Archive for June 2006

06/06/06, and “The Hills”

June 6, 2006

Today is 6-6-6, or 06/06/06, or June 6, 2006, depending how you like to write your dates.  I usually do it the second way, in case you're interested.

So I guess today is not only Satan's birthday or whatever, but it's also National Day of Slayer, and most importantly, National Emo Kid Beatdown Day.

Jeff and his roommates wanted to get up at 6AM to pound beers and blast Slayer, and I slept over there last night. I had to get up at 6 anyway so I could go home and get ready for work, and when my alarm went off I said, "Aren't you going downstairs to blast Slayer?" But Jeff said, "Fuck that," and immediatly went back to sleep. And I totally knew where he was coming from, because if I had to choose between pounding a beer and blasting loud music at 6 AM or sleeping an extra hour it wouldn't be a hard decision.  Because sleep always wins.  But really, sleep had a clear advantage in that match.  They really probably shouldn't have even been in the same bracket, you know what I mean?

In other news, I feel totally gypped!  Remember "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County," and how it was my favorite show last year?  Well, I had an argument with a co-worker a couple days ago.  He said he thought it was totally fake and scripted, whereas I thought it was real, though a little encouraged.  Like, I thought the director was probably like, "OK, you're all going to get pedicures together.  While you're there, you should make sure you talk about Stephen and L.C.  Oh, and Alex H., at some point you should ask Kristin if she saw Alex M. hook up with Jason in Cabo."  But Bill thought it was totally, totally fake and all the situations, like the exciting love triangle between L.C., Steven and Kristin was all made up.  But I was all, NO WAY, it had to be real because no one could fake Jessica's desperation for Jason.  She had such classic low self esteem you just knew all that drama there was real.  And if Wikipedia's description is correct, I'm right.

Well: The other night I watched the season premier of the spinoff, "The Hills," which follows L.C. on her adventures to L.A., and from the get-go it was so fake it might as well have had a "Made in China" label.  L.C. clearly lives in Park LaBrea, which is near my house, and is recognizable to anyone who lives in this city, and is NOT in the Hollywood Hills.  But since the show is called "The Hills," they have to pretend it's called "Hillside Villas."  Gross.  Anyway.  So from Day One, L.C. has all these "good friends," who are all gorgeous actor-model types.  Where did these "friends" come from?  I don't remember seeing or hearing about a single one of them on Laguna Beach.  And the events are so clearly planned and scripted — every little thing.  I don't know how real or fake Laguna Beach was, but whatever they did worked.  This, though, is just an insult to my intelligence.  Stupid "reality" TV!  BAH!

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Blout-Out to My Car!

June 6, 2006

So yesterday I was driving down the street in my neighborhood and out of nowhere zoomed a kid on his scooter. Right in front of my car. Like, right in front. I saw the kid on the sidewalk for an instant, and with no warning whatsoever, he just shot into the street. He was on one of those little electric scooters, and was just ZOOM, out in the street. I slammed on the brakes but could tell it was no use — he was literally like 4-6 feet in front of me. So I jerked the wheel to the left, and he stopped, and I missed him. And I kept driving, and I was thinking, "I'm really calm right now. I don't feel at all rattled. I really feel fine. I wonder if that adrenaline rush is going to kick in. I would think I would feel it by now. This is weird, I feel so ca — and — here it is." The adrenaline hit, with the requisite shaking and heart pounding, and suddenly I became so angry at that kid and his parents that I wanted to turn around and go scream at them. Because he was at least ten, probably older because kids seem so much tinier than we were, and I always think they're younger than they are, but in any case he was plenty old enough to KNOW THAT HE IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK BEFORE CROSSING THE STREET, whether on foot or on a bike or scooter or WHATEVER. In an instant, he could have ruined his life, his family's lives, and my life.

Once I got a little past the initial anger, the best part set in: the thankfulness. And the first thing I thought was, "Well Done, Car!" I had slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel hard, turning like 80 degrees to the left, and my car handled it like a pro. As though this was small potatoes compared to all the test courses it used to play on when it was a young punk. My car was all, "What, that?  That was nothing! I got tricks you ain't seen, Woman!" Man, those tires gripped the road, and that car knew what it needed to do. It knew what had to be done, and it did it like it was nothing. And no lives were ruined.  So thanks, Car. I owe you one.