The Mosh Pit

What's the deal with the shirtless dude?

I recently saw Bad Religion play at the House of Blues.

[Ed. note: Can I pay $40 to see a punk band play in what looks like the line waiting area for the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland?]

The band was fantastic, but as every punk rock fan knows, there is an illogical, violent, spirited, retarded force at every punk rock show that cannot be ignored: The Mosh Pit.

The logic behind the mosh pit is basically such: As a mosher, you show the band how much you like them by running around in a circle and indiscriminately beating the shit out of those around you. The more you run and punch, the more you dig the band. This set up is particularly crazy because the logic doesn't transfer to other scenarios. If you get a particularly good quarter-pounder at McDonalds, you don't show your appreciation for the kitchen staff by running around in that area in front of the register and punching other customers in the face. Or if you see a musical you really like, its usually not appropriate to hop down into the orchestra pit and murder the French horn player. It's unfortunate, but its true.

There is also a "pit code" that says if a fellow mosher falls down, they are immediately picked up. This seems like a very peaceful, utopian idea until you consider that the reason they're on the floor is because they were just shoved down there, and that it will only be a matter of seconds before they are shoved down there again. It's like the circle of life. But instead of "life," it's filled with "savage beat-downs."

The oddest part about the mosh pit is the dude who is immediately shirtless when the band hits the first note. There is one in every pit. Its as if he has planned this move ahead of time to be like a costume change. Even though he is fat and sweaty and spends 2 hours ramming into other dudes, he is the first to call the bowler hat you're wearing "pretty fag-queer."

I do not understand The Mosh Pit, but I do respect it. Where else would it be socially appropriate for an adult male to punch a 13 year old girl in the face?

Instant Legitimacy with Video Cameras!

Video may have killed the radio star, but it's created a butt-load of new stars to take his place.

Back in the day, life lessons like "Wear clean underwear" or "Never leave bruises" could keep you out of hot water, but in this modern age, a more techno-savvy rule of thumb is needed: "Always bring a video camera." Cameras legitimize even the hinkiest of situations, turning potential embarrassment or incarceration into fame and/or fortune.

Situation #1: So, you like streetwalkers. Who doesn't? John Q. Law, that's who. Getting The Man off your back is as easy as one simple equation:

* Prostitution (Illegal!) + video camera = porn (Legal!).

Filming your sordid Motel 6 fling turns a sex crime into low art.


Situation #2: Is Jodie Foster sending you subliminal messages again? Does she secretly want you to follow her every move, no matter what those restraining orders say? Well...

* Stalking (Illegal!) + video camera = paparazzi (Legal!).


Situation #3: Poor guy. Not even the skanky burnout girls at school will give you the time of day. The solution:

* Girls who would never go about with a dork like you + video camera = girls fighting over a dork like you because they think they're on a dating show.


Situation #4: You've got all the teen angst of the Columbine kids, but you lack the dedication and firepower. Why not get your frustration out on video?

* Social retard - inhibitions + web cam = YouTube superstar.

Make sure your venting and/or pathetic display of coordination is as authentic a train wreck as possible in order to maximize replayability.


Situation #5: You're a pampered rich girl who's known, but not really KNOWN. Find a similarly desperate D-lister of either sex willing to penetrate your nether regions, because...

* Wannabe celebrity + video camera + faux outrage = celebrity sex tape + backend profits.


Situation #6: Face it, ex-star of some show from the '80s, your best days are behind you. Ninety percent of your fan base is ironic. Try this on for size:

* Wilting celebrity status + drunken stupor + cheeseburger + video camera = renewed celebrity status.


Situation #7: You and everyone in your entire upper-crust clique are complete tools. Your families have interbred so many times over the generations that you're probably dating your half-sister. You have no talent, no technical skills and nothing to offer the world other than a trust fund and Brandon Davis's phone number...and a video camera.

* Douchebag high school cliques + video camera = hit MTV show.

Vegan Nazis

Angelenos pride themselves on their diversity. They lovingly embrace everyone and everything without judgment, so long as they approve of it. Luckily their activism lapses when they run out of Zoloft or as they recover from their fifth nose job.

So I never thought I'd be oppressed when I went out for dinner the other night.

I ate at a vegan restaurant. I knew things were amiss when a huge sign let me know that by eating there my stomach would be purified. My stomach didn't need purification - it needed food because I was fucking hungry. The sign next to it cheerily read: "Einstein was a vegetarian. Think about it!" Well, dip shit, Hitler was a vegetarian.

I ordered a tofurky burger with Ghandi sprouts, Fair Trade flax seeds and a bunch of other "conscious" ingredients that later blew out my colon. So much for purification.

After ordering, I washed my hands. The sink had one of those ridiculous water conservation faucets that require you to push and hold a knob - which utterly defeats the purpose of hand washing. I looked to dry my hands and a note affixed to the mirror informed me that the restaurant put a spiritual moratorium on paper towels so trees can smile.

Wanting to get the hell out of there, I ate quickly but not without overhearing other patrons drone on about how people who use hemp tote bags will inaugurate a new world order.

Once on the street, the delightful scent of sizzling animal flesh danced in my nostrils. I sprinted to the burger joint down the block and sat at a window seat to enjoy a Drippy Double Bacon Cheddar Chuck. The hempsters from the first restaurant walked by; and when one of them noticed me, he ran up to the window. His comrades followed. They shouted at me for being a soulless dick and asked whether I would want someone to throw my cat between two buns and eat it. I said I wouldn't mind at all because my cat is also a soulless dick.

Brett Ratner Wears Skirts

Which of these celebrity anecdotes are true?

1. No one is allowed to touch Peter North’s hair during porn shoots because if they do, he will instantly lose his erection. The erection goes down at about the same rate that a balloon animal version of his dick would if it was stabbed with a pair of scissors.

2. Before he was Marky Mark Wahlberg, he had already committed at least two hate crimes. This other time, egged on by some fellow white trash dickhead buddy and massive hits of PCP, he bludgeoned a Vietnamese shop owner deep into unconsciousness and left another permanently blinded in one eye. He has not apologized for any of this and currently has no plans to.

3. Alfonso Ribiero (TV’s Carlton Banks) died in 1999, two days before the new millennium, while attempting a head-spin in his hip-hop dance class.

4. Steven Spielberg has so much money. So much, in fact, that when his son Max rode a public Concorde jet for the first time at age 8, he turned up to his mother and asked "Why are all these people getting on our plane?"

5. Brett Ratner showed up to record the audio commentary for X-Men 3 wearing a skirt and looking like he hadn’t slept in some time. He had faint traces of make-up around his lips and eyes. Nobody in the recording stage had the guts to question it, and Ratner himself conducted business groggily, but otherwise normally. Then, during the lunch break, Ratner noticed his reflection in one of the sound-proofed windows, and utterly froze in place for a couple seconds. He excused himself to the bathroom and did not return until the next day, when he was dressed normally.

6. Gary Busey did so much blow in the 80’s, that for the duration of filming on Lethal Weapon, he refused to open doors normally, electing instead to jump kick his way into every room.

ANSWERS:

1. TRUE
There are better pictures of North’s immaculately coiffed hair on the internet, sure, but 100% of those also feature bleached a-holes.

2. TRUE
You can see it glossed over in this article from ABC News.

3. FALSE
This is basically a rumor posted on his IMDb page, except I changed the date to try and help break dancing stay current.

4. TRUE
This was told to me by a trusted source. I have to keep his name hidden, he says, if I want to hear another story involving Michael Mann and yelling.

5. FALSE
I’m just not a big Ratner man.

6. FALSE
But I’ll bet you spent a considerable while pondering that one.

Hillary Clinton: The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend of the Democratic Party

Despite all the math counting her out, Hillary Clinton fervently remains in the race to become the Democratic nominee for president in 2008. She has become the Democratic Party's psycho ex-girlfriend, and she's not going away without a restraining order.

It's 2:31 AM. The Democratic Party is sleeping peacefully when it hears its phone buzz on the night stand. It rolls over and sees "Hillary" on the caller ID. It pauses briefly, considering pushing "END" and not dealing with this shit tonight. The thought is appealing but the Democratic Party knows that if it doesn't take this call, another one is only minutes away.

DEMS: ...Hello?

Hillary: Hey baby.

DEMS: C'mon Hillary. Enough with this.

Hillary: Don't you get it? You NEED me.

DEMS: No, I don't. It was fun while it lasted but I'm with Barack now. I made my choice, it's done.

Hillary: You can't really mean that. How can you say that after all the good times we had?

DEMS: To be honest, I started hanging out with you because Bill's pretty awesome.

Hillary: But I'm just like Bill!

DEMS: No, you're not. Bill is charismatic, inspiring, and gets me really good weed.

Hillary: Fuck you. You're elitist!

DEMS: I'm going back to sleep.

Hillary: No, no, wait. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Listen... there's still got to be a chance. Remember when people told George W it was all over. When the numbers were against him?

DEMS: Yeah but...

Hillary: Remember?! And remember how everyone said America didn't really want to be with George W? But they stuck it out anyway?

DEMS: Yeah and they're really fucked up now, Hillary.

Hillary: But WE'LL make it work. Forget Barack, baby. Just take me back and we can forget this ever happened.

DEMS: Look, I think you're a really good Senator... let's just keep it that way, OK?

Hillary: ...I'll see you at the convention.

DEMS: No! Hillary I told you...

CLICK

DEMS: Dammit. Crazy bitch.

The Most Motivating Moment of my Life

Trying to make it in Hollywood takes daily motivation. I'm lucky though because I had a life-altering conversation when I was a teenager that scared me straight into a continual, perpetual state of motivation.

I got a job being the Easter Bunny at the Mission Viejo mall for a couple of months when I was 15. It was one of the more inhumane jobs a person could be exposed to, but I was making $5.75 an hour at my ice cream store job at the time, so getting paid $8 an hour to dress up in a heavy, furry rabbit suit while fat kids sat on my lap seemed like I was stealing money from these people.

I immediately hated the job. But on my last day, I experienced the most motivating moment of my life. I walked back to the communal dressing room at the end of my shift to disrobe and pass the giant plastic rabbit head over to the next EB. When I got back there, I realized that the person taking over for me was the guy who played Santa at the mall during the winter. He was smoking and staring blankly into the distance. I caught his attention as I took off the head, and we had the following conversation:

"You like doing this, kid?"

"No."

"Then STAY IN SCHOOL."

So now, whenever I'm seeking inspiration about my career and life, the face that appears in that cloud above my head isn't my parents, or God, or Wayne Gretzky... it's that haggard, Santa-looking mother fucker telling me to stay in school. I'm not even in school anymore, but the message is lasting, loud, depressing, and clear. Stay in school, kids.

Unless it's acting school.

Ask a Black Person: Racial Sensitivity for Hollywood Studios

Cultural sensitivity can be as easy as asking one of "you people."

A lot of Al Sharpton-led picket lines could be averted if Hollywood studios would just have a black person on call to bounce ideas off of. Allow me to offer my services.

Q: I need a rapist for a movie and have narrowed the actors down to a white guy and a black guy. All things being equal, which one should I choose?

A: You can hire the black guy without feeling guilty if you balance that negative stereotype with a positive one. For instance, the rapist could be sent to jail, where he develops his instinctual ability to play basketball. When he's released, he goes to college on a scholarship and makes it to the NBA, where he becomes a superstar. Then, ironically enough, he's free to rape at will. Can you say twist ending?

Q: My company has always prided itself on realistic, culturally sensitive casting, and right now we're putting together a mostly Negro ensemble piece. The leads will be played by Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon, and we're looking for a young actress who could conceivably be their daughter -- you know, color-wise. We're leaning towards Dakota Fanning. Is this realistic? ...Mariah Carey being half white and all.

A: Wow, I don't know what's more disturbing: your evaluation of talent or your understanding of basic genetics. The only way you can keep Dakota Fanning is if you write her character with an advanced case of vitiligo.

Q: I'm a veteran Hollywood director whose movies haven't yet found an audience within the African-American marketplace. What can I do to, you know, get jiggy with it?

A: You're not fooling anyone, Ron Howard. I know it's you. I would suggest that you do something drastic, like -- I don't know -- casting some black people, but since you'd probably end up writing dialogue with words like "jiggy" in it, I'd say we're all better off the way things are.

Q: I'm directing my first black love scene, and I want it to be accurate. You guys like doggy style, right?

A: Yeah, if it involves a pound of flour, a burlap sack, and yo' mama. Oh snap! But seriously, yes. Yes, we do.

Q: Is Vin Diesel black? We've got a quota to meet.

A: He's 1/3 black, 1/3 Italian and 1/3 asshole. So, you need 2/3 more of a black person for your quota. Try some combination of Halle Berry and Jessica Alba.

Hollywood Facial Hair Guide

In a land where your appearance can make up about 80 percent of your net worth, its not your mouth that does the talking, it’s the follicle-laden area around it that speaks for you.

Soul Patch: You refer to graffiti as “art” and refuse to attend films not made in Europe. You love bands no one has ever heard of and if you have to wear glasses, their frames are as thick as a Goodyear.

Chinstrap: You are either a wealthy pro athlete or someone who has recently married Britney Spears. You spend more time sculpting this creation than you do at a job, and gold jewelry figures heavily into your wardrobe.

Moustache: You are deeply tanned, have bad taste in sunglasses and are likely here illegally. I mean you, Burt Reynolds.

Full beard: You are at the extreme end of the wealth scale – meaning you are either Steven Spielberg or picking through his garbage. Either way, your looks matter little to you.

Three Day Scruff: You concoct painfully transparent schemes to look cooler or more hip than you are. You frequently shop at second-hand stores and wear sneakers that look just as good on middle-schoolers.

Handlebars: Hygiene is not a priority for you, but kicking ass and drinking Pabst are at the top of the list. You own or may have starred in the first season of Jackass. You may also be gay, but we’re not going to ask.

Goatee: You have a lot of insecurity to cover up, and you have apparently decided that insecurity rests mostly on your chin and upper lip. You are also weirdly comfortable with your assumed status as a sexual predator.

Pencil ‘stache: Hello John Waters.

Blast from the Comedy Past

Standing in line for a show at the UCB this week, I noticed someone behind me who looked familiar. “His name was…ME!”

For every article of clothing he was wearing, there were probably five copies just like it in every thrift store in the city: the solid color hoodie sweater, black Converse sneakers, an appropriately worn ringer-tee promoting some summer camp kayaking trip that had occurred decades before he was brought into existence. I knew that I knew him from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place it until a friend of his showed up and they got to talking. Their conversation went a lot like this:

-“Have you watched much South Park?”

-“Nah, I only really watched the first couple seasons…”

-“Well you know that Kerri Kenney, Ben...Something, and Thomas Lennon all went to college together, right?”

-“Yeah, that’s where they started The State. Man, Porcupine Racetrack is such an amazing bit!”

-“Do you ever watch The Office?”

-“Yeah I catch it sometimes but, I dunno, to me it’s just, like, missing something from the British version.”

It must’ve been when one of them brought up Mr. Show for the third time that I realized why they seemed so familiar. It was because they were having the exact conversation that I probably had four years earlier, the first time I trekked across town from Westwood to see an alternative comedy show at the same theater in the bright morning of my early college years. I was doubly excited by my youthful belief that any venture east of Doheny held a good chance of being tranny-raped.

I listened in on the rest of their talk the way a proud parent might watch a toddler stagger to its feet and pull itself along the edge of a coffee table. I could see where certain views would later be refined, tightened up, where certain connections would eventually be laid in, or abandoned.

One of them, for example, was still under the impression that Robin Williams is funny. Tsk tsk, and for shame. This culture is a constant exam and that view is a patently wrong answer. Williams is ironically likeable in Mrs. Doubtfire, he served his purpose in Death to Smoochy, but he has no place anymore on the stand-up stage. Not in the post-Patton era.

Other guy, you showed good instincts by downplaying your ignorance of a popular TV show by explaining that you only watched it in its early days, before all the fucking fanboys jumped on the wagon. Of course, you’ll soon learn that this technique doesn’t work on South Park. The sanctioned view is that the show has actually gotten better over the years. In the future, try covering such flub-ups with a line like, “Oh, you were talking about South Park? I totally thought I heard you say The Simpsons.”

Another excellent gauge of these guys’ familiarity with the alternative L.A. lifestyle was that they had heard of Toi “Rockin” Thai Food, but had not yet eaten there. However one of them did understand that the thrust of the restaurant is, “really good Thai food, but, like, with this really edgy atmosphere.” Yeah, edgy because the whole ordeal of parking, waiting, eating, and paying can take upwards of 3 hours, and it will totally make you late for David Cross’ set at the M Bar. But you didn’t really care about seeing him anyway, right? Or did you? Go on, say what you think. Everyone is listening.

Trailer Trash: The Dark Knight

Batman faces off against Hollywood’s most infamous villain: shit blowing up good and proper.

The Dark Knight represents pretty much everything I hate about movies: comic book adaptations, sequels, prequels, remakes of movies that are all ready pretty good that were made less than 20 years ago.

I also don’t exactly care for the work of the director, Christopher Nolan. That movie where everything was backwards was such a piece of shit. I think the reason why everyone liked it so much (yeah, I know you liked it) was because it made people think they were watching a deep and thoughtful art film, but really it was just some dumb revenge fantasy with serious narration (written with Nicholas Cage in mind, no doubt).

I didn't like the last Batman movie either. There was all this kung-fu nonsense. Not enough shit blowing up. All that lame pop-psychology. What was the bad guy’s evil plan, making people hallucinate? Where I come from, that’s called a free high. I pray every day for a super villain like that.

I was therefore surprised out how awesome this trailer is. Shit blows up good and proper! I counted 11 ‘splosoins (although some of these coulda been mulitiple shots of the same ‘splosion). And these are quality ‘splosions. It doesn’t hurt that they got a goddamn genius to cut this trailer, making the ‘splosions look even more cool. Al-Qaeda should use this preview as a recruitment film.

This is basically Heath Ledger’s trailer, and he looks incredible. Morgan Freeman gets about three seconds in this trailer (twice as much as 50 Cent in whatever that other movie was.) I don’t think he’s the butler, because the butler is the British guy. He probably plays the president, or God, or something like that.

Gary Oldman’s moustache gets a few shots. Aaron Eckhart, who is also supposedly in this film, is nowhere to seen.

[Editor's note: Mr. Eckhart is plastered all over the second trailer. Don't even think about reviewing it though.]

I can't wait for them to remake Batman and Robin. Who will play Mr. Freeze? My guess is Billy Cruddup, or maybe Paul Giamatti.

The Couch Hopping Guide

It's safe to say that you're not really a true Angeleno until you've taken an extended residence on your buddy's couch.

Times are tough when you've just made it to the big city. You probably don't have a job, and if you do it's an unpaid internship, so why pay rent when you can just take advantage of someone else's goodwill?

Finding the Right Friend To Mooch Off Of

I went to an expensive, private college filled with tons of spoiled, rich kids and then made friends with the financial aid students. Don't make the same mistake as me. When you finally move to LA, you're going to want to fall back on Clayton, the trust-fund baby whose parents bought him that house with the pool in Los Feliz, not Gary the PA who lives in a Van Nuys bachelor.* Clayton doesn't give a shit how long you stay, because it's not like he's paying the bills. Gary wants a portion of the rent for every night you sleep in his parking space.

You'll also do well to find someone who has a ridiculous 70-hour assistant workweek. They won't be around for you to get on their nerves and when they do get back to the apartment, they'll go straight to bed without nagging about all your luggage strewn across their living room.

Create the Appearance of Progress

The majority of couch-hosters aren't going to want to give shelter to someone who seems like they will be there forever, so it's important to establish the facade that this arrangement is only temporary. Leave your laptop on the coffee table with the Craigslist housing pages onscreen at all times so they think you might be moving out soon.

Getting Laid

Her place.

Dealing With Your Friend's Roommate

This is the trickiest and most common problem that all couch-hoppers will encounter. Sure, you were on friendly terms with the guy beforehand, but once you move into his living room, you two are destined to become mortal enemies.

He didn't agree to let you live there and not pay rent. The most effective way to deal with the roommate is to simply sow the seed of hatred for him into your friend. It's as easy as eating all your friend's food while he's away and then blaming it on the other guy. Once this has been accomplished, your friend will now want you to stay at his place purely out of spite. It'll definitely make your living situation more awkward, but it always beats signing a lease.

*Guantanamo Bay prison cell with a hot plate.