Thursday, October 29, 2009

I enjoy calling 911

Back when I lived in Venice, I once dialed 911 on a couple thugs roughing up a streetwalker. I also threatened to physically detain a young teenager who was viciously taunting another kid.

When I visited New York last month, I called the NYPD four and a half seconds after I witnessed an erratically behaving hipsterbitch accost a cyclist.

But the demographics of West Hollywood, where I live now, present a number of challenges for people like me who are into the 911 calling / citizens arrest scene. First, the street I live on is full of old, jaded, miserable Russian immigrants. If I were to explain to the dumb fuck riding his bicycle on the sidewalk that he was putting the community in danger and disobeying city law, he might shiv me. Or tell his mobbed up nephew who's never read Proust or played sudoku on his BlackBerry to shiv me. Then there's the huge gay contingent in Weho. And I'm sure you're thinking, isn't a gay man the IDEAL person to call 911 on or to detain until an officer can come to the scene. Gay people are sane. Rational. They have cool jobs. They're not going to jeopardize their life or yours by pulling a knife on you. This is true. But then gays never do anything arrest worthy in the first place. They're like outgoing Asians. Courteous, precise, law-abiding, clean. Fucking anathema to the 911 caller's soul.

And so I realize I must move. To an area of town where my skill-set can be utilized, where my passion can be nourished. A place without Russians. A place with no gays. A place where I can find that random woman in the crosswalk getting verbally trashed by some douchebag or another. And I can assure you that when I do find her -- and I will -- that I won't wait to see if the situation escalates. I will not waste precious ticks trying to ascertain if this is merely an innocuous domestic squabble or indeed something truly dangerous. I will not think. I will not muse. I will act. I will dial. Nine. One. One. And I will do so immediately. And I will report the incident with precision, clarity, speed and -- this is the best part, the part I savor like the first sip of a barrel-aged Belgian -- total fucking equanimity.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

A poor guy who's preoccupied with some really bad news he just got from the vet about his dog

tries to come up with titles for his two screenplay ideas.

Dog With Prostate Cancer
A tight-knit family sleeps the night at a campground that happens to be right next to a nuclear plant. They wake up the next morning with crazy super powers!

Dog With Prostate Cancer
Based on the famous board game of the same name, a group of kids are transported to a magical world made up of candy and must find their way home before nightfall.

Proof that Garden State isn't nearly as insufferable as people contend

Guy with good taste who hated Garden State meets extremely attractive girl -- who's kind of slutty and funny and also refreshingly sane compared to many women -- who liked Garden State. Guy's pretty into girl. The sex is unreal. Girl's really fucking giving. Particularly orally. Guy doesn't find the Garden State thing to be a deal breaker.

Guy Sets Out to Write World's Least Latino-Friendly Play

Act One: Twenty-something JAP stays at her dad's condo in Aspen.

Act Two: Guy in Business on plane back from China won't shut up about how fascinating he finds the Chinese approach to foreign investment to be.

Act Three: A mother dies. She was a cold cunt. One of her estranged kids doesn't even show up to the funeral.

What Really Goes On With Penguins

Two penguins appear to be playing around near an ice cave and just being cute and shit.

Adorable Girl Penguin: I guess on some level every relationship I've had has been an attempt to replace my father. Like that sounds cliche. But it's extreme with me. Most of the penguins I've dated or even just hooked up with have looked slash been so much like him it's scary.

Creepy Penguin Therapist: Ahh. You know you're adorable. What's it like knowing everyone who sees you instantly finds you so attractive? How does it make you feel being so desired?

Adorable Girl Penguin: I don't know. That's not really one of my issues.

Creepy Penguin Therapist: I have tickets to the watch a bunch of flightless birds fight over fish match at the freezing cold pond tonight. If you want to come. I find that I can understand my patients' issues best when observing them in real social settings.

Adorable Girl Penguin: What? That's so unprofessional. Oh my God. Are you that retarded? I'm a smart fucking girl. I went to the penguin equivalent of Vassar. Oh and FYI, you're not nearly good looking enough to make the whole transference thing work.

Creepy Penguin Therapist: I want to screw you so bad, you slut.

Adorable Girl Penguin: Eww!!

Adorable Girl Penguin runs out of the cave and slams the ice sheet behind her.

A smart, unoriginal, painfully insecure, sweet, technically obese but not disgusting 45 year old Yale lecturer with recurring back problems

brainstorms ways he could have sex for free with a woman more attractive than his domineering acne-scarred wife of 18 years. This is what he came up with...

1. Flesh out that dissertation I wrote on anti-metafiction tendencies in Stendhal that Ph.D. advisor at Cornell so dug in 1997. Turn into larger criticism of Stendhal's work in general. Publish. Receive bad blowjob that doesn't lead to orgasm from troubled, lonely, status-conscious T.A. who's attracted to both beefy men and mildly successful authority figures.

2. Contact Facebook friend Lauren Miller, a girl from my Chaucer section a few years back when I was forced to lead a section for Professor Williamson's popular class even though I was already a lecturer and all the other section leaders were T.A.'s. Live in a universe where Lauren does not work with her boyfriend at a hip if insolvent karaoke club in Portland but resides in New Haven and has an obsession with letting men who made pithy observations about the Pardoner's Tale in 2005 put their penises inside her.

I was a degenerate toy junkie as a kid

Kay-Bee was where I got my fix.

All I'd have to do was accompany my mom to the mall, act sort of nice, and I'd get an action figure or if I was lucky, a video game.

I lived for that dopamine rush.

I wish it was that easy today.

That my mom could take me to the mall and there'd be a store that sold cocaine that wasn't bad for you and prostitutes that were witty and clean.

Depressed, Somewhat Lost Hipster Buys Retro NES

Places it prominently in Echo Park apartment.

Wonders if this could get him laid with an upbeat albeit slightly damaged nostalgia junkie.

It doesn't.

Meantime, he plays old games he liked as a kid. Is surprised he once found these graphics impressive.

Has to blow into a few of the cartridges to get them to work. "Kind of a Proustian moment" he tells a female friend who for some reason doesn't seem open to fucking him.

Gets bored. Puts Nintendo in storage.

Takes it out again in two years.

Thinks about going to law school. Doesn't.

Thinks about going to law school. Does.

Marries nice enough girl. Can tell based on her body shape and her mother's that she will not age particularly well. Decides he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Has a kid.

Shows kid NES one day. Kid finds it kind of boring but pretends to like it because he loves his dad.

Realizes he's no longer physically attracted to pear-shaped wife.

Has two meaningless one night stands over the next 40 years.


Kid inherits NES.

It still works.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Ideal Day in the Life of a Dehydrated Writer

Network Exec: We're primarily interested in developing with really dehydrated artists right now. You know, the kind of guy who has such serious issues with maintaining the minimum amount of fluid his body needs to operate that his main reason for wanting to have a girlfriend after so many years is to just be able to sleep in the vicinity of a responsible animal who unlike him actually has the self-respect to always keep water near the bed.

Landlord: I want to propose shifting our agreement from month-to-month to you pay only during those times when your thirst is completely quenched. Also, I'm gay. Starting to come out to selected peeps.

Dad's Cancer Doctor: Turns out there's this new experimental procedure by which we essentially extract the mitochondria from the really dry skin cells of a writer and then implant them in the cancer cells themselves. Elizabeth Edwards might not be alive today if it weren't for this really shitty poet in Boston who somehow doesn't realize iced tea is a diuretic.

Asian Handjob Masseuse: Ohhhhhh, you so big! Thas the biggerst lack of watah in one's system I evah see.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Untrue Story

Lauren -- a fat, kind of sweet but really fucking dumb and getting older by the minute girl with very little cultural capital and shitty skin she cakes in makeup and a dead-end job and a suffocating sense that she will always be alone and miserable and bored until she perishes forever -- decides to get a puppy.

The dog makes her happy. She's no longer lonely now that she has her animal companion. Her newfound confidence lands her a promotion and an awesome, really tall guy. Her life turns out great.

Mt. Koya

So right now I'm staying as a guest at an ancient mountaintop temple set above a bamboo forest in Koyasan. It's all very Christian Bale cutting his teeth in the first act of Batman Begins.

I'm currently sitting across from an elderly Buddhist monk. He's telling me about the ancient traditions that go into preparing the five course vegetarian meal he's offering me.

I say: What a rich story. Domo arigato. I am so grateful for this meal and for my stay at this beautiful temple. There's such peace here. Arigato. I'm honored.

I think: I want to fuck someone wearing a Japanese school girl uniform. I really want to fuck a Japanese school girl. A giggling group of them. But no... The thought of spending time in a Japanese jail is way too horrifying. The people here are so polite and seeing -- in the faces of my jailers -- that cloying facade disappear into something truly menacing would scare the shit out of me, tap into some fucked up shit from childhood. And regardless, making a white girl wear the uniform and pretend to be a Japanese school girl would be so much more interesting. A black girl would overdo it. She'd do something grotesque like stretch out her eyes using her index fingers and talk in some horribly offensive accent while making painfully obvious references to Japanese food items. No, what I need to pull this off is a tasteful, highly acute white girl. A Jew likely. A Jew to speak pretty solid English but with a few glaring quirks and then when I compliment her she can say that yeah, she's been studying English since elementary school, most people in her generation do and I can smile and say that's true good point. And if she really did her homework she'd have checked the showtimes in Osaka online and then name some random popular Japanese movie playing now and say she's seeing it in an hour with some friends so we better make this quick plus she has a biology quiz tomorrow morning.

At which point the elderly, orange-robed monk clasps my hands, grins, and tells me that no, the honor is all his.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

I'm in Tokyo

There are some things I really enjoy. Like the subway system. A real fucking cynosure for the world. And I'm happy I get to indulge my sushi for breakfast habit without feeling guilty about being so extravagant when I should be eating yogurt or toast like normal people.

My biggest disappointment is the women. I had this ridiculous fantasy that I'd be getting eye-fucked by every other girl I ran into outside on the street in the middle of the day. Like that there'd honestly be a sea of eager white cock obsessed nympho temptresses just barreling toward me on every major thoroughfare. Not the case. Also, this whole experience has kind of gotten me over the Asian wing of my ethnic fetish. I'm realizing the predilection has always been a supply and demand thing.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Mama's Boy

Me: Did you like the whole rape fantasy thing? I helped inspire that.
Mom: Loved it. So proud of you. Folded your shirts. They're on top of the dryer.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Famous Moments in Therapy History

Erik: "So...let's see... Sort of went on a weird date with that Linda girl I told you about last week. Went to the Cheesecake Factory. Her choice. Just got this claustrophobic sense that she has the potential to be incredibly high-maintenance. Which I know I'm sort of attracted to and yet is ultimately so completely self-sabotaging. I haven't called her since. Which I think is actually a sign of some kind of progress. So yeah. What else. Umm, well Lyle and I killed our parents on Friday... I think it was Friday... Yeah, Falcon Crest was on. So yeah, Friday. Anyway, I've been feeling really just like off and sort of dulled and almost emotionally wounded ever since. On the one hand, it was a rewarding experience. Sort of cathartic. We talk about my issues with my parents so much. Yet a part of me realizes it was totally dysfunctional. And irrational. Which is frustrating. Knowing you're behaving illogically and yet being totally unable to keep your own true self-interest in mind. I don't know how I feel ultimately, which is sort of the scariest part. The not knowing. It makes me feel so clouded and vulnerable. And it plays into that whole thing we were talking about last week... those themes of indecision and ambivalence that keep reappearing in my life."

Therapist: "Back to Linda for just one moment. Did you start feeling the sensation of emotional entrapment after the date or while at the Cheesecake Factory itself?

Thursday, October 1, 2009


I have a few grey hairs.

I have developed a little bit of a hiatus paunch thanks to my diet consisting almost solely of Belgian ale, baby back ribs, coconut water, salmon sashimi, and fries.

And I like wearing crocs because they're really comfortable.

I'm completely aware of these facts, and yet, I'm as content with my life as I've ever been. In fact, it's my very contentment in the face of these facts that's a main cause of my contentment overall.

Here I am staring headlong into the business end of eventual middle age, and I don't give a fuck. And why should I? Subtle male deterioration is not only societally accepted but valued.

It makes me realize death isn't going to be nearly as bad as I sometimes fear. I can picture myself in my late seventies. Approaching my last few days. I'll be comforted by the fact that even though I'm about to face that eternal abyss, I don't really care, because fuck, our brains are wired to not really care lest we all go completely apeshit, and that casual not-caring might just attract the twentysomething Latina nurse taking care of my broke-down ass. Plus, I'll be too preoccupied worrying about how I told my son that I "shopped around for the most economical, but at the same time comfortable" hospice care available, when in reality I chose the most convenient, luxurious, exorbitant, fucking delightful practically spa-like end-of-life care I could find.