Been reading around the interweb about the possible interactivity of the Net.

Anybody out there? Can anyone hear me?

Here’s a photo of eating, because I’m gonna talk about eating now:

I spent the weekend eating horribly, french toast slathered in syrup & butter for breakfast yesterday, meat pasta for lunch. Today I ate pancakes, also slathered in syrup & butter. Ooh, I also had an entire pint of ice cream.

Ooh, I also had cremé brulee, right after that meat pasta. Didn’t even see it on the menu, just had a feeling they’d have some.

Had ice cream on friday, too.

I am the glutton I always wanted to be as a child.

I can have ice cream for dinner, or breakfast. No one can stop me. I can eat a roll for dinner. I can skip dinner. I can feed the dog as much yogurt as I want. I can spend a whole check on cookies, have cheeseburgers five days in a row, avoid vegetables for months at a time.

This is what happens when you don’t give your baby boy everything he wants when he wants it.

Don’t worry, the dog at my feet means that I have to excercise. If I don’t, she won’t, and if she doesn’t, she’ll get all fat and die, and then my girlfriend will get all grumpy.

So tomorrow morning I run off the pint of ice cream.

But for today, it’s chocolate chip cookie dough, washed down with some orange juice.

Anybody out there? What did You do eat this weekend?

Jim & John. Be these guys at the wedding.

Talking to a young couple last night, discussing their upcoming wedding, I quickly realized that the only things coming out of my mouth were cautionary tales and warnings. Don’t do this, make sure you avoid this, 2 things every couple should be aware of when planning a wedding, what makes a wedding suck, what to watch out for with the catering. Several people around me commented that I had a huge “wedding chip” on my shoulder. That I was anti-wedding.

This is incorrect.

I like weddings. I don’t like all the drama that seems to be attached to them. And I know. Because I’ve been to more this year than should be legal. I was even maid of honor at a wedding. Yeah, you heard me. And I’ll tell ya, planning even a mid-sized wedding is, no matter what anyone says, somewhat akin to entering the Temple of Doom. Without a whip or a mouthy asian kid.

But through all three weddings this season, all the cold food, weird priests, drunk siblings, shitty speeches, creepy groomsmen and drunk guests, I wanna focus on what made the weddings fresh, and how you can apply this freshness to your own life. (more…)

Just read an article on Salon.com, which, in two parts, argued the greatness of The Sopranos and The Wire. Though it was billed as “two Salon critics duke it out over which series is the greatest ever,” neither critic actually compared the two series. They merely stated why The Wire and The Sopranos, respectively, were great.

So here, a more interactive discussion between two great minds, Lou & Danny:

Lou: Which is better, Sopranos or The Wire? (more…)

Everything I’ve read about M.I.A.’s music is that it draws on all sorts of styles and cultures, which sounds to me like some “world music” mixture crap, played by one guy with a rain stick, another guy with a electric-bongo-theremin and a multi-lingual singer who happens to know both Swahili and French.

This is what I hear from M.I.A.: nuclear dancehall, hip hop and all manner of percussion and samples, crashing and rumbling, ultra catchy and simultaneously not at all radio friendly. She collaborates with a handful of recognized producers, including Timbaland (which is actually my least favorite song on the album). The album’s biggest strength is its variety; the songs span a lot of tempos and styles. “Paper Planes” is kinda low key and mellow while dropping samples of gunfire and cash registers, I think my pal Ally calls that “street but sweet”. “Mango Pickle Down River” creates a mental picture of sitting in the Australian outback with aborigine kids rapping and playing the didge, and sucking on balloons of helium.

I will break my eardrums listening to this. It should only be experienced super loud, over some solid speakers or some proper Howard Stern-style headphones. It’s solid. The video for “Boyz” alone makes we want to learn some exotic Jamaican dance moves and spray paint my everything in my apartment fluorescent orange and green.

Two minutes after waking up, I get a text on my phone:

“Btw. You are hot. That is all. Carry On.”

I have no idea how to respond to this. It’s not from a number I immediately recognize, but it does make me feel all tingly at the finger-tips, as if a good ole fashioned mystery is about to start. The number…it begins to feel familiar, so while I search my Address Book, I text back:

“um, thanks?”

Moments after sending the text, I find the number, and its owner. One of my models. Hm. Don’t quite know what to think, we don’t really know each other all that well. I can only assume this is that weird thing I’ve heard of lately, Drunk Texting, the 21st century version of the Drunk Dial.

The model replies:

“oh my god. I am so sorry! Meant to send to another L name. I’m sorry! Not that you arent hot! But you have a gf. Oh shit. I feel like a retard now.”

Which works out perfectly, not at all denying my hotness, but at the same time revealing that a mistake was made, and that no attempt to seduce me in the wee hours of the morning was being made.

I hope this short example shows you all that using any kind of device while drunk is not a good idea.

Hell, Tuffie & Danny Eagle himself drunk dialed me yesterday, while they got wasted and bet each other they couldn’t take a shot. Of garlic oil. GARLIC OIL. Naturally, the conversation was less than smooth as everyone on that side of the phone was trying to talk at once, resulting in me hearing very little of what was going on. Something about betting three dollars, birthday parties and drinking GARLIC OIL.

And folks wonder why I don’t drink.

Moments into listening to the first track of the Black Lips’ new album, Good Bad Not Evil, I found myself, without any conscious thought, standing up and doing what i can only call my True 60s hippie dance. No shame. That’s what the Black Lips do to me, they make me wanna dance all slow and free, occasionally shaking my booty, paying special attention to the fact that my booty shaking is much smoother than a white man’s booty shaking.

But I digress. (more…)

I get a little jittery as most New Yorkers do on this day. I wore jeans and sturdy shoes figuring I better be comfortable if I’m heading out for an apocalypse. I ride the PATH to work which is considered a prime terror target as it’s a giant tunnel underneath the Hudson and could, if blown up, flood New York City. Big whoop right? I brush most of that off until this morning when suddenly, in the middle of the tunnel the train stops. And we wait….. for 20 minutes… then all the lights go off. It’s warm and now I can hear everyone awkwardly shuffling in the total darkness. I start mentally counting to prevent myself from freaking out completely. Two Mexican guys next to me are laughing their ass off, I wish I had the same disposition. Without explanation, the car, without lights starts moving again and I get to work. Today is awesome!

Up to this point in the realm of Tuffie, there have only been two deal-breakers when it comes to the opposite sex—Velcro sandals and sun visors. This may seem shallow, but really, think about it. You’ll soon see, they’re truly representative of larger issues within an individual that I’m just not willing to take a chance on. That said, after 25 years of near status quo in Tuffie’s kingdom, two more are being added: pathetically brushed comb overs and throw-up-in-the-mouth-inducing nose hair.

Yes, I recognize that these are obvious no no’s, but I’ve decided to officially put them in the rulebook after a traumatizing experience with my newest friend, public transportation, last week, my first in New York. (more…)

Yes, yes I can. My pal Ally used to speak of the “summer banger”, the one all-reigning supreme party jam, the hip hop equivalent of the summer blockbuster. Every summer’s got one. You’d only have a few months to enjoy it before it blasted on ring tones, commercials, and finally at half time of sporting events everywhere, then you never admit to ever liking it in the first place. Remember how genius “Hey Ya” was? I want to punch myself in the face when I hear that song now. Good news is this hit hasn’t got the airplay it rightly deserves even 4 months after its release: The Fixxers, Can You Work With That?

So help me God if I had a car, I would bang this so loud. I’d smash my head through the roof and drive down the street with the wind blasting my face. My speakers would suck and people would be embarrassed for me. But who cares cause this is the fun stuff, “let me do my job, girl don’t make it easy for me, tomorrow morning make my eggs with onions cheesy for me…” Not convinced yet? I present to you a few of the topics covered:

Apple-bottomed freaks, lame dudes (talking bout they rims and their damn tennis shoes), calamari, resorts by the sea, tippy toes, bubble bath, blue tooth, Double Tree Suites, Waffle House, Alizé

The Fixxers are West coast rap vets AMG and DJ Quik. The video is proof that hip hop has gone completely back in time, Robert Palmer-style with hot tube topped girls mindlessly swaying to the beat. I can’t call this a garbage jam because it’s genius. Get a hold of this, I cannot stress this enough, and then in two months forget I ever said anything. Deal?

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Elvis has left the building. The eagle has officially landed—Tuffie has arrived in New York (oh dear god). Needless to say, the week and half preceding this arrival and following my last day of work was stacked back-to-back with fun-filled activities intended to maximize my final Los Angeles days. Noteworthy events included a visit to my sister in Dana Point, a farewell photo shoot with Louie, group tattooing with my BFFs (no, we did not get the same thing—please) and more than a few dinners and drinks.

A trip to Disneyland to give Mickey and Minnie a “goodbye for now” also figured high on my list of things to do. I hadn’t been since high school (which was what, eight years ago), and rounding up a group of my re-juvenile friends to shell out the sizeable entrance fare and accompany me was not nearly as challenging as I thought it would be. Getting into the actual park, now that’s what would prove difficult. (more…)