5,7,5

"Jesus I'm sorry

I'm such an asshole. Will you

give me a blowjob?"

**

"What's your name again?

I'm gonna get going now.

I'll call you later."

***

from a darker time

Before my rescue from me

when life held no hope.

R.I.P? Hello Kitty

I meet a girl in HELL who was willing to drive me to Hello Kitty’s 35th anniversary “3 apples exhibition” in the Westside Royal T-bag gallery. It was the night of Hello Kitty’s Masquerade Party and it was horrendous. I made the girl pay for our pizza later that night when we failed to get into the party. Without saying too much more about that debacle, it was from that night on that my relationship with HK began to grow frigid. I did recently buy myself a lovely but poorly constructed, smelly overnight bag with some birthday money my mom handed to me like Ginger from “Casino” handed money to valets in exchange for blow. But even that ‘small gift, big smile’, could not erase the memory of my disgust with HK from that night. When Hello Kitty unceremoniously put on her leather jacket, strapped on the water skies and jumped the proverbial shark.

HOWEVER. Even though I’m done drinking the Hello Kitty Kool-aid, I am not ready to leave Sanrio town altogether. Sanrio has a shit-ton of awesome characters that are way cooler than that over-rated feline. Who has to coincidentally be some kind of special cunt to keep her twin sister out of the limelight all these years. Mimmy is reportedly “a little shy” and has a “different” personality and she allegedly wears a yellow bow on her right ear to help tell them apart. I wonder if HK is really that big of an attention whore or is Mimmy maybe like Rain Man? Is Mimmy mentally retarded? Is she really fat and depressed? Is she volunteering for Green Peace? Has she turned states evidence and is in witness protection? Or maybe having to live in her sister’s shadow all her life has driven her to hit the pipe really hard? Regardless of what affliction plagues this reclusive puss, she still deserves long awaited adulation and is potentially way cooler than her played out twin in my opinion.

Note: Clearly it is unrealistic for me to claim that I will quit Hello Kitty cold turkey. As Mr. M pointed out; I am addicted. Disgruntled and bitter but a junky nonetheless. A junky who will be trading in her red bow for a yellow one. baby steps...

My cupcakes bring all the boys to the yard...

The book titled, "Hello, Cupcake! irresistible playful creations anyone can make" by Karen Tack and Alan Richardson, is filled with creative cupcake recipes for all occasions. I came upon the book while trolling the aisle in Target and found only one recipe that tickled my fancy. Rather than buy the book, I jotted down the simple recipe for spaghetti and meatball cupcakes in my moleskine. (turns out you can find the full recipe on the web) I'm a sucker for ludicrous imitation. I love when shit looks like other shit, its one of my many Homeresque qualities.

Vanilla cake mix, vanilla frosting with 3 drops of yellow food dye and cocoa powder added, Rocher ferrero chocolates, low sugar strawberry preserve and white chocolate is all you need. It's cinchy!

The caveat: In the process of putting it all together there are some idiosyncrasies. Like the jelly has to be the low sugar preserve because of both the color and texture. To create the noodle effect you either need a top quality FREEZER zip-lock bag (don't cheap out with some 99cents store sandwich bags, you WILL regret it) or some professional cake decorating tools, and the white chocolate to grate on top to resemble the parmesan cheese is harder than a mother fucker to find.

I took these to HELL for our end of the year, farewell to the team, Italian food themed pot luck and they were a graveyard smash.

my liver's newest bro

On 12/17/09 thrill list.com posted an article about the grand opening of the latest local micro brewery titled, "Eagle Rock Brewery: our liver's newest foe". The uninspiring yet slightly informative article showcased what had originally caught my attention back in March when I read of the Brewery's victory over some city hall bureaucracy. According to their website, the Eagle Rock Brewery would be debuting their "Socialist" themed brew; with names like Revolution, Manifesto, and Solidarity; at a couple of local public houses this week. One of them being the Verdugo. It came as no surprise to me that this hipster hive would be pouring the limited release ale. It is after all, at the Verdugo that I have discovered some of my favorite beers. A couple of years back their ambition and commitment to beer would have been enough to keep me coming back. Unfortunately, that alone cannot make up for the overall terrible service that plagues this otherwise premier bier haus.

The Location: The Verdugo in Glassel Park

The Day: Thursday
The Time: 9:30 pm

The place was surprisingly empty and the d.j. spun negligible noise. I perused the flier that replaced a once robust beer menu and I ordered the 'Solidarity' only to be told by the barmaid that it's on a rotating tap and that the only ERB available would be the 'Manifesto'. The beer wench unenthusiastically poured my order and handed it to me in a nondescript glass. I only mention this because there was a time when they used to take more pride and pour tap beers into their corresponding glasses. 'Manifesto', a Belgium style witbier was nice but reminded me of a smoother 'Bluemoon'; an overall forgettable beer. NOTE: I don't brew my own beer, nor do I make my living reviewing beer. I have however been drinking beer for fifteen years and have developed a discriminating palate. It was a tasty sample but nothing to write on about. Perhaps the 'Solidarity' and 'Revolution' will prove otherwise?

The true Belle of the Ball that night was the $5 Jewbalation-Bar Mitzvah by Shmaltz. At 13% it packed a powerful yet flavourful punch. So much so, that I winced as I pried open my wallet several times more than I had originally set out to do. I was so impressed with the texture, taste and potency of this He'brew beer that I just had to find out more! Their website; shmaltz.com, reveals that this San Francisco based company has been brewing puntastic beer in New York since 1996. They have a Coney Island Lager line that is also worth checking out. I hit up my local sodapop shop, Galco's to see if I could get my cloven hooves on some limited edition Jewbalation but sadly, that effort proved futile. I did however score most of the Coney Island Lagers and got a chance to try both the 'Genesis Ale' and 'Messaih Bold'. Impressive.

For more information about the Eagle Rock Brewery, visit their website for available tour and tasting times: http://www.eaglerockbrewery.com/. Or follow them on twitter @ eaglerockbrew.

Also, if you find yourself in the Highland Park area jonesing for some old timey candy, rare brews and a decent cold cuts sandwich, be sure to visit Glaco's: 5702 York Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90042

Lawrence Cohen

When he was young, Chunk liked to run laps outside after it rained. Our half acre lot was barren then except for a small patch of grass, tall weeds and 10 lemon trees. One time, Chunk found a fresh crop of mushrooms growing on the lawn and ate them. He freaked out, got sick and passed out. Forever after that Chunk would stop to smell mushrooms and make a face of disdain.

He was the strangest and most untimely gift. Untimely because I had just gotten my acceptance letters from the colleges I applied to and would be leaving home in 3 short months when my stepfather came home with a tiny beautiful puppy and said to me, "I brought you a congratulations gift". He was like a stuffed animal with exaggerated features: dark soft fur, big small feet, doe eyes and floppy ears to boot. It was strange because our family had tried once before to be pet owners and that situation ended terribly. For years we asked about the origins of Chunk and for years my stepfather skirted the subject.

***It was a rainy dark morning in March and the old man was at a fast food drive through after his truck driving shift ended when he saw little baby Chunk tied to a homeless person's cart unattended in the rain.***

Chunk was such a wonderful and warm being. He was the glue that kept our insane family together. He was the only thing we all loved no matter how much we hated each other. He loved beer, bacon, blueberry pancakes, long walks at sunset and short swims on hot summer days and when you wrestled with him, he would always let you win. As a puppy, he had countless admirers offering to buy him, and when he got older his massive ominous presence struck unwarranted fear in many. Since I went off to college my brother was the one who trained and bonded deeply with Chunky. Whenever evil stirred inside the home, he would just go out back to the garage and hang out with the Chunkster. Chunk never judged you; except early on when my brother got him stoned, Chunk had a bad trip and would have to only see a bag of weed to give you the most telling disapproving glare before walking away dramatically.

My parents, like a lot of Mexicans I know (I did not say ALL Mexicans so before you go bat shit I'm not talking about you) have a detached relationship with animals. They keep their dogs outside, don't bathe them with special flea soap, feed them table scraps, never take them on walks, nor take them to the vet let alone get them vaccinated. My family was not that extreme, but Chunky was not allowed inside the house for a long time. A rule my brother and I frequently violated. In his old age, mom's heart softened and she let Chunk move in. He slept in the laundry room and was allowed limited living room and solarium privileges. For the past 4 years we all enjoyed the warmth of his presence in the home. But recently, Chunk started losing control of his bladder and was relieving himself inside the house. This resulted in his banishment to the backyard, which I argued was a bad idea. In a matter of weeks Chunk's condition worsened to the point where he was completely incontinent. Baby Bro bought him some diapers and he was allowed to move back inside the house. Last night my brother called to tell me that Chunk was not doing well. He took him to the vet to fix him up but his kidneys were failing and he did not have much time left. As he left for his graveyard shift he hugged the Chunk of love and told him, "I will see you tomorrow morning buddy". My mother called me at 6am today to tell me that Chunky left us last night in his sleep. Tomorrow morning never came.

Farewell my clumsy King, you brought nothing but joy to our lives.February 1995-November 2009

Waiting for the Bus

The craziest thing happened on the way to Hell today. I was on the Commuter Express 549 bus and the driver was yucking it up with some passenger about her weekend encounter with a man who had "tendencies"; which I think was her way of inferring that the man was a homosexual, when her dispatcher called her and asked her for the approximate time she made a specific stop. Apparently, she blew past a bunch of people waiting at her last stop before she got onto the freeway. So what's the big deal? There is nothing crazy nor remarkable about a bus driver NOT stopping to pick you up. What was astounding was her reaction. She pulled over on the side of the freeway and began to question the passengers on whether or not we recalled her making that last stop and demanded we provide written statements. She then told her dispatcher that she would go back to pick up the stranded would be passengers. I could not resist. I said out loud, "what's the big deal? This is not the first time someone missed a bus. Bus drivers have left me more times than I can count." I have had to run in the rain along side a speeding bus frantically flailing my arms only to be splashed by the speeding tires plowing through enormous puddles. I have been ignored at dark posts waiting late night for the very last bus, only to have to walk home the 2 mile route. I was completely baffled by both the reaction of the driver and dispatcher. Why just the other day, the MTA driver of bus #6748 violently maneuvered through rain slicked streets, carelessly talking loudly on his bluetooth, "...nigga, that bitch came over to my house..." Absolutely fascinating.

To Dye For

The Day: July 10, 2006. The Place: HELL's basement. My soul was slowly being sucked away when I had to take a piss. While I washed my hands in the bathroom I stumbled into some creative lighting and I noticed a shiny glare in the part in my hair. I drew closer to the mirror and that glare was gone. I knew what it was but I resisted the idea, blaming the terrible neon lights in HELL yet I walked away with a nagging looming sense of doom. Weeks later it happened again. This time there was no question about it, I had my first gray hair. A sort of panic struck me. Memories of my mother and her terrible eggplant colored hair filled my thoughts. I was desperate to hide my aging shame so that evening I stopped at Target and picked up a color closest to that of my youthful locks.

It has been a journey in hair dye purgatory that I am eager to end. In the past 3 years one gray hair turned into 3 and 3 have become 5 (which i refuse to pluck). I am not afraid to grow old, nor ashamed to embrace my age. But I desperately want my gray hairs to form some attractive order, some pattern, like a skunk or the bride of Frankenstein rather than the sporadic sprinkled arrangement they seem to have settled upon.



My first dye which was Feria's Chocolate Cherry #36 was rich and long lasting. But along with its long lasting effect, lingered the damage: dry, brittle hair. Somewhere down the line, Loreal changed the formula of this product, and it's no longer as rich as it once was. The color is now flat, and leans toward a purple hue. It was my go to product early on. But now, the lack luster color and guaranteed damage makes it a must skip.

For a while I searched for a replacement and had a lot of misses:



Both of these Garnier colors: Dark Reddish Brown # 452 and Deep Auburn #460 (which I am convinced are exactly the same product in different boxes) left my hair that dreaded grandma eggplant purple color. The good thing about them was that there was very little damage. My hair felt soft and deeply conditioned. But they are both weak, non long lasting colors which is normally a bad thing. In both cases there was not 100% gray coverage like promised. Overall a terrible color that smells really nice.

At almost $13 dollars or more this product is by far worth every penny. Clariol's Perfect 10 4R is just that, perfect. In only 10 minutes you get a root applicator to target grays, a rich full bodied shine, no damage, nice scent and best of all, no purple hue. We have a winner.

But if you are on a budget, Superior Preference 4M is a happy medium. Full gray coverage, deep conditioning (with an awful chemically after smell) and rich color only slightly on the brink of purple.

In a sad embarrassing conclusion aside from the reaffirmation of the old adage; you get what you pay for, it would be simply easier to embrace the gray and crawl out from underneath these boxes of promised youth. Maybe next year.