blame it on la

And We're Back! Some might say that 62 days is a long time to go between posts on what's supposed to be a weekly blog, but to those people I say "what do you know?" Some might think that just because I fall asleep every night to commercials for vocational schools, and have started attending soap opera conventions on a monthly basis, that I some how have all the time in the world to write down my thoughts and come up with ideas. Well, they'd be wrong about that too. The fact is that living on unemployment is a full-time job, sure it's one that involves watching a lot of TV, but that doesn't make it any less serious.

You might ask, "Will, how can you compare sitting on your couch, watching TV and eating ice cream all day, to a full time job?" Well, anyone who has to ask that question has clearly never been unemployed in the state of California and they most certainly haven't been up against the most evil of all organizations, California's very own Employment Development Department or EDD which I believe is actually short for "Evil Doing Douchebags", but you have to reach a secret level of frustration and despair in order to unlock that name and be allowed to call them that...officially at least.

For those who don't know, EDD handles the unemployment claims in California, or so they say. This is an agency that is so rooted in evil, so secretive, so diabolical, so just plain shady, that you can't even go to their offices, unless they tell you where they are. No seriously, you actually have to wait until they send you a letter with the secret location on it in order to get an audience with them. Going to the EDD offices is like going to see the wizard, except there are no kindly scarecrows and rusty tin men; it's all winged monkeys and falling houses. No. Actually it’s worse.

My EDD nightmare began November 11, 2007. I remember it like it was yesterday, mostly because that’s when my world came crashing down. That was the day EDD told me my claim had expired and I'd need to refile I order to continue claiming my benefits. I thought "well that's odd, I've only ever gotten two checks...in my life" But since I still had some meat on my bones and was naive enough to believe the state wasn't going let me starve to death, I opted to go through the motions and fill out the paperwork. In the meantime, two of my friends told me that EDD had been withholding their checks as well, and had been for a very long time, because their "identities couldn't be verified" Truthfully all I really thought about that situation was "Gee, that sucks, guys. That's not gonna happen to me." Turns out I'm a cocky ass and I'm almost always wrong! One week later an oddly shaped envelope showed up in my mailbox with a letter asking me to send in a copy of my drivers license, a pay stub, a utility bill, a blood sample, and three fingernails in order to prevent any fraud in my claim and verify my identity. While I dutifully packed the envelope with the required materials it occurred to me that this may take a while as my friends had already taken a number for their tour in purgatory weeks before me and had yet to be served. I sent in my work on December 5.

December 20th was a warm day in Los Angeles, I'd say it was around 74 degrees. I walked outside and promptly stepped in a mud puddle courtesy of the perpetually sprinkling sprinklers the night before but that’s not what made this day so special. December 20th was special because it was the 5th day I hadn't eaten because EDD were still establishing who I was even though they'd been sending checks to my house forever apparently I’d changed form and now required investigating. I decided to try my luck and call EDD and low and behold, I got through! When I told them I'd sent the requested paper work in 15 days ago, they informed me that while yes they had received all of my materials 13 days before, the standard wait time is 15 business days and I was only on day 9, if we're talking business days. I could however write a letter and fax them my car bill, credit card statements, and if applicable, an eviction notice which according to EDD may or may not speed up the process.

After six weeks, a lot of crying, and an obscene amount of ramen noodles, I finally got a check on December 30th! I have a feeling it had less to do with the very sad letter I sent them and more to do with not wanting to be named in a lawsuit I was filing about my ridculously high sodium levels and my geyser like blood pressure. Ramen really does bring us together. Remember to only use half of the flavor packet, it may save your life.

I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that California tried to starve me to death, or that they had me on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I mean I guess it could have been worse. I suppose I made it through because in the back of my head I always knew that I still had some cardboard boxes left over from my move that I could have lived in, had it come down to that. Thanks Cali, you're the bestest.

As I spend my days nestled in the relative safety of my comforter, experimenting with recipes I see on the Food Network (Giada DeLaurentis I really do love you), and wondering how many loads of laundry I can do with 17 quarters. I sometimes forget things happen outside of this happy place I call "Big Will Manor." At no time was this point clearer to me than on the day I decided to venture out to spend time with a friend of mine who happens to live down the street. A big part of surviving while your job is on hiatus is finding another person who's also home all day everyday. It's a mental health imperative. In case your wondering, people who work from home count too. In this particular situation we had both, so there were three of us. We were hanging out and talking about, well, probably nothing really when one of my friends casually mentions that there had been a carjacking some days ago in between our mutual blocks. Had I not already been reclined, I more than likely would have been floored. Mostly because it's not like we live in Compton! I mean, I don't think there is anyone on the planet who can boast the amount of C-List Soap Stars I see in my local grocery store everyday! So I was shaken (well, sort of).

It took a few weeks, but I finally came to grips with the fact that I apparently now live in South Central LA. Ok, maybe it's not that bad, but still, you'd think that I'd be hyper-vigilant after hearing such a terrifying tale, but lucky for me, there was no need since I rarely go anywhere, but then it happened again! I was with my friend enjoying a quiet and wholesome evening of light beer and biscuits when she hits me with "OMG! I was totally almost carjacked last night!" I was all "GET OUT!" She went on to explain that it was late at night, she'd gotten into her car when she saw a man step out of the shadows, with his had behind his back, creeping towards her and her parked car. Scary right? Well, the story ends with a NASCAR style, peel out that involved some sort of awesome reverse maneuver and then a smoky tired escape. Other than being traumatizing, it was all good.

After hearing those two stories I started thinking about the whole carjacking thing and I can't figure out what it's all about. I know I'm no gangster, and I know that short of providing 50 cent with his 10th bullet wound, I'll never have any type of street cred, but WTF? I just don't get it. It seems to me that that people who carjack people on the street when there isn't an emergency are the sorriest posers EVER! There aren't many excuses for jacking a car. Although I think as with anything, there can be extenuating circumstances. For instance, I understand if say, you rob a bank, and maybe you stayed in the bank a little too long and your crew took off in the van and left you behind. Well, duh! You're stuck in the middle of daytime traffic with a duffel bag full of money on your back, shooting up the sidewalk with your semi-automatic and you need to get away. Well, yes! You should be allowed to jack cars! I say, "Do whatcha gotta do, you have carte blanche, jack away my friend. Jack away." I'm more than cool with that.

What I have a problem with, are the cranked out douchebags who hang out in alley's waiting for a person to unlock, get in, and then start their cars before finally making their move. What kind of sense does that make?! These people have to be the lamest, laziest criminals ever! I mean stealing cars is as old as well...cars. I'd call it an art form but for some reason I don't even think it's that hard. I mean they make tools specifically for stealing cars! How hard can it be?! Have we come to the point now where car thieves don't even know how to execute their crime of choice?! I've slept through a few classes in my day, but I'm quite sure that if my chosen profession was car thief, I'd pay attention and learn how to do it. This is why this country is so far behind everyone else! We invented the horseless carriage but refuse to learn how to steal one? I'm embarrassed! Just sayin'. Oh, and also, I saw Menace II Society, there's no excuse for jacking someone at the drive-thru for their rims and a double burger with cheese either, although that was a damn funny scene.When I was little I used to love to watch movies and see how cool the bad guy was. I mean they were never dumb, never lazy, they had cool lairs and awesome private monorails. When push came to shove they reached down and grabbed a handful of wires and started the car before peeling out in the city streets. It makes me sad that I'd probably be less afraid of criminals if they took their work more seriously.

Ok, so it may seem like I've been writing a lot about commercials lately. Well, I have, but there's a perfectly good explanation for that. Turns out that the lovely program that provides me with both my bread and my butter is on hiatus until the beginning of the year. Loosely translated that means that my days consist mostly of rolling out of bed, carrying my duvet to the couch, preparing my nutritious breakfast of oatmeal, bananas and chocolate syrup, and then watching The View to see if Sherri Shepard will try to make an argument against trees producing oxygen. Once I'm done with that I always look forward to my daily paternity update on Maury. I can't stress it enough people, knowledge is power and I just know that one day I'm going to meet someone on the street and be able to say "OMG! I totally know who your father is! Your mom was awesome when she jumped up and did the splits after the test proved Cantrone really was your daddy! Good luck to you and make sure he takes care of his responsibilities!" See had I not had the information, that whole exchange would have been pretty awkward! I just like to do my part.

I've learned so much watching daytime television and I'm not afraid to say that I love it, after all making it is my chosen profession. For example did you know that there are schools or "colleges" out there that will let you attend classes even without a high school diploma or a GED? They're awesome, they'll work with you before work, they'll work with you after work. Hey, they don't want you to do it for your mom, not for your kids. No! They want you to go for you! All you have to do is make the call! As a matter of fact, some of America's best and brightest video game designers are alumni of a few of these esteemed establishments. No, really! Look!
Dude! Sweet! Dude! Sweet!

See! If I was sitting in an office somewhere like some douchebag, I would have never found out about this awesome institution and all the opportunities it has to offer! I just wish someone would have told me about these super schools when I was trying my hardest to get on the bottom of the honor roll. Well, I like to spread the word, so that others don't have to suffer the injustices of getting a secondary school diploma the way I had to. If your money isn't tight, but it's just not right, then check this out and don't ever say that I didn't give back!

I love to learn, and since I rarely leave my apartment, I'm thinking my world view as seen through the eyes of Maury Povich and Jerry Springer guests may be becoming a little skewed, but I'm confident and emboldened by the fact that when I decide to reintegrate myself back into society and maybe think about a career change, there are places that I can go. Not many know this about me, but I've always had kind of a fascination with gun smithing. So I know I have a future, as long as I can bring my comforter.

Ahhhhhh. So I created this little corner of the Internet to rail against the unfairness of circumstance (specifically mine) and the fact that I hate Los Angeles. Rest assured, I've not wavered in my mission as the varying degrees of irrational emotion I have about this place would take an army of psychiatrists decades to unravel. I will say this however, things are looking up. Why you ask? Mostly because, like my idol Snake Plisken, or Kurt Russell if you're too cool to love on the B movies. I managed to escape from LA, if only for 7 way too short days. It's true though. I some how managed to pack a bag, hop a plane, gird myself for the ridiculous long term parking fees and get the heck out of Dodge. For the record, it was awesome.

My home state status may be considered a little sketchy by some, given that I never actually lived in the United States until I was 19, but I think it's fair and in no way out line to say that New York City, and especially the borough of Brooklyn are what I would consider to be my home. One week is nowhere near enough time to return after 2 years in exile and try to reconnect with all the people you've missed during your time serving ungrateful super models and ducking wildfires.

No question, my return to the NYC was the best vacation I've had in my life, and I like to think I've had a few (by "think" I mean "know"). You know you're home when the minute you get back it feels like you never left, except for that nagging voice that keeps asking why you left in the first place. Lucky for me I was able to shut that little bugger up toot sweet.

Anyway, to celebrate my renewed love affair with my home, I decided to make a list of things that make New York rule and by transitive property make LA suck. Ok, here we go.

1. New York's energy is second to none, it's as alive at 5am as it is at 5pm

2. Unlike Los Angeles if you walk someplace in NYC it doesn't automatically mean you're homeless, turns out everyone walks, because we have legs!

3. Bars are open way past 2am...nuff said

4. You can walk outside and hail a cab, none of this "it'll be there in 15 minutes" crap, unless you choose to of course.

5. The Subway actually takes you places! Would someone PLEASE explain the LA subway system to me? I just don't get it.

Um, nice subway LA

6. Not that I eat them, but bread products like pizza and bagels taste like pizza and bagels in New York. I never thought I'd buy into the whole "the water makes the dough taste different" thing. I was wrong, and I certainly didn't know that "taste different" meant "tastes like paper." Hey LA, fix the water! Gosh!

Mmmm...I used to like bagels

7. The architecture consists of more than strip malls and donut shops that sell Chinese food. No really, dirty left over buildings from the 70's with nail salons and English as a Second Language classrooms have never been that sexy to me.

8. New York has amazing public parks that people actually want to go to, no it's true!

Prospect Park, Brooklyn

9. The anorexic to eating person ratio in New York City is about a quarter of that to the ratio in the city of angels. LA, please make it stop, NYC ladies are so much hotter. Turns out eating is healthy.

10. Sure it's an easy one, but would you believe? New York looks different with every season..turns out there are no palm trees, and it snows! I never thought in a million years I'd be caught up in a dust storm...in January.

There are a million more, but I think I made my point. Anyway, while I'm not particularly glad to be back, I'll forever covet the experience of going back. Until the next time at least.

So, I grew up in that ambiguous period between the 80's and 90's. It sort of puts me in the unique position of rocking out to the tail end of one era and the very beginning of another. That may just make me awesome. Here are the facts, it turns out, I'm a music lover. I love it all. Rock, wave, punk, metal, pop, hardcore, techno, you name it. I mean, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to enjoying the occasional country ditty. Lucky for me, I'm in my early 30's which I believe gives me license to no longer care what people think about my musical choices. Having said that, I'm wondering if anyone has tickets to the Hootie and the Blowfish show next week.

Here's what I really remember. Those days where metal, specifically hair metal was playing itself out, you know, when at first it ruled and then it became a caricature of itself. I'm not saying I didn't love the music, in fact I almost peed on myself last year when Kevin Dubrow of Quiet Riot knocked me over coming out of the bathroom in the Houston airport, and no there was no foot tapping or hand touching involved! Looking back, it was probably just because I hate using airplane bathrooms and it was a long flight...not the point. The fact is I've probably done more to keep these aging good time rockers alive and eating than their own families, still not the point. I think we all know what I'm really talking about. I'm talking about that sad period when every one's favorite ballerina Kip Winger was "headed for a heartbreak", when Warrant had their "Cherry Pie," when Motley Crue replaced Vince Neil with John Corabi. Yes, those days. When we all knew it was basically over.

It's no secret what killed the hair metal, I mean other than the communists. By 1990 glam rock had become the musical equivalent of a Twinkie. Sure it tasted good going down, but what exactly were we getting out of it? Just a bunch of empty musical calories. By 1991 when Nirvana broke with "Smells Like Teen Spirit" I think we all felt so bad and dumb for listening to music that only made us feel good, that it was easy to accept and act on the feigned and prefabricated angst that the record companies convinced us we'd been ignoring all of our lives. Who knew that apparently we all had problems that we'd been covered up by the Soma like effects of the lyrics of Bret Michaels and Paul Stanley. Weird what you miss out on when you don't know you're supposed to be miserable.

I remember the backlash was swift and harsh, almost as bad as when America turned it's back on it's other forgotten mistress, let's call her "Disco" and if we're being honest and keeping it current, I might even say boy bands, but whatever. I'm sure not many people remember that in 1993, hair metal poster boys Poison, like Motley Crue, released a new album with a new member. That album was called Native Tongue. Poison's previous album Flesh & Blood sold 8 million copies, whereas Native Tongue barely managed to sell 500,000 copies. Oddly Pearl Jam's Ten still manages top move almost 20,000 units a week. Even as most of these party bands tried to mature, it seems the nation was still suffering from the guilt of spending a decade being happy and missing the memo that music was supposed to "mean something."

So, now it's 2007 and music is all over the place. There is no universal message. Sure you have your emo, your alternative, your pop, nu-metal, neo-soul, but it's all pretty much the same crap. Rap is the new hair metal, instead of singing about partying and sexing (which they actually do), we listen to songs about Bentley's, bling, and yachts. It's all just a big ol' cartoon. Let's be honest, with lyrics like "Na Na My Sex Drive all Night like a Trucker." Really? That's kinda hot Foxy! Good thing I don't have kids. Oddly, it's not even the irony of the cycle that bothers me. The whole reason for this rant is because, the other day I saw a commercial that reminded me of exactly why I thought all those hair metal songs ruled in the first place, because they were GOOD SONGS! I'm not the biggest fan of Microsoft, but you can't tell me that the Xbox 360 commercial featuring a chorus of children singing Nothing But A Good Time" by Poison isn't awesome. No seriously. It's so sublime that it took me me two viewings to figure out that I was hearing a preschool version of a song that helped carry me through my past. It didn't make me want an XBox 360, but it definitely made me realize that no matter what anyone says, I have awesome taste in music. See for yourself.
click here to see Poison's original masterpiece

Lucky for me it's been a slow week. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad, but its definitely a fact. It's times like these that I know that it's probably time to brace myself for some cataclysmic event that I'm sure will hit me any second. Well, That's just what I've decided to take some preemptive measures to ensure my continued happiness. Like most men, I love drums and I love monkeys. What guy doesn't? What kind of monkeys you ask? Oh, I like 'em all, chimpanzees, orangutans, spider monkeys, smoking monkeys, smoking dung throwing monkeys, and gorillas. Especially, drumming gorillas. Hey man, that's just the way that I'm wired. What better combination to pull me out of the darkness, than a drumming monkey that sells chocolate. Since I'm such a good and giving person, I've decided not to be selfish and share this ancient glee making secret with the rest of the world. I'm not sure I'll ever be unhappy again. There's really not much more I can say about this.
I rest my case. I really have been waiting for this moment all my life.

There comes a time in everyone's life, when you realize that maybe it's time to stop complaining and maybe just suck it up. You say to yourself, "I'm just going to make the best of my current situation." Maybe you like music and you want to start throwing out Fred Durst aka Wordsworth quotes, "Time can change me, but I can't change time, so F it!" Yes, I know that's not how the original song goes, take it up with Fred! In this particular case, I came to that conclusion a few weeks ago. I felt as though I'd finally run out of negative things to say about Los Angeles, which I took as a bit of a breakthrough. I felt myself moving past my initial anger and bitterness and I felt a big smoggy, dusty weight being lifted off of my ever so slight shoulders. Not gonna lie, it felt kind of good, if not a tad bit on the fleeting side. While I knew never to allow myself to get complacent, I did maybe allow myself to verbally compliment the city or at least something about it once or twice.

Now, I'm not the most trusting person in the world, in fact I like to proceed with caution. Yet, because things had been running so smoothly I didn't look at the break in my string of bad luck as the "Calm Before The Storm" that it was. Instead, I skipped and frolicked along as though I'd finally won the battle of LA and I was now enjoying the spoils of my victory! I was getting the peace and clarity I so richly deserved, since I'd never done anything to make LA hate me the way it does. I felt triumphant in the fact that I'd finally made this city my bitch or at least my booty call. So you can imagine my surprise Tuesday morning, when I bounced out of my apartment, Vitamin Water and yogurt in hand, off to spend another fine day breaking up marriages. While whistling a happy tune and bounding down the sidewalk toward my beloved car, I began to make a mental list of all the ways a wife can call her husband a loser. It was only then that I happened to catch a glimpse of my car across the street. My car is silver, but i couldn't help notice that the silver seemed to be complimented by some specifically placed industrial orange that just shouldn't have been there. I knew immediately what it was, in fact it was so obvious and inevitable, I don't think I even bothered cursing about it. My car had sooo been booted!

Ok. Seriously. I know that there are parking issues in pretty much every major metropolitan area. New York is a meter maid's wet dream, Boston keeps its workers in shape by having them run outside every two hours to feed the meters. But there is something shady about the way LA does it's ticket business. You may be thinking "Hey Jackass! Quit bitching, you should have paid your tickets." To that I say "whatever dude." I'm like OJ Simpson and I don't believe the rules apply to me. Besides, half my tickets were bogus. Um, a ticket for not having my car registered? Not true. A ticket for not having my parking pass on display? What's that in the window douche bag? The fact is the system is backwards and I just can't get with their big dumb "ticket you for no reason policies." As far as contesting the bogus tickets? I already said the rules don't apply to me! Maybe I did owe for the other three tickets, but that's neither here nor there. The fact is I guess the boot saved my life, because I was starting to get comfortable, at least now I remember, LA will never be my friend.

BIt's been a slow week. Ok, sure, there were a few earth shattering events. Britney Spears taught us that you really can't go home again, at least not if you've just polished of an Ambien, Xanax, and Oxycontin cocktail or two. I've certainly learned a few things about bikini sizing, which I appreciate. We were also treated to a new season of "The Biggest Loser" which NBC inexplicably debuted on September 11th, random? Only if you say so. But hey, that's all kid stuff when you think about what really happened this week! The world's most famous aquitted celebrity Killer, OJ Simpson came crashing back on the scene! That guy's publicist is clearly working overtime. First, his extraordinary and flawless "fictional" account of Nicole Brown-Simpson and Ronald Goldman's brutal, foresicaly prestine murder has managed to climb to the number one position on Amazon.com! Way to go OJ! It just proves that with hard work, a stunning lack of self-awareness, bad knees, and a kitchen knife, you can accomplish even the what may seem at the time to be the most impossible of goals.

The thing with OJ, is that as a professional athlete, he clearly has the heart of a champion. He's no Britney! Oh no! OJ knows that you have to go big or go home! If you didn't come to win, don't come at all, and I have to say that I admire that about him. When you want a proper comeback, you can't just lethargically wander around a stage lip-syncing in your underwear, heck no, especially if your not new to the fame game. Established stars need an event, something hot, something no one else at your level has done before. I've certainly had my share of wacky ideas, but wow OJ. I have to say that breaking into a hotel room with two thugs while running your own "Sting Operation" falls just this side of genius. Quite honestly, if I heard someone had one of my suits and was planning to sell it, I might be tempted to do the same. Go big or go home people! Sure, OJ may be a double murderer, with a funny limp, a pumpkin head, and a loose grip on reality, but seriously I have to admire his tenacity. I'm just waiting for his next project, I hear it's an album of ballads produced by Phil Spector.

Ok, whoa! Let's start by saying that I'm not afraid of a little warm weather. I'd also like to state that even though I don't use Compact Fluorescent Bulbs, I do live a "mentally" green lifestyle, I've thought about recycling and I even stayed home and watched the "Live Earth" concerts all the way through. Point is I like to think I've done my part to combat global warming. Which is why I was so caught off guard by the Mercury-esque temperatures that have been baking Los Angeles all this week, broiling both small animals and senior citizens alike.

I thought that my African heritage, coupled with my generous endowment of melanin would have helped prepare me to endure what others might call "extreme" temperatures. But triple digits?! That's taking it to a whole new level which by the way is bordering on unnecessary. Seriously, it's enough to make me wish I hadn't hosted all of those Styrofoam bonfires back in the eighties.

Before I came to the West Coast, I had some preconceived ideas of what the weather here was like. I was led to believe that the temperature in LA, this city with no personality, no natural water source, and most conspicuously, no seasons, was always a balmy 77 degrees. What I wasn't told is that there would be weeks I would be trapped in my apartment because going outside would nullify my medical insurance for ignoring the heat advisory. Turns out they don't tell you everything in those travel brochures!

Warm weather is nice, fire and brimstone, not so much. Heat doesn't bother me, but feeling like Hell just opened up a theme park does. It's times like these that it occurs to me that global warming is a real thing. Even worse, it makes me wish I'd gone a little easier on the "Brut" in the eigth grade. What have I done?

Holy Cow! It's been a while. Don't hate, I haven't gone anywhere, even the most prolific writers have to take breaks from time to time. What? Do you think Judy Blume publishes a book every week! I'm sure she took a little hiatus after "Are you there God? It's Me, Margaret." I know I would have. It is a masterpiece after all. I'll have to look into that. If you're gonna go the extreme route and assume that I've been at the compound in Michigan training with the militia and preparing for the war against the "mud people," then once again, you're dead wrong. The truth is I was a little depressed, totally uninspired and probably a little lazy. I took some time to hibernate and stay in bed for days at a time. Self pity is awesome if you want to catch up on some sleep. Don't worry, It wasn't a total loss, I learned a lot. I did some research and built a mock crack den in my living room, sans crack of course. It was more of a decorating motif. Don't believe me? Just you watch! Everyone is going to be doing "early crack den" next year. When you walk into your friend's house and there are a dozen empty water bottles on the coffee table, two weeks worth of mail on the couch, 5 pairs of assorted shoes and socks on the floor, and a gaggle of empty wine bottles everywhere, just remember who started that. You heard it hear first people. So it's time to climb from the depths and out of my hole. I've decided to burn my sheets, kick the tissue boxes off of my feet, cut my nails back 8 inches, and trim my beard so I can donate it to "Locks of Love." Helping kids makes me feel good. Turns out being sad kind of blows, and I'm kinda over it. Of course there's one fact that will never change, LA Sucks, but since it's so good at sucking, maybe i can finally make it my bitch! Hallelujah Hollaback!