What's there to hate?  They're basically wheels of cake coated in sugar paste in some form or another.  I love cake and sugar and ESPECIALLY paste.  So what was the problem??  I'm not exactly sure.  I think a lot of the time the glaze would be too sweet and the cake too dry.  I would just rather have a piece of cake or a cupcake than a donut.  There's no true science to this.  The tummyheart wants what it wants.
But I'd always want to want a donut.  In high school the Krispy Kreme craze was at an all-time high and I recall numerous occasions where there would be boxes of these readily available.  But I was not interested.  In fact, I remember taking one and having a bite of it because everyone was so nuts over them and then I threw the rest away.  Because it was not good.  It was like biting into hot oily cotton candy.  And as much as I love cotton candy, I hate things soaked in hot oil more.
And don't get me started on jelly donuts.  Those things are still nasty to me.  They're like the meanest surprise ever.  You're happily eating a cakey, sugary dough ball and then BAM - oozy grackly jelly overwhelms the palate, taking a big jammy dump in your mouth.  Maybe people just use crap quality fillings or something.  But also they're so totally vulgar.  Just look at that photo.  It's like a poopy little bottom that can't hold it in and that, my chums, is the worst kind of bottom.

Anyway.  Recently I started trying donuts again.  A bite here.  A bite there.  And I wasn't repulsed.  I actually almost enjoyed myself.  And then I had Top Pot in Seattle.  And it was really Top.  And then I had a mystery donut in Berkeley.  It was really mysterious.  And I LOVE donuts now.  Sometimes.
However, a person is not a donut.  I know, I know.  It took me a while to realize this, too.  And people can't become donuts, either.  I know, I know.  I was surprised, too.

And so we come to the end of  our tale:

Sometimes there were people who were turds 5 years ago.  And they're still turds today.  Taking big jammy dumps inside the mouth of life.  How exactly does a turd take a big jammy dump?  Is a turd not, in fact, a dump already?  Can a dump beget more dump?  How would that even work?  These are the questions that rumble my jungle in the dead of night.

If you can't stand the heat, get out of my toilet.

PS You are correct in assuming that "my jungle" is, in fact, my butt.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

nuts



This is just crazy.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

you don't know me

Is it weird I like to go on Amazon, put things in my cart, not buy them and then get really excited to see if the prices go up or down on things over time?

I don't write down the prices and make a chart or anything, I'm not CRAZY.  The wizards at Amazon tell you if you go look in your cart.  They say something like "Just so you know THIS got less expensive and THIS got more expensive."

So, to reiterate, I'm not crazy.  I just like to watch the prices go up and down.  In an online shopping cart.

But I don't like how this internet these days decides it knows what you like and starts recommending things to you.  For example, if I chug on over to Amazon right now....(I'm really doing it!)...they somehow have decided I should listen to a Glee soundtrack and read How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World.  NO.  I say.  NO.

I've hated Glee ever since a fateful night when I had to listen to 3 episodes of it in a row when all I wanted and was trying to do was to go to sleep.  I needed to sleep!  And those morons just kept on singing and talking about being pregnant or something.  I'm all for singing.  I love Hello, Dolly!  I LOVE Singing in the Rain!  I just think Glee should really leave it to the professionals.  And I don't need to read How to Be a Hepburn.  I don't live in a Hilton World.  I live in a Laura-Is-Great-And-Eats-Red-Vines-For-Breakfast World.  And they don't even specify which Hepburn!


But I guess Amazon does know I would want a book about donuts and it knew I lost the first season of Arrested Development so I'd need to replace it.  But is it enough????

Maybe.

Anyway.  These little things are A-DORABLE-
If I was tiny like a push pin I would sail across a puddle in one of these.  

I remember once in high school somebody had a birthday party on a giant boat the size of a ship and I fell asleep on the top deck and when I woke up everybody was gone.  And it turned out they were never actually there because it was really a ghost ship!  

Just kidding.  They were all downstairs.

Monday, May 16, 2011

don't even know his name

There are some men in one's life who are very important.  They are what some call "life-shapers" or, perhaps, "people-molders" - not to be confused with "shape-shifters" or "moldy people."  You have no idea how these people affect you, until you forget about them and then, one day, BAM - they're back.  And better than ever.  But have they been given credit, where it is more than due?  I don't think so.  Because I realized something.  And that something is, I don't even know their real names.

One such great man is Carl Winslow.
Yes, Carl Winslow.  The father from Family Matters.  A police officer and all-around great dad.  Other than that time the boring sister when upstairs and never came back down.  That's kind of bad parenting.  He was a cop for crying out loud.  He probably shouldn't lose a child in his own house.  But this is a minuscule blemish on his otherwise stellar career as a dad and officer of the law.  He was a problem solver, had a bit of a temper with Urkel and he loved to eat food.  Okay, so I don't actually remember if he loved food, but he's pretty rotund so I'm sure he must've indulged in the occasional doughnut dipped in mayonnaise and peanut butter. 

You might say to me, "Your interest and knowledge of Carl Winslow seems perfunctory at best.  Did you even watch Family Matters?"  Did I watch Family Matters??  This is what you ask me??  Of all the questions to ask, that is the one you land on??  Well.  I will answer your question with a question for: does the dog I live with eat sticks of butter if they're left out on the countertop??  The answer to that is, YES - if she notices it.  And that is how I watched Family Matters - not religiously or even non-religiously, but if it was on while flipping channels and there was nothing better on, I'd probably come back to it.  If I noticed it. 

Anyway.  I'm off point. The point of this post is - last night I watched Die Hard for the first time.  And who should appear to me - but  Carl Winslow!!  He wasn't Carl, of course, but he was!  He was a cop!  But from LA (my hometown so I liked him better) AND he loved doughnuts!!  And I loved and trusted him immediately!  Even after he admitted he accidentally shot a kid and even after he ridiculously gunned down the nutty foreigner who managed to survive a hanging by chain and several explosions AND walk straight out of a destroyed building teeming with cops - he was still great!
And I realized: I don't even know his name.  His REAL name.  So the time has come to unmask the man, the leged - Carl Winslow.  He is

Reginald VelJohnson

What a kooky and amazing real name!  It sounds more like a fake name.  That's pretty cool.  And he went to NYU!  Like me!  We're both pretty cool, I guess.

Reginald is another great supporting men in the stable of supporting men.  You know, he's not the Urkel - but he's the fat Urkel.  You know?  I know.  I KNOW.  He's not the jewel in the crown, but he's like the little plastic combs on the crown that get stuck in your hair that hurt you. But they're necessary and help you hold that crown on - and you forget they're there.  Until you try to stop being a princess, then they stab at your head, reminding you how supportive they were.  Like Carl.  I mean Reginald.  

Reggie, my hat is off to you, sir.  It's off and thrown up in the air.  Because it's graduation time.  Today, I know your name.  I.  Know.  Your.  Name.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Sometimes I feel like Albert Brooks.

Soooo, when you meet people and talk to people about stuff you do, I find most people are just interested in themselves and how you can best serve them.  This is not necessarily bad and can lead to good things - since when two people are trying to best help themselves out they tend to accidentally work hard and do cool stuff for other people.

However, there are instances when you come against those who do nothing related to what you're doing and don't really understand what you're doing and you two have to find some sort of common ground upon which to stand.  It's as though you are two people stuck on a life raft in the middle of the ocean and if you don't find something to prattle about, it's going to be a very long silent and/or awkward wait until one of you dies and the other one can finally just eat you.

Sometimes I find if I tell people I write and they don't write and, in fact, don't engage in some sort of creative field at all, they just don't understand.  And they think their suggestions are helpful.  They think I'm clearly doing something wrong since they haven't heard of me in a larger capacity and they would be more successful than I was if they were doing what I was doing.  Or they think their ideas are so great but they just don't have the time!!  Or maybe they're making conversation and don't really care.  Anyway you look at it, they stink.

They suggest I write a movie about a museum - because, you know, Night at the Museum was so popular.  Or they suggest I write a book about their zany relationships because you just wouldn't believe it!!  Or they suggest I do something with singing and dancing. Or ask if I like and/or have I seen Judd Apatow movies - because those are really successful, so can't I just do one of those.  Or do I like and/or read whatever bestseller is at the top of the NY Times Bestseller List - cause those are fantastic and if I wrote one they would SO read it!  Or they say I can write about whatever, since everything's been done.
Sometimes, this all makes me feel like Albert Brooks.
Sometimes I feel like Albert Brooks in Mother, except even worse since I don't even publish third and/or fourth rate science fiction books.
Or sometimes  I feel like Albert Brooks in The Muse, except I don't even have an agent to tell me I've lost my edge or enough money to put up mentally ill Sharon Stone in the Four Seasons for even one day.
And sometimes I even feel like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News.  Because at times I too sweat profusely.

Albert and I share similar heritage, we both have curly hair, we both wear glasses at times, we both write...we're basically like twinsies.  So I can relate to Albert's plight as a writer/newsroom worker.  We're just doing what we do as best we can and people just don't understand!  Sometimes we both like being whiny and complainy!  Sometimes we just need to work things out our own way!  Sometimes we both just need to appreciate our mothers, find some inspiration and concentrate on our OWN business instead of someone else's!  We're human!  So sue us!  Skin us alive and call us luggage!  Put that in our back pockets and smoke it!

If you don't have anything helpful to say or you just want to make conversation, why not at least talk about something completely unrelated to anything.  We don't have to pretend we can meet in the middle.  Some people can't and some people can, and we needn't force anything.  We can still have perfectly acceptable conversations that don't have to be all about you and/or me personally.  We have opinions!  We aren't just things like computers who don't have emotions!  We can emote on a number of topics!  A couple good topics of conversation when one is stuck -

1) Would you have rather spent a week with the Flintstones or the Jetsons?
2) Would you rather rob houses or graves?

All's I'm sayings, is I maybe don't need/want peoples' suggestions.  I don't go up to you at your weird finance job or crazy doctor job or nutty plumbing job and say - "YO!  You should totally tell people to buy stock in apples.  Not Apple products - just APPLES.  They're sweet, they're healthy and everybody eats them.  Right?!?!"  Or, "HEY! You better take out the whole uterus as long as you're delivering that baby.  That's probably just easier."  Or even, "WHOA!  You know what people love about toilets?  When they flush!  You should get this one to flush - people LOVE that.  Why can't you do that?"

Let's just be ourselves.  We all have interests in things that aren't us.  And we can talk about them and everything and it will be okay.  We can realize we have nothing in common and not force ourselves to pretend we understand the other person.  In fact, our not understanding each other could make for a better interaction.
We can all have a good time without needing to rub our own poop all over the cell walls - you know?  Sometimes, you keep your poop to yourself.  Maybe people don't need your poop.  They need something else.

I just think it's possible to share oneself without punching someone else in the babymaker at the same time.

That's all.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

from the doodlebooks - video edition

So here was another half-forgotten piece I had worked on with Hobbes.  Intended as a sequel to last year's Filthy Beast, in which I reimagined a scene between Erica Kane (Susan Lucci) and a bear (a bear) as a scene between me (Laura) and my dog (Hobbes).

The film was never finished, but I cobbled together what was shot to bring you here and now - 

Filthy Beast: The Return