Philadelphia 2 - This time with more AIDS!

I can honestly say I have never sat through the movie Philadelphia. When I was younger I avoided it because I thought it might give me AIDS (times were different back then). Now I can't sit through it because the premise seems absurd. People don't get AIDS anymore. That was so 1990. At least that is what I thought until I saw my brother the other day. I went to run some absurd errand with him that involved us driving to the San Gabriel Valley to get a permit for some sort of art show that he plans to put on in the park (lies, but might be good for another post). I pull up to his place and he walks out looking like a homeless Tom Hanks and this time Denzel won't represent him.

Let me break the outfit down for you. He is wearing all black Nike sneakers, the kind you wear if you are waiter or a nurse. I didn't see his socks, but let's just assume they were torn to shreds. Move on to the pants, Brooks Brothers, wool pleated suit pants, funny enough purchased roughly the same time Philadelphia came out. I would say pleated says it all, but I was told that the previous day one of his friends informed him that his pants had the distinctive odor of vomit, so I am pretty sure vomit trumps pleated. The shirt, XXXL dry-fit with a week's worth of crumbs stuck all over. On top of the shirt was a filthy Patagonia fleece that looked like it was purchased during freshman orientation at Brandeis. Moving on to the face, the perfect cancer beard. You know the kind that makes people think, poor thing, he clearly is dying. Finally we get to the baseball hat, the same cancer description applies here as well. Each item was gross on their own, but together it created some sort of Voltron animal of disgust. If I knew the words to the Bruce Springsteen Philadelphia song, now would be a good time for me to sing them. If I had a time machine and a jar full of AIDS, I could easily make some money having my brother be Tom Hanks's stand-in. It was all very sad. Hopefully my brother can get to a doctor before his condition worsens.

He covered his face out of shame!

Han Solo has dementia and I have diarrhea

I should say had diarrhea since this this story is a week old. Captain Solo still has dementia though.

It all started in a galaxy far away that I like to call Brentwood. It was Wednesday night and I was driving my land speeder to my brother's for an early dinner before my class. Traffic was a complete nightmare. I think a couple of droids got run over in front of Mos Eisley's cantina and there wasn't a jawa in sight to clean it up. With traffic being a complete nightmare, my brother thought it would be a good time to go to a local sushi place that I had previously told him was delicious. That was ten years ago and we both know my palette is much more refined now. I was down for going anywhere close as long as there were no sand people there (with or without the Star Wars joke it sounds amazingly racist).

We got to the sushi place around 6PM and there wasn't another customer in sight. Now when we are dealing with raw fish, not having many customers can cause one to worry, but I was still being optimistic. We sat at the bar and ordered a few pieces. Each piece made me wish I had shot first, but it was too late. The damage was done to my midi-chlorian. As I sat there chewing wookie meat, who do you think walked in the door? It was none other than Han Solo himself (with an earring) and what I would assume was Princess Leia after she went on a hunger strike. There was also a child but he looked more adopted than Skywalker. Everyone that worked in the restaurant said "Hello Captain Solo, your usual table with your back to the wall?" He said of course and sat down with one hand on his blaster while keeping the other free for his chop sticks. I overheard him order a bunch of rotten fish while I sat sadly realizing my hero clearly had early onset Alzheimer's. I mean I had an excuse as to why I went to this dump. It had been ten years and I was young. He clearly goes there all the time. Maybe with all the trouble in the middle east, it is too expensive to take the falcon more than a few parsecs past his mansion.

Now on to the death star in my bowels. After we finished eating, I needed something to get the horrible taste out of my mouth. I made my brother stop at Coffee Bean where I got myself a piece of coffee cake. I have no clue why I ordered it. I never eat coffee cake. Anyway, I shoved the entire piece in my mouth in a fashion that would have made Jabba proud. As we walked to the car I felt that as if there was a direct hit to my core reactor. Sweat started pouring down my face. I had planned to have my brother drop me at class as I couldn't bear to get back in my speeder, but I had to have him take me to his place instead. Since this is a Star Wars post I might as well accurately describe my brother's apartment. Remember the trash compactor scene? That is me being kind. I ran in his place and made the biggest toilet paper nest you have ever seen on a seat that was more dried piss than plastic. Even with the nest, I used my best Yoda impersonation to levitate over the bowl. I destroyed the bowl like George Lucas destroyed my childhood memories (Star Wars coming soon in 3D!)

I made it to class 45 minutes late. Master Windu was none too pleased.

The greatest person I ever sent to co-worker heaven

As many of you might be aware I was recently let go from my job. It either had something to do with my twittering about shitting or revenue projections. Regardless, as one would expect I no longer get to see my former co-workers very often . At first I tried to try to go in and pretend I wasn't let go, but I never got past the parking lot security. Who am I kidding, I never got out of bed to even make the half assed attempt to go to my office as a joke. Since I am so lazy and refuse to see people (sent them all to co-worker heaven), the guy I sat across from for years, Peter, left me a birthday gift in my mailbox. I think he did it under cover of night as to not scare me. He knows everyone from work is dead to me if I am not there. Last thing I need is to think I see ghosts.

Now on to the gift. I would have expected a 15 buck gift certificate to Applebee's and if he was feeling generous a card that played the Macarena on a loop, but no he had to blow my mind and make me reevaluate everything and everyone. I had to use my new scanner to show the world Peter's birthday card, or as I like to call it, "Self Esteem Building Blocks For Dummies":

Seriously, there is someone out there who realizes I am wasting my talents more than me. It is sad and touching all at once. He also gave me a book that I have no intention of reading, The War of Art. I have had it four days now and it is a great book. It fits perfectly in my back pocket. So far I have impressed the checkout girl at Pep Boys and my mailman, with the fact that not only do I carry a book with me but it has War in the title.

On a serious note, thanks Peter. I will read the book and hopefully one day you can be my assistant. I plan to frame the card.

High School Bedroom

As I go through old pictures the memories are flooding in. Today I reminisced about how much I jerked off in high school and that even back then I dreamed of one day moving to California (see poster of a better life). You will notice in the picture my high tech home entertainment center with a state of the art VCR. Many a night I am sure my parents pretended to hear nothing as the VCR groaned from me hitting, play, rewind, play, rewind, play, fast forward, play, for three minute increments every hour on the hour. Those were good times.

Upon further examination I have realized this picture was from college not high school. The masturbation stories still hold true.

Why I wish it was 1978 - part 2

Here is a picture of me playing with some toys as a little boy. The best part of this picture is the fact that my toy box is a sorry ass card board box with no structural integrity. I would like to say my parents were young and starting out, but I am pretty sure that box is still in our dining room. Ten points to whoever can identify the action figure laying on top.

Why I wish it was 1978

I just bought a new scanner which means it's picture time!! First stop on my memory lane is the 70s. I am going to go out on a limb and say it was the best decade ever. Name another time you could go to a mall pet store and come home with a chimpanzee?

I am so glad all my childhood polaroids are in mint condition.

Mission Accomplished - Unemployment Complete

Oh don't get all excited that I got a job because I didn't. I am talking about the fact that as of two nights ago I have accomplished everything I ever wanted to while being unemployed. The final item on my list was to get into a fist fight and of course win.

It went something like this. It's Sunday night, I realize I need to move my car for street cleaning, I throw on some shorts (was nude from the waist down) and go outside. Standing in front of my house is a stocky drunkard holding two pink roses. I open my gate and proceed to walk down the street. He mumbles something to me and then proceeds to spit on my lawn. I turn around and tell him to keep moving. He curses at me and motions to piss on my gate. I tell him to get the fuck out of here and he is messing with the wrong person. I then tell him that I am a local cop (why??? I have no idea, but it makes the story so much better). Next thing I know, I push him, he pushes me. It's on! Within a few seconds I have him in a headlock. I then proceed to drive his head into my fence. I let him go. He comes at me again. We lock arms, I knee him in the chest. Game over. He stumbles away, leaving his roses in front of my house. I now understand how my dog feels when he gets into a fight with a local alley cat. I was panting, tongue out, and my tail was wagging. I never felt so full of life. I have accomplished so much in my three weeks of unemployment. Every unemployed 36 year old needs to get in a fight.

My stoner neighbor told me the idiot came back later looking for his roses. While looking he pissed on another neighbor's house. Classy guy. I wonder if he was coming or going from a date. I hate to think he showed up to a lady's house empty handed. That isn't very gentleman like. Poor girl.

Greatest night of my life!

Very worldly

I am becoming a more evolved person. Instead of getting all my news from the Yahoo scrolling home page, I have picked up a thing or two from this month's Esquire magazine. I found it in the park. Today I read that Coke was an amazing company and that I should sell everything I own to buy one share of it and I also read an article about sitcoms and pilots. Very timely stuff. I can't wait to bring it up in class tonight.

If someone would leave a New York Times on the street there is no telling what I could do.

Beerfest

Today I was at the park when I bumped into a man that can best be described as your go to guy if you need a henchman for a Cinemax movie. I am talking a man so large that his muscles have muscles and those muscles look like they do roids. I stared at him and thought our paths had crossed before. When he spoke I knew for sure. It was Schlemmer of Beerfest fame. I don't normally talk to celebrities or strange men in the park but I did strike up a conversation with Gunter that either went one of two ways:

Barry: Sucks the Germans lost WW2, I mean Beerfest
Gunter: Stop tapping your shoe and get away from me.

or

Barry: Were you in Beerfest?
Gunter: Yes, I was. How did you know?
Barry: Not many men your size with German accents floating around that could pull off that roll.
Gunter: Stop tapping your shoe.

Either way Beerfest is an awesome movie and Gunter was a really nice guy (clearly afraid, Gunter will google his name, find this post and come kill me). I should also note that we discussed a second Beerfest and both hope it happens.

Beard no more

Following in the foot steps of Liberace, Bradley Cooper, Sylvester Stallone, Mike Tyson, and countless others, I decided my beard had to go. I made it nine days before the itching got the better of me. It felt like I had face crabs. Don't even get me started on how it looked. I was convinced it would fill in, but short of having a hair transplant there was no way to accomplish that. All I had was a bunch of long hairs spaced far apart all over my face. I looked like an old lady shopping for plumcots at a Middle Eastern market. There is nothing that I have said that the furry chins couldn't have said better.

My face is now cleanly shaven. Not saying it is much of an improvement though.

Sitcom Class

I really love my sitcom class. It gives me something to do for the three hours I am awake a week. This past Wednesday, I learned a bunch of terms that I won't say here because I refuse to give my knowledge away for free. After all I did pay 400 bucks to learn this crap. I will share some non-vital entertaining information from this week's lesson though because I'm a giver.

Did you know that Rachel Dratch played Jenna in the pilot of 30 Rock? No? Well I did because I saw the never aired pilot in class this week. Jealous? If that doesn't get you going how about this, my teacher told the class that when he was working on Roseanne, they were having a table read where Roseanne thought the script sucked, so she stood up, farted on her copy, threw it against the wall, and walked out of the room. She really is an inspiration to where I want my career to go. Do you know how much gas I have? I have been wasting it all these years, but no more!

Beard

I have decided only employed people should shave. Razors cost money. I will post weekly updates on what what I can describe best as a cancer patient beard. There may be some cheerios on my face in the pic.

Birthday Dinner with my brother

For my birthday my brother decided to take me for fancy sushi. I know it should have been my choice, but it's best he gets his way. I showed up at his place and he of course came out looking his best. By best I mean he was wearing gym shorts, a tee shirt, and hadn't shaved in three weeks. Seriously I have seen cleaner looking homeless people. If you don't believe me, drive down Santa Monica Blvd in Beverly Hills. There is a homeless man who wears a nicely pressed suit on the north side of the street. So back to the story, my brother and I hop in the car and cruise over to the restaurant. Only in LA could we be sitting next to Scotty Pippen at one light and the CEO of Tesla at another. I can't confirm either of these sightings but I am 92% sure. The supposed CEO of Tesla was driving a Tesla with a personalized plate that said Tesla so I am saying it was too much of a coincidence to not be him. Scotty Pippen was driving a car shaped like a basketball so once again I assume I am right.

So on to the meal. The sushi was great and there isn't too much to report other than the fact that the place is owned and operated by one very drunk, very angry, Japanese man. With that said, if you eat there you keep your head down, enjoy the fish, have a few drinks, and get out. Of course that would be too easy for my brother. He notices that a couple at the sushi bar got some sort of cooked fish and his brain exploded. Why aren't they giving that to us? Personally, I don't want cooked fish at a sushi restaurant. It sort of defeats the purpose of why I am there in the first place, but I digress. Here is the transcript of my brother, me, and the sushi chef and why I will never be going there again:

Lewis: Hiro, pllllllllleeeeeease make me the cooked fish (whiniest voice you can imagine)
Hiro: UUUUUHHHHHHH, you know I am the only one working in the kitchen. If I make fish in back, people must wait for sushi.
Lewis: Pllllllllllllleeeease, it's my brother's birthday!!! (even whinier)
Hiro: UUUUUUHHHH, fine
Barry: Uh thanks (didn't want the cooked fish)

Side conversation:
Barry: I will never come here again.
Lewis: Why?
Barry: Because you just begged for food in a fancy restaurant so I am ashamed. Plus, he gave you attitude. I hate you you both. Thanks for dinner.

Otherwise I had a delicious meal and I appreciate my brother taking me exactly where he wanted to go for his, I mean my birthday.

Failing at blogging while failing at not working

Seriously it only took four days of not working to totally become so lazy that writing my blog seems like a chore. Today was my birthday so I feel I deserve a pass on not writing but as a teaser I figured I would give an outline of what posts are coming:

• Birthday Dinner with my brother (shorts, Scotty Pippen, brother groveling)
• Sitcom Writing Class (Rozanne farting, 30 Rock Pilot)
• Growing a beard (spotty, itchy, multiple chins)
• Ball Trimming (OCD, buzzer guard)

So that's all for now. Expect big things tomorrow if my laziness permits.

Failing at not working

I haven't been unemployed a full day yet and I can honestly say I am bored to shit. I got up, worked out, had lunch, and washed my car. Now I have nothing to do. I should have spaced this crap out. Worked out today, washed car tomorrow, had lunch the following day.

Thankfully I have my writing class Wednesday or there would be nothing to look forward to. Just letting you know now that I plan to win an Oscar for my spec sitcom script. Mark my words, it will be so good it makes you shit.

I need her to pick me some horses

So my friend Bruce's mother is in the hospital right now and things haven't been great. She has some serious stuff going on and is a bit confused. She is 91 years old and really ill so I figured I would use a post to talk about the amazing life she has had. Many people don't know that she championed women's suffrage when it wasn't cool, fought for equality not only for minorities but for gays in California as well, and she has remained very active in dog rescue up until this recent hospital stay. Fine, I am lying. None of that is true. She is amazing because two days ago she called Bruce at 6 AM from the hospital and told him to rush right over because she had something important to tell him. When he got there she told him she has a strong feeling Everyone loves Raymond was going to be a hit. I really hope she lives long enough to see that.

I am posting this from my newer blogger app on my phone so I apologize for the errors even though they would be there either way.

It's who you know - Skip Dickford

I was talking to Skip yesterday when he mentioned that his neighbor has a big job for XXXXX magazine. I changed the name because I don't really feel like having my blog show up in search engines. Anyway, I mention to Skip that XXXXX owns the company that as of Friday no longer pays me to come in (whether I still go in tomorrow to scare people is debatable). I explain in painful detail that XXXXX wanted revenue to go up and the only way to do that was to cut heads and my head was the first to go. Dumbfounded since Skip literally had no idea where I worked, there was an exchange of a few questions before Skip decided to say, hey you want me to talk to my neighbor and see if he can do anything about getting your job back. Not discounting Skip's persuasive manner, I do know where he lives and that is not in an area where anyone who could get me my job back would even bother stopping to get gas. I of course say no and that there is no chance he can do anything to help me. Skip and I end the conversation with him telling me how humid it is and I proceed to go about my day.

Literally ten minutes later my phone rings and it is Skip screaming for me to tell him where I work again because he talked to his neighbor and all he needs is the company name and I will be employed shortly. Now being that Skip can't remember what I do, where I work, or what his neighbor's name is, I don't have high hopes. Stay tuned. Stranger things have happened.

Fleece - not from Patagonia

Last night I was in Walgreen's buying crayons when I came across the greatest outfit ever made. The Forever Lazy soft fleece lounge wear. If I had come up with this outfit I would be rich and comfortable. I can't dwell on my lack of creativity, all I can do is enjoy my new 9 to 5 outfit. The best part about the suit is the zippered back hatch. I am pretty sure I could write at least three unique porn movies involving the hatch, not to mention the many sequels the general public will demand. Big things are coming!

Happy New Year and local drunks

So first off I must wish all the Jewish readers a Happy New Year. I am calling it right now, this is the year of the Jew. Expect big things from my people.

Now on to local drunks. Yesterday I came to the realization that when I am no longer working I am going to have to find a classy bar to hang out in if I decide that being an alcoholic is in my future. I left work at 3:00 to have a few drinks at a local bar. I am not going to mention the bar's name because if for the off chance one of the local scumbags that hangs out there has a computer and on the off chance knows how to turn it on and find this website, I don't really feel like being repeatedly stabbed in the throat while the guy tells me I deserve it.

So I go to this local bar (best described as the Always Sunny bar, if the show had no budget) that is very dog friendly and I sit outside with my mutt. I am sitting there enjoying a beer with Regan (friend/coworker/red hair) when my dog decides to throw up on the cement patio. I get up to go inside to ask the bartender for some paper towels when a regular who can best be described as an extra on Breaking Bad screams at me to clean up my dog's vomit. The best part about this wiry retard isn't his homemade tattoos or that he is wearing a wife beater. It's the fact that he has a British accent. I assure the fine patron that I am going inside to get some cleaning supplies to clean the mess up. The British Meth Head screams GOOD as I walk inside. I explain to the bartender what happened and ask her if she has any paper towels. She tells me that she too is a dog owner and that she will not let me clean it up and wants to take care of it herself. I try to get her to let me, but she says absolutely not. I thank her and walk back outside. Of course as soon as I walk on the patio the British idiot screams "Why aren't you cleaning it up?" I explain to him that the bartender wouldn't let me and she wanted to come out and see. He mutters in some cockney accent and I go back to my beer. The bartender comes out and cleans up the mess in two seconds and tells me not to worry and gives my dog a pet. While she is doing this, the reason we won the revolution, comes over and shakes my hand and says no hard feelings, but you should have gone to the convenience store, bought paper towels and cleaned it up yourself. I say nothing, I just look at Regan and say we are out of here. I seriously will never return to this shithole again. Some will say it is because I will no longer work walking distance from the dump, others will know its because I hate the British.

Next stop in my world-win tour of depression is Outlaws. You might remember it from when I saw Anthony Michael Hall there the day before. It is only two miles away but it has a much more subdued crowd. The bartender even told me that they get a bunch of local losers celebrities. Everyone from Anthony Michael Hall to Tara Reid. There was even mention of Ed O'Neil but I think he is too classy for the joint. After having a few beers there, Regan and I decided it was time to call it a day. We were on our way to clocking out when out of nowhere this 500 pound drunk guy accosts us in the parking lot.

Drunk Guy - Sally
Regan - No
Drunk Guy - Sandy
Regan - No
Drunk Guy - Cindy
Regan - No
Drunk Guy - Samantha
Regan - No
Drunk Guy - I'm sorry, have a drink with me.
Regan - Sorry, me and my boyfriend Barry are leaving.
Drunk Guy (pointing in my direction) - He's your boyfriend?
Regan - Yeah
Drunk Guy - Is he a Jew?
Regan - Yes, I mean No. Yes, No, does it matter?
Drunk Guy - Barry, have a drink with me.
Barry - I have to go. (hops in car, locks door)
Drunk Guy - Stumbles in Outlaws to enjoy his life

Seriously, I need better places to hang out. With that said, I am going to Outlaws in twenty minutes if anyone wants to join me. Happy New Year!!!

Worst Dog Owner Ever

One thing I am going to really miss about my current job is the fact that my office allows animals. You can bring cats, gerbils, lions, tigers, lemurs, frogs, birds, ants, ant eaters, goats, lizards, leaches, and even dogs. I bring my dog with me every day. It gives him a sense of purpose. He comes to the office, lays down, eats out of my trash on occasion, and generally feels good about himself. Yesterday I got up from my desk to take him for a walk and it literally took me walking a block away from the office to realize I left him tied to my desk. How pathetic is it that I went to walk my dog and actually forgot him? I did end up buying a few lotto tickets and having a beer at the local liquor store so I think I deserve a pass. Think how awesome my dog's life is going to be when I win the lotto. He will get to do whatever he wants. Lay around all day, eat out of the trash. Oh, wait...