Jason Toney

South by Southeast

"Scared money don't make none." - Kelis

it finally happened: I got a phone call yesterday from a guy who got mentioned in this online journal the first week I was writing. He wasn't amused that I had put him out there by name, upset because he thought I was thinking about him a certain way, and so on and so forth. Its one of my greatest fears with this thing. It started off called "better left unsaid" because I'd made a habit of biting my tongue. I'm always worried that something I say is going to offend someone, not allow them to continue to think of me as this nice guy, the nicest guy they know. Well, I used to be. I do try to make an effort to give people nicknames here to protect their anonymity as this is a public place but I'm not going to apologize for anything I say here. Its what I was thinking on that day at that moment. I haven't done anything to you except use something that you've said or done to create a context with which I can understand the world and my life better. None of this is about you, its about me. I thought long and hard yesterday about editing that early post and taking down his name but fuck it. I'm sorry that feelings were hurt but I'm not sorry I said it and I'm not even going to explain and justify why the statement was valid. Its just me cat...and its not about you.

the arts: Scooby Doo the movie? Wow. i have nothing constructive at all to say other than that Freddie Prinze Jr. was the best part of the film. That should give you some idea of how strange this film was. I didn't even understand what was going on half the time. And every trailer before it sucked. Country Bears? Wow. Although I did get a PPG: The movie trailer but it wasn't the good Mojo Jojo one they are running on TNT (it absolutely rules. Mojo knows drama). Minority Report? A little long but pretty darn good. Apparently I like bald chicks as Agatha had me hooked from the moment she screamed "Murder!" Afterwards though I really wanted to drink pepsi, buy a lexus, shop at the gap and wear a bulgari watch. Mad product placement, yo. It took us a hundred years to get out of the parking lot though. I so desperately wanted to motor under the little chain and escape. I will drive the mini-cooper before all is said and done. We even saw one being rented at the fancy rental car place in beverly hills. Red with a Union Jack on the roof. I almost stole it. Let's motor, for real.

Buy Wanderland. Just pony up the dollars. Scared Money and Little Suzy are the stand out tracks but the majority of the album is pretty damn strong. Its amazing what the Neptunes can do when they have an entire album to work with. Its just aural pleasure. That's all.

politicking: I always knew there was a reason The Fountainhead was my favorite read when I was in High School, I just didn't know it made me a slightly right wing libertarian. But according to the Political Compass test that's exactly what I am. I'm mostly a social anarchist, which I think is kind of cool, but my mistrust of government, government instituted social programs and government instituted corporate controls makes me a little more right wing than I am comfortable with. But maybe its just me breaking out of the box. Ayn Rand's concept of individualism and selfishness really speaks to me and what I think about the world. Most specifically this:

Ayn Rand defines 'selfishness' as concern for one's own interests.

In most dictionaries, it's the excessive or exclusive regard for self, and a disregard for others.

I'm with Ayn. I don't think having the greatest concern for one's own interests is married to a disregard for others. Its probably why I went on a whole capitalism/libertarian tirade way back when.

But anyway my political compass? economic left/right: 0.88 authoritarian/libertarian: -4.88

I wonder if this means one day I'm going to just tune out and live homeless in berkeley pontificating on the streets so that I can control both my independence and my pocketbook without any of the confines of society? Probably so.

traditional blog style

"I wanna go to a beautiful, beautiful" - India.Arie

quick notes: Just because I like to do things traditional blog style every once in a while. Kevin Lincoln sat in for Jason Bentley on Metropolis last night and dropped this ridiculous Neptunes remix of the Daft Punk track Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger. Then he dropped the Viktor Duplaix white label, Sensuality, which I had never heard on the radio before. Mr. Lincoln actually just blew up the spot during his first hour with lots of ridiculous things from Charles Webster, N.E.R.D. and an acoustic slowed down version of Romeo by the Basement Jaxx. Speaking of music, if you like internet radio, check out these stations on spinner.com: the new neo-soul channel, quincy jones djs, no doubt dj's, funk and eclecticXL. That neo-soul station is pretty deep.

page six tried to clown the unstoppable Roots crew on some bullshit. ?uestlove will not stand for it. pleasebelieveit.

george has a mad discussion going on about Angela Bassett that's really about black roles in cinema. My .02 cents? I wasn't offended by Monster's Ball, just bored. The only thing oppressive about the film is the pacing. Its like the heavy air on a hot day. Just beating you to death.

jen seems to like infecting me with venereal disease. Quit it.

Turn my phone back on sprintpcs. I paid the bill now give me back my least favorite form of communication.

Happy 15th birthday, sis.

where's jason?: mostly working his ass off. If you've had trouble finding me as late, despite my having major illness and trying to sleep it off when I can, I've got mad work to do, I'm in mad meetings trying to finagle a work trip to Jamaica, my schedule has been mad busy with many things going on in June, plus while I was sick, the cell phone bill didn't get paid and time warner keeps not coming to install my cable modem so the home phone is constantly on the busy busy with the dialup connection. I hope to be back amongst the living soon but no promises, man. The schedule is so mad crazy that when I can get some just jason time, i'm taking it. Fo'rilla.

Just like at the zoo...

"Aww Naw, Hell Naw, Boy, Ya'll done up and done it." - Nappy Roots

Bourne, Jason Bourne: I'm still sick but I was feeling well enough to escape the confines of my apartment and brave the world. I left about noon to go see The Bourne Identity. I got there with plenty of time so I got a Malibu Melt and a Passion Iced Tea at Tacone Wraps and sat down in the food court of the Woodland Hills Promenade with some N.E.R.D. in the headphones and A.H.W.O.S.G. in the hands pretending like I was going to get some reading in when it was obvious that I was going to people watch. There were the Working Black Actors out with their families. I can't remember their names but I know they've played police officers and angry lawyers and corrupt politicians in some films and tv roles. There were the cookie cutter teeny bopper kids. The "punk-skate" boys who probably don't know much about punk or skate but have the cargo pants and soap shoes to prove they are cool. Following them are the giggly girls with too much makeup on all wearing the same clothes to show that they are stylish. Not stylish in the sense that they have a style but stylish in the sense that they are current. The hip hugging form fitting jeans that are a little too long but are boot cut so as to show off their feet in the flat sandals that I hate so much. Just a little heel on the shoe, Flat shoes so just ruin the leg and foot for me. Just a little arch for me, ok? Thank you. They also wear the big belt with the many loops and the halter top with their bellies ponched out. These are definitely young girls though and their baby fat bellies just kind of stick out there as a reminder that they are too young to be wearing these clothes yet they will anyway because their parents are too busy with their divorces to care that their 14 year old has a belly button ring and thong underwear. Or too scared that they have ruined their children by getting divorced and that said children won't love them anymore, these parents just let them get away with everything hoping to buy their love with designer jeans and expensive lip gloss and large allowances. Hoping to gain their approval by showing how cool they are by not chastising their 12 year olds when they kiss their boyfriend or girlfriend in public, by buying them tickets to the 'R' rated sexy movie and then letting them go in by themselves hand in hand with their boyfriend/girlfriend. Looking pensive as they walk away with their hands moving to each others behinds. Wanting so badly to do what's right, to parent them. To tell them, hands off. No Sex. Stop That. If you ruin my son/daughter, I'll kill you. But not doing it because they've somehow screwed up already and they need that approval from their children. Just love me, Becky. Need me, Johnny. I promise I won't be a bad daddy. I'll be a better mommy next time. Promise.

Then there are these three girls. 16. The kind of girls I would have noticed in high school, would've loved to get to know better but I wouldn't have had nearly the confidence in my own social status to take the risk. There's this one, short cropped hair, long printed sock/stocking things and two different pumas on her feet. Smugly confident in her individuality. Relishing it. Wanting nothing to do with the carbon copy models she sees standing in the movie ticket line. I overhear their conversation talking about Morrissey and Jim Morrison, about art class being the only class they can stand. And English. English is alright. They never say to each other "I really love your hair" or "Did you see what Brad was wearing?" There are far more important things. These are the kind of girls who in 10 years will likely be the women I hope to meet and fall in love with now. The kind of women who have stories that no one else could tell. The kind of women who won't want to talk to me about which Lexus they are about to purchase but which band they are in love with right now, which artist is just amazing that I should check out. The kind of women that will care about what book I'm reading and make suggestions about what I should follow that up with.

Then there's the hunchback kid. No matter how comfortable I am with disability, how normal the people behind that physical ailment are, I still can't help but feel nervous around them. I don't want to offend by staring but I also don't want to offend by looking away. Of course I notice. Its impossible not to notice but they are just like anybody else, right? I shouldn't make special recognition because I stared too long processing that this kid has a huge hump on his shoulder, that he has to take larger steps to maintain his balance, that his head must be incredibly uncomfortable sitting on that angle, right? Hunchback kid has a cell phone and friends. This cat is having a grand ol' party and here I sit by my lonesome. I'm such a loser. Can't even get any friends to go to the movies with me, go on a date with, make sweet love to. Except, I wanted to come alone. Didn't even make the effort to call someone to come with. I enjoy the movies alone. Enjoy getting there early, finding the perfect seat, watching without having to form opinions about it. Being able to watch others watch the movie. I'm not a loser. This is a choice. I don't care that hunchback kid has friends. They're geeks anyway. Hmmph. Yay me, I'm better than the disabled kid. God, this must be the sinus drugs talking, right? I'm not this shallow or insecure normally. Am I?

Now come the Hot Moms. I don't get the hot moms. How does this happen? How do you have a toddler, less than 2 years old and have this amazing body. Have the time to get your hair right, the makeup right, the clothes that match the shoes? The body is the most intriguing. An 8 month old and your tummy is flat and you're wearing the tight jeans and the belly shirt? You're making use of the engorged breasts by rocking the white tee bra-less, letting the cleavage do your talking for you. Is it genetic? Is your body just made of some kind of elasticene that snapped back into place as soon as the little rugrat popped out? How do you have time to know that that belt is in style? That the cute blue drawstring top with the puffy sleeves is in this season? Oh, its because you let your kids run wild. I see. You have time because you don't care that your child just knocked over a man's tray, tripped a woman in line and destroyed some AMC theatre property. Hot Moms can be hot because their priorities haven't changed post-baby. Hot Moms kind of suck.

They are nothing compared to Cute Mom. Cute mom has a couple more pounds post pregnancy but she wears it well. She's got on the khakhi pants and tennis shoes because she's used to chasing children. She doesn't have time for much makeup besides a little lip gloss and that's mostly because they get chapped from screaming all the daggone time. Her hair is in a cute short cut because she doesn't have time to comb her hair. She's smiling though. Radiant because she is aware of who she is. She knows she is doing the Mommy thing right. She knows her children are not getting into trouble. They wave hi and hug their friends. They don't stick out their tongues and try to knock down the old lady. Cute mom kinda rules in every way that a woman can rule. She not only rules. Cute mom rocks.

The movie? Pretty darn good, man. Very intense. Run, Lola Run girl so wants to be my girlfriend. Lots of killing though...I'm surprised at the PG-13 rating.

creep with me

"Whoo, bad boys, whatcha gonna do" - Cops on the TV

the results are in: I can't see. I'm fighting another sinus infection. The chompers are in need of a deep cleaning. Fun with the eye doctor, the medical doctor and the dentist all in one day. No surprises from the MD and the DDS but the eye doctor -- Dr. Konishita, who makes corny jokes all throughout the eye exam...every time -- thinks my eyes might be too light sensitive and sensitive in general for contacts. Which I'm totally okay with because that poking myself in the eye stuff just wasn't appealing to me anyway. I got new glasses and am supposed to come back in 6 months and maybe try some test lenses. I like the new glasses though. Titanium wire frames, small and rectangular. I think they look good on my face but I can't really tell, the eyes are mad dilated.

creep with me...: Its been a real Snoop Dogg life these past two days. I worked only a half day yesterday because of the bad sinuses and ended up at home watching a little Movie House on MTV with Snoop interviewing Adam Sandler. I watched Baby Boy on cinemax (which I had no expectation of liking but was actually rather decent. Tyrese is a pretty good actor even though he annoys me to death. I was expecting a big bullshit story because I just have very little confidence in John Singleton's ability to write a strong script -- he writes great dialogue, but great scenes...not so much -- but it works. There's some over acting, some over melodramatic scenes but the story overall was pretty okay. Ving Rhames did his usual amazing job and I was actually swerved by the ending. I still think that Mr. Singleton seems to like justifiable homicide a little too much with his characters often not having to deal with those consequences but that's par for the course in the hood drama, so I guess I shouldn't single him out) and talked with Moniquue last night who wanted to be watching Snoop perform at SKIN in Vegas while dotcom producer was feeling the bass from that performance in her hotel room. I watched American Pimp which is essentially a snoop dogg handbook.

I have a confession to make. I have an obsession with this cat. Ever since his first recorded verse..."creep with me as I roll through the hood, maniac lunantic call me Snoop Eastwood" Snoop Dogg has been the illest. There's just something...I want to roll with Snoop. I think everybody wants to roll with snoop. I don't need to get blunted with him. I don't need to get my c-walk on and represent the LBC. But I do wanna chill in the Snoop crib and watch a little basketball. Drop some "izzles" in my styzle for shizzle my nizzle. Ya feel me? I want to be infected with this game, here. G-A-M-E. And there is no cure. Me, Snoop and Quik. Maybe that should be my documentary project. Like "Breakfast with Blassie" I want to just break bread with Calvin and the Quiksta and talk about this west coast thang. How the bloods and the crips can get along today. How they got this paper. How they stay true to themselves while still being accessible to the masses. Oh Joy. Then we can call up E-40 and get sprinkled with some new language. Ya underdig? Oh Joy. Oh Boy. Sprinkle me.

Excuse me while I go shoplift from a liquour store and pick up some ho's to put out on the track tonight. Ya'll don't know nothin' bout this pimpin' here.

Squares.

p.s. since i'm in here editing. Doesn't that cat in the Big Tymers look like Bookman? I noticed this while I went through the record store waiting for my new glasses. Definitely got some "Booger" goin' on.

p.p.s.

"I hit skins for the hell of it, for the yell I get...mmm mmm mmm for the smell of it" - Salt N Pepa

post party syndrome: My body aches. My nose drips. My eyes are puffy. All I want to sleep, but I can't get there. Apparently the crash takes you far lower than the high of the party.

So I'm here in my underwear watching Bernie Mac hungry but having no energy with which to get up, get some clothes on and go get something to eat. Just the mere thought of it is tiring. So, I'm spending some time on the web.

Cecily and I are discussing Southwest airlines decision to enforce an old policy.

Clarence Page pretty concisely explains what I think about profiling, racial or otherwise. just to keep the little airline focus going.

and now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to lay down right here and expire.

vegas, pt. deux

"Your life and my life, its not so predictable." - Raphael Saadiq

*note: if you haven't read part I of The LV Chronicles...scroll down.

preamble: Instant Vintage and Verve Remixed are in heavy rotation right now. Really heavy. I'm so overwhelmed by the prospect of work today that I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know where to begin. I wish I could tell you about several of the cats I was chilling with this weekend past but I can't. At least not until October. *hold the phone*

I was just informed I have 9 days of vacation time. Then in October, I get 10 more...
That would be a month's worth of vacation right? The lovely Miss Anna Baby? We can go to Sedona whenever, I've got tons o' time.

*back to life, back to reality* Let me drop some pictures on you though:

I had plans on falling in love with this one but,

I really fell in love with this one.

Like mad love. But, as I'm sure many of you know, I'm quick to fall in love with everyone. Especially in Vegas. At times this weekend, I was in love with these two above, the C.A.P., Dr. Laura (no, not that one), Bochex, Erossica, Fletch, Davia, Ariana from publicity (aka Sploosh Sploosh), my boy Tyson (he was wearing a camoflauge skirt and a coconut shell bra...come on, how can you not fall in love?), and Noah's Alex...but we'll get to her later.

by the by, phrase of the weekend? Bootissy Juice.

Sunday Morning (sing it Gwen Stefani Style please), 10:04am, The Palms: Also note, there won't be many pictures from this day...too many people who would hunt me down and kill me and my children and my children's children should the reality of reality get out. Its early..."Hi, Mr. Maloof. You don't look like a billionaire. I think its pretty swanky that you let the Daddy chill in your Resort & Casino when his team so recently laid the smack down on the team your family owns." The Palms is not the GC. Let's check in and say wow for webtv, let's oooh and aaah at high speed internet access as well, the down pillows, comforter and duvet, the neutrogena products in the bathroom, the safe and mini bar, the bell boy who gives me a full tour of the features being sure to point out that I can watch MTV on the television and look sir here is The Real World on syndication. Enjoy your stay. Yup, Miguel got 5 bucks because good service deserves a good tip...and the more time I spend in vegas the more likely that I will forget how to be fiscal. Yeah, fiscal Jason is not allowed in Vegas. He gets stopped at the border every damn time.

Hi Gene Simmons, nice to see you again. Going down? What do you mean you'd like to go down on that woman in the elevator with us? She's his wife? Oh, you say you don't have "wife" in your vocabulary. Ha ha ewww. Let's not talk anymore. No, I still don't want to see your tongue.

Hi Mom and Pop (the bosses for those not in the know). Having a good time, pop? Did you enjoy O? I'm glad. Oh you ate in the hotel yesterday? At Ah-lees? Where's that? Oh, you mean Alize. Pop, you're pretty classy. Ah-lees...wow.

The gag reel is funny. The reactions of the cast to the premiere episode is funnier. It must be really weird to have your life put to a soundtrack. We delight over the use of "roll-out" as well as a great Elvis track and a good "Frank Sinatra" track. The music budget must be larger. I will give Wilson props...he drops at least 3 good tracks per episode. Good lookin' out.

There's Noah, he's lookin' tore up. Where are the boys Noah? They're tore up. Where'd you guys go? Drays and Club Paradise. I'm not surprised. You had a local take you around? She's a friend of yours? She's hot? More on this later...

Whoo its hot. Why are we outside when it is 102 degrees? But the bbq is excellent, the drinks are flowing and the kids from LA start to arrive. There's Erossica and Gylon. What's up RJ! Right Right. No, I'm not getting in the pool. Yes, I do remember Howl at the Moon. Why does everyone keep bringing that up? Bad memories man...Company parties are scary. But what happens in Vegas stays in vegas so we should be all good.

except of course if you have an online journal I guess.

There's that Cat. My bitter Enemy. Why is he such a tool? Apparently he danced on one of the busses? Yeah, I'm sure that went over big. Tool.

Okay, let's put the footsies in the water because its hot. More drinks please. Wait. Hold the phone. Who is that with Eflinn? Who?! Oh. My. Fucking. God. The party is on. It's The Lechtastic!

Now, understand that when Shannon Lechner and I are together in Vegas its like Bonnie & Clyde in a bank. Some shit's just going to happen. Recognize that the last time we were in Vegas together we got my mom drunk on "Adios Motherfuckers" we outlasted the entire Madonna Concert Production crew Partying. We had a drag race or a chicken contest between our cab and a limo at 5:42 in the morning, we came up with the concept of a show called "Player 101" based on our attempts to school one of friends on how to meet ladies at the Circle Bar and we broke many, many hearts as we are want to do.

And for the last time, no we aren't dating. No, Mr. Rankine, she's not my girl. No LA Steve, there's nothin' going down. Fletch, hey, no, we're not together. I don't care that she has her hand on Fake Andy Garcia's thigh. We just get each other, okay? And let's leave it alone.

So, let's hook up The Lechtastic with access to the party. Let's change clothes for nighttime festivities. Dig the shirt? You love it. Dig the shoes? You love those too. There's a style going on. I'm not saying I'm stylish, I'm just saying nobody else will be kicking it like I do.

Forget food, the main course is blue drinks and tropical orange drinks. The DJ is not droppin some Naked Music on me? Awww, its on now. What's up Big Wilson and LA Steve. We partyin' tonight? Of course we are. What's fake andy garcia doing here? Ahhh...then its on and its on. Yes Steve, everyone has heard about our adventures in Vegas. Let's not get in any bar fights tonight okay? Remember, I'm about peace. Wanna check out the loft? I've got full access, baby, let's do this.

The brain is a bit numb at this point. Its about 8:30pm. The sun is setting, we're preparing to move to the Ghost Bar for the continued private party affair. Some folks are already in the worst way. As usual, its the cats that haven't been to a BMP party before. Pace yourself kids. Don't do your dirt until we are in the right situation. I'm not saying you shouldn't be yourself in mixed company but it should be the right mix. Ya feel me?

This is the company's lawyer, as well as my own. His wife is pretty orthodox:

I hope she understands that her husband has canned heat on his heels tonight baby. He's my new idol. That's all I'm saying.

Fabrice wore light blue printed pants. He has more style then I do. I can't front. But we had our standard dance off. Ladies love it. Need the proof? Immediately after, Fake Andy Garcia introduces me to his two "friends." They work at the Hard Rock Hotel. As Bar backs or go go dancers or something. Olivia is quite cute in a very plastic get me out of vegas kind of way.

"Hi, Jason...you're the best dancer I've seen in a while."

"Sho' you're right."

"Can you take us to the loft? I love MTV"

Now, obviously this woman understands just how sexy, virulent and wonderful I am. She's seen me drop some moves on the floor. She's seen me handle mine. There is no way that she is just being exceedingly pleasant to me because I can get her access to places nobody not a part of production should get to see. Obviously right? I'm too slick to get caught up...

So we're in the loft because hey...I may be smart but I'm not stupid.

Arm in arm we walk. She smells like cinnamon.

"Jason, what's this."

"Aww baby girl, that's just a little microphone. But we tell them its a light switch. Check out the infrared cameras. Don't sit there. Its covered in bootissy juice."

"Bootissy Juice."

"Just like it sounds, baby girl, just like it sounds."

We're back at the Ghost bar. Fake Andy Garcia is making time with the other girl. I think we've got a decent thing going on for the evening. Olivia and I get our dance on. LA Steve and Wilson don't look too amused. Awww, fuck. They were trying to make time. Too bad, cats. In Vegas, a real playa gets in where he fits in. (*please note that I only act this way in Vegas. I don't know what it is. Its just the nature of the beast. I'm far more respectful of things back at home. I'm also not getting any action at home so maybe I should change my tactics.*)

LA Steve comes by and whispers in my ear, "If you dance any closer, you'll need a condom." meanwhile, Olivia whispers in my ear, "Is that Erik from O-Town."

"Ok, Olivia, you watch too much MTV."

"I know." She giggles and pulls my hand around to her belly so I can play with the belly button ring. Of course she has a belly button ring.

I'm feeling like I'm neglecting my cats, so I leave Olivia to find The Lechtastic. We discuss going to other places. The plan is to hit the light at the Bellagio. Tae-Bo has a hookup. I see Fake Andy Garcia dragging Olivia away. I take Olivia's hand.

"Hey, I was looking for you. We have to go find Andy's roommate. Are you still going to light?"

"Yeah."

"We're going to all go together. Fake Andy got a limo." Meanwhile, Fake Andy is giving me dirty looks.

So The Lechtastic and I do our final rounds. Dance a little carribean dance as we go through the dancehall and salsa music. Where's Tae-Bo? Where's LA Steve? Wilson? Noah? Fake Andy?

Motherfuckers. I got cock-blocked out the shot, like Shaq was in the lane.

The Lechtastic and I give each other a look. We're going. No way we get denied. The party is where we are. God Damn Motherfucker.

We roll into Light. Well, we stopped for Patron shots first. I pay the 40 bucks to get us in. I drop 40 bucks on 2 drinks and a water. Its 1am on a Sunday in Vegas. There is no way to not be big pimpin' in this situation.

Look who's here. They assed us out for some O-Town cats. It's cool though. Olivia jumps on me. We immediately get back to where we were...but she gets a phone call and she jets for awhile. She comes back and tells me her boyfriend is pissed she's out. Positive K lyrics are running through my head.

But I still have standards and respect for relationships so I spend less time with Olivia and a little more time with Fletch and The Lechtastic. Stu-hype is there as well with his lady. The DJ is off the hook. I'm just killin' it. Fuck a 7 minute work-out. Let's talk about 7 hours. Everybody there except me is rollin' in an E kind of way. I just don't need it. The music is my high. Hey, anti-drug cats...there's my PSA.

There's Alex. Lechner and I discuss how she is the sexiest dancer on the planet. How we want to dropkick the go-go dancer on the box and put Alex up there. We argue over who wants to "do her more" because when I'm with Lechner, I'm a swine. Its okay. Its 2:45 AM and we're Hustler's Baby, we want you to know.

Lechner tells Alex that we both want to "do her" and it gets a little too real for me real quick. But luckily Leola and Dr. Laura roll in and I shuffle away so I can spend time with them. We chill with Trevor. I ask my man, why he's not hanging with us...we got ladies and everything...but he'd rather be in the dance circle with his boys. Typical. Still not a player, still crushin' a lot.

Spags comes in lookin' like Joey Bishop. All he needs is a pinky ring or something. Its 4am. The legs are on fire. But the DJ is just droppin' hit after hit. We can't stop. Its gettin' hot...so hot in herre. The other boys realize they aren't getting any this night so we all start to powder out at about 4:30.

Even though they tried to cock-block me, we're all friends as the sun comes up. 5:37AM...time to go Nigh-Nigh.

8:32am Monday, The Morning After (Pill? Nah, cuz I'm a good boy): I'm up again because I can't sleep late. I go down for breakfast around 10 and recap with some folks. I'm reminded that we have another party in LA that evening. Apparently, it never ends.

Any questions?

vegas, pt. uno

"This is what I need...is a pretty woman next to me. Someone who truly understands how to treat a man...this is what I need" - P.Diddy (Its grown on me...i'm not ashamed)

before it all becomes clear: I'm reading Dave Eggers "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" right now and absolutely loving it. He writes some lines that remind me of Anna Mail (Not that we're demanding. No--we're fun! Easy, laid-back. Ha ha. Yes. Fun.) and he writes some lines that I might write if I were but witty enough (The house was perfect. Or rather, it was not at all perfect, but was far less imperfect than anything else we'd seen.). Its wonderful non-fiction that actually feels rather like an online journal. Some of it has been enhanced for good story, some of the names have been changed, some of it, I'd gather, is downright fiction. But, the emotion is there...the truth is bubbling under and it resonates. Which is one of my new favorite words.

I didn't get the chance to see monique while I was in the LV. She was injured on Friday night and surprisingly (or maybe not so much) pretty much every moment of my time over the weekend was being utilized. So, on with the show...

Friday, 5:02pm, Limbo Time: When I arrive at an airport, any location where I'm waiting for a stranger to take me to my destination, actually, I feel like I'm in limbo and I like it. I put my headphones on, I read my book or magazine, I people watch. I don't want to talk to anyone. In that space, I don't really know you. We may be great friends but this is a transition. I'm here but soon I'll be there. And there I'm a different person. Especially when there is Vegas. I'm not quite big pimpin' when I'm there cuz, you know, the dollars aren't that long, but I sure as hell represent to the fullest as it were. Its the land of decadence, you have to act like it. The post supervisor who I didn't know was flying on the same plane as me understood this and left me to my own devices while we shared the same line of seats waiting for the plane. DJ Shadow's Private Press was the music. Strippers heading to Vegas for the big money weekend was most of the people watching fun. The little steel makeup case. The big hair. The super nails. Fun Fun.

Friday, 8:10pm, The GC: The Gold Coast is home for the next 36 hours or so. I give monique a call, she informs me of some bad fortune and tells me not to laugh at her...but its hard. Its cool though because my evening has already filled with some thangs and I have only been in town for about 5 minutes. I hook up with the dotcom team,

plus the cool ass photographer

and we head out to Hamada of Japan for some sushi and some planning. 200 bucks later, we're a little bit spaced out on drinks, bright lights and a lot of raw fish. We head to Fremont (is it Fremont or Frontier?) street to do some scouting. I'm not amused. They've covered the street with this weird video wall that provides a laser light show every 30 minutes including some nonsense called "Kickin' Country." Yeah, let's not kick it, ok? Its just not right. Kids are running around watching the light show while the girls of glitter gulch are trying to entice their fathers into the topless bar. Ew.

Cool ass photographer and I decide that what we need after this random nonsense is to make some big money. And where else can you make big money besides that high roller's 3 dollar blackjack table at the GC? Apparently many other places, as I quickly go down 97.50 while the C.A.P. breaks even. The GC does not give good free drinks...they really don't. But the Klique (the filipino cover band in the GC lounge) is running through popular songs of the 70's, 80's, 90's and today and we're digging it. But not quite digging the woman at our table who tells us how she has seizures all the time. Or the fact that she's a bad anchor totally screwing up our opportunities to win. Or that she has the worst teeth. And an aroma that is not at all enticing. This is not the kind of Vegas lady I'm about. So, its 2am and its time for bed because we have an 8am call time in the morn.

Saturday, The Palms, 8am, they call this work?: Dotcom producer (please note...red pics are from saturday night when copious amounts of vodka served to make me forget the flash)

is freaking out, man. Its 8:22am and our subjects for the day are no where to be found. The first wrap party went to 5am the night before. They aren't answering their hotel phones. The production office is closed. The spa is ready for them but there ain't nobody to gussy up. I expected this. Dotcom producer should expect this...but its always a stressful proposition for her. Maybe that's why she's a producer and I'm a manager. Stress is not for me. I finally am able to rouse the gang of 7 at about 10am and we do our photo shoot by the slots. Strange old people harass us all morning. Are most of the Vegas tourists, ugly? I'm not hating, i'm just saying...damn. Let's wear clothes that match, let's brush the teeth, let's not scratch in public, let's not blow the smoke in my face while you talk to me with your halitosis breath and make me watch the spittle ball grow at the corner of your mouth. Let's not.

Hey, there's Elliot Gould. And John Ritter. And Dustin Hoffman. I love Vegas.

Poor Dotcom PA:

We send him out to get lunch at Baja Fresh. But Dotcom Producer gives him the wrong address. The Poor kid is gone for 2 hours searching for a baja fresh that was only about 7 minutes away. We thought he got carjacked. He was not amused. Its sad, I like this cat. I'm going to set him up. He needs a girl...I have a girl that needs him. We're going to make it happen, make it happen. They both have favorite pairs of blue pants. It must be kismet. But I'm off topic. We eat lunch in the lovely suite that I can't show you pictures of. It rules...let's just say that.

Hey, There's Shaq. He gives a brotha a nod. I give a brotha a pound. We give the manly handshake hug. "Ghostbar tonight, playboy?" "If I get some time, player..." "Yo, mtv..." "Yeah, big dog?" "Tonya's crazy." "Fo' really tho." "Peace" "Peace". I love Vegas.

Saturday, Mandalay Bay, 8:45pm, The Red Square: 450 bones...dinner for 12. Drinks for a hundred. Let's explain the reality of being a reality star. Let's flirt with the C.A.P. and talk about her tattoos and punk music. Let's watch the Zebra shirted lady fall on her ass. Hee. Why is your friend in a tiara? Why does every group of midwesterners in Vegas have at least one woman wearing a tiara? Quit trippin'. Belvedere Gimlet? Thank You. Another? Sho' Nuff. Lenin's Kryptonite? OK. This is a Martini? No, this is a shot. Okay...look at this meal:

look at these drinks:

and look at me in a bad way:

Now that we're all feelin' lovely, let's discuss R. Kelly and make up funny lyrics about not funny things. Let's change fiesta to molesta. Let's show love. Let's cancel the last photo shoot because these kids are tired and I'm 24 hours into Vegas time and I've transformed into a player and playa's gotta play. So we take the gang of 7 back to the hotel and tell them to get some sleep. I go back to the GC and change up to outfit #3 for the day. The C.A.P. and I do some Blackjack and talk a little more but then we meet some cowboys and I've lost her. One cowboy wins 450 bucks in 2 hands and jets. The C.A.P. jets after him and I go to meet up with the Daddy at the Ghostbar. Hey there's Gene Simmons. Let's toast. No, I don't want to see your tongue. Hey, there's the Gang of 7. Why are you here? Go to sleep! Oh, you can't sleep? Let's have drinks. On You? Whoo...Ummm, where'd the time go.

Alright, this is the end of part 1. Part II is the party. Its about to get ridiculous. Let's just mention that there was an open bar for a good 12 hours. Let's mention the cute Hard Rock Bar girls that love MTV and thus love me. Let's mention too much reality tv synergy when O-Town makes an appearance. There's also a surprise guest and 7 hours of dancing. My legs are still on fire. Here's what I looked like before it all went down after 2 hours sleep:

The Battle Continues

I haven't listened enough to know any lyrics but right now - Interlude: 6 legged Griot Trio (Weariness) - Meshell Ndegeocello

one battle won, but who will win the war?: the plan was to go to the record store and pick up cookie: the anthropological mixtape and the wanderland import if they had it. No more. I wasn't even going to go to Amoeba so I couldn't get blinded by the wonders of musical bliss. But as soon as I got in the store, instant vintage was staring me in the face. And while I was searching for imports, the private press snuck up on me. Then for 9.99, I couldn't pass up make yourself especially considering how much I've been digging them lately. So no Kelis but 54 bucks worth of music for my Vegas long weekend. The Notorious I.G.J won this time...but he felt bad about it. That's progress I guess.

nowhere fast: you can look for me, but I won't be here. 3 days, 3 nights, The lovely desert world of Las Vegas. Is it sweltering there? Prolly so. I plan on staying in the freezing casinos almost all the time though. I spent my 13th and 14th years in Vegas...fuck a heatwave flashback. By the by, my posting has been so sporadic lately because I'm working on fiction that I'm trying to keep from public consumption until its more solid. I allocate 10 -midnight most nights for writing. If I'm rolling, I do the good hour and then turn on howard stern (which is what I will be doing tonight), if I'm not, I struggle through the two hours and then take the long walk with bailey while I consider what I've written. Either way, if I'm doing the fiction thing, i'm usually not doing the bloggin' thing. Sorry. But this is a commitment to writing as a craft and being honest to my characters and my story and I want to see if I can actually follow through and finish something that's longer than 15 pages. I've never written anything that was more than 25 pages...what happens if I have a story that's 200 pages long? I can't even process that possibility. A novel? Cherish the thought.

search and destroy: amidst all the searches i get from my playboy post and the much too often for my liking pedophilia searchers that end up on my baby pimp post and the many young people looking for the harlem shake, b2k in various stages of undress and whatnot there's some interesting things people want to know:

1. asleep airplane woman nipple - because apparently vehicles in the air get drowsy and like boobies.

2. animated dolls doing the crip walk - does this really exist? why? If someone is making money off of this, I change my mind. I hate capitalism.

3. because i'm fly - well, yes...I am.

4. critical essays on undercover brotha movie - I would love to have that as a college assignment. But perhaps you should search under "brother." I like colloquialism in writing probably more than most but in this regard, cover is rhyming with brother.

5. dad roadkill - I don't even understand what this means.

6. naked chicks with chevy's - I don't think they were expecting to come to a site talking about naked chicks and chevy's...the restaurant. Would naked chicks with freshly made flour tortillas be sexy? Probably. But also fattening, I'd imagine.

7. she had a penis - well, yeah...she did. And she was still fine.

8. pharrell williams race - He came in first. *rimshot* I don't have confirmation on this but I believe Pharrell is half negro/half filipino.

catch ya next week kids...with photos to go with stories!

The Great War

"She woke in the morning and she knew her life had passed her by. And she let out a warning, don't ever let life pass you by." - Incubus

the battle rages on: Friday night, Instant Gratification Jason was in complete control. A little bit tipsy off the 3 rounds or so of Smirnoff Ice that his mother had given him, he got home and crawled into bed, socked feet peeking out from under the covers on the warm evening, the lovely G4 laptop on his chest (an aside...my G4 needs a name I think. She's starting to come with me to more and more places. She's sleek and silvery, a little scuffed around the edges -- because I don't know how to care for anything -- but beautiful nonetheless...any thoughts?) and his guard was down. Instant Gratification Jason got into a conversation with Monique about life in general and revealed that he made XX every year yet didn't have 2 nickels to rub together. Instant Gratification Jason liked it this way. It meant he was living in the moment, not denying himself the things he wanted. But this was the opportunity that Fiscal Jason was waiting for. The honest discussion of the happy things in his life and how they mixed with his fears and frustrations perked Fiscal Jason's ears as he hid somewhere deep in the crevices of the cranium. Could it be that Instant Gratification Jason had doubts? He worried about how he was going to achieve the first 2 things on his list of goals he wanted to complete in the next year. Instant Gratification Jason seemed weakened by the chat. He was introspective...and he wasn't very good at that so it took him some time to work out what he was feeling.

While Instant Gratification Jason worked through his internal demons, Fiscal Jason went back to work at organizing both of their lives. Fiscal Jason downloaded a program called Slacker. Fiscal Jason made "To Do Lists" Sacre Bleu! To Do Lists?! If Instant Gratification Jason had been aware, he never would have allowed such nonsense. To Do Lists were for people who wanted to know exactly what they were doing that day. Where was the spontaneity, the fun, the adventure in that? But Fiscal Jason was in control this weekend. Their home maintained some sense of cleanliness. Simple errands that should have been taken care of weeks before were completed. Chores were done before they were disaster areas. Things got thrown away instead of piled up. Fiscal Jason was so excited about it all that he made plans to do more. He even put it on his to do list: #6 - Make more To-do's.

Fiscal Jason woke up on Monday Morning with a plan. He made breakfast. He determined how much he would spend at lunch, what he wanted to complete in the morning. It was really quite disturbing. He even went to about.com and found links on organizing bills and maintaining household needs. He made a To Do List at work...and followed it. He updated his address book and Calendar so that he would always know when birthdays and anniversaries and other important dates were and have the information with which to send cards, gifts and letters if need be.

He came home and followed his outline and organized his bills. A pile of papers became mostly trash and 10 envelopes got stamped, checks written and placed within, with return addresses and dates written on them for when they needed to be sent. He developed a personal budget and realized he was spending far too much money on frivolous things when he could be paying off the student loans at a higher rate and saving money for his condo and his car. Fiscal Jason felt accomplished and in control and happy.

Then a pink brochure from the day's mail caught his eye. Well, to be accurate, the flash of pink which silhouetted a man with flailing dreads woke Instant Gratification Jason from his introspection. Instant Gratification Jason saw the words "KCRW's WORLD FESTIVAL 2002 at the Hollywood Bowl" and all his worries about the future went out the window. For a good 460 bones, he and a lucky someone could go to one of the summer series and sit in the terrace and see Polynesian Paradise, Global Divas III and World Reggae. Plus for another 300 bucks or so, they could see B.B. King one night and Erykah Badu & Zap Mama the next and just blow up the Summer, somethin' lovely.

Fiscal Jason chimed in, "Now, we can definitely do these shows -- I might suggest we look at the bench seats, they are only 30 bucks each -- but if we do them, we can't do Norah Jones with Jenny and Smokin' Grooves with the Martino Clan in the SD, not to mention any other shows you might come across this summer."

Instant Gratification Jason looked at Fiscal Jason like he was crazy. He said, "I'm sorry, Brah, but a brotha like the I.G. Jay don't have to choose..."

Fiscal Jason replied, "You're losing it right now..."

The I.G. Jay said, "You wanna go, Brah? We can settle things like how I settle things..."

And it was just like Making the Band Season 1 all over again.

Who will win? I still don't know...

Other thoughts tonight: Where's Jennifer Tilly? Why does everyone on the internet think they are cupid? Is Truth Hurts just kind of scary looking in her video or all the time? And if you happen to go to Daddy's any time soon, say hi to Laura (the bar back) and Brenden (the doorman)...they rule in many ways.

cinema for dummies

"Must be the reason why I'm king of my castle. Must be the reason why I'm making examples of you..." - Wamdue Project

After Miss Sandler made dinner for Jenny and I for her birthday which is not on the 6th but, of course, is on the 8th of June (I still think you're lying...), we (we being myself, Tracy and E! Julie) headed out to the Loews Cineplex in Century City. The plan? See Sum of All Fears, get Tracy some candy and enjoy the fun little action movie centered on nuclear bombs and white supremacist terrorism. Fun for the whole family is what I thought. Yeah, the movie gods once again wish to ruin my love of the cinema.

There's only one guy working the theater and he's not amused. He's selling tickets at the concession stand but we can't buy concessions and our tickets at the same time. Tracy wants to know if she can get candy first. He says "No! Tickets first." Yeah, he's a barrel of laughs. So we buy tickets and get in and Tracy heads to the bulk candy bins...the same bins she was heading to before, mind you, and fun boy implied that once we bought our tickets she could get some bulk candy from the lovely bulk candy bins. He then says, "That station is closed." Okay, let's take a moment here so you can get a clear picture. Did you ever watch Animaniacs? My favorite character in the whole thing was Slappy Squirrell (besides Pinky and the Brain but come on, they are everyone's true favorite.). Slappy had a nephew, Skippy, that she took everywhere. There was this one episode where they went to see Bambi in the theater. When Bambi's mother was shot, Skippy's eyes got enormous, his lower lip quivered and your heart just ripped apart and fell to the ground. Okay, this is what Tracy's face looked like. She was the saddest clown ever. All she wanted was some fat free sugary peach candies. Tracy says, "Is there any way it can be opened?" Angry ticket troll looks at her with no humor in his coal heart and says "No. What else would you like? Napkins and straws to your left and your right." So for 6 bucks she got a bottled water and some red vines. Aren't you salivating with anticipation of such a wonderful treat? I know I was...except not at all. Poor kid.

Then we make our way into the movie theater (through a maze of stairs and steel railings and through a door that looks like you're walking into someone's apartment). We get excellent seats as the theater from hell doesn't get many patrons...but, of course, who is sitting behind us? Mr. Talky Talk and his wife Sheila Needstaknow. And for bonus points they speak in Russian the entire movie. The first 5 minutes of the film are pretty much silent as they give some back story. Its quiet for a reason. Mr. Talky Talk proceeds to explain everything to Sheila Needstaknow in Russian and continues to do so throughout the movie. Extra treats? Right at the key moment of the film, the sound goes out. We have no idea what the President said before all the shit goes down. Damn. And our friendly neighborhood chatty couple not only played double talk by repeating everything that was said by the Russian characters on the screen, they really liked kicking our chairs as they shuffled around and squeaking their straws as they drank.

The movie itself? Not bad. I miss Harrison Ford as Jack Ryan and their are plotholes you could drive a smart bomb through but it had its moments. And it is just an action flick. I feel like a lot of the good stuff fell to the cutting room floor post 09.11 so it should make for a good DVD buy.

In spite of myself, I'm kind of amped for The Bourne Identity. I can see Matt Damon as a bad ass. Besides, there's too many cool kwinkydinks in it that I like to not go see it.

lyrics to go:

Your grand dad left home for the circus.
He was young just like me,
with hope to explore.
He married a girl in Virginia.
She could swing the trapeze;
they could sleep on the floor.
Your mother was born in December,
on the one sunny day that winter gave up.
She had warm summer eyes that flickered like fireflies when she stared at the world.

So why do you leave these stories unfinished, my Cheshire cat doorstop with tears in her eyes?
Why do you look when you've already found me?
What did you find that could leave you walking by?

Walking By. Something Corporate