Go ahead, make my birthday

When the United Nations debates whether or not being Clint Eastwood or Burt Reynolds circa 1977 is better, I wonder if they take into account that in '77 Clint was already 47 years old.

Trans Am, Orangutan, Trans Am, Orangutan. Tough call. There will never be peace in the Middle East until it is decided.

Who's your daddy?

Lewis Alexander Fein, born February 1973
Barry Jay Fein, born October 1975

Two years, seven months difference.


Tonight my brother got me into his gym, Equinox, on a guest pass. While I was working out, one of the staff members asked him if he was going to buy me, his son, a membership. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!! Poor bastard. He really doesn't look that much older than me. It must have been his cigar smoking, treadmill trotting demeanor that made him seem older.

Randy's Donuts and Road Rage

The one time I was allowed to venture west of the Beverly Hills Hotel this weekend was for a late night donut run. My brother heard from what I will assume was Dom Deluise's stunt double that Randy's has the best jelly donuts in LA. I made the mistake of telling said brother that I was 85% sure of the location of this magic donut shop. After driving around for 25 minutes while listening to screaming regarding my mental incompetence we finally found the mecca. Just look at the picture. If I was a giant Homer Simpson I would have been in heaven.

Mmmm...donut

My Vacation: 21.17 Miles Away

Some people would think it is insane to go on vacation in the town you live. I was one of those people until this past weekend. Fearing what would happen if I said no, I allowed my brother to take me for the weekend to the Beverly Hills Hotel. If I wasn't related and the same sex, I would have definitely assumed I would have had to put out for such an extravagant trip. Well at least not the same sex. I am giving my brother the benefit of the doubt here. As far as being related, come on, everyone has a cousin they want to bang. The weekend had everything I could have dreamed of in a vacation. There was a visit to the hospital, a Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am, bagels and lox, a dog shitting in the hotel room, cigars, and a motorcycle with a sidecar. If there had been a monkey knife fight I would have assumed I had died and gone to heaven.

So where do I begin. This might end up being a crazy long post. I am going to try and write everything in order but I am sure I will screw some of it up. Who gives a shit? Not like you can prove I didn't fight a ninja on my last night in the hotel.

A bit of a background on the trip and why it happened. My brother really wanted to go somewhere for Memorial Day weekend. He just didn't want to fly or drive anywhere far. Since we like eating at the Beverly Hills Hotel so much it seemed like a logical choice. The goal was to relax, eat well, and go for car rides to parts of LA we hadn't been to before. It was just me, my brother and a loaner Welsh Terrier named Terry the entire weekend.

The Hotel:

The Beverly Hills Hotel is owned by the Sultan of Brunei. It is by far the greatest hotel I have ever been to. If you have the means I highly recommend you partake. If you are walking down the hall and a hotel employee is coming at you they will immediately hug the closest wall and make sure not to make eye contact. I have never felt more like Cobra Commander in my entire life.


The Hospital:

For the last week I had explosive diarrhea. The kind of shitting you would read about in a medical journal. Without bragging I would say I pooped my pants at least three times. Even though my brother had a replacement lined up for the trip, I was determined to go and bleed his wallet by drinking every bottle of water in the mini fridge. With that in mind, I checked in and immediately crapped my guts out and cried like a new fish in prison. Not to have anyone ruin his trip, my brother insisted on taking me to the UCLA emergency room so that I could be repaired. Five hours and one IV bag later I was feeling great. By the way, never go to the hospital with someone who is impatient. My brother was screaming at me the entire time the IV was drip, drip, dripping to hurry up. Like I had any control over it.

Dog shitting in the room:

Terry is a great dog and I love spending time with him. He only has one major flaw. He does not know how to shit on a leash (who really does?). I walked him about 25 times on Saturday but not once did he even motion that he had to drop a deuce. Of course in the middle of watching The Long Goodbye in the room, Terry decided it was a good time to take a shit in the middle of the bed. Poor bastard, he must have had a gopher peaking for hours. He just didn't know what to do. After an initial once over by yours truly, I had house cleaning cleanse the mattress. So happy there was no eye contact. They fear their dear Cobra Commander.

Cigars:

My brother has lost his mind. He is certifiably insane. So insane that I am sure he will want me to change this post. First amendment motha-fucka!!! He has become obsessed with smoking cigars. I felt like I had somehow quantum leaped into Winston Churchill's wife's underwear the first time I woke up to see him standing in his dirty misshapen Nordstrom briefs, chewing some beaten up vile cigar at eight in the morning. I spent three days riding around in an Audi Quattro ashtray.


Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am and a Motorcycle with a Sidecar:

On one of our many rides through the country/Hollywood Hills, we came across two amazing vehicles. The first was an old BMW motorcycle with a sidecar. The owner was teaching his girlfriend how to drive while we sat on the side of the road and watched. I don't know what was cooler, the motorcycle or the hot girl learning to ride it wearing motorcycle boots. Does that count as irony? As for the Trans AM, we were driving up and down side streets admiring LA's mid century architecture when, out of nowhere, it appeared. It was the most beautiful site I have ever seen. I am going to say something sacrilegious now but bare with me. It was beautiful and it wasn't black (does that count as irony?). I don't even know what color it was. I literally can't remember, but it was so beautiful that I tried to find it again today to no avail. So many streets and so few Trans Ams. One day we will meet again.

Bagels, Lox, and good food in general:

The hotel has some of the best food I have ever had in my short life. Each morning once my bowels were healed we would have breakfast on the balcony overlooking all the little people. The nova was unfucking-believable. Not to mention the waffle I washed it down with. I could go on but you get the idea.

In Closing:

I had a great weekend. I didn't bring my computer and it was beyond nice to be unplugged. I got to see part of LA I had never seen before. I highly recommend going to Griffith Park, walking around the Fern Dell trail, and stopping at the Trails Pieshop for a slice of pie. Also if you are in town hit the Pacific Dining Car downtown. It makes the one in Santa Monica feel like a cheap imititation. Who am I kidding, if you are reading this, we are friends. If you are in town, I will take you around.

Thanks Lewis, Terry, the hotel staff, and the staff at UCLA for making this a great weekend.

Brendan Fraser and Freddie Prinze Jr. are off the list of celebrities I want to fight

For the last twelve years I have been compiling a list of celebrities I would like to fight. I imagine a battle royale similar to me fighting a gaggle of first graders (nod to Jake). Tom Cruise can't weigh more than a six year old, could he? I figure I would start with the cast of Entourage and finish up with Estelle Getty. I would make that Golden Girl cry like a little bitch.

Sadly, as of last night I had to remove two people from my celebrity fight club. There is no chance of me fighting Freddie Prinze Jr. or Brendan Fraser. I sat next to them while I stuffed my gullet with sushi and I have to say they are both too large to beat with my own hands. I don't think I could win in a fight with either of them. It would be like me fighting a couple of 6th graders. Before you think of me as a big puss realize I am talking about sixth graders from the early '80s. The kind that smoke and have sex. I got no chance against them.

I would still fight Sarah Michelle Gellar though. She was at dinner also. I could take her. It would be a blood bath.

Save the Barry Building

Only in Los Angeles could Donna Mills be standing outside Dutton's Bookstore collecting signatures to save a building named after me.



Yeah, I know who Donna Mills is. Gotta problem with it?

Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker

Today was an especially exciting day. I watched my brother buy licorice in the shape of Scottish terriers while Rumor Willis waited patiently behind him to pay for some smokes. I didn't think Rumor looked as bad as the media makes her out. She is however, tiny. I am not just talking small, I am talking Indian in the Cupboard * little. If I was into playing with Barbies, which I am, I would need her to dress up as 'No Talent Nepotism Barbie' and have her have sex with my entire Urkel collection.



**Worst reference to a movie ever

I have seen the future and it's brown!

For months and months I have been bothering anyone who would listen that I wanted a Porsche Turbo in what I considered classic 70's brown. People said I was out of mind. "The car looks like shit, literally!" Well it looks like the boys at Stuttgart heard me crying in my sleep.

Check out the newest color added to the Porsche lineup:

SUPERBAD = SUPERGOOD

Fuck Spiderman. Fuck Fantastic Four. Fuck Bruce Willis and Die Hard 52. I have found the movie that is going to make this the greatest summer since 1987 (summer I started jerking off). Go to SUPERBAD and watch the trailer that is age restricted. If you don't want to see the movie after that, kill yourself.

Weekend List

My friend Jake came out to Los Angeles for the weekend. I think if I was ever to truly use my writing abilities for evil he would help me bury the bodies. Here are some of the highlights of our weekend conversations:

1. There is nothing worse than cutting into a baked potato that isn't cooked, not even the Holocaust.
2. You need lots of upper lip real estate to grow a proper 'stache.
3. If you are a child sized man, the only appropriate job is being a jockey.
4. Hanging Brain - great term
5. Quincy Jones would had to have fucked a Polar Bear to have a daughter as white as Karen.
6. Idea for a script - Jarred from Subway falls off the wagon and becomes fat again.
7. It should only take a week to get over being in a wheel chair.8. Syphilis will make you happy.9. Need to set up a living funeral to see how people remember me. Buy good coffin.10. A bed at Camp Harlam is more comfortable than the shitty box I got my dad.11. Idea for a cook book - One Wipe Deuce Cook Book. All recipes result in shits that only require one wipe.12. Need to somehow be friends with Andre the Giant before he died.13. Who would you rather be Clint Eastwood or Burt Reynolds circa 1978?14. Start letter writing campaign to get Smokey and the Bandit and Cannonball Run action figures made.15. Why isn't there a channel dedicated to Ninjas? 24-7 Ninja Movies.16. Need a Syrup Wench whenever I am eating pancakes. She will do the pouring.17. The fatter the Jon Favreau the better the movie. The Favreau Principle:

• Rudy (fat) = Good
• Elf (fat) = Good
• Friends (thin) = Bad
• Made (not sure)= Draw
• Armageddon = Not sure if he was in it. More research to come.
• The Break-Up (fat) = He was good but the movie sucked which leads to the Vaughn variable.
• Vaughn Variable - If you add Vaughn to a Favreau movie his weight must be in precise opposition to Favreau's in order for the movie to do well.
• Thin + Fat = Good - no example at this time
  
• Fat + Fat = Bad - no example needed
  

18. The Break-Up stopped being funny an hour into it.
19. Being awake is for chumps.
20. There should be a test to see if someone is stupid. Its called an IQ exam idiot.
21. I am sorry miss but we can't let you through security because you are carrying huge bombs.

So that's is it. Some of it might make sense. Some might not. I will be teaching a class at UCLA this fall on the Favreau principle for those that are interested.

For the Bandit

I just had an amazing pulled pork sandwich at Baby Blues Bar-B-Q. The can of Coors brought back amazing memories of driving through Texarkana.

Spiderman franchise goes down in flames

I feel bad. I am sure somewhere, somehow, somebody worked very hard on making Spiderman 3 come to life. Sadly, they didn't work hard enough. The movie was spider duece. I am convinced both Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst attended the Charles 'Corky' Thacher Acting School. Yes, I am saying they both have down syndrome.

If a movie costs a couple hundred million to make, you would think they could afford to digitally remove at least six of Mr. Maguire's eight chins. As for Kirstin Dunst, how about an on set dentist? Don't even get me started on the Peter Parker dance number.

I'll cut you

My childhood friend's father claims that when I was little I once came to school with a kitchen knife wrapped in a towel. He said from that day on he respected my resourceful craziness. I am a bit sad this never happened.

Give me a diablo sandwich, a Dr. Pepper, and make it quick, I'm in a god-damn hurry.

This is me one day after winning the lotto:

Eliot Stein is dead. Long live Eliot Stein.

I heard Eliot Stein died today as he lived, horribly. I didn't really know him and I won't really miss him so I don't even know why I am sharing.

Eliot Stein, you were a disgrace to fat people everywhere.

*Eliot Stein was no Dom Deluise.


Is it too soon to take down the link to his blog?