Stuck in the '80s

So I'm pumping myself up to see U2 on Friday night by listening to their latest "How to Dismantle An Atomic Bomb." Which I know is already old by industry standards. I'm realizing U2's sound is sort of stuck in the '80s -- not that it's a bad thing. It's what they do best, and what made the fans fall in love in the first place. Though I'm not so hardcore as roomie J-dawg who's in the fan club and would have gladly went to both the Pond and Staples shows had there been tickets, I love a little "Red Hill Mining Town" on a road trip.

Plus Bono is one of the few rock stars out there with a conscience with somewhat of a love for Jesus, scoring him some points on the Jelly scale. He allegedly is a fan of Darrell Johnson's preaching, telling him so in a note left for him at Glendale Pres., where he used to pastor. My buddy John was selflessly (ha) trying to arrange a meeting between the two at his Dublin home. Though the note appears to be legit, nothing panned out. Like my love life, we're still waiting on the answered prayer to that one. Too bad -- I'd have paid tickets to see John in big yellow Laker jersey talking theology with the modern king of rock and roll.


Self-portrait, looking very Lennon


In red leather, looking very Elvis

Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta

I'm such a shameless wannabe, and I don't care if all you five people who read this blog knows it.

I had my first DJ class last night and there are stars in my eyes. Mr. Choc, DJ for Power 106's 2 Hour Traffic Jam, is one of my damn teachers so how can I not? There were these media people taking pictures and all of the whole affair -- look out for me splashed on some weekly. Closer friends of mine know it has been a dream of mine to become a deejay extraordinaire. Now it's just a matter of practice and finding a good handle.

Suggestions?


Mr. Choc demonstrating the baby scratch

I Wanna Be a DJ, Ba-by

"You're the only one I knew who could mix Elvis Costello with Public Enemy! 'What's so funny 'bout -- PEACE, PEACE, PEACE -- love and under -- PEACE...'" -- Jeremy Piven as Doug Hughley, Singles 1992

Best thing that's come out of this week: I'm now enrolled in a six-week DJ course at Scratch Academy LA. Maybe I can one day realize my dream of having the skillz of both Fly Girl and SW1.


"That's the way you're livin' when you're livin' in livin' color." -- Heavy D & the Boyz

Stepford Schmepford

"Ferris Bueller, you're my hero."

Watched "The Stepford Wives" the other night. My expectations were nice and low because S-Dawg didn't like it much, even WITH Matthew Broderick in it, the love of her life.

The so-called twist at the end of the movie -- for those who haven't seen it, I'm only ruining a lame ending -- is when it turns out Glenn Close's character is the one who masterminded the whole Stepford robot concept when she caught her husband in bed with another woman (as if we aren't scared enough by her "Fatal Attraction" stint). But it actually makes perfect sense. Women are much bigger control freaks than men, and relational manipulation is just a smaller scale form of the whole robot thing really. The whole fall of mankind thing plays out everyday and people don't even realize it: "Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" (Genesis 3: 16).

It's in that subtle disapproval we express to our men rather than being direct and honest, that finding out what he values most and emulating that, finding out what he likes and suddenly we're fans, that fear of coming off as too needy or pressuring, or that neediness and pressuring that forces him to prove he cares. Who needs Stepford remote controls when mind games seem to work just fine?

In the movie, the solution to Stepford is embracing reality: my guy isn't perfect but that's better than him being a robot. But in an age where Hollywood falsities pretty much dictates society, is that really what we want? Can we handle the real life truth of how selfish, codependent, insecure and unforgiving we all are? Seems like being caught between a rock and a hard place, but I'm holding out for something better.

Expect The Best: The World of E-dating

"You think this is something desperate people do -- you are wrong, wrong, WRONG." -- Singles 1992

So my homegirl S-Dawg and I decided to sign up for eharmony.com together. After blanching at the syrup-y images of couples canoodling on each page, we put on our game faces and filled out the 40-page personality questionnaire and felt better that they were asking people things like, "How often in the last month have you felt plotted against?" Something this thorough would have to weed out the weirdos.

So far, S-Dawg has gotten a few matches, one of which sounds like quite a catch. He's funny, he's got a solid character and relationship with God. If nothing else, my hope in mankind has been restored. We were thinking not so much when it came to the guy who's biggest passion in life was "machine-based sports" and listed "at least one motorbike" for things he can't live without (you think I'm making this up...).

I'm still waiting on my Johnny match. Stay tuned.

March Crush of the Month: The Renaissance Man

So I'm a few months early for the big "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" summer release. Hard for me to hold back on Johnny. When Toni Colette plays unhot, she's unhot. Even when Colin Firth (a future official crush, just wait) plays unhot, it works (see "The English Patient," "Shakespeare in Love"). No one -- NO one can possibly increase their hotness inversely proportional to the utterly un-hot roles they choose, but Johnny alone.

Observe:

The haven't-bathed-for-days psychotic


The Jacko-esque candyman


The swaggering rapscallion


Okay, this one's cheating -- love for the kids, a writer, wearing trenchcoat and derby -- he's got hot all over this one.

The Opposite-of-You Girlfriend

I don't know what's worse when your ex starts dating again: If the girl is everything you are, but "better," or if she's the complete opposite of you.

When you first meet the girl, there's always that momentary sizing up: How much like or unlike me is she?

My exes (exes and non-exes) have swung on the dating pendulum after me. It appears white girls who are fiercely independent (which means of course dependence is only hidden) with very biting senses of humor are what guys need after me. That, or soft-spoken Asian women. Oddly, for me this is easier to palate than a girl who's similar to me. I don't want to be the opposite of me. If they found a girl just like me but prettier (they couldn't possibly be funnier -- ha) -- now that would be a harder pill to swallow.

Still, I'm not sure the never ending conundrum of "I don't get it" is really that much better. It can send you into an unsolveable brain teaser of "what does she have that I don't" that can run you in circles. When you boil it all down, the dude's got issues just like you we all do, and it just wasn't meant to be.


She's the shiz-nit and she knows it. (Brown Sugar, 2002)

BananaBachelors.com

Naw, for real.

"Here for the first time, you will be able to see the intricate makeup behind the Asian American bachelors... This unique display will allow you to see Asian men in a completely different light and will act as a portal to a more profound understanding of our Banana brothers."

I really don't know whether to be offended or empowered on behalf of my Asian counterparts. Is embracing my Asian-ness declaring myself a Banana sister? I don't think I'm totally down with that.

The Almost Boyfriend Thing

The Syndrome: The Non-Relationship. Also known as "weird friendship," "no boundaries," "I'm neither your mom nor your girlfriend."

How many people do you know who seem to go from non-relationship to non-relationship? Instead of dating, they engage in "not-dating" with someone they are attracted to -- often mutual attraction -- prolonging the mystery of their non-boyfriend and keeping his fear of commitment and issues of self-centeredness or emotional infancy at a comfortable arms-length. Men are equally glad to not-date a woman they are attracted to, but avoid any neediness or demand for change.

Sound convenient? Problem is, the end is equally messy on one or both sides and responsibility for hurting your non-boyfriend or non-girlfriend is then conveniently avoided. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Often involves non-infidelity.

As an ex-non-girlfriend, I could go on a tirade about what effers all non-boyfriends are. But like relationships, it takes two people to be in a non-relationship: the fantasizer who doesn't want to accept the ineptitude of their non-boyfriend and the paralytic who can't commit to something that will actually require commitment. To blame either person entirely is neither here nor there.

The Cure: Some therapy, serious swallowing of pride, and the healing power of God. Recovering fantasizers will go from feeling worthless -- especially when your non-boyfriend gets an actual girlfriend -- to coming to a place of taking healthy responsibility for your actions. You realize how much you overestimated yourself and your non-boyfriend, and that an actual relationship with the person would be more like being a mom than an object of affection. You realize you deserve better, and maybe so does he. But the fully recovered pick themselves up, dust themselves off and look for a real relationship next time.


"Being single...there's a certain dignity to it." -- Singles, 1992

Close, But No Chris Rock

In my tireless quest to meet and and have my crush fall in love with me this month, I was beside myself when my roomie SL-Bug scored tickets to see Chris Rock at the Laugh Factory last night. Now, SL-Bug has a tendency to miss details. In this case, details equaled "not Chris Rock" when she said "Chris Rock." I will give her this, Tony Rock was there as the headliner of the night -- who is Chris' funny-runs-in-my-fam brother. Aside from some racist jokes about Asian men, the dude was funny. Though our favorite guy of the night was up-and-comer Dane Cook, who had us rolling the entire time he was speaking, and won Queen SK's heart confessing his love for commercial jingles. He also got through his entire schtick without a single poor-taste, cheap-shot sex joke. No Sex thanks him.


I ain't mad atcha, Tony. Well, sort of...

What I Didn't Do Last Weekend

1. Go to the Oscars
2. Go to the Independent Spirit Awards, day before the Oscars

My co-worker, Phat, however, did both -- well sort of. Check out up-close celeb shots of the likes of Quentin Tarantino, David Duchovney, Virginia Madsen and Peter Sarsgaard on our office blog: Notebook: Los Angeles. I don't think he even tried to get me an Aaron Ruell autograph.

The closest this girl got to movieland this weekend was a Big Lebowski party, where people dressed up like Steve Buscemi and Julianne Moore drank white russians, and where I threw up in an anonymous kitchen sink (long story -- nevermind). I'd trade that in for rubbing elbows with Jared Hess, I gotta say.


The Dude, Walter and Donnie

GRRL RANT: Not Another Christian A**hole

Somehow, the conservative contingent is once again making asses of themselves.

Saw Million Dollar Baby last night. While I love a good girl-kicks-ass movie, and all the more anything with Morgan Freeman narrating, I've just about had it with the whole insensitive, completely discompassionate, fundamentalist, birdshit for brains and elementary level cognizance about life in general (as embodied by the well-meaning but still d***headed priest -- sorry, but the shoe fits). I can't believe the conservatives are making assisted suicide the major issue of a gutt-wrenching story about father and daughter brokenness. It doesn't help my cause that Bush has become the poster child of Christianity, either. People, if you want to know, read the frickin' Bible. Hollywood has lied to us about everything else, what makes us think they'll get this part right?

Oh yeah, and I should mention that I think Million Dollar Baby should win for Best Picture (simply because Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Napoleon Dynamite are not nominated, of course). AND I'm a Christian. How do you like them apples?


Get busy living, or get busy dying. It's so much more than the oxygen machine.

Crush, Part II

Chris wins. He wins for having the balls to say stuff like this:

"When a woman gets pregnant, it's a choice between the woman"—here Rock pauses, a mischievous grin barely restrained—"and her girlfriends." From there: "One girlfriend goes, 'Child, you should have that baby—that man got some good hair…' And the other girlfriend says, 'Child, why we even talking about this—ain't we supposed to go to Cancun next week? Get rid of that baby!' " And that, Rock says, "is how life is decided in America."

"If a kid calls his grandma 'mama' and his mama 'Pam,' he's going to jail," Rock explains. To all the women who leave their kids at home so they can pop some bubbly at the club, Rock has this advice: "Go take care of those kids before they rob me in 10 years."

I can hear the uproar of abortion enthusiasts and liberals who've never set foot in the hood. To them I say: 1. It's just a joke. 2. It's funny because it's partly true (not all true).

I live in the hood and know these kids he's talking about -- have even been robbed by some of them. They are not all like that, but the hood is full of issues because no one wants to take care of them, just as the world is full of women who are ill-equipped to be mothers because no one wants to take care of them.

Oh, I can't wait for the Oscars...

The Man Drug

There are certain women who seem to attract men everywhere they go. They release a certain pheromone that seems to draw men in droves. My roommate H-Town calls them "the man drug."

I've seen it enough to be able to detect it almost upon first encounter. I happen to live with two man drugs, and one former man drug. SL-Bug has been engaged two and a half times. A-Lyte has had three men in the last year profess their love for her, most of whom she hardly knew. Queen SK's college boyfriend tattooed her name on his leg (?) and a few years ago had two men talking marriage in the same month. Then there's me. As Molly Ringwald declared in the role of Samantha Baker, "Donger's here for five hours, and he's got somebody. I live here my whole life, and I'm like a disease."

However, years of singleness does give you some perspective. I think I'm too busy being attracted to the Woman Drug to be a Man Drug myself. The Man Drug lures in its prey by declaring in action -- not word -- expressing one of the following: "You are one hot, special guy with no real flaws," or "I need you, but not in a needy, dramatic way." Most fall into the middle category -- there's nothing more irresistible to a man than a woman who pets his ego. In addition, what men don't seem to realize is that the scent of the Man Drug is deceptive. Almost all women are emotionally needy in some way or another, even if by repression. It all goes someplace, and once the man realizes this, he moves on to a new Man Drug and the vicious cycle continues. (Isn't insanity defined somewhere as a person's continued action or impulse expecting different results than experience has proven?)

Now the Woman Drug is just as interesting a dilemma. I can now identify the Woman Drug after three years of counseling -- I've finally kicked the habit. The Woman Drug says to the woman, "Save me" or "You are the only one that understands me." Women can't resist playing Florence Nightingale to the emotionally unavailable. They think, "If only I can break through this guy, it means I'm worth something." Sad, yes. Have any of you read Genesis? It's all in chapter 3, people.

So I'm off the drugs -- too reactive. They cost too much self-respect and shame. Just find me that one man out there that knows who he is and what he wants.



Make a wish, Samantha.

Crush of the Month: The College Dropout vs. The Funnyman

KANYE WEST: Anyone who can get a non-Jesus-lovin' crowd to sing part of a hymn at the top of their lungs and chant, "Jesus, walk with me," and get Talib Kweli and Common to join him on stage and sing my damn favorite songs of recent hip-hop has what I call charisma. (What I'm really saying is that I freaked out when that happened.) Kanye scores with 8/13 of my Jelly criteria from post 1. He unfortunately misses on some of the more crucial marks -- but I bet he knows how many feathers are on a Purdue, and dude, that's hot.


Kanye: The better moves


Chris: The better mind

CHRIS ROCK: Sure to salvage a weak-ish list of noms with his charming humor and that grimace-worth-a-thousand-words at this year's Oscars. All the flack he's gotten for "not taking the Oscars serious enough" (I read: being black) only makes me love him more. I ain't mad atcha, Chris -- I got nothin' but love for ya.

My man scores 9/13 (possibly 10 -- I bet he knows Napoleon D.) on the Jelly scale. And I love a man who tells it like it is and makes me laugh at the same time. And people, he's right about the straight black man. They all laughed when he said that -- it was the uptighty whiteys that freaked, yo.

Tell Me I'll Never Have to Be Out There, Pt. II

This just in:

Penis reattached after being flushed down toilet ANCHORAGE, Alaska - Surgeons reattached a man's penis over the weekend after his girlfriend, apparently upset over a pending breakup, cut it off with a kitchen knife. A city wastewater utility worker recovered the penis from a toilet down which the woman had flushed it.

I frickin' rest my case.

"Tell me I'll never have to be out there."

Pop Question: What do you call three hot, eligible women who can think for themselves and love a good time, but have been single for as long as 11 years?
a. A scorching lesbian triangle
b. Babes jaded by the sex-to-go culture of greater America
c. Women with impossible standards and paralyzed by fear
d. Christians - me and my 2 best friends

There's a great T-shirt logo I saw in some overpriced boutique once that read "I don't date (818)." I found it hilarious, but would have amended the shirt to black out the "818" part. I don't got hate for the Valley.

So last weekend I went to see a friend's cousin's friend's band (all LA-area Sri Lankans know eachother) perform at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood. The band was rockin', the crowd was chill, and I'm always down for some good wine bar socializing. And since I don't casually date (okay, let's face it -- date at all), it was nice to just go out and be around people who do, and then remember why I don't. I'll trade meaningful friendships where I can talk about real things and know people actually want to hear about it for, well, sex with the hopes that that will magically follow. I'll spare you the boring details of dynamics that brought about this reminder -- I'm sure you've all been there before. (Disclairmer: I'm not hating on anyone here. Just telling it like it is.)

Consider: Is companionship and physical intimacy worth the emotional scarring of statistically probable breakup, lack of real safety and vulnerability, and the constant fear that your boyfriend is probably (let's be honest here) simultaneously lusting after other women?

That might sound like a rhetorical question, but look around you people. It's not.

"Am I coming off too intense? Because I can be intensely laid-back..." (Singles, 1992)

Are you ready for this jelly?

Wanted: One 5'8" or taller grownz-up male (my ex was 5'4"... I figure shoot higher) with puppy-dog brown eyes, some rhythm in his booty and a love for the Tribe. Must be a fine, upstanding citizen -- preferably brown -- who is equal parts free thinker and lover of Jesus, "not too modest and not a lot of pride," and can answer the following questions:
- Who is the unsung hero of "Napoleon Dynamite"?
- How many times does the word "sent" appear in the book of John?
- Who is "the poor man's Matthew Broderick" of the John Hughes canon?
- How many feathers are on a Purdue chicken?

Okay, so this really isn't a blog created as one desperate effort to find that knight on a white horse -- or not white knight on a black horse -- but I figure with a name like "No Sex in the City," this anti-cosmo needs to start with all cards on the table.

Anyway, welcome to my blog.