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Eventually Story of L.A. will continue. But now this:

An Admission

When we met, I wasn't in it for the money. I wasn't like Jones. He was a dealer. The version of Ted I knew was in recovery, and I am into the steps. Maybe it's wrong of me, but fine, whatever. But I'm ready to go public: I am the dude who totally banged Ted Haggard.
I know you're judging me, and I can live with that. Here's how it went down:
He walked into the place where I work and ordered a coffee. I recognized him immediately because, come on, why not memorize the face of every right-wing homophobic asshole who turns out to be gay? I may end up in a stall next to Larry Craig some day. Anyway, I gave him a wink as I handed him his coffee, and I think he picked up on that. Just in case it wasn't clear, I said out loud, "I want to 'volunteer' for your 'church.'" I was using these terms in their metaphorical sense, but someone took it literally and next thing I knew I was freezing my tuchus off in Colorado.
At first, things were awesome. I was megavolunteering at the megachurch, and having megasex with Ted Haggard. Yes, I seduced him. Does that make me a bad guy? Is there anyone here who's NOT turned on by the idea of having sex with an evangelical who hates himself? No. Be honest.
Soon I was approached by church elders, who all looked basically like Van Johnson, but older and chubbier. They offered me a lot of money to keep quiet about totally boning Ted Haggard. At first, I played hardball. "Are you sure you don't mean Merle Haggard?" I didn't want to end things yet, but I knew that Blossom: Seasons 1 and 2 was about to be released on DVD, and I could really use the scratch.
Eventually, I agreed. What would you do? I said goodbye, and tenderly kissed Ted on the lips, as a way to prepare him for the media shitstorm that was about to roll on in (again). He didn't seem to understand, so I also said "I'm going to the press, and also taking you guys' money." That got the point across.
Goodbye, Ted. I'll miss you. Maybe give me a call when you're back to pretending that you don't bang dudes.

Story of L.A.: Part Two

After my evening at Tony Lacy's, I was eager to start taking meetings at places of business, which is why my meeting ON THE SONY LOT was super exciting. There's a thing you may not know about me: I have a super crush on movie lots. The Warner Brothers logo thingy that precedes their movie where you see a movie lot and "As Time Goes By" plays a little in the background and it's gold because the logo is gold and also to suggest a certain time of day always gets me seriously excited. I'm sorry, but it's true. That is the best way to introduce a movie to me. Just watch:

Now tell me that doesn't stir feelings in you. Anyway, driving up to the studio with Natalie was very scary, because I had a "drive on." This meant I had permission to drive my car (Natalie's car) onto the lot, which meant I had no idea what I was doing as I drove us into the parking lot. Maybe I was doing it wrong? Did I need a pass? As it turned out, security was pretty chill overall, and mostly helped to direct me to where I'd be meeting a couple of Tufts alumni who worked on the lot -- one in film, one in television. Natalie grabbed some Starbucks during this time (I haven't mentioned it, but the amount of Starbucks consumed by Natalie while waiting for me during meetings could power a human being for about a month), and I stood in the incredibly warm weather until I was met by two gentlemen in their late twenties. The area of the studio where we sat and drank smoothies (okay, that's a lie; I had a smoothie and they drank coffee) was sort of reminiscent of this:

This was pretty cool, but not super romantic. I may have idolized it all out of proportion - er, no, make that: I - I romanticized it all out of proportion. But how could I not? This was Columbia Pictures, the studio that Harry Cohn built, bringing us some of the greatest movies of the century, especially its output in the 40's and 50's, and featuring something of a resurgence today, especially in action and comedy films. I'm totally serious here. It was exciting.The meeting was a very fruitful one. They were extremely friendly and I think we got on well. I told them what I'd been up to lately (this and this, mostly), and they encouraged me to continue working, and suggested that there was work to be had should I head out west, which was amazing to hear.
They both had to return to work, but one of them (the movie one) took me aside and told me "Take some time to wander around the lot. You've got a visitor's pass. Just say you got lost if security stops you."
I began wandering, and spent the better part of an hour just walking between huge soundstages. "'Til Death" was filming in one, and a bunch of them had construction work going on inside. Every building was named for a star, like "The Judy Garland Building," or "The Gene Autry Building." I also passed a parking space "Reserved for CCH Pounder," three times, hoping she'd pull up while I was around. No such luck.
It was during this time that I began to think, "I could totally work here." Walking past these soundstages, actually doing things in and around them: that would be fantastic, completely. Could I retain this Kenneth Parcell feeling for years? Almost definitely. This was not the end of my day but guess who wrote a way long blog post, so more later okay.

Story of L.A.: Part One

Waking up at around eight a.m. gave my host and myself no choice but to grab breakfast at her favorite breakfast place, "Probably Pancakes or Waffles or Something." I went with my usual policy of "why change clothes, ever?" and wore my sleeping sweatpants and t-shirt to breakfast. This was a huge mistake. Here is what I didn't realize about L.A., though I should have: people hella dress up all the time, even for breakfast. I looked schlubbier than anyone possibly could under these circumstances. This did not prevent me from ordering a huge amount of food, just to let everyone know that I AM COMFORTABLE WITH THE WAY I LOOK IN L.A. This mindset lasted at least until my drink arrived (hot chocolate, of course).
We took a walk along the beach, where I was convinced we were being followed by one of my favorite webseries writer/creator/actors ever, Yuri Baranovksy. He looked like this, except for he had an enormous jewfro and a big beard. BUT STILL MAYBE IT WAS HIM?
When we got back to Natalie's house, it was already three hours before I had to be somewhere, so I elected to start getting ready, because of nervousness issues. I was sort of crashing an event for alumni of my school and students doing winter internships. I feel into neither of these categories, but I am a student, so whatever. I got myself some directions, and after getting lost on different freeways only about four times, I arrived at Wilshire Blvd.; specifically the luxury hotel district. I was surrounded on all sides by enormous buildings that gave off the impression that celebrities were inside of them. I parked about five minutes away in a neighborhood so I wouldn't have to pay for parking. This turned out to be an awesome plan, as valet parking was about $15, not including a tip I definitely would have forgotten about.
I was extremely early to the party, so I kicked around the hotel for a while until people started arriving and I began to get anxious. As it turned out, I knew very few people there, and the ones I knew knew one another much better, and were extremely close friends. I mostly enjoyed some mushroom hamburgers (hamburgers made out of mushroom, not hamburgers with mushroom on top) to the point that the staff persons knew to come by me first when they brought hors d'oeurves around. It became clear that the alumni at this event were, by and large, television-related people, so I ended up talking to a freshman who I facebooked before I left Boston ("I'm retired. I invented dice when I was a kid."). We're friends now, which is cool. Anyway, while at this event, I ended up forgetting my mantra and had to call my yogi.
Driving home and getting lost only two other times, I reflected on what I'd learned: there is often parking off the street, if you're willing to walk. Also: an event taking place from 6:30-9 will not necessarily include an actual dinner, so do not save your appetite and reject hors d'oeurves.
COMING SOON: STORY OF L.A. PART TWO

Road Trip Story: Part 3

I should preface this part of the story by explaining that when you are on the freeway, you basically never have trouble finding gas because guess where everyone loves putting gas stations hint it is where people drive a lot. The end idea of this is that you can get to under a quarter tank of gas before you start hunting for a station. Okay? Okay.
This is not the case in New Mexico.
For a variety of reasons that I am aware are upsetting and due to the relation between local taxes and local facilities, a lot of New Mexico surrounding the 10 (the straightest way from West Texas to L.A. [my end destination]) is abandoned, like the remains of a once-mediocre culture. This would not bug me quite so much if they didn't insist on leaving the carcasses of gas stations every three miles, and heralding their arrival with enormous billboards advertising gas and lodgings. Listen: if you have basically no gas and you see a sign saying "BUY GAS HERE" and you get off the highway only to learn that the sign was lying and there is not only no gas at this station, but no people visible in any direction, this can build up some resentment of a state you once admired, especially for their former governor and his appointment to cabinet.
Eventually, we reached a location with gas and also breakfast, and elected to take advantage of both. The best thing about this breakfast place is that they had notices at every table reading "CORDLESS PHONES AVAILABLE." What an awesome idea.
So, New Mexico became Arizona, and I remembered that guy from Arizona who wanted to be president or something. This area was actually pretty cool, all things considered. It was a landscape I hadn't really seen in person for a very long time, and I was pretty awed by its beauty and splendor.
Then we got to California, which turned into Los Angeles, and I forgot about the terrain in Arizona because holy god these freeways are insane. It is like a less-safe version of The Jetsons. It should go without saying that, after driving from one coast to the other, I attracted police attention first by breaking when I passed a cop car on the freeway. We were pulled over and handled things fairly well, and were white, so back on the road!
We arrived at Natalie's home rather late that night, and it was like six a.m. two days later in Boston (where this whole to-do got started), so we hit the hay, ready for probably waking up the next day with Activities.
THIS IS THE END OF ROAD TRIP STORY. PLEASE TURN OVER THE TAPE FOR SIDE B, STORY OF L.A.

Road Trip Story: Part 2

The morning after my haircut/beard-trimming disaster, we breakfasted in the restaurant adjoining the motel, which served peanut butter cup pancakes. I don't know what else they served, because anyone on earth can guess what I ordered. I told the waitress I'd happily pay a king's ransom for such a menu item, but she thoughtfully charged me list price.
Setting off into Virginia, I realized that I wake up tired of whatever state I'm occupying. Busing through Virginia, I could only occupy myself by coming up with ways that local town names reminded me of television shows. This, as you can imagine, was tedious to my travelbuddy, who passed her time by driving very fast, despite the fact that SPEED LIMIT ENFORCED BY AIRCRAFT.
We eventually reached a few other states, which looked lovely if blurry as we sped through them, until at last (a day later, ps) we were in Texas. Texas took up the better part of what felt like fifty hours, because guess what we went through it the long way. And it was just too enormous. Anyone who moves for gerrymandering it into, say, a dozen states has my vote (this is a nonpartisan effort -- this gerrymandering would essentially give the Republican Party twenty-four more electoral votes or so).
For sustenance, we pulled off the highway and entered a traditional Texas Korean restaurant, where they were just as surprised as we were to see each other at 4:30. The meal they served was enormous, I can only assume it's all the food they'd made that day, and the stereo played four Simon and Garfunkel songs. What? I know.
Eventually, we were in West Texas: basically awesome, as that is where Friday Night Lights takes place. We even passed the actual locations of the book, but I was in no mood because I was trucking my way on through, determined not to spend a whole day on a single state. It was about 1:30 when we finally landed in a motel in Eastern New Mexico, and I finished fixing the hair-related errors of days past before falling into well-deserved sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED

Road Trip Story: Part 1

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. in order to catch an incredibly early train to the very first bus. My traveling companion, Mo, is nine years old (he is the child of my first marriage). I was ridiculously well-packed, with four items (backpack full of books, laptop case, duffel bag with underwear and t shirts, and garment bag with dress clothes, etc.), which together weighed about one hundred thousand pounds. Mordecai was more reasonably packed, but he was returning home, and I planned on not returning for about nine days, almost half of which would be spent just driving.
The bus ride was uneventful, and Mordecai and I fought falling asleep with books we'd brought. Yes, both comic books. Whatever. Move on.
I managed to arrive in Brooklyn at about 11:30 at the house of Natalie, with whom I'd be spending the most time during this trip. If you have ever tried to get from Boston to Brooklyn before the afternoon, you are exactly as stupid as I am, maybe more. I was exhausted, and confused when we drove out to Shaolin to get a windshield wiper fixed or replaced or something. We eventually started driving. Listen: I had no idea how big Pennsylvania is, but it is completely full of ridiculously-named cities. Basically it seems whoever got to Pennsylvania first (Indians?) just shoved two or three nouns next to each other and added a geographical suffix at the end. This can be the only explanation for "Dogbumpville" and "Setstitchton," both of which I made up because apparently I forgot to take notes of any kind.
Eventually, Pennsylvania became Virginia, somehow, and that is where we ended up parking for the night, after a nutritious dinner at Denny's, during which Natalie tried to make an impassioned defense for the play "Othello." I argued against it, but in the play's defense, I've only ever seen "O." The people in the booths near us may have picked up on this, and I was not super popular.
In the motel room, I began Phase One of my shave-and-haircut plan. At the beginning of the trip, I looked like this:
Following that first night, and my electric razor's batteries conking out, I looked like this:
What will happen next? Find out whenever I keep blogging!

2009: Retrospective

Keeping with an established tradition, what follows is what everyone will be talking about this time next year. The big business news items and so forth of 2009.
Best Movie: Cleopatra 3-D. I cannot think of any better confluence of my interests than Steven Soderbergh, music, and complete insanity. Is the world ready for this thing? Probably not, but I am.
Best Album: She & Him Vol. 2. According to M. Ward it will be twice as good as Vol. 1, which will essentially make 2009 twice as good as 2008.
Best Book: Whatever Daniel Handler does.
Best Video Game: I don't know. Ask Miles.
Biggest Mistake Made By a President: The man is incapable of making a mistake. The only way I could see this happening is if he died, and then the other guy becomes president and says something stupid.
Hugest Celebrity Disaster: Ashlee Simpson having three babies within two months, somehow.
Celebrity Wedding Everyone's Waiting for: J-Lo will remarry Diddy. They each fail to recognize the other as they operate under new(ish) names.
Most Famous Person to Die: Dick Clark, on December 30th. They still place his body in the studio for New Year's Rockin' Eve.
Assorted other predictions:
Mel Brooks will turn "The Twelve Chairs" into a Broadway musical, "Mel Brooks presents the new Mel Brooks Musical The Twelve Chairs a new Mel Brooks Musical based on the film by Mel Brooks."
There will be a disaster in another country, and I will not recognize the country's name, and it will turn out that the country was, like, France until basically 1990 and somehow I didn't even know it had changed its name.
Another white guy will emerge as an inspiring athlete and that's all anyone will talk about. He'll go on SNL and be awful.
Let's see who's right.