• Hollywoodland

Election Day

I’m running late this morning. It’s one of my long days, wherein I go in to one job at 10:00 AM and emerge from another, battered and bruised, at around 11:00 PM. So the only way I’m gonna get time to vote is this morning. But as I said, I’m running late. I think I’m going to have to skip it. If I have to go deal with the crowds at the Polling Place I just know I’m going to be extremely late…

Hang on. What did I just say? Crowds? Polling place?

So I cruise over to the Michael Jackson Auditorium just up the street. No lines. Lots of friendly older folks. I vote. No problem. The similarity of my name to that of Keira Knightley sparks a conversation with one of the poll-workers, a seventy-something woman with bright eyes. I tell her my brother, Keir, has a name even closer to hers. She tells me she doesn’t like Keira’s face sometimes, and that its limitations keeps her from becoming a great actress. She asks me if I see movies. I say yes. So she scrawls her name and phone number on a piece of paper and says, “Call me. I’ll go to the movies with you. And I know the good ones from the bad, so you don’t have to worry.”

I vote. I get a sticker. And I get a phone number.

  • keefe
  • Music

Music Reviews – Episode 9

Guitar Wiz, Oregon denizen and supplier of candy to children, Michael Keefe has checked in with another great set of reviews for the month of October. Some of these I already have (Depeche Mode, Boards of Canada) some I want (Vashti Bunyan, Ladytron) and some I didn’t know existed and am now craving (Arctic Monkeys.) Check out what’s been spinning on his hard drive lately here, or click the October link to the right.

fiona apple

    Responsible SPAM

    If only.

    • Hollywoodland

    Night of the Dead

    I survive the day today at Amoeba. Just barely. For some reason I’m gripped by a ravaging hunger and a muscle consistency like that of under-cooled Jell-o.

    Wait. I say that like I’ve forgotten that I awoke this morning at nine, that I went to bed just five hours before that, that somewhere between then I attend a part on Las Palmas in between Franklin and Hollywood Boulevards in a house that was built in 1903, where currently reside Dave, Hiland, Inez and Adrian, and where several dozen fellow Amoebites and friends come crashing down for a night of revelry. And that somewhere in there I drink a bottle of Castoro Cellars (ancient vine) Zinfandel out of a tumbler.

    Here’s what that looks like:

    From top left: Hiland, Lauren, Tomatoes (yes, I said Tomatoes,) Ricardo as the Easter Mummy, Tomatoes’ back (that tattoo is one single unbroken line,) James Brown, Pete Majors, Brett Sweat (Thriller era,) Josh watching Adrian break two guitar strings, Omar, Me & Hiland, Me & Rodolfo, Olivia, Heidi and finally, Kaman as one of the girls from the Electric Company…but dead.

      Typical

      This is so me:

        Caviar

        Still rooting through old stuff, deciding what to throw out, what to frame and what to burn. In one box I discover my old Western Digital Caviar 2170 hard drive. The capacity? 170 Megs. My current hard drive could hold 147 of these. And that was my big drive. My smaller drive was 80 Megs.

        How did I fit anything on there?

        • Hollywoodland

        Zombie Talk

        “What’s your favorite way,” I ask Matt at work, “to kill zombies underwater?”

        Tim answers before Matt can get his mind around the question. “I’d pull him down to the bottom and get his toe stuck in the drain.”

        It takes us a moment to realize that in his imagination, an underwater zombie battle takes place in the municipal swimming pool.

        Matt decides that if he were in the ocean he’d tie a concrete block to a zombie’s leg and let go. “That way he’d sink to the bottom and never get out.”

        Steve, who favors the spear gun method says, “But that wouldn’t kill him. He’d just be on the bottom of the ocean, chilling.”

        Matt counters, “But eventually, he’d rot away and then he’d fall apart and become plankton. And then a whale would eat it.”

        This gets us on the subject of zombie whales for a while. What would a zombie whale look like? Would it swim around moaning in humpback song language about brains? How do you kill it? Harpoon to the skull?

        We’re on the subject of zombies, I think, because it’s almost Halloween. Zombies are on our minds. And because I’m wearing this shirt. Amoeba’s only open until seven on Halloween because after dark it gets really strange in that neighborhood–lots of people with masks, lots without, all of them drunk. So we’re shutting down early and going over to Inez and Hiland’s house for a zombie party.

        I was thinking about dressing up as the “Drum Machines Have No Soul” guy and jamming a drumstick into my skull. But now I think I’m just gonna go to Cinema Secrets and get me some woochie.

        • Hollywoodland

        Bust Legal

        The ongoing struggle of my buddy Mark continues. He finally books another role in a TV show. His last one has spun around the nation in repeats a couple times, but he is ready for something new. Boy, is he ever. And this time he’s playing a cop, something he’s always wanted to either be or play.

        But the show is Just Legal, with Don Johnson and Jay Baruchel, that old-guy-vs.-young-hotshot offering from the land of Jerry Bruckheimer. And four shows in, The WB pulls the plug. Mark doesn’t even get to shoot his episode.

        But at least he gets paid.

          Pajama Party

          This is a scan from an photograph of me that was taken a few years ago. If you’re wondering why I’m wearing that faux-devilish expression, click here.

          .
          .
          .

          You’ll notice that my arm is tucked up under me in a classic pose of unconscious terror.

          • Hollywoodland

          Dragon Magazine

          As I dig deeper and deeper through my collections and piles of worldly things I find more and more stuff that I just don’t need. Case in point: sixty-two issues of DRAGON MAGAZINE that I’ve been carting around since I was a pre-teen Fantasy Gamer. Don’t get me wrong. I love these old issues. The covers are gorgeous and when I open one I whiplash back into the early Eighties so completely and I get so immersed in, say, the intricacies of ballistae that I’d miss the end of the world if it happened.

          But I’m parting with them at last, and have heaved them up onto the auction block.

          Bid away, all you nostalgic gamers.

            More Rain

            I mention the rain in yesterday’s post, but I forget to post the picture I’d taken of the deluge outside my apartment. I veer off on that Eric Shaeffer rant instead.

            I think it’s because yesterday is Lauren’s birthday and I feel like I’d rather write about a director who drives me crazy than compose a thoughtful, delicate note to her. It’s like the difference between building a giant boulder out of papier mache and folding an origami swan. The boulder is a hell of a lot easier.

            *sigh*

            Anyway, here’s that pic. (Click the image to see it full-size.)

            • Cinema
            • Hollywoodland

            rain

            Once again, the skies have opened up over Los Angeles. Seems to be getting an early start this year, and I was just getting into that tiny little bit of Fall.

            And hey, speaking of Fall, does anyone remember seeing that movie Fall, by Eric Schaeffer? I love Eric Schaeffer. And I hate him. He’s got an ego the size of Nebraska. He writes dialogue very well, but he always gives himself the best lines and casts himself opposite assorted supermodels and always, always writes himself a good, kinky sex scene or two. In that way, he’s like Woody Allen, but without the self-effacement that makes Woody so good.

            Schaeffer came in to Rocket Video one night when I was working. I’ve seen If Lucy Fell (which I liked), and Fall, and Wirey Spindell and even My Life’s In Turnaround, which I’d let someone show me again but only if they were fresh out of bamboo to shove under my fingernails. He’s got a cute blonde on his arm and he’s spread all of his own movies on the counter except Fall and he’s asking if we have it in stock, because he wants to show her one of his movies and he can’t seem to find that one. Fall, we don’t have, I tell him, because it’s out of print. I even tell him that I’d recently looked it up on eBay to see if we could get a replacement, but copies are going for $45 at the time because it’s so hard to find. And that’s not a lie.

            “But wait,” I say, “Don’t YOU have these movies?”

            “Yeah, I do,” he says, “At home in New York.”

            “Well, don’t sweat it. Fall’s not the one she should see first time out. Go for If Lucy Fell.”

            “Yeah, you think so?”

            I think about how in Fall he brings the frigid character played by Amanda De Cadenet to orgasm by dry-humping her against his refrigerator [and only now, as I’m typing this, do I finally get that symbolism.] “You’re not as sexually intimidating in that one.”

            “Good point.”

            He checks out If Lucy Fell and heads out into the night, calling back a promise to bring us a copy of Fall the next time he comes through town. Yeah, right, I think. Like that’s gonna happen.

            Then a couple seeks later we have a copy of Fall. Attached is a note. “From Eric.”

            I can’t stand him. But I gotta love him.

            .
            .
            .

            So anyway, yeah, it rained today.

            • keefe
            • Music

            Reviews By Michael Keefe (late!)

            The white rabbit takes one look at me and sits down for a spot of tea.

            That spot of virus/adware infection threw me a little off schedule. Wandering minstrel, intinerant falconer and spinner of white truths, Michael Keefe, gave me these reviews for publishing a good two weeks ago. And I’m finally getting the chance to give them the web-time they deserve. Of special note is his lengthy look at the new Franz Ferdinand album. Also in there is a sneak peak at the excellent upcoming album by Goldfrapp (delayed for various reasons in this country until February 2006) and a heap of praise for the new effort by Paul McCartney.

            Enjoy. And sorry about the delay. I’ll be more on the ball next time.

            Allison Goldfrapp

            • Hollywoodland

            Spader

            Hey, I’m blogging from work. I’m on a quick break (fifteen minutes) and I already squandered most of it on a tuns fish sandwich. Time’s running out, so I’m under a little stress here to think of something interesting to say. Sure I could write about the terrible situation in Afghanistan. Or the interesting situation in which Bush has found himself since nominating Meier for the Supreme Court. Or even the the fact that China has sent some more Cosmonauts into space (which are like astronauts, but who read Cosmo.)

            But all I can think of right now is that every time I see him, James Spader always seems to be wearing a funny hat.

              Tigers

              Tomdog posts photos of some incredible artwork over at Buzznet. The artist is Cai Guo-Qiang. The sculptures are made of paper mache, plaster, resin, fiberglass and painted hide. And man, are they effective.

              More here and here.