My 3-year-old, Vampire Brother

This is a phone conversation between my brother and I last Friday:
"Hey, what are you doing this weekend?" he calls out of the blue.
I reply, "You're gonna be in LA? ... Why?"
"How'd you know I was gonna be in LA?"
"Um, you just told me."
"No I didn't."
"Why else would you be asking about my weekend plans?" I retort.
"Can't I just be curious?"
"You only call when you want something, so, No."
Thus began a week of sibling bonding...in a way.

Jeff spent the whole weekend with his friend out in Apple Valley (if you haven't heard of it, that's because it's on the way to Victorville, Big Bear and nowhere near LA) then he decided to grace my presence on Monday by coming to Sunset Gower, the Lot I work on, treating me to lunch and proceeding to turn into his three-year-old self by dashing through half the production hangers on the Lot. I told him that if he got permission to walk on the sets (sans shooting) he could, but he wasn't allowed to just bound into the hangers with an enthusiastic smile and hope they wouldn't kick him off. Luckily all the painters and construction crews that were putting finishing touches on the sets, didn't mind a big, wide eyed child, asking questions and touching everything in sight.

"Is there real alcohol in the bottles," Jeff asks as he grabs a Patron bottle off the shelf in Dexter's Quinn's house. "Ahhh, don't touch stuff," I squeak, "You're gonna mess up continuity." But Jeff's already popped the top and is sniffing the contents. "It's just colored water," he pouts. "I could have told you that with out you rearranging the set. Now, please put the bottle back." He jams the bottle back on the shelf and is off exploring another part of the hanger - the Hospital from Private Practice.

"Look, they even have cups that say the Hospital's name...Hum, what's through here?" he mumbles, opening a door past the reception area. As I freak out over Jeff possibly opening a door into a crew member working behind it, he's vanished from my sight. It's like his attention span just takes him on a magical journey of sporadic-ness that makes me want to strap a monkey backpack with tail leash to him and yank him away from things he shouldn't go near.

I find him walking through the White House from The Event. "This looks just like the real thing," He muses, making laps around the Oval Office. His excitement is contagious and pretty soon, I'm wandering through all the open (and closed) doors, trying to see how everything is laid out and musing over all the little details that make up the sets - notebooks filled with writing (not just the front few pages), the character's logo on the stationary and cups, picture frames with the actor's photos inside, etc.

After exiting the last hanger on the Lot, Jeff utters, "I think this has made the trip all worthwhile." And I'd have to say he has a point. It's kind of cool to be able to walk on the set of a show and see a mini version of the White House or the house of a character that you watch weekly. I guess I take for granted that I work on a Lot, but I never actually take advantage of what being on a set affords me.

I eventually had to go back to work, play time was over, so I sent Jeff to my house and headed back to my desk. Over the course of the next week, the main indications that Jeff was actually staying at my house was the fact that my hand soap, body wash, shampoo, and toilet paper decreased exponentially and when I left my house at 8am, I'd look into the living room and see a giant lump on the floor, covered in a blanket. Jeff would quietly make his way into my living room somewhere between the hours of 2am and 6am, leave after I was gone and sometimes, after my roommate was gone in the mid afternoon.

I had asked Jeff on the third day of staying with me that his penance for coming and going at his leisure and using all my stuff was to buy me a new hand soap. When I arrived home that evening there was a quarter filled bottle of hand soap sitting next to my bathroom sink. My text message to my brother went like this: "What the hell is up with giving me a quarter full thing of soap. Really? A new bottle is like $2. Cheap bastard." I had thought he stole it from some bathroom he visited during the day, but after my roommate saw the soap in my bathroom, she goes, "I was wondering where the kitchen hand soap went."

He eventually bought me a proper, full bottle of hand soap and a replacement bottle of body wash while complaining it cost him $6. Poor baby. I don't know what he was doing with all my cleansing products, but most were 80% full before he visited me and when he left 7 days later, about 20% full; a lot of the items were concentrated. Overall, Jeff turned out to be one of the best houseguest I've had stay with me. My roommate even said he was cool because you never saw him. He just slept there, but didn't notably effect our house environment, except for the depleting cleaning products.

Sex Sells, Products Don't

I'm pretty sure most underwear is flexible.

I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut these days when I see American Apparel ads. In no way am I a die hard feminist, but I can't help but to take offense at the blatant exploitation of young women that American Apparel is so fond of using in their ads. I understand that commercialism now uses sex appeal to sell their products (instead of actually inducting a selling strategy advertising the product more so then the model), but when they make the models overly expose themselves in unflattering ways to market a product that you can barely notice because it's either not actually in the ad or it's so inconsequential compared to the sexual or otherwise rise that one gets from viewing the ad, you have to question the motives of the PR department; are they selling the clothing/product or making a statement that it's ok to fantasize about barely out of their tweens-looking models. It's like an open call to pedophiles.

These ads highly offend me. I'm all for creative ingenuity, but where does the line get draw between creativity and pornography? Yes, Los Angeleans and New Yorkers have a higher tolerance for racy ads then the gentler folk of the middle states, but that doesn't mean the PR morons need to exploit our apathy to the limit, stretching to see how far they can go before they're paying out too many law suits to have the ads remain profitable. When did society stop trying to depict products in their natural state, showing viewers what the product are capable of? Why did they make the switch to marketing obscene and obscure ads to make a company notable, but leaving the product a barely grasped memory. I guess if you remember a commercial or an ad, the PR department has done their job, but do you remember what the ad pertains to, or only what it was about - some random guy on a horse or a 15 year-old spreading her legs? What was the product being marketed? How does this help sales? There are numerous ads where I can only remember the product and not the company or the company and not the product. How is this helpful? Shouldn't an ad be memorable for both the product and the company.

Sex or Socks?

I guess in this sense, America Apparel ads do achieve their goals of being instantly recognized and remembered, but does a girl looking like a piece of sex candy make you want to buy socks? Who is this ad targeting; men or women? For the guys out there, if you saw this ad, would you buy the socks and give them to your girlfriend in hopes that she'll somehow turn out to look as stunning as the girl in the picture or that you'll get lucky because you bought your girlfriend/wife/friend American Apparel socks? For the Women, if you bought these socks, do you think you will look sexier, or does this ad make you feel less sexy because you can't be 15 again and have the perfect body? Why have a marketing campaign that makes people question their looks, weight, self-worth?

It's like a subliminal mind fuck to the general audiences and instead of the ads helping to sell the products they're advertising, they turn the already impressional young people into walking sex fantasies via wearing their products or having disturbed individuals imagine them in said outfits. Either way, it's appalling. I know this rant has gone on long enough, but I just want to state the fact that American Apparel uses a lot of their store employees as their models, promising young women illusions of modeling success when they agree to be employees, but never actually fully explaining the mental consequences of becoming a store model. It's exploiting innocence for capital gain. It should be a crime.

Why would I want to buy stockings that can easily rip?

Yummy Heart Cloggers

There was a news article the other day on the five newest 1200-1500+ calorie meals served at restaurants. The sad thing is that most of the items look like delicious, heart clogging plates of awesomeness. This could be an effect of the vibrant photography depicting said food, but no matter, my mouth was watering and I almost ventured across the street to eat at Denny's. I was taken in by Denny's new grilled cheese with fried cheese sticks stuffed between layers of gooey, stringy yumminess. My taste buds yearned to devour this monstrosity of the beloved grilled cheese. And for all the meat eaters out there - there's also a cheeseburger served in the South that has grilled cheese sandwiches as it's buns.


Denny's Fried Cheese Melt Sandwich


Friendly's Grilled Cheese Burger Melt

What is the world coming to when cheese upon cheese looks and sounds appealing to our appetites? No wonder our society is growing bigger and wider; we're dismissing healthy foods for visually appealing delectables and brushing off the consequences of munching to our figurative heart's desire, instead of taking care of our physical hearts. Maybe we should all sit down in front of Wall-E and try to imagine what it would be like to drink all our meals and float around in a hover chair because our bones have liquified and we're nothing more than blobs of semi-intelligent masses - similar to amoebas.

Now if Denny's had put fried chicken strips in the middle of their new grilled cheese sandwich instead of more cheese, it would probably contain the same amount of calories, but at least the consumer would get their daily amount of protein. Plus, when I originally saw the photo of the sandwich, I thought it was chicken. Sounds so good to me, but bad Em, bad.

Poll: Would you eat one of these sandwiches?

Secondary Happiness

Since I now work in the heart of Hollywood on one of the better known Television Lots in LA, I've had the pleasure of walking through the halls and seeing some of the lesser known, but equally brilliant actors in Hollywood. I know that most people who watch television and movies know who the major players are, but what of the co-stars; the B, C, or D-list actors that accompany all the big shots? You know you see them on the big screen, but do you really see them or do you have eyes only for you main attraction(s)?

When I'm out in public, I think I spot the below-the-line actors more than the A-listers because they're at the perfect amount of fame to where they get jobs, but don't have the paparazzi stalking them, therefore they don't have to cover up in gawd awful disguises. They wander around as themselves, glad when someone spots them and asks to take a picture, but not cool enough (a relative term) to be hounded by a gaggle of tweens. Most tourist in Hollywood probably don't get to snap a picture with their favorite celebrities because they don't notice them among all the other weirdos wearing hoodies and dark sunglasses in 90 degree heat. I'm just glad happy I like the people that can still be themselves when out running their errands.

I get giddy when I recognize a background actor on the Lot. I'm like, "That's the Mom from Picket Fences (Yes, a show that no one remembers or has heard of who's younger then 25) or, "that's the cool dorky guy from Road Trip and Memphis Blues". I love recognizing them and I almost go out of my way to say, "hello," but then I remind myself that I'm not a crazed groupie and they probably don't want to be bothered. But I smile as they pass by me in the hall, fiddling with their phones or drinking their coffee, being normal people, uninhibited in their daily routines by their success.

I just want all you wannabe actors out there to know that, even if you don't make it to uber stardom with the huge mansion and 7 cars, there are people in the world that will recognize you every time they see you on and off the screen and they will occasionally IMDB you to see what projects you are working on. You won't have the fan base that the mega stars have, but you can be living your dream and know that somewhere out there, someone is glad you're an actor and you make them smile, maybe just a tad, when they pass you on the street and give their brains a second to commute where they know you from.

The Dream (or any dream) is achievable and viable, you just have to make it happen for yourself and then go out and brighten someone's day.

A Presidental Traffic Jam

President Obama was here in town yesterday, kindly going about his business meeting with famous people and addressing the concerns of the Nation without thought to his Secret Service men and the Los Angeles Sheriffs Department making it their duty to keep almost all people out of his way by a radius of several miles. This included closing/blocking off various main thoroughfares that most LA-ians use to commute to and from their multiple locations.

LA is not a grid city and therefore, very few streets actually transverse great distances across the city. Mostly streets go a few miles and then end at someone's driveway or a business. If you're a tourist, you stick to the the four or five main roads that manage to lead drivers across great distances of the city, but at the cost of sitting in traffic during random hours of the day. If you're a local (or someone who's lived here long enough to understand the traffic flow) you usually know back streets that bypass major traffic intersections and get you where you need to be with minimal horn honking and aggravation.

Obama's visit changed up the scenery for all commuters in the Hollywood, Westwood, Beverly Hills, and Century City areas by diverting main street traffic to little slivers of roads that pass by mansions and cute little hidey-hole shops that locals like to keep to themselves. This included closing off all streets east of Highland in Hollywood, the very street that I needed to drive down to get home after a long, hard day of sitting in my office watching the clock inch by. There's nothing like a 1 mile per hour traffic jam to put you in a happy, "end of work finally!" mood.

I can understand blocking off streets near where the President is going to be, but destroying home-bound commutes for numerous miles, nowhere near where the President is going to be, is a bit much. I guess the traffic problems wouldn't have been so bad if people in LA knew how to drive, but somehow there will always be morons that think they are special and if they manage to smile just right, they will somehow be allowed to drive around the police barricades while everyone else has to follow the natural flow of a detour.

This, in itself, caused the most bummer to bummer jams. I'd be following a person and all of a sudden they'd put on their blinker to turn Right, slow to a practically non-existent crawl, and attempt to maneuver past the flashing police car parked diagonal across several lines of the road. As if they didn't see the police car and its glorious blue and red blinking lights, they'd try to snail pace mow down the officer standing in the middle of the blocked street. Once the officer managed to get the diverted imbecile's attention, who attempted to flash apologetic puppy dog eyes at the unamused officer, the moron would swerve back in front of me just as I had finally managed to cross a particular intersection after 30 minutes of lagging, which left me blocking said intersection. A fine-able offense in most cities.

Needless-to-say, it was a frustrating hour and a half journey home with a heavy case of road rage bubbling to the surface. I use to be such a calm and respectful driver, now I all want to do is honk if someone sits at a green light longer than 1.2 seconds. It's not like the extra 5 minutes I'll gain from driving a few miles over the speed limit will help me much, it's just the fact that I want to maintain moving, no matter what direction. The gas, brake, gas, brake just doesn't work for my A.D.D. brain. Too much disruption and annoyance. Maybe I should take up yoga or meditation... probably not, idle minds might lead to the same thing as idle hands.

Diets and Thoughts of Murder

So when my co-workers found out I started a diet, they were like, "Why, you don't need to lose weight." "You're already thin." "Huh?" I responded with, "My friend wanted to go on a diet and she needed someone to split the cost of groceries with, so now I get to eat meals that are titled 'Watercress and Almond Salad with Roasted Onion Dressing' or 'Pan-Roasted Salmon with Wilted Chard and Tomato-Mint Raita' that are all home cooked by my friend, packed in lovely Tupperware containers and stocked in my fridge ready for consumption at a moments noticed." What could be better than yummy, healthy food that I don't have to cook myself?

Now, they're all like, "Yeah, I'd go on that diet." Plus I get to eat tons of snacks like: fruit, yogurt, edamame guacamole, nuts, turkey bacon, etc. It's awesome and I could do with losing the love handles.

My Friend needed Soy Milk for the diet and it was my job to pick it up from the market, but of course I forgot to get it the first night she asked and had to detoured on my way home this evening to the local Ralphs (grocery store) for the milk. Once I found the refrigerated aisle, I searched high and low for the wanted item, but among all the cow based milk products, coffee creams, and whipping creams, I discovered a void of empty shelves to which I leaned in to inspect the price labels attached to the blank metal and discovered the answer to why I couldn't spot the soy milk.

I walked the length of the coolers and still, could not find the one item I was entrusted to obtain. I felt like a failure, here, my friend is slaving away in the kitchen to feed me (and herself) and I can't even find her the one lousy fake-milk product she'd asked me to get? Man, I'm lame. I really didn't want to go to another Raplhs, mainly because I was tired and it was the opposite direction of my house, so I searched up and down the aisles for a Raplhs employee in hopes they could solve the mystery of the missing milk.

I finally spotted a lone employee asking the one other customer in the Raplhs if they needed help finding anything as the customer shook their head and walked on by. I stopped and said I needed help.

"Do you have Soy Milk?"

"Um, they moved them to the back where I can't even find them," the clerk said with a straight face.

I totally thought he was being sarcastic, so I responded with, "Oh, so they hide them [soy milk] from you too?"

"Yep."

A pregnant pause. I debated if the guy was messing with me, but when he sort of just stood there and said nothing more, I realized he was dead serious.

"Do you think you can go in the back and try to find me a container?" I looked impatient.

He stared at me for another few seconds.

"I really do need the milk." This finally propelled him into action and he slandered down the aisle and through the "Employees Only" double doors. 5 minutes later, after debating whether to cut my loss and head to another Raplhs, he shuffled through the doors empty handed and asked, "What brand do you need?"

Seriously!!!! I was about ready to kill the guy, debating if he was mental or really lazy.

"Any kind as long as it's regular soy milk." I about growl.

He turned and walked back through the grey doors. 3 minutes later I was walking to the cash registers with Organic Soy Milk in hand while thinking that I now have to pay for the most expensive fake milk the store sells and should I report the moron to his bosses for having bad costumer service or just pay for the milk and get the hell out of the store? I decided home was a much better option than being an asshole and I finally exited Raplhs 10 minutes after entering with one item in hand.

Sometime, it's the little things that can cause you such annoyance and possibly make you homicidal. Beware idiot Raplhs guy, you're on my list!

Santa Monica Crazie

I went to the Farmers Market last Saturday and while waiting for a friend to weed through the identical bushels of lavender at one of the booths, I hovered on the edge of the table trying not to sniff too much - I really don't like the over powerful fragrance. For some reason, Lavender has been deemed a "Girlie scent", therefore making most people assume all women like the smell and want to buy it in whatever form they can find it or receive it as a gift. So not true, but of course, when I'm trying to look as non-disgusted as possible without holding my nose, a random lady starts to try and sell me on buying a lavender scented oil or a steam of the plant off the table.

"Isn't this a lovely smell," the lady waves the oil bottle under my nose as I try to refrain from whacking her hand away.

"I'm not really a fan of Lavender," my voice even.

"Oh," she thinks a beat, "Well there's a peppermint oil and a jasmine one," she points to the little amber bottles sitting on the white linen.

I almost dislike peppermint as much as Lavender, clearly my "woman gene" is on the fritz, "Those are infused with Lavender," I state.

"Are they?" she actually picks up one of the bottles and examines its label, "So it is, but it's a light scent."

"Yea, still, I'm not a fan."

"How about a nice bundle of the steams?" she reaches for the light purple and green leaves.

"Thank you, but no thanks. I'm just waiting on a friend," I desperately try to pretend I'm interested in some small shit-kicker trying to escape from its owners tiny black purse.

The lady puts the dreaded plant back in its bucket and ambles down the booth lined street to another vendor. I watch her retreating back, realizing she didn't even work for the lavender seller. So why the hell was she so adamant on trying to get me to buy a product that wasn't even her own? Good ole Santa Monica crazies!