Douchebag

The term "douche" and its longer version "douchebag" certainly get used a lot around here.

In fact, I don't seem to remember using the term heavily until moving to Los Angeles. Somehow it just entered into my regular vocabulary once I stepped inside the city limits, much like the word "dude" became de rigueur as soon as I found myself living in California. It just crept in there.

Let me tell you, there are a lot of douches living in this town.

Los Angeles is...

Wow. Consider yourself lucky that you didn't see the first draft of this post. I almost went into a whole schpeel about "You might be a douchebag if..." Oh, it was going to be so wonderfully funny! People would have been laughing in the streets! I would have been responsible for the death of many people as they would have laughed themselves to death, splitting their sides I'd imagine.

Seriously, douchebags, stop it. Please leave this earth. No one gives a shit about you. When we see you in the line to the club we just want to punch you. When we see you at our favorite watering hole we know it's time to find a new bar. You're not original.

Much like when Galactus shows up, when you show up we know we're seriously fucked.

NKOTB

Palladium
Originally uploaded by The Painted Ground of San Jose Avenue

Today is Friday.

The New Kids on the Block are playing at the Palladium tomorrow night.

There are people camped out in front of the Palladium as I write this. I find this sad. Not as sad as the Jonas Brothers concert there last year. They played on a Sunday evening. Tweeners were camped out starting Thursday night.

Maybe it is sadder? Considering the fact that these are grown women with jobs and families, they know that camping out in front of a concert is pretty pathetic. Sure it's general admission, but is it really worth it?

Hollywood isn't exactly the safest place at night.

Beat L.A.! (Or, not...)

I went to my first Dodger game tonight.

I also had my first Dodger Dog. Spoiler alert: It's just a long hot dog.

Plus, Dodgers Stadium is ugly. The only thing they could do to improve that joint is turn it around so the audience is facing downtown. Who's the genius that designed this park? What the hell was he thinking? Instead, the audience faces the hills and a giant sign that, emulating the Hollywood sign, says "THINK BLUE." I now have a nefarious plan to change the words to read "THINK POO." I think it's possible.

Also, for quite some time I thought I kept imagining that everyone was wearing the number 42 on their uniform.

The conversation in my head went something like this:

"Are you sure? Maybe the last batter had the number 24 on his back? Really? Are you sure? Have another beer. But, they're $10 each. Who cares. Beer is good."

My brain usually turns to convincing me that some form of alcohol will do me good. I need to look into this.

They were paying homage to Jackie Robinson at tonight's game. Hence, the number 42. This is simultaneously awesome and disappointing. Awesome because Jackie Robinson was a great figure who broke the so-called color barrier in sports. Disappointing because it had nothing to do with the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

It took until the 8th inning for me to actually realize that everyone had the same number on. I applaud myself for being so observant.

The game came down to the wire. It was the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, a full count, tied 4-4 and only one out. The Dodgers were up to bat. What happened, you say? Did the Dodgers hit a line drive single down the third base line to drive the winning run home? No, of course not. The Giants walked the batter. I really hope this is not an indication that the season is going to suck big time.

We ended the night hanging out at the Tiki Ti bar on Sunset. Word has it that lines are over an hour long during the summer hours. We thankfully were there during an off night.

The story behind the place is that it's a traditional tiki bar that is owner operated. They apparently are only open during the Spring and Summer. They make some mean, stiff drinks that are rather expensive. So, I don't see myself going there a lot. The downside to it being owner-operated is that you can smoke inside, per California law. I'm not really into going home smelling like smoke.

I do like the drinks, though. I'd recommend the Space Cadet. Thankfully I only had one, which prevented me from fully realizing the concept of being the name of the drink.

My Easter in Hollywood

Chalk it up to Catholic guilt if you'd like, but I went to church on Easter.

I'm not a religious person. Despite growing up in a Catholic household in the MidWest, I lost my desire to attend mass on a regular basis. Perhaps I had quite a few issues with the Church's dogma. Perhaps I'd rather have a nice breakfast with friends. Perhaps it's both.

Regardless, I only usually go to mass twice a year: Christmas and Easter. And for those times I have to go kicking and screaming.

Usually.

Like the big boy I tend to think I am, I decided to go to church without any coaxing. I blame Catholic Guilt for a big chunk of it. Plus, what else was I to do when April was out for an hour and a half? I really didn't need to sit at home and watch television or fuck around on Facebook. Besides, it was a nice day. I needed to get out.

A tiny, tiny piece of me thought that I might get something out of it but I'd never admit to it.

Attending Easter mass in Hollywood was one of the oddest things I've done. The best word I can think of to describe it all was "mishmash." There was a lot to look at, which was a great thing for someone like me who liked to people watch. I also was a bit unexcited to be there. It kept my mind occupied.

At the beginning, the normal attendees you see at California churches were there: Filipinos, Mexicans and us whities.

We were early and the show was about to begin.

First came the rocker couple. He looked like a young Jon Bon Jovi, complete with the teased out blonde hair and his roots showing. She had straight, jet-black hair with bright blue highlights and her eye shadow was heavy.

This was gonna be good.

I spent the next hour and a half watching people. This is what I saw:

• There was a guy with a mohawk, tats and heavy gauge earrings. While this isn't odd at all, it sure beats the type of people that usually attend the masses I go to. Of course, the only place I normally go to to church are St. Louis, San Jose and Modesto.
  

• A lady that wore a shiny, gold rosary as a head band. It didn't work for her. In fact, it made her look batshit insane.

• A lady who was drinking a Sprite. I heard the faint hiss of the bottle opening and was surprised when I turned around to see her. In her defense, she didn't look so well. I'm pretty sure she trying to settle her stomach. Personally I'm a 7-Up man. But, I suppose Sprite would work in a pinch.
  

• A guy a couple of rows in front of us who was wearing a t-shirt that read I Got My Last Piece of Tail at Bourbon Street Station. The accompanying picture showed a cartoon of a man biting the tail of an alligator. The alligator seemed more perplexed by this concept than angry. I really hope this wasn't this man's best shirt.

• A woman who answered her phone in the middle of with the following conversation, "I'm in Church! What? It's in the closet. Okay. Bye." She was whispering the whole time. She was also right next to us.
  

• Many homosexual couples. Which, I thought was nice because one of the reasons I stopped believing in the Church was their view on homosexuality. I'm not entirely sure what this means other than God is cool with it all seeing as how they didn't get struck by lightning as soon as they walked in the door.

• Lots of pretty, fit people. This was nice as the last time I was in Church I was in St. Louis. There were a lot of obese people. There was also standing room only. I remember turning to my sister and saying, "Y'know... they could fit more people in the pews if they lost weight." This was a shining example to show that the skinnier people are, the more that will fit in the pews.

Hollywood is without a doubt a strange place.

I won't go far into detail about the whole ceremony. I did enjoy the sermon. Communion took too long. I almost passed out from feeling a bit claustrophobic. I was happy I didn't get struck by lightning. I was equally happy that the holy water didn't burn my skin. Y'know... the typical stuff.

I'm good until Christmas.

Unless someone gets married this year. That's a bit unlikely these days. But, that's another story...