Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Page 47 of 187

Good Year

May 17, 2010 / / 18 Comments

The year, 2010, started out promising, like the Goodyear blimp rising over the city, a whirring airship ascending slowly and elegantly, graceful in appearance, like a modern dancer.

“Happy New Year,” I screamed at midnight on December 31, drunk on champagne at the party at Joyce’s apartment on the Upper East Side.  It would be a good year!

It is now May.  Hmm… what happened?

I’ve always loved the Goodyear blimp.  “The Spirit of America” is stationed near my home in Redondo Beach, and on weekends, it flies over our home as it heads for the beach or some sports event in Pasadena.   If you are in the bedroom at the right moment, and glance out the bedroom window, you can see the shadow of the blimp covering the outside patio, like a huge umbrella giving shade.

What a joy it must be to pilot such a majestic blimp!   What an aerial view it must be from inside — not cold and distant like the view from a run-of-the-mill commercial airliner, miles above the ground — but close and intimate, only a few helium bursts away,  looking down at the houses below, like toys for the playing.

I started 2010 like a pilot in command of a Goodyear Blimp.   It was going to be a very good year.

But even a good year can be darkened by murky clouds, few pinpoints of light cutting through the gray mist.

It’s been five months since I returned to Los Angeles.  A broken hip of my father-in-law, Vartan, has morphed into one problem after another.  Despite the advice his doctors, his wife, Fanya, refused to put Vartan into an assisted living home.   And who can blame her?  She loves her husband.  But it hasn’t been easy.  Caring is a full time job.

Vartan is in the hospital again, with pneumonia and an infection.   Sophia and her mother are fighting with each other after Fanya fired the full-time aide.   Caring for my FIL has opened old wounds that can’t be fixed at a hospital.

And I’m… well, I’m still around.

Everyone is exhausted.

Today I took Sophia into bed.  Actually, I grabbed her and told her to GET INTO BED.   I told her we both needed to shut up — not talk about anything — and hug.  We hugged and slept for seven hours.

It was nice.  But I could hear the Goodyear blimp flying overhead, still hidden in the clouds.

Tuchus

May 14, 2010 / / 29 Comments

Neil: “Maybe I should kill off the “Neilochka” name.”

Sophia: “Why would you do that? Everyone knows you by that name.”

Neil: “That’s the problem. It would be better branding if eveyone knew me as “Citizen of the Month.” I notice that real bloggers are known by the same name as their blog. Like Redneck Mommy or The Bloggess. It is confusing that I call myself Neilochka, but the blog Citizen of the Month.”

Sophia: “You can call yourself Tuchus (*Yiddish for rear end) and it wouldn’t matter. Your blog still doesn’t make any money.”

Posted on iPhone, one minute after conversation, from passenger seat in Sophia’s Prius, on the 405

Lake Pleshcheyevo

May 13, 2010 / / 13 Comments

You’re old, with not much life, attached to long plastic tubes.   How many years has it been since you unbuttoned Fanya’s blouse by Lake Pleshcheyevo?    Remember how the freckles on her chest were as numerous as the stars in the Russian sky.  Re-live it, old man.   Re-live the passion as the Filipino nurse stabs you in the arm with another antibiotic.

via iphone

In Support of Lack of Privacy

May 8, 2010 / / 30 Comments

Younger users online are increasingly becoming worried about their privacy.   We saw this coming, right?

From the NY Times:

Sam Jackson, a junior at Yale who started a blog when he was 15 and who has been an intern at Google, said he had learned not to trust any social network to keep his information private. “If I go back and look, there are things four years ago I would not say today,” he said. “I am much more self-censoring. I’ll try to be honest and forthright, but I am conscious now who I am talking to.”

Many are applauding this movement of younger people embracing privacy.  Parents certainly don’t want their children failing to get into Harvard because of photos of them doing jello shots on Facebook.

Ms. Liu is not just policing her own behavior, but her sister’s, too. Ms. Liu sent a text message to her 17-year-old sibling warning her to take down a photo of a guy sitting on her sister’s lap. Why? Her sister wants to audition for “Glee” and Ms. Liu didn’t want the show’s producers to see it. Besides, what if her sister became a celebrity? “It conjures up an image where if you became famous anyone could pull up a picture and send it to TMZ,” Ms. Liu said.

Makes sense right?  We went a little overboard online during the past few years, didn’t we?

The early years of the blogosphere can be considered either the “Golden Age” or the “Wild West” of social media, depending on your view of this privacy issue.  Right now, there seems to be a backlash against our openness, with “The Wild West” winning out.   In this scenario, we will soon be shaking our heads in disgust at our behavior, as if we fornicating in front of the Golden Calf as Moses climbed Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments.

“Who did we think we were — real writers and celebrities?”  we will ask ourselves.  “Did we actually think we were interesting and that we were supposed to EXPOSE OURSELVES to others, body and soul?”

Even in my circle of friends, I hear talk of mommybloggers pulling back and not posting photos of their kids.   There is a growing number of moms who see this as exploitation.

Bloggers have been nasty lately, fighting over what is appropriate to say to each other in public discourse.  Is it any wonder that bloggers are moving out of the public arena and shutting down their personal blogs, like urban folk running away to the suburbs.   Who needs the trouble?

The Wild West Blogosphere of the past few years has been chaotic and dangerous, a virtual Tombstone filled with dead bodies piled in the OK Corral, but it has also been lively, complete with big personalities and human drama.  Blogging would be boring without it.  If you look at today’s list of the “most influential bloggers, mom bloggers, or twitterers,” 99% of them are marketers, social media gurus or bloggers selling a Martha Stewart-style image.  What fun is that?

I see things differently.  The last few years have been the blogosphere’s “Golden Age.”   No one really thought about the ramifications of what they were doing.   And that was pretty radical.  Once privacy becomes central to blogging, what the hell is there to blog about in a personal blog other than the superficial?   Will bloggers now be afraid of “opening up?” knowing that every word will be embedded into Google search forever.

That would be a sad event.   The blogosphere will just be another professional arena.  In the last few years, I learned so much from direct contact with other bloggers — for instance, how rampant sexual abuse is in our society.   I met friends who are alcoholics.  I talked with bloggers with all sorts of illnesses that were once only whispered about only at home, such as cancer.  This sharing online came about for one reason — an agreed-upon  LACK OF PRIVACY.   We would be honest, and expected it in return.   Sometimes we would get judgmental, but mostly the whole point of blogging was to connect.  If the 1960s was all about letting it all hang out in a physical sense, the blogosphere of 2003-2010 was about letting it hang out emotionally.  Bloggers felt comfortable revealing their mental illnesses, their bad marriages, and their bad mothering techniques.  They were not worrying about how this information could be used AGAINST THEM.  Once that happened, it was over.  It becomes too dangerous.  And when even COLLEGE KIDS are afraid of looking stupid on Facebook, you know that corporate, sensible, puritanical America has won.  Oh, sure the drinking, sex, and drugs will continue on campuses across America, but it will always be someone ELSE who was doing it, not us.  The blogosphere will be like “Desperate Housewives” Wisteria Lane, suburban and glossy on the outside, but behind closed doors…

Remember when President Clinton said he smoked pot but didn’t inhale?  Doesn’t that seem silly now?  I thought the blogosphere was creating a new world.  I was already forseeing a future where that type of shit didn’t matter anymore.

Presidential Candidate 2020 Judith Grossman:  “As you can see from my Facebook photos, yes, I smoked pot… alot.  I’m a little embarrassed about that video of that threesome I had in graduate school, but since it is on YouTube already, what can I do?  At least I had a good time.  I know I bitched a lot about my mother on my blog, “I Hate My Mother,” but eventually we reconciled, and now my dear mother is in the audience with me today, my biggest supporter.  Hello, Mom.  Happy Mother’s Day.  My opponent has been playing dirty in his campaign, revealing those tweets I made on the evening of my abortion in 2016, but as you can see this NSFW photo my opponent put up on Match.com in 2012, he has plenty of shortcomings, if you know what I mean.  Does America really want this man fighting terrorism at home and overseas?”

I was hoping that people would just laugh at that speech.  Facebook would make all of us equal.  Someone had a gay experience in college?  Yawn.  Who hasn’t?  Your daughter showed her tits at Mardi Gras?  Like YOU didn’t?!

People would be judged by important things, such as kindness and commitment to justice.  I would hate to think because someone writes the word “fuck” on their blog that they might be unable to get a job with a law firm.  In my world, I would ONLY give a job to the person who had the balls to be real.

I am all for privacy.  I hate the data that Facebook collects on us because the purpose is to SELL US STUFF.  And I do believe we need to be careful with our privacy, especially with our families.  But I am not as afraid of the future.  Your kids are already growing up with a world with less “privacy.”  Live with it.  And maybe there is some good to this.  Is it possible that society has kept some issues out of sight and out of mind for two long, under the guise of privacy.  Would we rather live in the 1950s, where we feared sharing our dirty laundry — racism, sexism, rape, mental illness, etc?

As much as I hate the nastiness, trolls, fighting, and lack of privacy of today’s blogosphere, it is much better than a white-washed image of ourselves, filled with glossy filtered photos, constructed to attract PR firms and employees, each of us nothing more than an avatar in a multi-media resumes.

I have a dream.  One day, a proud Jewish mother will be playing mah jonng with her friends, and will go on Facebook to show her friends some recent photos of her daughter in college.

“Here’s Lisa as president of the student body at Harvard.  She has a perfect GPA.  Here’s Lisa with her Jewish boyfriend; he’s pre-Med.  And here’s Lisa showing her tits at the Mardi Gras last year.  She loved New Orleans!”

A Proof of the Existence of God

May 7, 2010 / / 12 Comments

Many of you ask me about my religion, wondering if I truly adhere to the belief in an all powerful, all-knowing God.

Here’s what I think: None of us can truly know if God exists, but anyone who admires nature, must see that there is a Grand Organizer serving as the CEO of the Universe. Season come and go, babies are born; life is a perfect cycle, the ultimate musical symphony. Even the parts of life that make no rational sense at first do HAVE MEANING, once we devote ourselves to examining the mysteries. All you need to do is OPEN YOUR EYES.

Let’s take the idea behind aging. We get old and die. It is rather dumb idea. If you were going to create a MAN in your image, would you really go out of the way to make him start out as young and strong, and then, as then as he gets older and wiser, have his body and mind fall apart until he is just plain dead, lying in a hospital bed.

Makes no sense, right? This God should be fired, or at sued, like Toyota is being sued with their faulty accelerators on the Prius.

But hold on. Let’s approach it from another angle — a philosophical method — one operating under the assumption that God carefully and methodically plans life out with an organizer on his heavenly iPad.

This morning I took a walk outside. Summer is approaching in Los Angeles. The flowers are blooming. Women are walking around in tight t-shirts and shorts. I found myself attracted to several of these women. Some were young, some were older.

And what type of thoughts were flying through my head? Yes, the existence of God.

Here’s why —

When you are a man in your early twenties, you spend most of your time trying to get into the pants of a woman your age. All other women seem too old, unless you are a Mrs. Robinson type perv.

As you move into your latter twenties, you notice that your female friends are ALSO in their late twenties. It shocks you to realize that they are actually SEXIER now than women in their early twenties. What happened? They have more confidence, more life experience. Of course, you wouldn’t refuse to hop in the sack with a twenty-two year old, but your age range has expanded, creating more opportunities.

I know every man remembers the moment he turned thirty and opened his eyes, and said, “Holy shit, women in their thirties are f**king hot!” Ten years ago, these would seem like old women. Now they are in their prime. These women have lose their shyness, and it is not uncommon to hear a thirty-five year old woman telling a man on a first date, “How about after dinner we go back to my place, watch the last episode of Lost, and I’ll give you a blowjob you will never forget.” No woman in her twenties would ever say that. Of course, as a man, you are still attracted to women in their twenties. But now, in most cases, you are attracted to women in their twenties AND THIRTIES.

You see where this is going. This natural selection continues as the man ages, so by the time a man is in his eighties, he is interested in fucking every woman from 21-89. Without God lower his libido, can you imagine how difficult it would be for a 90 year old man to go outside without tripping over his erection and breaking his hip?

Luckily, God is merciful. Even with the lessening of the libido, there is a point in a man’s life when he is attracted to women his own age, his daughter’s age, his granddaughter’s age, AND HIS great-granddaughter’s age. The pain is just too much for anyone, and God, in his wisdom, allows him to die.

God exists.

Favorite Comment of the Week

May 7, 2010 / / 1 Comment

(Re:  Yesterday’s post titled “The Three Year Old Dinner Party Meme”)

I kept reading your headline in my feed reader as a dinner party for three year olds.  And at first I thought, three year olds?  Who wants them over for dinner?

But then I realized that since we were talking about bloggers, the kids might be preferable.

(ba da bum.  here all week, folks! etc.)

Gwen from Not Really

The Three Year Old Dinner Party Meme

May 6, 2010 / / 27 Comments

Three years ago, there was a meme going around online: Pick five bloggers that you most wanted to have over to your house for a dinner party. I didn’t participate in the meme. I found it crude. Why would I want to choose five bloggers over the others, showing favoritism, and hurting feelings? And what would be my criteria for choosing? It also pissed me off that some of my friends didn’t invite me to their imaginary dinner party. Why would someone choose to invite the Pioneer Woman over to dinner, even for an imaginary dinner party, rather than me, a real friend? Surely they knew that I would bring a virtual bottle of wine, even if it was a cheapo one from Trader Joe’s.

Time has passed, and I now “get” how the blogosphere works, uneasily balanced on a tightrope between honest and fake. The whole enterprise seems fluid, changing each month. The five people I might have picked in 2007 are not the same I would choose today. Bloggers treat each day’s thoughts as published in stone, but our words are less like heavy boulders than feathers floating in the air for a day or so, then blowing away.

Most of all, it just doesn’t matter that much. That’s a lie. Of course, it matters. We are all human beings, weak and petty, wanting to attend the “best” dinner party.

But you can only control your own dinner party.

Today, I’m going to finally pick the five people online who I want to invite to a private dinner party at my virtual home. You would be very surprised who I picked. It’s not who you think. It’s an interesting mix. A popular blogger. A new blogger. A woman of color. Someone depressed. Someone funny.

Am I going to tell you who gets the invites? No. Am I going to tell the invites who gets the invites? No. I still think it is crude.

I just thought it was cool that I finally made a choice, even if I don’t tell anyone.

Enjoy your dinner. I will invite five new people to the next dinner party, just to make things fair.

A Man Has to Dream

May 5, 2010 / / 23 Comments

Earlier this week, I was contacted by someone writing an article for Penthouse. She had read this 2007 post of mine titled “Fifty States, Fifty Positions.” The post, as you might guess, is about my life-long “dream” to have sex with a different woman in every state. Finally, the media has caught on, and was writing an article on this important subject.

“Why do I have this dream?” you might ask. Well, I love women. I love to be challenged. And like the people behind Fox News, I love being a patriot. I believe in America first. Why sleep with a foreign woman in Paris or Tokyo when you haven’t tried all that America has to offer, from the Housewives of New York to the Belles of Birmingham?

Back in 2007, I was lagging in my goal. I was bi-coastal — New York and California — in more ways than having just been inside two state’s voting booths during election day. There were still 48 states to explore, and the clock was ticking. Each gray hair was like another missed opportunity in some far-flung state of the union. And with global warming creating havoc on the environment, it was becoming essential to travel to locales such as Alaska before it melted away.

It is now 2010, and sadly, I have not progressed much during these three years.

But don’t write me off just yet. During that time, I have been training on my own, every day, like Rocky.

Clearly, speaking with this writer for Penthouse has stirred old passions within me, an urge to return to my life goal, but is it still possible? Or is it all a pipe dream?

And then I remembered that I have an important new ally. Buick! (see last post)

Here’s the pitch, GM. I will drive a luxury car throughout America (rental cars in Alaska and Hawaii) and sleep with a different woman in each state. Take that, Bossy and Jane Devin.

An essential part of this “sponsored” blogger trip will be making love with a different woman in each state. And here’s how you can help! —

Many of my female readers live in these weird states that I would normally have no reason to visit. WTF am I gonna do in crazy places like Idaho or Wisconsin, for instance? But, now that I have a strong motivation to go there, it is a different story. So far, based on previous emails with certain female bloggers, I am pretty confident that I have Florida, Rhode Island, and Nevada all wrapped up for the trip, but the slots for the other states are still available.

This is a wonderful opportunity for me to give back to my readers. Besides the excitement of having sex with me, this will be a great boost for your blog. After each sexual encounter, I will be writing a blog post describing our evening (please include room and board — local cuisine recommended — along with the sex — thanks!) and how amazing I was in bed — and, GET THIS! — including a LINK to your BLOG!

It’s a win-win situation.

Neil’s Brain: “This post is a waste of your talent.”

Neil’s Penis: “Wimp. If you were a real man, you would DO it, not make a joke about it.”

Neil’s Heart: “I think I’m a little depressed today.”

Neil: “I need to do the laundry.”

The Buick Time Machine

May 2, 2010 / / 16 Comments


The 2010 Buick LaCrosse

DISCLOSURE: The nice people at Buick gave me two VIP passes to the TCM Classic Film Festival and a 2010 Buick LaCrosse for the week. I had a great time with Sophia. It was just what we needed — a fun event after the last few stressful months!

Some men spend their lives pondering the great questions, such as “Does God exist?” or “Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?” All my life, I have mostly asked one important question — “What does this button do?” From my first “stereo” with the identical-looking buttons for bass and treble, to the first time in bed with a naked woman sprawled in front of me, mysterious, unfamiliar body parts in display, it is “What does this button do?” Even today, in the virtual world of Facebook, I am always asking for assistance from a fellow blogger about the “Like” button, unsure of the ramifications of clicking it.

“What does this button do?” I nervously ask.

Because of this button affliction, I needed Sophia’s help in writing about the 2010 Buick Lacrosse I have been driving all week, back and forth from the TCM Classic Film Festival in Hollywood. I give credit to GM for asking me to attend this film festival. They took a chance on someone who has no experience in doing a sponsored or “review” post. While I am a good fit for a film festival, I am not the ideal person to review a car. SOPHIA is a car person, not me. She knows both cars and technology — a very smart woman and a self-professed gadget freak. That’s why I turned to her for help. We sat together in the car this morning, and I asked her the essential question, while pointing at the dashboard, the overhead panel, and the steering wheel —

“What does this button do?”

“That’s OnStar,” she answered.

“OnStar is what I use if I get into trouble, right?”

“Yes, but it’s a lot more. It’s really cool. You can call up OnStar and someone will recommend a local restaurant.”

“How do they know if the restaurant is any good?”

“I don’t know. They just do.”

The Buick Lacrosse is a beautiful car, and very luxurious, with leather seats, French seams, futuristic blue lighting in the dashboard, and a driver’s seat that pulls back to let you enter and exit more easily. I felt successful just sitting in the car.

“What does this button do?”

“That warms up the steering wheel.”

“What do I need that for?”

“If it’s cold when you first get into the car in the morning. Imagine you’re back in New York and that you get up early in the morning.”

“Can’t I just wear gloves?”

“Oh, you can also warm up AND cool down the seats. I love, love, love the cooling part.”

Sophia pressed the cooling button. I can feel my ass getting cold.

“It’s kind of a weird sensation.”

Remember, I am a tough critic.

The thing Sophia was totally psyched about was one of the most advanced aspects of the car – the use of the windshield head-up display (HUD) technology, similar to that used by Air Force F-16 pilots, so they don’t have to look away from the action. Also known as enhanced vision systems, the HUD systems project laser images of important data, such as speed, navigation directions and time directly onto the surface of a car’s windshield. Talk about futuristic.

The press has been quite excited by the LaCrosse, considering Buick’s staid reputation as the maker of “Dad’s car.”

From U.S. News and World Report:

When the 2010 Buick LaCrosse first appeared, the automotive press collectively gasped, “That thing’s a Buick?!” With a Lexus-like interior, and elegant exterior and better road manners than anything the brand has put out since its heyday in the 1950s, the entirely new LaCrosse is a triumph for GM.

We read thousands of car reviews, but rarely have we seen the automotive press so stunned. They’re not speechless – these are journalists we’re talking about – but they’re universally shocked at the sight, sound and feel of the 2010 Buick LaCrosse.

Buicks have earned a reputation in America as huge, ponderous cars with forgettable bodywork, flat bench seats, and decent engines but the road manners of a cabin cruiser. More than one reviewer has remarked that only senior citizens who can remember the fine Buicks of the 1950s and ‘60s tend to buy them.

The 2010 Buick LaCrosse, by that standard, has left a lot of jaws hanging open. It was so well-received, it was a finalist for the North American Car of the Year award.

As good as the reviews, I was still confused about all the buttons.

“Wait. What does this button do?” I asked Sophia, reaching for the shiny, flickering blue light near the navigation screen.

“Don’t touch that button. NEVER TOUCH THAT BUTTON.”

Of course, this just egged me on, and I felt obligated to press the button. The Buick started to shake and twirl and blink with lights. It lifted up a foot off the ground and then immediately floated down.

Sophia and I looked out the car window. Our house was gone. The entire neighborhood was empty except for a few shacks. A 1955 Buick Roadmaster passed by on a dirt road. “Tutti Frutti” was playing on the radio. There was a copy of the Los Angeles Times in the back seat of our car. I grabbed the newspaper and the lead story was about President Eisenhower.

Our 2010 Buick Lacrosse was also a time machine!

“Oh no!” cried Sophia. “I told you not to touch that button. What are we going to do now?”

“Why are you upset?” I said, smiling, suddenly understanding our good luck. “This is the best thing that ever happened to us. I can finally make it in Hollywood by making blockbuster movies before they are produced by anyone else! We’re gonna be billionaires!”

“Where are you going to find anyone in 1955 to make your movies?”

“Don’t worry.”

I pressed the OnStar button. A friendly female voice spoke.

“OnStar.”

“Hi there OnStar.” I replied. “We seem to have a special Buick LaCrosse that is also a time machine, and we have gone back in time to 1955.”

“I see. How can I help?”

“I would like to pitch a blockbuster movie idea to a studio executive. What restaurant would I find a studio executive eating in 1955?”

“You should try The Brown Derby.”

I thanked the OnStar woman, then turned to Sophia.

“Wow, OnStar IS good!”

Sophia and I drove to Hollywood. Our 2010 car was pretty impressive to passerbys, and stopped other automobiles in their tracks; so when we arrived at the Brown Derby, we were already a cause celebre. Darryl Zanuck of 20th Century Fox was eager to meet with us, sensing that I was “ahead of my time.”

“What’s you movie idea?” he asked over martinis.

“It’s a movie called “Transformers.” It’s about these metallic robot/car/machine things that beat up each other and blow things up. Kids will love it because they will buy the toys, and the movie will make 300 million dollars!”

“300 million dollars?! That’s music to my ears. Let’s make it.”

A year later, in 1956 (remember, with a time machine, time is fluid), Transformers opened at the Chinese Theater, starring a young Marlon Brando, Jack Lemmon, and Debbie Reynolds, the biggest budget movie ever produced.

Despite a massive publicity campaign, the movie got the worst reviews ever written. Critics and audiences in 1956 found a movie about battling robot toys incomprehensible, and Twentieth Century Fox went bankrupt.

Sophia and I were run out of town by an angry mob of studio executives. As we sped towards Bakersfield, I commented on the smooth ride of the 2010 Buick Lacrosse. I pressed the blue button again, eager to leave this time period.

Blue flash!

When the dust settled, Sophia and I found ourselves parked outside Red Restaurant on Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles, via 1998. Why did this location and moment seem familiar? Of course. We had our third date in this restaurant!

Sophia and I were shocked to see ourselves — Sophia and Neil from 1998 — walking out of the restaurant. It was our third date. We were holding hands, seeming very romantic. My hair had no gray in it, and I walked with a virile jauntiness.

“How about we go to my place?” Neil’98 asked Sophia’98, a sexiness to his voice.

Inside the car, my eyes were filling with tears.

“I remember exactly what happened next,” I said to Sophia next to me in the car. “I forgot my wallet in the restaurant and went back inside. And then… we go back…”

“Oops, I forgot my wallet,” said Neil’98, right on cue, and headed back to the restaurant.

Sophia’98 looked into the window of the “futuristic car” parked outside of the restaurant and fixed her lipstick. She noticed that her mirror image was wearing a different hair style and color. Sophia opened the window of the Buick LaCrosse.

Sophia ’98 stared at her future self, her mouth agape.

“Uh, what…. how is this possible?”

“We’re from the future, Sophia. We are driving a 2010 Buick Lacrosse that also happens to be a time machine.”

“It’s a beautiful car,” said Sophia’98. “The car looks so successful. Neil must be soooooo successful.”

“Well, actually, he still drives the Honda Civic. We just have it for a week. Neil is testing it for his blog.”

“A blog? What is a blog? Is that how Neil makes his living?”

“Uh, well…”

“Wait a minute…” asked Sophia’98, her eyes brightening, “If you’re coming from 2010, that means Neil and I are still together? Do we end up getting married? Are we incredibly happy? Is it all a Hollywood ending. Do we sleep together tonight? Is he amazingly good in bed?”

“Well… actually… if you really want to know the truth…”

I quickly pressed the flickering time machine button, getting us the hell out of there before Sophia finished her sentence.

The Buick LaCrosse returned to 2010. I drove the car back to our home. I loved driving the Buick, but next time I’d prefer a car that doesn’t travel through time.

Thank you, Sophia, for the education and for being a great time travel companion. Thank you, Buick, for this wonderful opportunity. You were a lot of fun to work with, both at the festival and while exploring the LaCrosse. And thank you, Jane.

Disclaimer: Not all 2010 Buick Lacrosses come equipped with time machines.

It’s a Wrap

April 27, 2010 / / 10 Comments

The TCM film festival is over. It was a blast. There was such a varied audience at the screenings — from twenty-something hipsters to senior citizens. Thank you Jane Devin for the intro to the cool people at GM.

By the last screening, I was feeling very sentimental. My father was a big movie buff, and I saw many of these films for the first time on our old RCA TV, sitting with my father in his bedroom. He would have loved to see these classics such as Casablanca and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on the big screen, in Hollywood. It was especially cool to see Tony Curtis, another favorite actor of my father’s, at a screening of Some Like it Hot.

My father always told me this story — which I only half believed — that he was stationed in Hawaii during the filming of “From Here to Eternity,” and was used as an extra in the famous fight scene between Maggio and Fatso (Frank Sinatra and Ernest Borgnine). Ernest Borgnine was at this festival, speaking about one of his other films. I tried really hard to meet him and tell him this story, but kept missing him by a few minutes.

There was one famous classic film actor who I avoided all weekend for the oddest “six degrees of Hollywood” reason. When I was in film school, I was making this twenty-minute student film, and cast this actress. By the second week, I wasn’t happy with her performance, so I hired a replacement. Believe me, it was excruciatingly difficult to do, one of the reasons I ran to “writing” and not “production” after graduation. The original actress was angry at me over my betrayal, and wrote me an email saying something like “You’re going to go far in Hollywood because you’re such an asshole.” Years passed. One day, I see a photo of this famous older actor who has appeared in 100 films with his new girlfriend, a much much younger woman — yes, her — the actress who thinks I am an asshole because I fired her from a student film. And there they were at the film festival together this weekend, still a couple — this famous actor and his long-time girlfriend who hates my guts. Do you think maybe she forgot about it by now? Do actresses every forget?

Anyway, for now —


— Hollywood has gotten back to business.


Across the street from the Hollywood Roosevelt, three working actors, Marilyn, Freddy Kruger, and Beetlegeuse discuss their latest screenplay at the Coffee Bean.

When I first stepped out of my house this morning, there was a new neighbor checking out my Buick Lacrosse in the drive-way.

“New car?” he asked.

“Kind of. I’m just testing it.” I answered.

I didn’t feel like it was necessary to go into all the details about my blog and the film festival. I was also trying to impress him.

“It looks like an upscale Lexus.”

I made note of his comment. I had never met this neighbor before, and for a second I wondered if Buick had paid an actor to come over, as a subtle hint that I should write more about the car on my blog.

The neighbor started asking me all these car-oriented questions. “What is the mph?” “How many cylinders?” Etc. I had absolutely no idea. I knew the car looked and felt good, and was impressed that the steering wheel could HEAT UP! Luckily, Sophia came out and DID know the answers, considering that she has a subscription to Car and Driver.

Afterwards, Sophia scolded me.

“Buick sponsored you to go to the festival. You should at least know SOMETHING about the car other than the fact that you can listen to Oprah on XM radio!”

She’s right. It’s time to start blogging with integrity. Today, I am going to be driving all around town so I can give you my honest opinion of the Buick Lacrosse. I have only owned Japanese cars since moving to Los Angeles. Will this car change my mind?

First up — I will play with all the cool buttons on the dashboard.

“Have you ever made out in the back of a car?” I asked Sophia.

“Yes.”

“Yes?! With who? You never told me that.”

“Haven’t you?”

“Uh, no.”

I still haven’t.

You ever notice in car commercials and advertisements the person driving his car is always completely alone on the road?

Isn’t reality more like this? —

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 Citizen of the Month

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑

Social media & sharing icons powered by UltimatelySocial