Thor's Day

First things first: The 'Mojo review is up here. As always, show some love and I'll owe you a drink. (Which would be way easy on me should you happen to be in L.A. on May 10th, when my favorite piano bar hosts an open bar/BBQ from 8p to 10p in celbration of their 3000th MySpace friend. I'm just sayin' - it counts if I bring your free drink to you, right?)

I fell in love this morning. I don't even know what this guy looks like but he had a REPUBLICANS FOR VOLDEMORT bumper sticker right next to his Human Rights Campaign Equal Sign. I think he works in the new Yahoo! building that I pass every day to work. If I see him again, I've resolved to flag him down and snap a picture of it so I can show y'all the proof. Until then just take my word for it - it was hilarious once I put two and two 2gether*.

Third, about that work news yesterday: Do you remember when we were kids and ordered useless junk from the back of a magazine or catalog? Remember how waiting for it and checking the mailbox multiple times a day consumed your existence? That's kind of how I've felt about the work situation for months. And much like when those X-Ray specs arrived and you'd forgotten why exactly they seemed so cool in the first place, I can't put my finger on the oddly mixed feelings I have about my boss leaving. On the one hand, our working relationship sucked. On the other, who knows what's coming next. This could very well involve a major promotion for me. It could also involve someone else taking over and screwing things up even worse than they are now. One way or the other, I won't be in my current position very long. Either things get better (promotion or no) and I stay or they don't and I bail. I've already got some contacts around the ol' place who I think will make it worth my while to transfer. But that's a ways off. And, yes, I do have a certain amount of sympathy for my boss - I guess I am a real boy after all. Stupid Prozac.

Best news ever: FB is officially giving the green light to starting the application process to become my roommate. More than likely, the move-in date isn't until June 1st (or thereabouts), but what better news could there be than having your best friend come to live with you?!?! Granted, I know we're guaranteed to see each other way less, but having my old roommate in the same building with her boyfriend and my best friend just across the hall will go a long way toward making this feel like home.

And there you have it - my brain has officially run out of stuff. But I managed to hold it together for a little post and a movie review. How proud would my mom be of me if she knew about this blog?

See ya on the Fridayside.
-J.

*Sorry, sometimes I just like 2 spell like Prince.

This post was sponsored by the I'm Too Tired To Think Up A Clever Name Committee.

Thankfully, I posted a little this morning, too.

Otherwise, today'd be a total loss and blow to my pledge to blog more.

I've got no pithy quotes to offer up. My boss got canned today and I am in a state somewhere between confusion and utter bliss. I also have an annoying amount of sympathy. Stupid heart - I thought I had you replaced with a toaster or a plasma TV or something useful like that...

As such, the HomoMojo piece has been delayed. I couldn't find the time at work today to refine the piece. So tomorrow night it shall be - promise. I have to have it prepped by then, after all - here! is premiering it Friday!

Night kids!

J.

This post was sponsored by the Still Not Ready To Make Nice Committee.

Aw, Snap!

So sue me - I'm a little photo crazy lately. What's the use in having a camaraphone if you don't capture all of the little moments in life you can't fully put into words? Take, for example, the picture to the left: Recently, while tagging along to watch everybody's favorite fashionista fabric shop, I went to use the facilities. I don't know exactly why I expected something above prison-level quality from a fabric store, but I did. Instead I came face-to-face with a Defcon 7 shade of pistachio green paint. It didn't even have the courtesy to be chipping. And this seriously was the dirtiest john outside of those horrific ones they have at the beach (I give those leeway since they're practically outdoors). On the plus side, that Malcolm in the Middle look I'm giving translated semi-cute. And what it is it with me posting pictures from random bathrooms? I think this is at least the third.

Oh! Before I forget, I've got another couple HomoMojo reviews coming up shortly. Tomorrow night, I'll be reviewing here! TV's latest. It'll probably be my last post as "The Groom" - I think it'll just make more sense to make JaySix the universal code name for cool.

In other news: it's in times like this that I am perfectly content to be among the non-driving set. On my salary, if I had a monthly car payment, insurance, and gas to worry about (not to mention the inevitable repairs), breaking even would be a joke when rent and bills come due. How would I ever afford the occasional comic book or feed my toy addiction? And on a night like tonight, when I found a weekly pass (retail value: $14) just lying on the sidewalk outside of my gym, I can't help but think that the transportation gods are sending me a sign to stay put, so to speak.

Speaking of the gym (man I suck at transitions tonight!), the way too young total cutie who works at a local eatery is totally ignoring me after a few weeks of flirty attention. I'd bumped into him a couple of times at the gym and we were always friendly. Like I said: Way. Too. Young. (No, seriously, he looks to be my sister's age or younger...), so I wasn't considering anything beyond the occasional smile, but still it sucks to be snubbed now. He loves co-worker - we'll still call her Amanda, A. for short - and tells her it's good to see her again when she comes in. She even gets the occasional 10% discount! I can barely get him to muster a "Hello" that involves eye contact anymore. I have no idea what I did to offend short stack, but I did it. What a guy I am sometimes. As I told A. at lunch today, "It's a good thing I'm on the Prozac. I can't even keep my imaginary boyfriend happy."

And that's all I can muster. I'll pull double-duty tomorrow with the review and a post here. Tune in to see if I can keep it together!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Porcelain Goddess Committee.

Still Lit.

The case before the jury. Does J. not have enough regular weekday fun or was this a night of debauchery best left to rarity?

Exhibit A: Last Tuesday I stumbled into my apartment after midnight, wearing this sticker on the crotch level on my jeans. Some work friends and I shared a couple of Adios MoFo buckets at the local piano bar's open mic night. It was given to me by one of those kindly beer girls - in the olden days they were called "wenches" - who showed up somewhere between my first and second go at entertaining the bar with my girlish falsetto and my ability to channel dead soul legends. It lead some middle aged drunk lady to comment on the strategic placement of my sticker. This offended my slightly tipsy friend - we'll call her Amanda. "How dare she?!?! What if I was your girlfriend?!"

To which I responded...

Exhibit B: ... "Calm down, baby. She obviously missed me rockin' the FauxHawk, my cutest jeans and a Blondie t-shirt while making eyes at the karaoke host. And isn't that your husband sitting on the other side of your Adios bucket?"

"Yes and yes, but if anyone's going to make inappropriate comments about your crotch tonight, it's me. You Will - I Grace. Got it?"

I've gotta admit that she had a point. In the absence of the Princess, Amanda's got the rights to be the, um, Peanut Gallery (no snickering, kids!). Except the part about the crotch exclusivity - she'd best not have blocked if the host had made a comment about my crotch.

Anyhow, after I'd polished off my table's bucket almost by myself, I gulped Amanda's Bud Light. I don't like beer ("Please - I'm far too gay for beer right now. I'm in a Blondie t-shirt, fer cryin' out loud," are the words I recall saying). My memory restarts at the point at which I heard myself clink her mug on the table. What? Nobody else was drinking it.

Exhibit C: I didn't get the pun inherent to the sticker until I started this post today. The red light still works, by the way. I also got a little keychain/bottle opener.

The people rest their case. The defense would plead The Fifth, but that might just lead to a shot or two. Deliberations may begin.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the No More Italics Committee.

Everybody comes to Hollywood...

OK, so here's the disclaimer: Unlike, it seems, most of the residents I meet, I was actually born in Los Angeles county. As such, I'm less fazed than some by the nature of this place. You know how you can be almost immune to your family's dysfunction while horrified by the quirks of somebody else's? It's a lot like that.

All that said, don't move to this city if you hate actors or the ugly side of the entertainment business. Just like a city built around a steel production or gambling or computer chips, we have an industry that thrives and supports this town. Yes, it happens to be on the lookout for good-looking, moderately talented people with a willingness to conform to standards most people find unrealistic. And, yes, much of what decides a person's "Q" rating is genetically decided and not of their own choosing. But when you get down to it, if you're not smart enough to work in computers, you'll be an outsider in Silicon Valley. And if you can't speak French or stand Celine Dion, avoid moving to Quebec.

After all, it isn't like these situation just spring up overnight. Nobody moves to L.A. and then is shocked to find the city filled with wanna-be actors, actressess, screenwriters, and general low-level sychophants. And if they are, they didn't read the fine print or listen to countless late-night comics bash us from The Tonight Show stage. In any event, L.A. is what it is. For better or for worse. If you're going to be an actor, you've got three options: A) move to New York and toil the auditions, hoping to end up in the chorus of something that runs for more than three weeks, all the while trying to scrape together $1000 a month for your half of a shared one bedroom walk-through flat; B) move to Hollywood and live from pilot season to pilot season, all the while waiting tables at Jerry's Famous Deli, hoping to score that soap opera gig to jump start your inevitable movie career; or C) stay where you are, work at the local Dairy Queen, watching Masterpiece Theatre and doing the annual community theatre production of Our Town, all the while hoping that David Mamet or Steven Soderbergh will have coincidental car troubles on the night you really nail it.

Bottom line: this isn't the town for you if you have issues with superficiality. If actors are somewhere on your "To Kill" list, consider the City of Angels a nice place to visit, but no place to live for you. After all, whether you're ordering a deli sandwich, tipping for the extra foam on your non-fat, non-dairy, sugar free mocha latte, or blowing some guy in the bathroom at Rage, chances are good you're interacting with one of "them."

And, no - I am not speaking from personal experience on that last one.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the End Scene Committee.

Can you tell me how to get...?

I've made a mid-year - alright, almost mid-year - resolution. Eh - maybe it's more like a belated New Year's resolution since I didn't make any of those. Of course I never make those, so it's more like an early re-evaluation of my life leading up to my 29th birthday less than two months from now. No, that's just depressing. Let's just call it a quarterly review, OK? Jeez, you folks can be really picky.

Getting back on point, I made a decision: I'm going to start blogging regularly again. If I can manage to keep myself in the gym three to four days a week and I can wake upf or work every morning, there's no reason I can't write my random little thought bubbles here at least four times a week. These days it seems my poor little head is crowded as crowded gets. It could only do us all a little good to have be expel some of the more nagging ones. Well, it could do me good at least.

It is amazing the random things that occupy your think box when you're trying your darndest to distract yourself at work by actually doing your job. Take, for example "Mr. Brightside" - I don't even know the song all the way through, but there I was bopping my head to the music of a Killers song I don't really like. I also couldn't stop humming The Fray's "Over My Head." Finally I had to pull out the little radio I keep at my desk for emergencies. Thankfully, one of the pop stations played both songs and helped me exorcise the demons.
I suppose it's all better than ABBA's "Gimme! Gimme Gimme!" - playing in my head as I woke up this morning. I thought the Prozac was supposed to quiet the voices...

A girl I graduated high school with died a couple of weeks ago. Mind you, I'm not one of those of jumps on the grief wagon. We didn't know each other well and had not seen or spoken to each other in the decade past. But it's impossible not to think at a moment like that, even if you try to deny it. I immediately thought of what I'd done in the decade-plus that's passed. Cut to my evaluation of my current job situation and my desire to something better with myself cause you never know, y'know? Cut to finding an old friend on MySpace (sometimes it's evil, sometimes it ain't) and making plans to get together when I'm in San Diego next. Cut to the email from an friend telling me I'm too smart to do what I'm doing and to get my ass back into school and start writing for real. Cut to Friday's hilarious dinner of Thai food with The Princess and FB. Cut to today's heart-to-heart with my favorite co-worker/big sister at lunch today. Cut to me realizing how lucky I am and how much more I need to do with myself.

Also - cut to why I've been trying to distract myself: Saturday I found out that I'll soon be roommate-less. In and of itself, that isn't a problem - I've known she and the boyfriend would move in together or get married (or some conglomaration of the two) eventually. That she decided to tell FB while I was working overtime on Saturday and not tell me directly is a problem. The way I understand it, they're probably going to move into another part of the same building - so we'll be neighbors. But I don't know any of this officially, since I've only heard it through FB's account of what he was told. I don't know why it bothers me so much, but it really does. The kicker is that I'm really happy for the crazy kids. And FB isn already looking into possibly becoming my new roommate. (I'll say it again - roommate. As in Oscar & Felix or Laverne & Shirley or Bert & Ernie. OK - scratch that last one.) Cut to the raised eyebrows of all of our mutual friends...

No, the living situation will work itself out. I have no idea how soon the change will be upon us, but I've been itching for change. And let's face it - there are worse things in the world than having your best friend move in with (especially when he's a fashion student with mad sewing skills). Maybe I'm jealous that nobody's asking me to move in with them. Maybe it's residual issues with my parents' inability to communicate directly. Maybe it's just the mood I'm in. But I'm definitely running full-force Gemini today. Both sides of me are at full speed and they're going in opposite directions. To say that I'm torn seems like a cliche, but it's apropos so there ya go.

Also, random thought: tonight was the first time I heard somebody fart in Pilates class. I didn't giggle, nor was I bothered - I was too busy sweating like a mofo* cause the room was a boiler tonight. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen more often. We get into some majorly obscene positions - and the point is to expel air at some point, after all...

OK, after reading the post, I get why I had those songs stuck in my head. Bright side? A kick ass housewarming is coming soon! Over my head? Um, yeah - but how exciting can that be? Look ma - I'm making lemonade!

"Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!" still makes no sense, though.

-J.

*just how exactly does a Mofo sweat, anyhow?

This post was sponsored by the J. & FBeezy Committee.

Dick The Halls

It's amazing the things you can get done at work on days you're sure you weren't going to do anything. Not only did I clear my desktop of all pending work (briefly), I managed to snap some hilarious pictures. So without further adieu, I give you tonight's lazy ass photo post:

To the left of the tram... J. pretending to work while snapping a picture of himself on his camara phone. It's in black and white because the bad angle and harsh lighting made my skin look worse than it actually is. It's no great shakes lately, but it ain't as apocalyptic as the original image made it seem.

Right...An ad I glimpsed in the bathroom at a local Mexican eatery while lunching with some co-workers today. I'd been told about it but I had to see it with my own eyes. Granted, a Durex ad above a urinal isn't totally out of place, nor was I even close to offended, but this seems more of a club/bar kind of ad than a family dining one. Still, points for whoever came (so to speak) up with the ad campaign here.

One more to the Left.... And extra points to whoever came up with this website. Click the picture to see an assortment of of hilarious get ups fit for a manhood. I don't know if one size fits all exactly, but it fit my twisted sense of humor just right.

That's all I've got tonight, kids. See you Thursday!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the MienerWobile Committee.

G:LAB - the RE:CAP

As always, the "getting somewhere" part of being an L.A. native without wheels is not without it's speedbumps (so to speak). The school bell rang at 5pm on Friday and I rushed home to get ready. The drill was the usual going out prep work: a quick meal (microwaved Gardenburger and a glass of water), shower, shave, zit check (frightfully out of control, I'm sad to report), hair fussing (I opted for a blow dryer), and final check. I was ready to go. As I said my goodbyes, however, my roommate (let's just call her Eunice for the hell of it) refused to allow me to take the bus to the subway station. She's always going Mom on me like that - for some reason, she thinks I'm going to be assualted on the bus. Like I don't take it back and forth to the gym a few times a week. Luckily, I was able to talk her out of making her boyfriend drive me all the way to WeHo (she doesn't love the idea of me riding the subway, either). This wasn't, after, my junior prom. So what's my point? I don't have the first set of pictures I was hoping to start a little photo essay with. I should have just snapped some on the ride to the station. C'est la vie.

Anyhow, my journey began in earnest at the Universal City station. Here's J. (why can't I ever take a non-blurry photo of myself?) waiting for his train to arrive:


(Did I forget to mention or show evidence that I went blond almost a month ago? I've already done one touch up to put in some lowlights. And if you must know, I'm giving a bored look to the teenage who decided to turn the waiting room into their own personal Tunnel Of Love...)

The train meant just for J. arrives in a blur of metal. The arrival of a subway is always a somewhat surreal experience. Your first clue is the wind rushing through the tunnel (based on its direction, you know which train is coming). Then you see a light at the turn and finally the sound. Then before you know it - whoosh! - your carriage awaits. This Friday, the train was damn near empty. I managed to get a blurry shot of the map they post along the top:



My start is that blurry point at the far left and my stop is all of two points away. The inside of the train always makes me think of Space Mountain.

In no time flat, I arrive. I wave goodbye from above to my coach and we're off.


Sadly, this is where the photo essay attempt ends. I hopped the bus that took me right to the corner of Crystal & Whole Foods (aka Fairfax & Melrose) and got right into the bar. I just about forgot I even had a camara on me from that point on. (I tell ya - FB's way better at this stuff than me.)

The night is a blissful blur - I mingled with some nice new people (something I haven't done since, oh, forever), reconnected with some people I knew already (Love the shirt, Jason!), and people watched (thanks for sharing in the snark, David!). Also: I managed to get not one, but two drinks bought for me out of the whopping three it took to get me tipsy (thanks, Prozac!). Granted, Jason and David did the buying, but still, free drinks are free drinks and smart boys don't turn down cute boys when they offer to buy you a vodka tonic or a screwdriver. Most surprising blogger of the night: this guy. Back when we were mere children, as in not old enough to drink, we used go dancing to a long-gone club called Axis (it's now called Factory, but I don't know what it's like - I've never been much of a clubber cause I can't dance.)

So, next time I go to such an event, I promise to do one of two things: bring along FB or be more diligent with the camara work. And if anyone ever makes it to L.A., at least one drink is on this cute boy.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Who Knew Blogging Could Be Social? Committee.

Glib, Glab, whatever....

If you've ever been vaguely curious about what I look like up close (and don't say I didn't warn you...), this Friday at iCandy is the place to find out. You can marvel at how short I am, how teenage my skin looks (in both good and bad ways) and at how much you never thought my speaking voice would sound like it does based on my writings. Oh, and a bunch of other bloggers and their friends will be there, too. Mostly to meet me.

But seriously - there are worse ways to spend a Friday night than a little socializing with the gays. As someone who has perfected all of those "worse ways," I highly recommend coming out (so to speak) for a good time.

I 'll snap more than a couple pics for your perusal next Monday - and be sure to check other L.A. blogs for possible blackmail fodder to be used against me at a later date...

-J.

This post sponsored by the City of Anything But Angels Committee.