Clawing to escape the belly of the beast here in Hollywood. To commiserate, email my name assistantatlas at yahoo.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

How to Avoid Accidentally Getting Into a Dance-Off

Let me begin by saying that I would never intentionally get into a dance-off.

However, let it also be known that one time I was talked by a group of friends into a dance competition. Which we won.

So please, for the less danceworthy out there, let this post be a warning to you. Because let me tell you from experience, that a dance-off is a little scary.

And yeah, a dance-off is weird. However, it's important for everyone to read and understand the warning signs of an impending dance-off. Because getting into an unintended dance-off can have disastrous consequences . . . especially if you lose.


First, avoid alcohol as much as possible. Alcohol fuels testosterone, braggadocio, thinking you're better at stuff than you actually are, and really dumb ideas.

Second, remember that girls are worth doing a lot stupid things for. I've done them and I understand this. But a dance-off is a stupid thing you shouldn't actually do because it will often make a girl less likely to want to sleep with you.

Third, come up with some pre-designed witty one-liners to throw potential dance-off opponents off-guard. My favorite: "Hey, what's that thing on your shoe?" and then when they look down, slip away. See? Witty.

Fourth, have a walk-away move prepared. A move that can also be used to bring the house down. (more on this below) Or one that hopefully, can be used to walk away. Something that's a diss only because it's, like, totally dismissive.

And now, because you've been good readers all season long while putting up with some meandering, slightly pointless posts**, here's...

**I blame lack of sleep.


I'm at a bar. A chick-- ultimately unimportant (ie-got none)-- digs me, I dig her. I invite her to dance. She accepts. We begin to dance. Sensually and in a looking-good-for-Atlas'-penis way.
Then this sweaty a-hole on the dance floor, played by a fuglified Jay Hernandez just happy for the work, throws me off my game by continually bumping into me, and everyone else. When I quietly ask him to calm down: "Dude, would you mind taking it down a couple notches, there's not much room out here to dance, ya know?"

Almost as soon as a I did it, I knew it was the wrong thing to do, because Not Jay HernandeZ looked pissed that I was anything less than impressed with his dancing "skillz". But instead of fighting me (because I was bigger than him, and stronger, and younger, and better-looking) he was like "whasssup, homie, let's go" and did a stupid dance move than ended in him pretending to flick my shoulders. Or something.

Now, I shouldn't have responded, but I rolled my eyes so hard my head went a little bit over, too. So he issues this taunt: "Come on, white boy, that all you got?"

"No biyotch," I say, "Haven't even gotten started yet...." And then, because I was very inebriated, I proceeded to very thoroughly get the crowd on my side ("Go white boy! Go white boy!") while proving that just because you aren't white or Asian, doesn't mean you can dance.

When the dance-off began the music was funky Latin-infused house, not a specialty of mine, but I can groove it. Then, it transitioned into some truly bangin' hip-hop. That, my friends, was when I owned the a$$ of Not Jay HernandeZ. See, I've lived in some tough neighborhoods in LA during my poorer years, including South-Central (and not just on the USC campus) and Koreatown (five years ago, before it even had veneer of cool). Plus, as many of you may know, I do love me some hip-hop.

And once some Jay-Z kicked in, I laid done my patented hip-shakey-thrust groove. It was a nice riff on Latin Shakira-esque hip-shaking charged with kinectic whiteboy energy. The crowd really loved that-- it was then that the audience had decided I was definitively going to win the contest, I think.

But here's how Not Jay HernandeZ really lost it-- he was so drunk, he flung himself into some spectators who'd turned around to create a circle. And one was a girl and her boyfriend looked kinda pissed. There were a lot of head shakes after that one.

I finished him off with my patented end-all move, which involves me quite improbably moving an imaginary ball around on my shoulders and arms, then slamming it into Not Jay HernandeZ's head (he flinched). It's a neat trick and it seems to work.

I'm just glad I won. And glad that for forever and ever, Not Jay HernandeZ will be my biyotch.


Monday, May 29, 2006

Ari Gold Won't Hire You, Either

Normally, I don't pimp my advertisers much. But the new one there on your right is pretty much laser-targeted to my demographic and you've got to give HBO props for that.

It is what it looks like, essentially. On, you can "interview" with Ari to be his new assistant. So click and do a quick interview. You can put in a fake email address if you're worried about spam-- but I haven't gotten any thus far and a few times I used my A/A Yahoo address.

Anyhoo, so I spent as much of my day as I possibly could trying to get hired by Ari. And wouldn't you know it, the closest I came was when I masqueraded as chick-- something I probably couldn't keep up in real life. I mean, I'm no Tom Hanks.

Now, depending on the info you enter, Ari will either make a vaguely sexist remark about hiring hot chicks or a vaguely homophobic one about Lloyd's inability to lift a water cooler. God bless him, that equal opportunity hater. And then you'll have the opportunity to enter your own words at various points. Depending on what you enter, Ari will launch into several pre-arranged diatribes and then follow up with another question.

After a few questions (or less, depending on your answers), Ari will show you the door with one of several satisfyingly caustic remarks about not calling him.

Oh, and if you're reading this after the ad has expired, check out:
And if THAT page is gone. Well, then, you're SOL, my friends.

Since I'm always on the lookout for ways to help my fellow assistants, let us ask: Is there anything we can learn from this about real interviews?

Well, probably not. But aim for the fences, right Ari?

Intriguingly in the game, if you cuss, Ari will almost certainly show you the door: this includes the f-word, but interestingly, he shrugged off the BJ I offered as a 19-year-old girl and just asked me about Vinnie Chase.

So there's two points here to take home with you, I think.

1) No swearing during an interview. That will almost certainly come later.

2) No offering BJs during the interview. That will almost certainly come later-- but if you wait until you've got the job, you can file a sexual harrassment lawsuit. Damages, baby!

Ari Gold.
Let's get this b**ch an Emmy, baby.

And coming tomorrow (sleep-willing), another helpful life lesson: this one drawn from my recent travels. It's no "Sex, Scotch and Super Shuttle" but I will say this: it involves a dance-off.


Sunday, May 21, 2006

Atlas Takes a Holiday: 4.x

Yeah, lately, I can't sleep. And I really, really want/need to. So badly that I disregard the conventions of grammar and polite English etiquette. Figuring I couldn't sleep, I went back and watched the latest episodes of "Big Love".

Amanda Seyfried, I totally remember your name now. You managed to act more with fewer lines than I have seen an actress do in a long time.

Dead, plastic or Mormon, this girl can do it all.

It's depressing, really, this inability to sleep. Thankfully, the act of getting up, opening and connecting the laptop, has really put me to . . zzzzzzzzzz.

Oh, hey! I get to go to Miami! We're location-scouting and if the places we like survive hurricane season, somewhere in Florida could be getting a major boost from the entertainment industry. So if you hail from the other Sunshine State, please, let me know where a guy can go to get his mojo on in South Beach because I've got most of Memorial Day weekend.

While work only requires me (and the boss) to be there until Thursday or Friday, I get to stay, with the company even paying for one hotel night. Considering they've turned me into a zombie, I think it's the least they can do.

No seriously, I'm exhausted. Can we please destroy Hollywood soon?


Thursday, May 18, 2006

Still Working on Those Assistant Superpowers: 4.50

WARNING: This post may be quite random, thanks to my very incoherent (fatigue-induced) state. But y'all seem to like those posts better than most of my serious ones anyway.

This fourth blog season of Assistant/Atlas is drawing to a close after fifty fresh episodes. Even though I've had my differences with the soon-defunct WB and its now-axed head, Garth Ancier, I will give them minor props for calling their new shows 'fresh episodes' because frankly, it was one of their few marketing successes. So that makes four seasons of fifty episodes, for 200 official posts. However, since Blogger tells me I've done 314 and counting, this means that there are a bunch of special features, gossip bits, random asides and updates, and 'hold-on-almost-done'-type posts.

So this is a bit of a reflection around the nature of serials (and past posts). In the times of the novel, New Yorkers waited on the docks for Dickens, shouting at sailors if their favorite character was still alive? Youngsters ran home from town carrying the parcel with the latest batch of post for the family to read by oily lamplight. Americans couldn't wait for the reassurance of FDR's fireside chats. I Love Lucy sent the nation huddling around flickering boxes. But now we're Internet junkies with click addictions, refreshing all day in search of The Latest.

Just like all TV Shows/New Media products that make it to a fifth season, there's a certain amount of certitude with the fourth season finale. Once a TV show makes it to about 88 episodes, the net usually goes for the over 100. Cuz of the syndication bucks. Things are changing now, with earlier syndication for shows that we know will go the distance (CSI: Miami for example). Plus, now there are cash-generating DVDs, soundtracks, and even online revenues. Few shows suffer the cruel fate of the fourth season being the closer. I can think of a few, but they are ignominious examples (through little fault of their own, of course).
So you see, those of you who didn't realize/know it before that syndication. . . well, it's like recycling, but more signficantly more profitable and considerably less staffed by homeless people.

Syndication for a show/New Media phenomenon...definite mixed bag. It starts to show how your characters have started to grow at least a little. In this blog's case, that's mainly 'me,' since the Roomie and Downlowlita have been horrific friggin jerks as contributors. However, they get a modest pass for helping with ideas and news and gossip and invitations and parties and numbers and introductions and such. Plus, I can't forget Gay Valet and the Drunken Disney Assistant and many others for their help in making the fourth season of Assistant/Atlas a not-totally-sucky one.

Oh, hey, you can be my friend on MySpace now.
Check me out on MySpace!
...if you dare.
Just click the above stuff and it'll take you to my profile. Or you can just search for on the search feature.

And if you're wondering why I'm supporting the evil Mr. Rupert Murdoch. It's just so that MySpace gets overexposed and dies and costs Mr. Murdoch a lot of capital and reputation. Which explains the timing-- it's never too early to implode under the weight of your own popularity. Do remember that adding me could mean you could be leaky, but it could also mean you're unreproachably hip. So it cuts both ways.

Think about it. Consider it.

Now is the time when we up the sex appeal. Because not only does it help my traffic, but I actually did wear a mesh shirt once (it was part of a hustler costume and a very long story) and at least a dozen people told me it was awesome. Okay, granted, about 2/3 of those people were guys, but still . . . one-third were girls. And hey, it was an arty, truly underground party. And mesh can be arty, right?

Dude, though, seriously. If Assistant/Atlas ever becomes a real, live-ish show, I'm going to have a gay sidekick. Because seriously, seriously, straight men, please, listen to me. I'm being totally honest with you now-- gay guys are awesome wingmen.

The main reason among the many reasons? Because my awesome gay pals are totally cool with hanging out with the Fuff. You know, the "Fuff" . . . the Fat Ugly Female Friend that every hot girl seems to carry with her nowadays like an undernourished Chihuahua.

As for the future, I honestly don't know what next season holds. If you can't tell, I pretty much make all this up as I go along. But since everyone seems to like this, I'm planning on keeping it up.

But I'm really keeping it up for you guys, my lovely readers, and I do thank you for tuning in.

So there will be a fifth season. And with what I know and am learning and have planned, I think it's gonna be a good'un. A little gossip, and a little bit of me analyzing the world for the people who stumble in from the search engines, a little damning praise, some assistant kibitzing, more hotsexy lovin', and just more of the Assistant/Atlas you seem to love.

And just so you know, I feel happy in my little part of the world. I just want to grow it. Therefore, I need to work on my superpowers, the raison d'etre for this post. Assistants, take note, these are superpowers you'll need.

CALL CHARISMA: You need something from someone over the phone. They have no idea who you are and may not want to do what you ask. Get them to do it anyway.

A COOL HEAD: Under pressure, under yelling, under any conditions necessary, you will handle it. And everyone can count on that. Anything less does not suffice.

CHLOE-NESS: This one's self-explanatory if you click here.

PANACHE: No one's going to respect you unless you do something that inspires it. So be brave and adventerous enough times and one of your ideas will be labeled 'brilliant.' And you'll get the spin-off credit.

TACT/STRATEGY: You must know which battles to pick. Otherwise, you'll be fired before your time.

RESEARCH MANIA: Do it as fast as possible. That's the key. Accuracy is a solid number two, but sadly, speed wins out over 100% certainty on information.

KNOWING WHEN TO SHUT UP: This could be the most important skill. When a boss begins lecturing, shut up. Wait until the tirade is over and a sufficiently awkward amount of time has passed. Then chime in with the idea that saves everything.

KNOWING WHEN TO SPEAK UP: I've discovered that employers really do love it when you share your ideas about their business-- because that's still all about them. So speak up, get respect, and get things done that will make your life easier, because speaking your mind can get you all that and maybe more.

GETTING GEEKY/GOING ALL "NEW MEDIA": It's often tough to show off your technological prowess without making less-savvy bosses and even co-workers a bit uncomfortable. Screw 'em, you're the smart one.

SEX APPEAL: We all know it's a crucial skill, even though it should not, by law, allowed to be one. But it will almost certainly be for at least the future of my generation, so we better get used to it. So I need to start hitting the gym again. Added bonus: we'll all live longer.


Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Why Coming Out Would Be a Good Move For Ryan Seacrest

The season four finale of Assistant/Atlas is forthcoming, but first, this message from your writer/producer, Assistant/Atlas...

Hello folks, I'm Assistant/Atlas, and I'm a B-List blogebrity who likes to give unsolicited career advice to people in my business. Usually I do it based on what other assistant types tell me to think, as well as my own horribly disturbed judgment.

And here is what I have judged...Ryan Seacrest, seriously, you're not even good at covering up the gay. Because you are so very, very gay. And I'm not joking, Seacrest, hiding your sexuality is starting to be very bad for your career. Look at what it's doing to Clay Aiken-- he's already turning into a Michael Jackson-esque joke, what with that sailor's allegation.

When I met Kathy Griffin, she told me that at the moment (in early May 2005), that her routine was essentially "Oprah, Gayken and Ryan Seacrest."

And you don't want to be a part of that joke.

So Seacrest, realize that it's 2006 and American Idol is hugely popular, which it will continue to be whether all of America realizes you're gay, or just some of us. And that no matter what, you'll probably still have steady streams of cash coming in.
Remember: Coming out is noble and brave, being outed is a PR nightmare.

Also, while we're on the subject, American Idol would make a good gambling game:
Odds that Simon Cowell awkwardly obviously outs Seacrest before this American Idol season ends: 5 to 1
Odds that Simon will awkwardly and obviously out Seacrest before his American Idol contract is up: 8 to 1
Odds that Simon will awkwardly and obviously out Seacrest just after his American Idol contract is up: 4 to 1
Odds that Seacrest got a "Cowell-has-to-not-out-me" clause written into his contract: 3 to 1 Hey man, he got Kathy Griffin canned. And you know I love me some Kathy Griffin.

But remember celebs, offshore gambling is of highly questionable legality, so before signing the contract make sure you're well protected in case of political backlash. But back to the topic at hand....

Not despicable?

Seacrest, your 'catchprase' is "SEACREST OUT! Because we all know that will happen sooner or later, buddy. And if you come out, you're brave and you apparently get at least career in talk TV (ie-Ellen and Rosie). But you already have one with E!, and they won't fire you because you're gay. It's E!-- they're pretty gay already. Plus, it's illegal in California to fire someone based on sexual orientation-- which would also apply to your American Idol gig, too.

You could even get a raise. E!'s gotta be thinking of all the fans you can bring to them with your gaiety. And even American Idol wouldn't risk massive gay wrath by replacing their newly-honest host, or even buying out your expensive contract (unlikely, but possible, and hey, you still get the money). And we both know that's a HUGE contract. So unless you get all Gayken and hook up over the Internet and be uber-gross, the money will still roll in. Enough to afford the mortgage payments on Costner's house, anyway.

As an added bonus, you can be honest with yourself and others. And you'll have a strong gay fan base-- you know, the kind that still buys Madonna's new album even though she's totally irrelevant to the world of music. And you may even earn a modest dose of public sympathy depending on how it all plays out.

And Ryan, you've never whored yourself for MTV, so it is still distantly possible for me to respect you.
And pushing civil rights forward would be a strong incentive for me to not actually despise you.


Thursday, May 11, 2006

Don't Let My Media Empire Die Before It Starts!

Please listen: this is one of those seemingly tiny, but crucially important, issues that none of us ever care enough about.

But it's going to bite us in the behind if we're not careful.

It's called "Net Neutrality" and the idea is that the corporations that run computer networks should not be allowed to charge more for 'priority access.' Whether you want to download LOST from iTunes or watch a viral video of Chinese kids doing Backstreet Boys impersonations.

Read the ranty version of the story at Pop Culture Junkies.
Read the cleaner version at Boing Boing. They also point out what a transparent pack of liars the corporations are.

So what does "Net Neutrality" mean in reality? And by that I mean: "What does it mean for me?"

It means that Jeff Zucker can pay off Comcast (my ISP) so that only NBC-Universal shows download quickly on my computer. BitTorrent would be slowed to a crawl for me, as would YouTube, Google Video, Revver and all of the other video hosting sites that aren't corporatized and rich. Any site or company that doesn't pay up could get slowed down to the point of extinction. Bye-bye New Media empire, hello corporate slavery [again].

Fortunately, Zucker isn't quite this smart, but that crafty, rafty Les Moonves just might do it.

So here's what you can do. Visit Save the Add your name to the petition. Learn about what your representatives are doing-- there's even a helpful color-coded map!
Please, join me in supporting an Internet that unleashes creative freedom all over the world-- not one where giant telecom companies can decide what you see.

It's one of those little things.


Tuesday, May 09, 2006


In keeping with the tradition of end-of-season celebrity guest star casting to juice the ratings, I'm busting out my Sloane story from this weekend. I'd been trying to figure out what to write about it because frankly, if I reprinted the actual words, you probably could figure out who I am. And we ain't havin' that, kids, are we? Now that my career's doing so (relatively) well...

So here's the best I can do. Yeah, I've taken some liberties with the way it all goes, but I think they're justified. I shouldn't even tell you, it's not like you'd know. In fact, I take it all back. Everything you read below is the gospel. I mean, Gospel. Now take a big swig of your martini and settle in. It's gonna be a fun one.

The Los Angeles air was a-drizzle with smogwater and mildew, the sunlight just enough to heat the air to a muggy fugue state before being swallowed. The Grove seemed affected by the air; full of surly children and tourists whose doughy legs reflected the flourescent buzz of the historic 21st-century gaslamps.

Waiting for the accursed roomie to finish his Apple store browsings, I sighed over my lack of credit and newfound inability to be patient without a nicotine fix. As I moved away from the entrance-- because most Angelenos will agree loudly that a faint whiff secondhand smoke is far more loathsome than the fact our city's air is literally poisoning us as we breathe it-- I just nearly bumped into the man who taught me what it was to be ashamed of our culture.

Needless to say, I kinda forgot to light my cigarette as my mouth dropped open. Sloane was just hanging up his phone and turning toward the Apple Store.

SLOANE: Well, if it isn't (my real name)... or should I say "Atlas"?

ATLAS: I've always wanted to call you "Sloane" ...I mean, you know, to your face.

SLOANE: So, are you still doing that blog? (he makes blogging sound roughly like raping children)

ATLAS: Yes. And now it's paying for my gas.

SLOANE: I want you to know I've deleted every record of you ever working in my office. If you're discovered, you'll just be another one of those wunderkinds who get exposed as a fraud.

ATLAS: Yeah, Sloane, that'll work. (it feels good to be contemptuous)

SLOANE: Still finding work despite betraying your employers?

ATLAS: I'm a staff writer, actually. That's my title. Staff writer. (translation: f*** off)

SLOANE: (eyes betraying his disappointment at my non-destitution) Congratulations. For what?

ATLAS: For something better than anything you've done. Still taking advantage of the girl who's a third your age?

SLOANE: If you're referring to Bubbles, she's moved on.

ATLAS: (smirk) How diplomatic...

SLOANE: I don't suppose your new bosses know about your blog, do they?

ATLAS: Actually, even if they did, I made sure it wasn't illegal to do one in my contract, so I'm covered. I'm also careful.

Suddenly, out of the Apple Store, walks MRS. SLOANE with a skirt of plump, high-end shopping bags! The wife of my archnemesis, here, unprotected and unawares. I'm forced to restrain a 'muah-ha-ha-ha-ha!' Mrs. Sloane is 57, but still looks pretty hot (she's had some work done- probably a "medical expense"). She wears an oversized Jackie-O-ish pea coat against the murky soup of LA.
Since she is appearing my blog, she will be played by a heavily-Xanaxed Diane Sawyer.

MRS.SLOANE: Sloane-y dear! There you are!

I can't help but grin ear-to-ear at this development. I resist mouthing 'Sloane-y?'

MRS.SLOANE: Well, that was a long line. (notices me) Oh, hello!

SLOANE: Dear, you remember my former assistant, Atlas...

MRS.SLOANE: Yes, I knew I recognized you. How are you?
(she's totally blissed out)

ATLAS: Fine thanks, so nice to see you again. I think the last time might've been a few Christmases ago.

MRS.SLOANE: Ohmygoshyesitwas! That's where it was...
(she's happywet) So I assume Sloane's helped you move on to even bigger and better things?

And by this I think she means that she hopes to get my bigger and better thing in her.

ATLAS: Oh he has, I'm a staff writer for ________.

I notice she's staring right into my intoxicating blue sapphires. I blink like a snake charmer. I drop my voice an octave and emit pheremones.

MRS.SLOANE: Really, that's wonderful, and you're so young, too. How old are you?

ATLAS: I just turned twenty-five. You know, you look so much younger than I remember. Have you turned forty, yet?

MRS.SLOANE: Oh, ho-ho-no. (she blushes gracefully) I just had a facial this week, so...

She trails off giggling and I lean forward a little, smiling with her.

ATLAS: It looks amazing.

Pheremones are in full effect. Sloane finally seems to notice.

SLOANE: Dear, weren't you saying you wanted to go to Michael Stars?

MRS.SLOANE: (reluctant) Oh, yes. Well, I'll let you two catch up. Sloane, why don't you invite Atlas to our little gathering next weekend? Wouldn't that be fun?

SLOANE: Absolutely.

MRS.SLOANE: Well, it was certainly a pleasure to see you again, Atlas.

ATLAS: Oh, the pleasure was all mine.

Mrs. Sloane goes to shake my hand, realizes she has too many bags, thrusts some at Sloane, nearly knocking him over. He takes them and his wife shakes my hand.

MRS.SLOANE: Great seeing you again.

ATLAS: Me, too.

MRS.SLOANE: Bye now.

She moseys off towards Michael Stars. I smirk at Sloane, who glowers for all he's worth.

SLOANE: (mocking) Was that fun for you?

I take in Sloane's features- his haughtiness, his arrogance, his bastardliness. And I gauge how it falls.

ATLAS: I could f*** your wife.

SLOANE: (shocked silence)

With a facial twitch, Sloane turns to leave, then turns back to have the last word.

SLOANE: You're disgusting, Atlas. And just remember, I can f*** anyone.


Monday, May 08, 2006

Awesome Post Soon

Not quite done with today's post, but it's gonna be a good one. At least I think so. Which probably means none of you will like it. Sigh.

After work, kids, after work I'll post.

You know, assuming work ends today.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Say Something Nice: 4.48

I received what I think is some pretty good advice today on how to act in Ho'wood. And that is: if you can't think of anything to say, say something nice.

This nuggest of wisdom is brought to you by a guy who apparently works for the big boss, but no one has any idea what he does.

No seriously, it's weird. And he's weird. It's a totally weird situation, but we think he's some kind of business manager guy, maybe even an infamous branding consultant. But he never stays around long enough for anyone to figure it out and how do you ask your boss "Who is this guy and why is he here?" Seriously, I've been there a few months now (weirdly, after just a few months on the job, I'm going to be like the third-most-experienced person there quite soon...ah, turnover the entertainment industry)

Also weird is the fact that Weird Guy dispenses advice with the enthusiasm of a fortune cookie-making methhead philosopher. Today, it was the above gem.

So in honor of weird guy, I'm going to say some nice things about some of my favorite people.

I consider this guy my mate. But not in a gay way.

I would totally do these girls if I had the chance. Even if they're fat, it'd be worth it so I wouldn't dress like such a schmuck anymore.

I can be a saint if you want me to be, ladies.

Or I can be very, very bad.

Moving on...

The Economist is the only magazine I will (and do) pay for with my very hard-earned money. It's worth every penny for the best, most cogent coverage of international affairs, bar none.

I wish my site was as pretty as his is.

And this is the best site for keeping up with shows you may have missed. But frankly, it's my preferred way of watching Supernatural.

Okay, that's about all the positive feelings I can muster to send into the universe. Because frankly, it's not been a good week.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Dear Time Magazine: I Seriously Hate You Guys

Dear Time Magazine,

I used to love you. Back in the day, when I was innocent and in middle school, getting all up on you after class was what I lived to do. Scoping you up and down before I plowed into your luscious middle-- that was all I wanted. Seriously.

But now you're a filthy corporateslut. Know how I know? Because you've shrunk down your content to a handful of inane fluff pieces that trade on nothing but your increasingly-dirty reputation. Por exemplo, the Time 100.

You have got to be fugging kidding me, Time. Will Smith is one of the most influential entertainers in the world? Influencing people to what-- see really, truly awful movies? Time cites his work in "Six Degrees of Separation" as if it is good simply because . . .why, exactly? Did anyone who's seen that movie forget at any point that they were watching Will Smith? No. But do you even remember the names of the other actors in the movie? (No IMDB, cheaters!) That's right, didn't think so. (although seriously, check out the cast) And that is pretty much the one good movie he was in. And seriously punks, if anyone disagrees, take me on in the comments.

And don't even get me started on Puff "Sean Combs" Daddy. What the HELL has he ever done except show up to some awards show on a semi and get rich OFF OF THE DEATHS OF RAPPERS WITH ACTUAL TALENT!!!! HE'S A RENAISSANCE MAN BECAUSE HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING VERY WELL!!!

Time, I want to friggin RIP YOUR GUTS OUT!


F***. I'm done now.

Time magazine, the only reason I even care enough to write to you is my nostalgia. Which is sad, because I'm in my 20s and nostalgia is so unbecoming for people my age. Anyhoo, here's the only way you can fix yourself.
If only you were this honest.
GET BETTER CONTENT. Hire more writers, editors, researchers, fact-checkers and freelancers.

But as the Economist says, genteel decline is good for business. So fuggin' do it, Time. Just be a corporateslut until you fade away.

All I know is, when I run Hollywood, I am not hiring fugging anyone who worked for you. ESPECIALLY Joel Stein.

F*** off and die,

PS: Choosing Tom "Huh?" Freston over, say, Les Moonves, (who apparently runs the 'unsexy' half of the former Viacom), just shows how desperately hip you wish you were.

PPS: I love people regardless of skin color. It's just that I hate that Will Smith and P. Duddy are two of the best-known black people on the Time 100.


Tuesday, May 02, 2006

The Hallucination Point: 4.47

Today's post deals with something that not only assistants, but nearly everyone is today's modern world, faces. It's called: lack of sleep, and it friggin' sucks.

So I looked up some answers to common sleep-related questions. Don't worry, I used credible sources. Obviously, not Wikipedia. Anyway, look and learn, people.

How much sleep do you need per night?
You should get at least 7-8 hours if you're a 20- or 30-something, perhaps 9-10 if you're one of the unlucky people who need more sleep than others.

And how much sleeplessness must you suffer before you become as impaired as a drunk person?
Wake up at 7am and stay awake until about 2 or 3am. It's cheaper than Cristal.

How little sleep do you have to have before you start seeing things?
From experience, about 40-48 hours, although those could've just been acid flashbacks.

How do you know if you aren't getting enough sleep?
Do you yawn during the day? Find yourself getting sleepy in the middle of the day- it still counts even if you're doing something extremely boring. According to sleep experts, if you're getting tired during the middle of the day, you're sleep deprived.

What if you are getting enough sleep, in theory at least, but you still feel tired?
Uh-oh. You could have any number of conditions, including sleep apnea, which is when you stop breathing while you're asleep, usually due to blocked air passages, and your brain wakes you up to prevent you from dying. It's not good and if you suffer from it, you have to lose weight and stop smoking. Hopefully it'll be one or the other for you because that would difficult to pull off at the same time.

Come on, isn't sleep deprivation good for comedic creativity and some kinds of writing?
Um, jokes that are funny at 3AM aren't usually as funny in the morning. And frankly no, it's not good for you. A fresh, awake brain is pretty much always preferable to a sleepy one.

Can I get STDs from sleep deprivation?
Only if you hallucinate that a Whoreface is someone you'd want to sleep with. Zing!


PS: I wrote this post as a subtle way of showing you, my dear readers, what I go through for you. Hey, man, part of being a patron saint is that you gotta suffer, right? Catholics, is that right? I have no idea, except I think I also have to perform miracles. But that one's totally easy. I work in Hollywood, baby, I make miracles everyday.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Old Gossip, Still Fun: 4.46

Since I know you kids enjoy gossip, I thought I'd play a little game with some that I collected this weekend. The game's very easy and you can play along at home! There's even a theme: faded action stars. The object is simple: attempt to guess which famous action stars have committed the following lapses in judgment. If you can't guess from the clues, there's a hint at the bottom. And I'll tell you the answers later today, so check back.

First up: when this action star retreated to his trailer to receive a BJ from an extra on the set of one of his movies, he famously forgot to turn off his mike pack. So the ENTIRE cast and crew was treated to the sounds of a BJ and the action star exhorting the extra to "Cup the balls, cup the balls!" I will say this-- the man knows how he likes to receive head.

Next, this still-married-to-the-same-person-as-he-was-then star, while out at a club, invited to two 20-something chicks back to his 'bachelor pad-like' apartment in Santa Monica for some coke festivities. The girls were happy to do some blow, although neither was ready to blow Action Star #2. However, abruptly, the action star announced he was taking a shower. The girls decided that that would be a good time to leave and were heading out the door when the action star raced out of the shower yelling: "Wait! Wait! You can make me come with your hand!" Well, at least he's into safe sex practices.

And finally, when a writer went to action star #3's home, he was shocked to discover the action star in his library (shocking enough he had a library) reading a script in his silk smoking jacket. But what really got the writer's attention was the fact that #3 appeared to be crying. And not just any crying, but full-on, mildly-disturbing bawling. When the writer asked what was wrong, the action star responded that the script had really moved him. Impressed, the writer asked who wrote the script. Action Star #3 responded: "Me."

Here's your big hint: all of the action stars' last names begin with 'S'. Now remember, all of these are FADED action stars who don't make the big-budget pieces anymore. Also, this gossip is completely true (okay, I added the smoking jacket detail to #3, but the rest is pretty much verbatim from trusted sources). Now, it's also somewhat old-- from the peak of their respective careers as it were in the 80s and 90s. Guess away in the comments section, and I'll give you the answers when I get home tonight.