Packing up 2009

Hell, an entire decade. When the "Aughts" began, I was a junior in high school, and as they end I've hit several major milestones in my life. End of high school. The entirety of college. First live-in girlfriend. First job I truly hated. Watching one of my films on a (sort of) big screen. Layoffs and hires, several apartments, new and old roommates.

Now I'm 27, officially in my late 20's. Funny, I don't feel like an adult. It's true that I have more responsibilities, in both my personal and professional life, than I've ever had before. I'm now commonly addressed as Mr. Parker, and its hit or miss when bouncers check my ID. Yet I still view myself as a kid, a youngster whose parents have allowed him to stay up late and hang with the adults. If you are really only as old as you feel, then I feel as young as when I started the decade.

Except when I don't. Time marches on, even if I play the role of Peter and deny its effects. My back aches sometimes when I stress it. The occasional throb ripples forth from my knee. My hair is most definitely thinner than it was. I've been to funerals, weddings, said goodbye to old friends and hello to new ones. Time has laid her marks on me, whether I admit it or not.

In many respects I have changed, noticeably and greatly. I think I'm more comfortable with my life than I used to be. There was a solid period in the 2000's where I was a grumpy person, someone who grumbled at any situation, confident that my pessimistic outlook was reflective of truth. That attitude mellowed quite a bit, and earlier this year, upon hearing that I (along with all my co-workers) was to be laid off, I experienced what I will refer to as shakabuku - that swift spiritual kick to the head that alters one's perspective forever. I'm much happier than I used to be, and even when I complain, its with the knowledge that it could be worse. It could be raining.

So here I sit on the eve of heading home for a long weekend, celebrating another holiday season with those I love back home in the great state of Alaska. I can truly say I have two homes now, for as my soul belongs to the Great Land, it took a trip to New York City to come to terms with the fact that my heart belongs to Los Angeles. When I think of home it is finally L.A. I think of, a position I never would of thought to be in ten years ago. Evolution is real, it happens on scales grand and small. Often it takes a milestone to give us the briefest of pauses, a chance to look back in contemplation, a moment to catch our breath, smile like an idiot, then propel ourselves into that great unknown that is the future. Some people fear tomorrow; I embrace it tightly and with all the promise that a new lover brings.

Merry Christmas, everyone. See you on the other side.

2 out of 5 boroughs ain't bad

I've come to the conclusion that, for now, 48 hours in New York City is the proper amount of time. This isn't a complaint; indeed, I very much enjoyed my visit there. Hot dogs at 3am. Last call at 4am. The subway system that allows for the complete avoidance of taxi cabs of you're willing to hoof it.

Seeing my latest film screened and having actual audience members whom I didn't know attend was my favorite moment, as lowkey as the actual event was. Screened in the conference room of a Holiday Inn, it shouted "film festival" about as much as deaf mute could, but it worked. For sixteen minutes while my film played out, projected on a smallish screen, the assembled becaume an audience. People laughed where I hoped they would, the applauded truthfully, not politely, and one guy even gave me his business card. Granted, he could have been hitting on me. I am devastatingly good-looking.

What was probably my second favorite moment occured the morning Nate and I arrived. Landed at 5am, check in not until noon, we killed time by heading into Manhattan. Jesus, the wind was blowing. Dirt got in my eye, Nate was sans jacket and therefore freezing. But what made it worthwhile was seeing New York go to work. Times Square was strangely empty, the only pedestrians scurrying to work; it was, after all, just another Thursday. There is work to be done, by God, time to get indoors and crunch the numbers. And much like school hallways after the tardy bell has rung, by 10am the streets were devoid of proper citizens, leaving the tourists and unfortunates out in the cold. We finally

-- Post script: This is what remains of a rather lengthy blog post I wrote as I waited for my plane to take off from JFK. The wonderfully little shitty app I was using (the name of which escapes me presently) decided to only send what you read above. Let this post stand as a monument to those times where technology stifles or kills creativity by buggin' out.

Ah, the fog of Sudafed

So last Friday I got sick, as in throat scratchy, head pounding, snot simultaneously running out my nose and clogging it sick. Thankfully it's not the flu, or H1N1 for that matter. But I felt shitty enough to take the day off from work and not get out of bed until 7 at night. Which leads me to the wonders of modern pharmacology. Man I love using science to make me feel better a couple of pills and a few hours at a time. In those moments of only being about 75% in reality, I find my mind wandering, not staying put unless I put a little extra effort into it, and half the time it doesn't listen to me anyways. So here's a list of stuff I discovered while hopped up on Sudafed:

1) American Apparel only makes men's pants to size 34 - fat hipsters need not apply.
2) Blade Runner can induce Zen-like calmness when coupled with cold medication.
3) Driving a car becomes a fun, unpredictable experiance again.
4) Math is not your friend.
5) One's ability to empathize with that homeless person asking for change is directly proportional to how much snot it feels like is inside your skull.
6) On the subject of homelessness, I'm pretty sure that crazy woman with the beard yelling at invisible monsters has the power to drag you to Hell, so be nice to her.

I'm going to bed now.

Strange Dreams

I have strange dreams. I know everyone views their dreams as strange, but we are only privvy to our own, and to me my subconscious comes up with some bizarre shit.

Last night I remember being at a house party where one of my exes arrived, and unlike the last time I saw her in real life, we were actually cordial and, dare I say it, affectionate. This was a woman I haven't thought of in years, and I mean YEARS. Why my brain decided to dredge her up I'll never figure out. The only part that was like reality was where she making out with another guy mere moments after professing her love for me.

My second dream was much more interesting - it was an episode of Mad Men that seemed like what the last episode would be. Both Don Draper and Pete Campbell left Sterling Cooper to work in much lower paying jobs, and they were cool with it. Then Don and Pete actually became friends. Best part? Don actually leaves Betty. That chick is crazy, yo.

Next time I wake up after sleeping for only five hours (which I do every night now) I'm just gonna get up. I can't take much more of this madness.

I am not one of the beautiful people

It isn't the obvious that I'm referring to, nor is this some depressing emo shit. I look around where I live, that bastion of the uberfabulous. The young and fashionable shop Melrose at 2:30 on a Tuesday, spending money and I with no idea on how they get it. Do they work at night, have an odd schedule where Tuesdays and Wednesdays are their weekends? How many of the beautiful people are there like this? It confuses me to no end.

I had Subway for dinner, stopping on my way home after another day at work. Front of me stood a tall fit couple, their affection (more likely uninformed lust) clogging the air like Cairo smog. The non-ironic multiple use of the word "bro" when addressing the guy behind the counter. The 5th grade humor of the woman, thinking she's more clever than she'll ever be. The attractive becoming ever more repulsive. These Eloi, these beneficiaries of God's lottery, flittering away their existence on counting carbs and cracking jokes about "breastesises". Never leaving the shallow end of the pool, not afraid but simply unaware of deeper waters.

Los Angeles is a town of many faces, with bodies to match. A jagged mosaic where the seeds are sown for what Wells' Time Traveller witnessed. Not yet prey, these beautiful people have already turned into cattle. Call it Grass Is Always Greener, say there is nothing perfect in this world, but in the choice between beauty and truth, I choose truth every time.

It is the ones who escape Plato's cave that become the Morlocks, for they have seen the world and found it real.

(This is what happens when I listen to the new Muse album on the way home from work).

Recap of the last six weeks.

- I got laid off.

- I went back home to Alaska, where I saw old friends, tackled a chore list for the folks and grandfolks, drank some very good beer, had my first ever visitor from college, and generally pushed the RESET button on the ol' grey NES that is my life.

- I came back to SoCal, in the midst of enjoying my temporary retirement, my meager savings dwindling but I didn't really care. I played a lot of video games, went out with friends, and relaxed.

- I got a new job. Beginning of this month, I started work. Dumped into the deep end, and it's either sink or swim. I am dog-paddling at the moment, still learning the ropes but succeeding. Busy work makes the days go by faster, and thank Jebus I have normal fucking hours again.

- I went to Las Vegas over Labor Day weekend. Funny thing that Labor Day - holiday invented to encourage people to work now inspires people to be as lazy as possible. Anywho, I gambled, came up, got a bunch of shit for free, and had the cheapest Vegas excursion ever without ever a reduction in the amount of good times.

- I saw AC/DC on Tuesday. They fucking rock. Awesome awesome awesome.

- I got my first paycheck from the new job today. Gainful employment, meet Cory. Cory, meet gainful employment.

-This weekend I'm off to the AZ to visit my parents who just bought a little house there for wintering purposes. A quick trip, but a hell of a lot closer than Alaska.

So why did I write this list down? Well, during my temporary retirement I purposely changed up my routine. To take the metaphor further, I took Super Mario Bros. 2 out of the NES, grabbed Ducktales, blew the dust out of the end, and restarted my life. I was ready for a change, and I got it.

Minus Gizmoduck (unfortunately).

Catch-up is not a fun game to play

Sorry it's been so long since my thoughts last graced your eyeballs, but I'm back with a quick update. I'm writing this sitting in my favorite chair back home in Alaska, a brown Lay-Z-Boy recliner that is as old as I am (if not older). It matches absolutely nothing in the living room and feels amazing. It has been raining off and on every day since I've repatriated myself back home (albiet temporarily), which I wouldn't mind if I didn't have this damnable urge to ride my bike everyday.

Bottom line is, I want to get out and exercise. Now that my job with the shitty hours is over, I want to live a normal schedule of getting up, working out, jetting off to work 9-6, coming home and eating dinner at dinnertime, and enjoy my evenings not running around dropping off tapes or waiting for producers to stop fucking with their show so I can go home, but going out with friends or God forbid, watching television shows when they actually air.

As you can tell, I'm still getting employment out of my system.

MOVING ON, since coming home I have been tackling my parents to-do list. I do not mind doing this at all. I actually enjoy it. It does however, have the unfortunate side effect of keeping me away from my writing, which takes some time and a few old-fashioneds to get into. Oh well. I'll find the time. To date, I have assembled Dad's new BBQ, taken donations to goodwill, drove three bikes to the shop to be fixed (two flat tires and a tune up), worked on cleaning up the house, and generally been attending what needs to be attended to.

Actually, I feel more productive these last few days than I did the last couple months at my job. Here I have variety, something my brain craves like a fucking drug. For those who don't know me that well, I can and do get bored rather easily. Most of the time it occurs in the course of work, or falling into a routine at home. Once I've figured out how to do something, if it isn't something I really enjoy doing, I get bored, and I quickly figure out a way to do it in the shortest amount of time and the least effort.

But not now. Now the world is wide open, full of possibilities again. While in Alaska, I have a varied to-do list, filled with chores and parties and meetings with friends. And that's just what I needed. Who knows what I'll do once I go back to Los Angeles, but I bet that it won't just be one thing.

Before I go, two quick things. One, in the Seattle airport I saw a rip in a hot girl's jeans on her ass that inspired me to write half a page in my novel. Two, I Mad Men'd myself. I always did want to pal around with Sterling and Draper.

Second-to-last day cause holes in spacetime

Second-to-last days are strange wee beasties, they have this uncanny effect of taking that march towards the final day of whatever you're counting down to and either making the day go by super fast, or excruciatingly slow.

Well, it's my second-to-last day at my current job, and the latter is in effect. So...slow...can't...stand...it. Tomorrow I know will go by super quickly, since I have a plane to catch and have to leave around 2:30pm. And I'm sure I'll write something about last days tomorrow, so I'll keep this short. I'll instead talk about physics.

I know that much of what we perceive of spacetime (so-called because both space and time are the same thing - read a book about it if you don't get it) is based on our observational biases. The saying "A watched pot never boils" comes from when we are waiting for something to happen, and solely concentrate on that event, time appears to slow down because there are no distractions. If you instead read a book and suddenly find out that an hour has passed that feels like ten minutes, that again is your observational bias getting in the way.

Time is fixed and solid, except when it's not. At first glance my previous statement makes no sense, but when you think about it the statement is true. Weird shit has to occur in order to make time swerve from its steady march forward, and I would like to add second-to-last days as one force that caused weird shit to occur to the very fabric of spacetime.

In other news I am going to Mars! Well, my name is on the next Martian rover NASA sends over, so that's fucking awesome.

This will probably piss women off

...but I'm going to make a brief observation of what I view is an awesome part of being a guy. Better than peeing while standing up. As a man ages, if he takes care of himself, remains a good-looking cat (if he's already a good-looking cat). Their wrinkles, their scars, their thinning hair all accentuates his look, giving him gravitas, experience, and a certain ruggedness that people still find endearing.

Women still wanna bone Sean Connery.

Now, there is a limit to this. When a guy gets past 90, in most cases he starts a strange regression, looking less like a man and more like a child. We know he's an old man of course, but the features become strangely young. Life coming full circle.

Why am I thinking about this? I dunno. I think I saw one of those Dos Equis "Most Interesting Man In The World" billboards on the way back from lunch, and saw an older me, sitting in a comfortable chair, wearing a cardigan, swilling an old-fashioned, and having a hot-ass maid giving me my second round. I'll leave it to your imagination if that's a sex joke or not.

I'll also probably be hijacked to the Village and chased around by a weather balloon.

I'm also turning 27 in less than a month, at which point I'll be unemployed, just coming back from a three-week vacation back home, and I'll be moving on to another chapter in my life. There are some upcoming milestones that are peeking over the horizon. My ten-year high school reunion in 2011. My 30th birthday in 2012. My next sexual encounter in 2015 (just kidding - I hope).

But before I become an old man (more than I am already), I rest easy in the knowledge that I have a decent chance of scoring some tail past 50. And that feels pretty awesome.

40 years ago today we aimed high

On July 16th, 1969, three brave men sat in a tiny capsule strapped to the most powerful rocket ever built, pointed at the sky. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins (not that Michael Collins) started their journey that would end in history being made. Four days later, they would reach the moon, and Armstrong's name would be added to the list of people who broke the boundaries of exploration. Polo, Columbus, Magellan, Lewis and Clark, The Wright brothers, Yeager. If you're history is a little fuzzy, Google it.

I wasn't alive in 1969 when man first stepped foot on the moon, I wasn't alive in 1972 when we last went there, but as a kid growing up in the 80's, space always held a fascination for me. Sure, I loved Star Wars and Star Trek, and that had a big influence on me, but reading about the space shuttle, supernovae and black holes was just as interesting.

These three men are true heroes.

As a society I think we have taken for granted the amazing achievement walking on the moon is. When I was a kid, MTV had an ad that had an astronaut planting a MTV flag on the moon. It had become product placement. Even Rolling Rock tried a stunt by writing an ad with lasers on the moon last year. But to me, this achievement shows that we as a species have the potential to take flight from our home planet and continue that driving force of exploration that is at the core of humanity.

Think about it: humans explore constantly. It's hardwired into our DNA. Hundreds of years ago we wanted to know what was just beyond the edge of the map. So we explored, and eventually mapped the globe. We wanted to know what was just beyond what we could see. So we explored, and discovered molecules, atoms, and quarks. We wanted to know what was in the sky, so we built balloons, airplanes, and rockets that took us to the skies and beyond.

40 years ago today, we wanted to know what it was like to walk on a body not of this Earth. And so we went...

The rise of the douche - and what we can do to stop it

We all see it, we all make fun of it. Yet somehow, douche are and have been on the rise. Despite a vigorous anti-douche campaign, this horrific affliction (see what I did there?) continues to assault good taste and classy behavior of gentlemen and gentleladies everywhere. First, we play the blame game:

The Douches themselves: There's a reason decent human beings make fun of Ed Hardy and Affliction shirts, spiky hair that fell out of style circa 1998 and those possessing an Oompa Loompa uber-tan - they try way too hard. And in doing so, they fail. Fail at fashion, fail at relating, fail at life. They're douches, and they have chosen this path.

...and the Women who love them: You know who you are. You're that girl who came up to me in Mexico in 2001 and asked me point-blank to buy you a drink, to which I responded "Are you gonna talk with me if I do?", to which you turned to a douche standing next to me, got your drink, and promptly walked away. The score? Me - 1, Douche - 0.

You're also that club girl that wears too much makeup, peroxides your hair, and takes pictures of you flashing faux gang signs while making kissy faces/sticking out your tongue/pretending you are a lesbian and your boobs are pushed up in a revealing tanktop. You're the Douchette™, and like your male counterpart, you try way too hard and thus you fail.

The Anti-Douches: Stay with me on this one, 'cause it takes a physics metaphor to explain. If you've ever watched an episode of "Star Trek" (stay with me!) you probably heard Scotty complaining about how the warp core can't take much more, how the matter/antimatter injectors are ready to blow.

The key is matter/antimatter. Antimatter is real, and can easily be explained as the exact opposite of matter. Remember the structure of an atom? Protons, electrons (stay with me!), nuetrons? Ring any bells? If not, Google it. One such antiparticle is the positron. Positrons have an electrical charge of +1, a spin of 1/2, and the same mass as an electron. An electron has a charge of -1, a spin of 1/2, and the same mass as a positron. See where I'm going with this?

Science: it's fucking awesome!

The Anti-Douche are those guys who mock the Douches and their manufactured personalities, then go and wear a white v-neck undershirt with a suit vest, skinny jeans that give them chicken legs, and think American Apparel is ironically the height of haute couture. I don't really have a problem with the Anti-Douche, as I like Mirror Spock and if you can rock the look and not seem pretensious or overly trendy, then bonus points to you. However, the supermajority of the Anti-Douche are just as much slaves to conformity as their counterparts. And when matter touches antimatter, they annihilate each other.

Clothing companies: This one is easy. People think shirt X is the coolest fucking thing ever, and after enough people buy it, shirt X no longer is the coolest fucking thing ever. However, a bunch of people still own shirt X, and while some realize their folly (or jump ship and buy the next coolest fucking thing ever, pants Y), many refuse to admit their gullibility and steadfastly continue wearing shirt X. The makers of shirt X, their revenues falling to the popularity of pants Y, come out with shirt X2: shirts united. Some owners of shirt X buy shirt X2, and the cycle continues until, like the matter of a nuetron star, the group of X brand devotees condenses into a small but dense pile of weird shit.

Damn, and my economics lecture was going so well.

Viewers like you!: Much like watchers of PBS, douches are supported by the actions (or inactions) of people like you. And that includes myself. Humans, being creatures of habit that resist change, once having started a pattern of behavior, will only change it when they are forced to. Sensible people like you and me find it easier to make fun of the douches instead of doing the humane thing and staging an intervention. Or putting them down, although that's probably illegal. I'll check on that and get back to you.

Now that we've identified the culprits of this crime, what can we do to stop it?

1) Start by punching them in the face. Seriously. It'll allow you to continue with a level head once all that pent-up frustration has been released. The douches won't mind.

2) Give the douche a better role model. May I suggest any of the following: Don Draper, Buzz Aldrin, Steve McQueen, Chuck Yeager, Top Cat. All of these men show confidence, classic fashion sense, and are real. They are who they are, not what anyone tells them to be.

He's an animated cat and he's still cooler than a douche will ever be

3) Let them know that their behavior is not acceptable in grown-up society. Or children's society or Mini-Society or any society. If they try to break this rule, roll up a newspaper and hit them on the nose, yell "Bad dog!" and rub their face in the mess they made. It's tough love, but it works.

4) Be wary of any potential relapses. Once cured of their douche-ness, the patient still can have the occasional flare-up, especially if the douche was deeply entrenched. Keep them away from Ed hardy outlets, any reports of Spencer Pratt or Platt or whatever the shit's name is, and spray-on tans. If a relapse does occur, repeat step 3 and force feed them "Mad Men" and Steve McQueen movies until they recover.

We can banish douche behavior to the same fate as smallpox and polio. For the betterment of all humanity, we can, nay, we must take this problem head on and remain resolute to the eradication of the douche. If we don't the terrorists win.

Living the High Life

Ever since this Great Recession hit, I've been enjoying the Miller High Life. I like the taste, I like the bottle, and I like the fact that I can pick up a twelver for under 10 bucks. Ahh, yes. In the last several months, I have had these amazing memories thanks in part to this fantastic beer:

- Spending a day at Janiak's, watching soccer and playing drinking games. The beer of the day was actually Miller High Life Light (the blue label), and around mid-afternoon, the bad news came - we were down to our last beer. All drunk, the crowd let out a collective grumble and wondering how exactly we were to fetch more delicious beer.

AT THAT MOMENT, our buddy Mark pointed near the door. "Wait! What's that?" Our heads turn to discover a forgotten 12-pack of the High Life! We all cheered and celebrated, certain defeat turning into incredible victory! A beer commercial come to life, indeed.

- For the now infamous July 3rd BBQ, we ordered a keg of High Life, and consumed it all. Many games of beer pong and flip cup were made possible to the magic liquid that poured forth from that shiny metal shell. I'll never forget that day mainly because I DID forget it - I blacked out around four in the afternoon and apparently participated in numerous adventures. Stumbling to Subway, throwing up on my car, throwing a salad at the house, all gentlemanly behavior made possible in part to the High Life.

- My friend Pat Wengler came over on a Saturday afternoon and we had ourselves a Pam Grier marathon, sponsored by thirty-six bottles of Miller High Life. With every boob shot, every pimp-tastic outfit (King Geooooorge!) and every jive-ass honkey getting the business end of Pam Grier, High Life was there to enhance the already awesome experience.

- Coming home from a long (and now boring) day at work, kicking back, and cracking open one or two Champagne of Beers. Makes everything seem just a little bit better.

So that's my love letter to the High Life. In this economy, its good to know that the common man can grab a decent beer at a decent price. It's my own personal bailout.

I know what I'm gonna do!

If you don't know who this is my finger is wagging in your direction.

I'm gonna pick up writing my novel.

You heard me.

A while ago, I started writing what I thought would be a short novel. Normally I write only in screenplay format (or random blogs), and a narrative in book form would be something I haven't done since I used to write short stories back in high school. And now I'm going to start it up again.

It probably won't be great. Point of fact it is most likely pedestrian and meandering at best. But I'm going to write it. Because that's what I am - a writer. Now that "Zombie Holocaust & You!" is all done, it's time to move on to my next burst of creativity.

What's that you say? You're actually interested in the plot of said novel? Well, since you asked...

In a world...a hero will rise...a champion will fall...

Naw, I'm just fucking around. It's actually about a newspaper reporter living in Alaska during the 1980's. He's a hack, a bit of a drunk, and he gets into trouble on a regular basis. There's some mystery, a lot of humor, and a bit of romance. All set against the way I viewed my hometown while I was growing up.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

T-minus 9 days...

So here I am, sitting at work, a place I only have to show up at nine more times in my life.

AND.IT.FEELS.AWESOME!

When I started here at Actuality, I had my eye set on working my way to becoming an associate producer in the hopes that, after a few shows as AP, I would make that leap to producer and then really wreck shop.

A year passed, and I got restless. Truth be told, I started getting restless three months in. Anywho, a year came and went, and I didn't get out of post. I didn't even get out of the dub room. I did get a raise, which was awesome. Before I could start thinking about what to do now, we were told that the company was shutting its doors and everyone was getting laid off.

So back to the present, where I only have one more Monday to drive out to Woodland Hills, turn on the monitors, and start dubbing copies of footage for the assorted masses of Actuality. I never really got upset over losing my job. This is actually the first job where I wasn't the one doing the dumping. This job has dumped me. And I'm fine with that.

Like any relationship, things change and an ending eventually comes. Now that ending is nigh and I'm ready to move on. I'll get another job. I get to go home for a three-week vacation. My life gets to change. And change is good.

Now, a completely unrelated (yet awesome!) picture:

Things to do

I know y'all don't care, but I need to write out a to-do list that I won't lose. Which happens when your to-do lists are mostly written on Post-Its or cocktail napkins.

- Finish DVD for "Zombie Holocaust & You!"; I just need to buckle down for a few hours and the damn thing will be finished and ready for distribution.

- Work on turning Janiak's new netbook into a Hackintosh. That will be interesting to say the least. And possibly frustrating.

- Try and find actors for this weekend's spec commercial shoot. We have to deliver the spot by July 17th, so there's a time crunch.

- Get working on FUCK! forgot what I needed to put here.

- Press kits! That's what I needed to remember. Press kits and target festivals for ZH&Y!

- Enter my House spec into the WB writer's fellowship.

- Set up a haircut before I leave the 24th.

- Go to that alumni thing the 22nd (see previous post on why I need a smartphone; too much shit to remember)

That's it for now.

I need a damn iPhone

Stop mocking meeee!

A) My fingers hate hate HATE typing out letters using my keypad on my phone. I (unfortunately) do text on a regular basis, and I waste to much time accidentally typing "Thf6dnd" instead of "The".

2) More and more I find myself in the middle of L.A. needing to figure out an address or directions to a store and end up driving all the way back home in order to hop on the internet for 20 seconds.

C) I miss out on what my friends are up to, especially ones I haven't seen in a while. When I was at Hollywood Forever cemetery watching "Jaws" on the 4th of July, a writer friend of mine was also there. If I had checked Facebook while waiting six hours for the movie to start, I could have found her and said hello.

You know what? I need a damn smartphone. I will actually use it to be productive, and I've actually gotten into a busy enough point in my life that being connected to other forms of communication besides a phone call is warranted.

And since I'm a douche-y Mac owner, an iPhone would fit the bill perfectly. But guess what? I have to wait until October 1st before I can buy one at the discounted price. Christ, can't we get rid of these stupid exclusivity agreements already?

Until then, I'll be seeghipp7...FUCK!

Batman & Robin! Holy Awesome!

No, not the shitty Clooney film. The awesome new comic series. Just look at it!

Bam! Pow! The 2nd ish just dropped (um, last week I think), and I haven't been this excited for shit dropping since...wait, I need to rethink that segue. Point is, it's awesome and I feel like I'm eight years old again.

In other nerdtastic news, I recently joined Twitter. Let me give you a moment to let that sink in.

Okay, so yeah, I guess I'm a douche now. Yes, Twitter contributes to the further degradation of the English language (GO English Language! WOOHOO!), yes, I realize nobody cares about what color a random celebrity's pee is this morning, but I figured that I should stake my claim on my name before some schmuck looking to cash in on my awesomeness.

Side note: "Awesome" and all its derivatives is my word of the moment.

Awesoooooome!

For those who care to know what I'm up to, up to the minute details, my Twit name is corywparker. Crazy, I know.

ALSO, I only have 13 more days left at my job. The countdown is on. Highlight of today: free books from the research library. It's getting really boring here.

Six months? Are you fucking kidding?

It's been six months since I've blogged (man, that word is weird/pretentious/bodily-function-esque), and SO much has happened I can't even tell you!

Okay, I will. Just the highlights:

- I'm getting laid off from my current job July 24th, then heading back to Alaska until mid-August.

- I may have a new job when I get back (more info as it develops)

- People in Iran went absolutely apeshit 'cause their supreme leaders are just like any other petty dictators.

- My governor, sweet Sarah, resigned. Good riddance.

- The King of Pop died. News coverage of said event will continue until 2013 at the earliest.

- The evening of July 3rd has been wiped from my memory banks due to Skittle vodka and Jell-o shots. If I don't remember it, ergo, it did not happen. Never mind what the photos say.

- I finally finished my latest short film "Zombie Holocaust and You!", and am in the process of sending it to film festivals.

Other stuff happened too, but that's all I can think of at the moment. I'm going to add more to the blog more often, because I think with the right discipline it will become a good outlet for my creative impulses and...

Oh, who am I kidding? I will post more often, but it will still be the random thoughts and logic leaps that make up my psyche. Hold on tight kids.

This Picture Makes Me Laugh Out Loud Every Single Time I See It

Fucking hi-larious.

People To Look Up To

Last night I drank two bottles of wine. No particular reason; I finished the first and wanted more. I wanted them here, and I wanted them now.

And I'm not one to waste perfectly good alcohol.

This Just In: Hip-Hop Has Been Ruined

On my way to work today (yes, I worked on Sunday. God is SO going to ground me), I flipped through the radio and stopped for a moment on Power 106, the hip-hop station in LA, and scientific curiousity set in. I haven't listened to new rap in quite some time, seeing as the last time I tried I quickly tired of the "guns, money, women" angle that every single fucking song had going for it.

What I heard today makes me long for those days.

I never thought I'd say this about rap artists, but I have to: They've turned into pussies.

That's right, I just called out all of 'em. Lil' Wayne? Pussy. T.I.? Pussy. Kanye West? Puss...well, you all could see that one coming.

You're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.

What happened? Did rap's collective balls drop off? What the fuck is up with this vocoder shit the lot of you have been doing WAY too much? You're a bad influence on our youth. I actually didn't mind when rappers boasted about mackin' bitches and putting caps in peoples asses. We all knew you were full of shit, and the morons that actually DID commit crimes deserved the get caught.

Pussy.

No, what you are doing know is similar to the Zac Efron Syndrome: You are telling our youth that being a giant vagina is A-OK. Not cool, not cool at all. Kids, repeat after me: Guyliner is NOT acceptable. All this singing...well, you're not really singing, considering you rely on a machine to help you hit the fucking notes...all this singing is fucking with the space/time continuum, and it needs to stop. And kids, if you want a role model to look up to, look up to these guys:

Even the dude in the glasses get laid more than you.

'Nuff said. I'm heading out for a steak lunch and three Old Fashioneds.

Why The Fuck Is"The Forgotten" On Before Football?

What the fuck does she have to do with playoffs?

Seriously. Do they think that "The Forgotten" is the perfect warm-up for a playoff game? If you really have to show a Julianne Moore flick, at least make it "Boogie Nights", so we get the benefit of Heather Graham in roller skates (and not much else).

You're killing me, Fox.

2009 Means It's Time To Move Again

After two (un)eventful years living in Glendale, it's time to move. More like get the fuck out, actually. Time to move over the hill into Los Angeles proper, and to get away from all the neighbors who glare at us even when you hold the door open so the lady can push her baby stroller through, then glares at you like you took a shit on her father's corpse.

Man, that still bugs me. Ungrateful bitch. Shouldn't be breeding anyways.

Apologies, I digress. Here's some things that I want in a new neighborhood:

- A suitable bar within walking distance. VERY IMPORTANT. Someplace where the prices are reasonable, the bartender recognizes you, and douchebags are kept to a minimum.

- A suitable market on the way home from work. Something like a Trader Joe's or a Ralph's or something where I can grab the dinner I'm going to cook that night and has fresh produce. Not shit produce. Nobody likes shit produce.

- A suitable standard of living. I'm not expecting the Hollywood Hills, but I ain't living in a place where the first floor of every building has bars on the windows. No fire traps for me, thank you very much.

We've got until the 31st of January to find and move in. I don't know exactly how that's going to happen, but I will tell you this: After this lease is up, one roommate or less. New rule, write it down. Finding 3 bedrooms is a pain in the ass, especially when you're on a budget.

And no New Year's Resolutions. I don't believe in them. You can strive to make yourself better, but setting unrealistic goals (stop swearing, lose ten pounds, lay off the drink) just sets you suckers up for disappointment and falling back to old habits. There's things I'm going to change for the better, but trying to rewire your behavior is lunacy.

You suckers, you.