What is wrong with this phrase?  Three guesses, and the first two don’t count:

“...with 100% all-natural lime flavoring...”

Amp Energy Drink has been running all these commercials about the Walk of Shame™, where people are seen waking up in strange places, trying to find their clothes and stumbling home wearing the same outfits they wore the previous night.  You know, the same thing you used to do when you were in college and your early- to mid-20s, when you’d have a random one-night stand.  And for as long as I can remember, it’s been called the Walk of Shame™, but what I don’t get is why.  Hey, you got laid last night!  Unless you’re completely ashamed of the person who you slept with (which is entirely possible given the amount of alcohol you might’ve consumed the previous night), then celebrate the fact that you were attractive enough to someone that they took you home and slept with you.  Chances are, it probably didn’t happen for most of your friends and acquaintances.

So it’s finally happened.  Gas prices here in Los Angeles have breached the $4/gallon mark, and I’m not just talking about the premium unleaded.  Granted, it was Memorial Day weekend when gas prices routinely go up anyway, but I spotted a station yesterday where the low-grade unleaded was $4.03/gallon.  So what did our fearless leader do in response?  He went to the Middle East to beg OPEC to increase production so we could have some cheaper prices.  Pretty please with sugar on top?  Unsurprisingly, they said no.

Sad to say that things like this are only going to get worse, since oil is [gasp] a finite commodity and it’s going to run out!  Yes, really!  There’s talk of $5/gallon by the end of the summer, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.  So while President Moron is bumbling around in the Middle East, generally making life worse for almost everyone on the planet, no one stopped him to say, “Hey, you know maybe we ought to invest in some alternative fuels and technologies that actually work a little better than this E85 crap and that also wouldn’t cause everyone to go into a panic about a food shortage.” He wants to put a man back on the moon, but at the rate we’re going, NASA’s budget for the project will be totally consumed by the fuel needed to power the rocket to send him up there.

Not everyone is having a bad time of it, though.  The New York Times says that — surprise, surprise — the gas companies are not just rolling in the dough, they’re swimming in it.  From the Feb. 1 issue:

Exxon Mobil reported Friday that it beat its own record for the highest profits ever recorded by any company, with net income rising 3 percent to $40.6 billion, thanks to surging oil prices. The company’s sales, more than $404 billion, exceeded the gross domestic product of 120 countries.  Exxon Mobil earned more than $1,287 of profit for every second of 2007.  The company also had its most profitable quarter ever. It said net income rose 14 percent, to $11.7 billion, or $2.13 a share, in the last three months of the year.  Chevron, the second-largest American oil company, said Friday that its profits rose 9 percent to $18.7 billion last year; Royal Dutch Shell on Thursday reported net income for 2007 of $31 billion, up 23 percent and the largest figure ever for a British company.

So while we’re paying through various orifices (orifii?) and consumer confidence is going down the tubes primarily because of it, the gas companies are raking it in… and they’re claiming it’s higher oil prices that are driving their profits.  Hang on, let me see if I can understand this — they’re paying more for the product, which means their expenses are going up, and yet they’re making record profits.  Gee, could that be because of the exorbitant prices they’re turning around and charging for their product??  Naaaaah… couldn’t be.

I know that my complaining and railing against this kind of thing won’t make a difference, and I know I’m definitely not the only one who’s affected by this.  I know that I love driving and that I will continue to fill up my gas tank (despite grumbling and mentally feeling my wallet get pinched as I do it), even though my contribution is driving a Honda that gets 30+ miles per gallon.  I know that President Idiot will continue to probably line his pockets with oil money so the companies will be allowed to run unfettered, and whoever hits the White House next probably won’t have much power over the matter either.  But it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

So, I’ve been dating someone.  Big surprise there.  It’s been about two months, things are going well, and we just spent a weekend away up in Malibu and didn’t kill each other.  So far, so good, and this one seems remarkably mentally stable as compared to the others I’ve had the misjudgment of dating.  Then again, The Crazy™ doesn’t usually come out until I’ve been dating someone for a little while, but she seems pretty grounded.  She’s way smart (going for her second master’s!) and is even more sarcastic and dry than I am, if that’s even possible.  And her dog likes me, but I think that’s only because I walk and feed her.  (The dog, not the woman — although I do feed the woman every now and then… though she is a great cook.) So if you’re wondering where I’ve been… well, between her and work, I’ve been a little preoccupied.

Someone pulled up to me at a stoplight today and asked me where Berkeley was.  I was confused for a minute and was tempted to respond “about 400 miles north of here, you realize you’re in the wrong city?” until I realized she was talking about Berkeley Street in Santa Monica.  Of course, it doesn’t help that the block after Berkeley is Stanford, so if her next question had been “what about Stanford?,” I would’ve been really confused.

Dear Hipster Douchenozzle at the Gas Station,
Maybe instead of berating the gas station employee and telling him he’s lazy for letting someone drive off without putting her gas cap back on, you should get rid of your gas-guzzling, environment-killing Land Rover; and stop standing around the gas station talking on your cell phone since not only are you finished getting gas and acting like the self-centered oblivious ass you are by blocking a pump that someone else could be using, you’re also not supposed to be using your cell phone around the pumps, like those huge signs tell you not to do.

Dear Border Fence Wire Protestors,
Stop your whining about the Border Patrol installing concertina razor wire on the U.S.-Mexico border fence.  So what if it’s dangerous?  The fence is supposed to keep people from illegally crossing the border, and the wire is supposed to keep people from attempting to jump the fence.  What part of illegal in “illegal immigrant” do you not understand?  I wonder how many of those people who are protesting the fence wire have a fence around their homes or bars on their windows.  Why?  Because it’s their home and they’re trying to keep people from illegally entering it, and I’m sure they probably wouldn’t give a damn if someone breaking into their house cut themselves on a fence.  So why are they being so hypocritical?

Dear President Moron,
Stop sending me letters asking me to support the Republican Party and give you money.  I think I’ve made it plenty clear how I feel about you.

If all those reverends are right, and those tornadoes are happening because God hates homosexuals and people who don’t believe the same thing that all these reverends do, then how come all the damage is taking place in areas where there aren’t very many gays and that aren’t gay-friendly and have a lot of people who believe along the same lines as those reverends?  If God were truly trying to smite the homosexuals, don’t you think He/She would send a tornado to strike down the middle of West Hollywood?

So.  It’s been a busy week, what with the traveling to Denver for The Best Friend™’s birthday and the ensuing massive amounts of drinking.  Finding places that still offer $4 pitchers of beer and $4 premium drinks almost makes a guy want to move to Colorado.  Things definitely started off on a high note when I got in to Denver at 12:30am, only to be told by the rental car company that they didn’t have any cars left — only minivans.  The woman behind the counter must’ve seen the look of horror on my face, since she did some checking and found me an Infiniti FX35 to drive.  Suh-weet, especially considering I’ve been wanting to roadtest one of those things since I saw it at the L.A. Auto Show a few years ago.  That’s a hell of a step up from a Ford Focus, and I didn’t even have to pay extra for it!  It came in especially handy when I drove us up to Fort Collins to see The Best Friend™’s boyfriend play in his band, The Haggardies, who kick ass and if you’re in the Denver area and have a chance to see them, I recommend it.  They’re way entertaining and the music is good.  And on the way back, the boyfriend passed out in the backseat while The Best Friend and I sat up front, talked and sang along at the top of our lungs to some music blasting through the system.  I’ll remember that part of the night for a long time, it was one of those experiences you treasure just because it was spontaneously great.

But I digress.  There was the actual birthday night, which entailed aforementioned $4 pitchers of beer at a really dive-y bar and then a trip to a karaoke bar that had an amazing selection, so I got to sing a bunch of songs I’ve always wanted to perform.  And on Saturday night was the huge houseparty, and TBF is world-famous for her houseparties.  This party’s theme was “Crazy Hair,” so I let my hair grow out way beyond where I’d normally get it cut so I’d have the Jewfro, and I didn’t wash it the morning of the party so I was rocking bedhead like you wouldn’t believe.  Photographic evidence, as usual, is available here.

I like being there, but I like coming home.  The actual process of traveling is not my favorite thing to do (especially when your flight is cancelled and you have to downgrade from nonstop to one-stop and take a freakin’ puddle-jumper), and after a while, I start to get antsy about being away from life in general and not having my… you know, my stuff.  It just gets to the point where if you’re away for long enough, you start to feel unplugged from yourself.  While being away and getting out of your routine is nice, there’s something to be said for the comforts and regularity that is home.

- I swear, I’ve heard the phrase “work hard, play hard” so much over the past three days that I want to put in the immense amount of effort necessary to invent a time machine so I can go back in time, trademark it and watch the millions from residuals roll in.  The next person who says it to me is getting punched.
- I saw TR Knight (O’Malley from Grey’s Anatomy) at Barnes & Noble last night.  He reads just like regular people!
- I’m knee-deep in Carrier, a 10-hour series on PBS about life aboard the Navy’s aircraft carrier U.S.S. Nimitz.  Yes, I know, I’m as shocked as you are that I’m watching PBS, but it is in HD, at least.  It’s actually pretty interesting to see the different lifestyles and personalities aboard what is basically a floating town of 5,000 people and how they all mesh (and clash) together.  I’m also pretty surprised at how candid some of the people are about how much they don’t like it and how bad things can get aboard ship.  Any thoughts I had about joining to become an F-14 fighter pilot (thank you, Top Gun) have pretty much been washed out of my system after seeing what daily life is like on an aircraft carrier.  I’d hate it.
- The new Coldplay single “Violet Hill” is completely great, and the band is actually giving away a free download of it until next Tuesday.  Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, proceed directly to Coldplay’s website and get it.  Now.

Sometimes, it seriously rules to work upstairs from The Hollywood Reporter, especially when they don’t have a conference room of their own and have to borrow ours.  Earlier last week, I rode up in the elevator with Brooke Shields and Jenna Fischer.  I made them both laugh.  Now they both totally want me and will fight over me, naturally.  Then on Thursday, I spotted Mark Harmon, Ted Danson, Blair Underwood, David Spade and Neil Patrick Harris roaming the halls.  I had to restrain myself from telling NPH how legen — wait for it… — dary he is. 

In other news, it was 83 friggin’ degrees at 9am this morning.  In Los Angeles, where it’s supposed to be temperate, and in the cooler section of town, since we’re supposed to be climate-controlled by the ocean breeze.  I invite whoever claimed global warming was a myth to spend a night in my living room.

So, I rented a car on Saturday and drove up to my old hometown.  Part of me is glad I did it, part of me is still regretting it.

I haven’t been back since I moved out to Los Angeles.  It’s been six years, so I had the mental snapshot in my head of how things used to be, and while I rationally knew it wouldn’t all stay frozen, I kind of emotionally thought things still might be like they were back in 2002.  I got the rude awakening literally the moment I got off the highway, when I found myself staring at a Starbucks that didn’t use to be there.  And it wasn’t just that there was a brand new huge Super Stop & Shop where the local motel used to be and that there were new businesses all over the place, it was that some of the stuff that I was used to wasn’t even where it was supposed to be.  Like the video store I used to work at — I pulled into the parking lot, only to find the place closed and a sign on the door saying they’d moved a mile up the street to a brand new building.

My next stop was the bakery where I used to get these things called chocolate logs — they took chocolate chips and made a log out of them with frosting, baked it, then surrounded it in phyllo dough, put more frosting on top and baked it again.  It was sheer decadence, and I wanted one.  So imagine my surprise when I walked in at 10:30am, only to be told that they were sold out.  I plaintively blurted out, “But I’ve been waiting six years for one!” and then asked about shipping… they don’t ship.  As I walked out of the bakery, I heard the woman behind the counter say, “Great, I’ve apparently ruined someone’s childhood… and it’s only 10:30am.” After that, things continued to go downhill when I visited my old high school, only to find that they’d built a new addition that dwarfed the original building and connected the two by knocking down walls, so I didn’t even recognize some parts of the school I used to walk through every weekday.

Finally, some stability when I met up with an old friend and his parents (they used to be our neighbors) at my old pizza place for a gorgonzola pizza, which they thankfully still made and had some around.  But on the way back, we saw the current residents of my old house standing around in the driveway… so I went over and asked if I could take a look around.  Big mistake.  You know how everyone says that the house looks smaller when you come back to it as an adult?  They aren’t kidding.  The place looked tiny.  In my mind’s eye, I could still see where all the furniture was and how things looked when they were set up when my parents and I lived there, and it was depressing to see it changed… and small.  But what really freaked me out was when we went downstairs to my old room — despite the fact that the house has turned over twice in the past five years since my folks sold it, the curtains my mother made are still hanging in my old room, and the wallpaper my parents put up in my old bathroom is still there.  Seeing those remnants still there tied me to that house a little, and it almost prevented me from getting the closure/emotional divorce I needed. 

But most of the effect I needed came a little later, when I was walking around downtown and the beach with another old friend… That town is no place for me, I realized.  While it was a great little place to grow up, I spent most of the time with that friend talking about my life out in Los Angeles and how I enjoy what I’m doing and the kind of life I’d built for myself out here.  There may be things I hate about L.A., but there are also things about it I really like, and I’m okay with that balance, since it would probably exist anywhere.  And I’m comfortable here. 

In Garden State, Zach Braff’s character talks about how between the time you move out of your parents’ house and the time you get married and start your own home, you feel homeless.  I identify completely with that, especially since I’m in that in-between phase.  But Los Angeles is suiting me at the moment, and it feels like the best home I can make for myself right now.

In the last 48 hours, I’ve run all over Midtown — both figuratively and literally — as I went to 10 meetings in 2 days here in New York with a couple of my co-workers.  But let’s rewind to the beginning because you don’t really care about that part.

First of all, Virgin America:  Eff yeah.  The flight was great, the airline was amazing, and I will recommend it to everyone.  There’s a TV screen at every seat with satellite TV, pay-per-view movies, it’s a touchscreen so you can play games on it, they have an impressive collection of MP3s onboard that you can use to build a personal playlist, and there’s a seat-to-seat instant messenger chat system that my co-worker and I were using to talk to each other 15 rows away from each other.  And my co-worker also said that she ordered food using the touchscreen and swiped her card through the reader below the screen, which arrived at her seat before she even had a chance to put her credit card away.  The best part was the power plugs at every seat, and they are actual two-prong plugs like the ones in your wall at home, so I watched two movies off my laptop, which I kept running and fully-charged for the entire 5 1/2-hour flight.

Then the comedy of errors ensued.  We checked into the Crowne Plaza in Times Square, only to be told that their computers were down and it would be a little bit while they got rooms for us.  While we were waiting, I overheard the woman standing at the counter next to me checking out and mentioning something about the water, so I asked one of the employees about it — had I not asked, they might not have told us outright that due to renovations at the hotel, they were shutting off the water to all rooms every day between 9am-4pm.  Oh great.  Then my co-worker finally got her room, and I was told I’d have to wait another hour until something freed up for me.  Ugh.  So I ran out and got a quick bite to eat, and when I got back, I was finally given a room with 10 minutes to clean up before my first meeting.  I ran up to the room to dash through the shower, only to find that the HVAC unit was making such loud noises that it sounded like someone was standing in the wall playing a washboard.  Needless to say, when we returned from our meetings and dinner, I went over to the Doubletree down the street, told them our difficulties and asked if they could match the rate we were paying at the Crowne Plaza, which was $40 less a night than the Doubletree’s.  They did, and I checked us both out of the Crowne Plaza and into the Doubletree.  It’s all good here, with the warm freshly baked chocolate chip cookies they gave us every night and the fact that we’re in friggin’ suites — I’m stretched out on the couch in the living room watching TV here, with the remains of my dinner in the fridge so I can tackle them tomorrow.  I made my requisite trip up to the Carnegie Deli to pay homage to my people and enjoy some Jewish soul food, and now I’m waiting for my friend to call to put in some drinking time.  It couldn’t get any better.

Tomorrow, I commandeer a car and make the pilgrimage up to Connecticut to see my old hometown — and my old house.  One of our neighbors, who’s still living two doors up, asked the current residents if they’d mind if I stopped by and they gave me a quick tour.  To say it’s going to be a little strange is an understatement, but the call of my past was too strong.  The last time I was in Connecticut, I didn’t have time to go, and the fact that I was 45 minutes away from my old hometown and couldn’t go felt very, very strange and was a little depressing.

So next week, I’m heading back to New York for a work trip.  Starting with touchdown at JFK, it’ll be three straight days of running all over Midtown for meetings and business meals.  Hopefully, I’ll get to sneak in a drinking session with a good friend who I haven’t seen in a year and a half. 

But Saturday… Saturday, I have off, and I’m staying the extra day.  I haven’t been back to my old hometown up in Connecticut in six years — not since I moved out to Los Angeles.  So I’m renting a car and making the drive I’ve made so many times in the past up I-95 to see the town again, see what changes have been made (and I’m told there have been a lot), see my old high school (which has a huge addition on it that wasn’t there when I went) and see my old neighborhood.  Tom Wolfe was right — you really can’t go home again, since 5 years ago, my parents sold the house I spent 14 years in, and I won’t even be able to go inside the house that I was raised in.  I’ll just be able to look at it from the street longingly.  (Honestly, how creepy would it be for me to ring some stranger’s doorbell and ask for a tour of their house?)

One of the things I plan to do is the food tour.  There are two places that I absolutely need to go to, since I’ve been craving their food for the last six years.  The first is my old favorite pizza joint, since they have this amazing gorgonzola pizza that is to die for.  I haven’t been able to find anything like it anywhere.  And the other… well, the other is a bakery downtown that makes these pastries called “chocolate logs.” Simply put, they’re one of the most decadent things I’ve ever had.  First, they take chocolate chips and bake them together with a little frosting inside to hold them in place.  Then they surround that with phyllo dough, slather more frosting on top and bake it again.  Seriously, it’s like heaven on a plate.  And it’s no wonder I’m still thinking about it after six years.

There are many people who don’t believe me when I say I really am a 9-year-old boy living in the body of someone in his 30s.  Enjoy this evidence that I am, in the form of an exchange I had with a co-worker in the bathroom today:

Me: Did you just drop something in the urinal?
Co-worker: Yes!  My sunglasses dropped in!  Dammit!
Me: [laughing hysterically]
Co-worker: You know, we probably go to the bathroom together too often.  How else would you know that I’d done that?
Me: Because I know how things sound from my own personal experiences of when I drop stuff in the toilet… you know, like, a load.

Tagged by Lori.

1. What prompted you to start blogging?
I was bored.  I was working in a menial job to pay the bills while I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life after I’d been laid off and was thinking about not going back to that career field, and I spent way too much time surfing the Internet and commenting on other people’s blogs because — surprise! — I had something to say!  A couple of them then suggested I start my own blog to spew my thoughts… I think the “so you stop doing it on my blog” was implied.  So I did.

2. Have you ever been the victim of a crime?
Yes, when I was 13.  My parents drove me to New Rochelle, NY for a summer camp friend’s bar mitzvah, then they continued the drive into New York City.  While they were in the city, someone broke into the trunk of the car and stole a bunch of things, including my high-end Aiwa Walkman-style portable radio/tape player that had been a present from a couple of friends at my own bar mitzvah.

3. Have you ever witnessed someone else being the victim of a crime?
Directly?  No. 

4. What is your favorite color? Why?
Like Lori, for clothes, black.  It looks good on me with my coloring.  For most others, blue, because my favorite car was blue (as was one of my other ones).

5. What talent or skill would you most like to have that you feel you don’t have?
One of these days, I will learn how to play that damn guitar I bought over Christmas break, even though I’ve had three people promise to teach me and then disappear.  Other than that… speaking Spanish, but I took an immersion course last summer, and since I took 6 years of French, I can also understand it halfway decently if people speak slowly enough or if I can read it.  I’d love to be able to run, but I seem physically incapable of doing it — I get 50 yards and then fall down in a heap.  I can walk forever though, and I can also run on the elliptical trainer without a problem.  I think it’s genetic, my mom has the same problem.

6. If you could go back and do one thing over in your life, what would it be? Would you make a change, or do everything exactly the same?
There’s a relationship that lasted way too long and did a little too much damage for comfort.  It’s since been repaired (as have I) especially since it was a long time ago, and it was a learning experience, but if I had the opportunity to not do it at all…

7. What do you consider your most attractive asset? (Hair, legs, smile, etc.)
I’ve been told my eyes and smile. 

8. When do you feel the most vulnerable?
When I’m on the defensive about something I’ve done.  Which usually means when I’m called on the carpet by my boss or my parents.

9. If you were a rap star, what would your stage name be?
There’s already a DJ Kool Keith… Two of my friends are highly amused when they call me “K-Balls” (which I don’t mind), and the name “K-Dub” has been tossed around as well.

10. What is your favorite curse word?
Chickenfucker.  Thank you, Super Troopers!

For those of you outside the Los Angeles area (and for some of you who are inside it), Jim Ladd is a bit of a legend in the circles of radio.  He started in the industry back in 1969, he was part of the freeform rock revolution that was 94.7 KMET “The Mighty Met,” he’s gotten a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, he was the inspiration for “The Last DJ” by his close friend Tom Petty, he’s had a number of nationally syndicated shows, he made an appearance in Say Anything, he wrote a book — oh yeah, and he also does a five-hour freeform radio show every night on 95.5 KLOS here in L.A., which means he gets to pick his own music and it’s basically like making a complex five-hour mixtape live every weeknight.  He is the last freeform commercial radio DJ in America.

In 1991, Jim wrote a semi-autobiography called Radio Waves: Life and Revolution on the FM Dial, which I happened to stumble across 3,000 miles away in my local library.  I took it out of the library so many times, I bought myself a first-edition copy.  If there was a fire inside me to get into the radio industry, this book poured gallons upon gallons of gasoline on it, and it’s one of the few books that I’ve kept over the years; it even made the journey out to Los Angeles with me six years ago when I finally got a chance to listen to Jim himself on the air.

Last month, I interviewed Jim and his boss for a feature article for the magazine I work for, and after all these years, I finally got to thank Jim.  There is definite truth to the revelation that he is part of the reason why I am where I am today and why I had the drive to get there.  Being able to tell him that was like thanking one of your idols for helping you achieve your own success… no, it was exactly like that.  The interview went well, and I even pushed my bosses for an extra page of content because I had so much material to work with.  The article appeared in my magazine a couple of weeks ago, and I got a few compliments from people around the office.  Cool.

Late this afternoon, as I was finishing up for the day and was already in my usual Friday afternoon goof-off mode, my phone rang.  Laughing, I answered it — only to hear Jim Ladd on the other end.  Over the next 10 minutes, Jim proceeded to tell me how wonderful he thought my article was, how thankful he was to me for writing it, how grateful he was that I’d been accurate in the way that I quoted him in it, how impressed he was with it and how he’d actually read an entire section of it on the air last night to his listeners both in Los Angeles and those streaming his show worldwide.  I was floored.  To have one of my own idols come back to me this way… it was something that will stay with me for a long time.  And today turned out to be one of those days when I really felt like I lucked out — that I have one of the best jobs in the world.