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

Monday, July 31, 2006

Denton's Moves Damage Gawker Media: 5.19

Maybe you've noticed that I've dropped Manhattan media gossip blog Gawker from my blogrolodex. Yes, it was intentional. I only keep blogs there that I want to have easy access to when I need info. And at this time, I choose not use Gawker as a NY source.

The latest Gawker overhaul has made it look quite repulsively bare and with encroaching ads, it's just not usually a visually appealing way to keep abreast of NYC media gossip. Furthermore, it's just not as fun as it once was.

Thank goodness Defamer is still quite pretty to look at. And thanks to its equal opportunity pop culture saboteurs, Mark Lisanti and Seth Abramovitch, it's as strong as ever.

What's really gone declined the most, though, has been the once-quirkilicious Gridskipper. The new editor, Joshua Stein. . . frankly, he kinda sucks. Really sucks, in fact.

I mean, I can deal with some typos, but when that I have to pause, re-read, puzzle a bit, make a decision on the meaning, shake my head in annoyance, and grudgingly move on....that's bad. Bring back Chris Mohney, I say. Goodness knows in his new position, he hasn't done anything to make Gawker as shiningly snarky as it once was. Perhaps those days are gone for Gawker being the go-to Manhattan media blog.

I mourn these once-appropriately-placed writing talents, yet I always look to the future. And mine is a distinctly less Gawker-oriented future. I mean, hey, Perez Hilton's getting a reality show.

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Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Debunking the CREAM Theory: 5.18

As I drearily regard the economic odds steadily stacking up against me and my 20something compatriots, I'm reminded that I'm still one of the lowest-paid people on the entire corporate ladder. Couple that with a rising desire to decamp to a rival media monster, and you've got a breeding ground for thoughts about money-- specifically, how much I should be ruled by it.

For those of you not familiar with the C.R.E.A.M. theory, allow me to illuminate some Wu-Tang for your ignorant a$$.

CREAM=Cash Rules Everything Around Me.

Simple enough, right? Yeah, it's actually TOO simple. Which is what inspired today's inspirational message.

One of the reasons I write is because I truly feel people aren't ruled by cash. At least, not all the time. If they were, I would be so bored with people that I would start designing robots. But they're not ruled by cash and they're not always boring.

They're ruled by love and lust, prejudice and empathy, compassion and/or an insatiable desire for power-- at least part of the time they are. Most people, anyway.

Now, I'm not saying people don't want money, or even that some people are so special that they aren't motivated by it ever. Okay, maybe Gandhi and a couple of the saints.

But you know why I really like people? Because try as I might, I find it quite difficult to make blanket statements that truly cover every member of the human race.


Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Not Abusing Interns: 5.17

I've been called the patron blogging saint of Hollywoood assistants, a title which I do my best to fulfill. But after a conversation with my little brother, I've decided that interns don't deserve abuse any more than assistants do. Therefore, I've decided to do my Internet tirade best to stick up for them, too.

Because darn it if they aren't just the cutest things, with their bright ambitions and high hopes and sense of wonder. God bless 'em.

But as the bro and I will both attest, interns can easily be abused. You see, the critical difference between interns and assistants is that interns aren't paid. At least, not well. And in Hollywood, only rarely. Therefore, they should be treated very differently.

If it's part of the job, it's part of the job.
If it's unpaid, f--- it.

Do we see the difference, my friends? Plus, interns are always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and usually not as stupid as Bubbles and they try to help out. So it's best not to abuse them.

Remember, this abuse can take many forms. Most often, it's a constant shoveling of the bitchiest of biyotch work onto their plates. Frankly, while this may seem appropriate for an intern's supposed skill level, it's actually not. Interns are there to learn. . . and usually filing and photocopying aren't conducive to serious learning. Unless you're preparing for an exciting career in data entry.

So give your interns actual pretend work. And by this, I mean: let them make some calls. Because these kids actually get excited when some assistant tells them Mr. Big-Boss-So-And-So will call back. Even if he won't. But the bright-eyed don't care. They can get by with the illusion. . . and that's mostly not true anymore for us assistants.

So God bless the kids and keep 'em safe.

And remember, just because you're an assistant, that doesn't make you better than an intern. Yeah, you get paid and they don't. But you're both still considered less than the toilet paper on Hollywood's Ugg.


Monday, July 24, 2006

Dear Mr.Gates, Please Rebuild LA's Mass Transit: 5.16

Dear Mr. Bill Gates,

I know you have lots o' the money, and really want to help cure diseases in Third World countries and other similarly noble acts. But you've got so much more than enough to do that.

So please, rebuild LA's mass transit.

The dirty little secret of Los Angeles is that it had excellent mass transit until the car companies and their tire and oil allies tore up the trolley tracks. Mr. Gates, being a smart guy, I'm sure you know this. To the others out there, please don't dispute me on this one, friends. It's in the history books, if you care to look.

But really Mr. Gates, it's starting to get crazy out here. Riot crazy on our fair streets. And I've lived in South Central, so I know a thing or two about conditions like that. Back in the late 90s and early 2000s, things were kinda okay, and seemed to be getting better.

Forget Hotlanta. LA's got fire under the collar, thanks to traffic, and sometimes smog blocking our sunshine. And while Mayor Villaraigosa may be trying, he just ain't got the cash. And he has other things to worry about, though he would likely help guide this thing through.

Now that we've established that only you can save LA, Mr. Gates, here are some of the best subway extensions money could buy. (insert weave joke here)

1) Hook up the airports. Get rails going right into LAX-- integrate them better into the airport. Extend the Red Line (which goes through Hollywood, Universal City and ends in North Hollywood) to Burbank Airport and the Blue to Long Beach Airport. Then they could more easily take some of the pressure off of LAX. That's only like 5 miles total.

2) Get thee to the beaches. Venice, Santa Monica, Manhattan, Hermosa, and Playa Vista are all primed for lines-- they're dense, etc. Sure, people could argue this will overcrowd and pollute the beaches, but I live near one and it's already way too far gone for that argument. Plus, the ban on subways west of Wilshire is in the process of being overturned.

3) Hit the landmarks. Some of Hollywood is already covered, but get more of the city's historic landmarks connected--or um, build new landmarks. And if the Beverly Hills biyotches kvetch (again), go around 'em. Through Culver City, if necessary. And can we build light rail to Disneyland?

See, that's not so bad, right? A few billion and we, the poor of LA, will be in much better shape. Or at least, we'll still be able to get around even if our car conks out on us.

So thanks for reading, Mr. Gates. And I look forward to your swift rebuilding of LA's mass transit. Once this is complete, I will forgive you for Windows. Probably.

Yours Truly,


Thursday, July 20, 2006

In Praise of the Gays: 5.15

It's especially sad that this article appeared on Yahoo today in light of what happened just this evening to me.

And the happening was that the good people of West Hollywood saved my a$$. Basically, I was heading from Hollywood toward Venice and crossing through Weho (Fountain to La Cienega, cut down to Santa Monica or Melrose and get over onto Robertson) when my car totally crapped out. It basically sputtered, the lights flickered, and it just died-- I'd just turned off Santa Monica onto Robertson.

I effing hate my car by the way. I'd tell you what it is, but I'm a little embarrassed by it. After all, in LA, you might as well be your car. And if that were really true, I'd be a steaming pile of crap.

But back to my gay saviors. I managed to pull over into a sort of non-spot right past Ultra-Suede. I put the car in park, tried to start it- nothing. I pounded the steering wheel ferociously for a few moments. Then I tried again. Still nothing. A bit more pounding and then I just closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the steering wheel and tried to just spontaneously die. Still nothing.

I got out, tried to lift my stupid, stupid car's hood, remembered the latch, then couldn't find the stupid latch, and finally, buried my face in my hands.

And that's when I heard: "Do you need some help?"

And there they were- my gay saviors- who kinda looked like the Fab 3 Who Smoke. They'll be played by the Fab Five as they'll be joined shortly by two more queer savior types.
Gays to the Rescue!

It was the scruffy Not-Kyan of the group speaking to me, with a sympathetic look on his face.

A little slow in the head, I said: "I, um, my car died."

Apparently, this is funny. The Fab 3 laugh, and then Not-Kyan says: "Sh--, it's not like you died."

And then, in spite of wanting to die a few moments earlier, I laughed.

And then Not-Kyan says: "So it doesn't just need a jump? I have a good tow company on speed dial. . . if you want." And his friend, who was Latino and is therefore the Not-Jai, gives him a look.
So Not-Kyan offers an explanation: "My car gives me trouble from time to time. It's cheap- like 60 or 80 bucks for anywhere fairly nearby."

I'm kinda stunned that anyone would offer to do that for a total stranger on the streets of LA without an alternate agenda, so obviously, I'm suspicious. I pray that his alternate agenda is that he wants my number.

I said: "Uh, I don't know. . . um, I don't even know where to go. I live in Venice."

Not-Jai offers hesitantly: "Well . . . I can text to find a Crappy American Car (tm) dealership nearby. That's not a problem."

I hesitate now: "Uhhh..."

And then Not-Carson suddenly pipes up: "Oh! I'll go round up some lesbians to look at your car!" And off he goes.

"So, um, did you say it was like 80 bucks?" I ask.

"Which is way cheaper than springing it from the Weho impound lot when the parking people tow you for parking illegally."

And basically, from then on, I was in the hands of the gays. Way less scary than it sounds. Not-Kyan called a tow truck, which would take me to the crappy dealership Not-Jai found not too far away. Then, Not-Jai gave me the number so I called and arranged things with the service department right before they left for the day. Next, Not-Carson showed up with two lesbians who made me feel both deeply unmasculine and deeply stupid, but were exceedingly nice about it.

They found the problems-- ("Wow, your car is in pretty bad shape")-- which amounted to at least a busted alternator, and I think spark plugs that need replacement, and a fan belt that was "hanging by a thread". And I now have a whole list somewhere of specific things to go over with the mechanic so I'm less likely to be screwed over. They also showed me exactly where to find that stupid latch. And one of them was actually wearing flannel.

So, I'm sorry, but most of you people probably deserve to be called breeders. (which frankly, I think is hilarious....seriously, that's clever)

And if the absolute worst that happens to you is that someone tries to slap some sense into you for supporting legislation that turns an entire segment of the population into second-class citizens, then you're not being discriminated against. . . you're being an ignorant, close-minded jerk. The point:

Equal Rights Are For Everyone
....not just us breeders.

And the other point: If you're going to have a breakdown, pray that it happens in Weho.


Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Youth As a Weapon in Hollywood: 5.14

As an assistant, you've got to find your allies where you can-- whether they're famous siblings like Johnny Drama, or an abstract concept that acts to sap your opponents' self-esteem. Namely, time.

I look young, even for my young age, but today I (almost and seemingly) unwittingly delivered these bon mots in regards to The Company's New Media activities:

"Look. At this point, we're just catching up to the kids on MySpace."

And we are. And Hollywood seriously needs to. And it needs to hurry. Every day it dallies, I get one day closer to bolting out of here and just doing a web show from my parents' basement. In Kansas. Kansas, people. . . it's that bad.

Because I'm sick to death of all this hoop-jumping. And I have been for what. . . well, more than fifteen months now, anyway.

That's why I've resorted to tapping people's deepest fears-- two of which have gotta be aging and death.

So remember, kids, whenever someone feels old in Ho'wood, they're one step closer of being out of the game. So brag about the fact you can't remember a time when personal computers didn't exist. And use words that sound like everyone should already know exactly what they mean. Like build-outs. Plug-ins. That sort of thing.

Dearest Lord in Heaven,

Thanks for letting me live in the Information Age.

Oh, and. . . God, please kill off all my enemies so I can take over and do things how I want. Thanks!

Totally Yours Truly,


PS: I am so unbelievably effin' stoked that Dude.Man.Phat. is back.
Viva el DudeMan!
I'm Felix from Veronica Mars and I wanna know, is Atlas evil?

PPS: Feel free to discuss if I'm turning irredeemably evil. Snide comments appreciated.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Going to Comic-Con? Read on...

So, if you've been reading this blog (like, at all), you probably know that I'm an anonymous personage. That's part of my schtick, ya know? Come on, it says it right there in the profile.

So it always amuses me when I receive things like this in my from the good people at New Line sent me a very personal email (not) but it means that one of you can get to do this if you're going to be at Comic-Con in San Diego next week. Read on..

As an important blogger of New Line Cinema's upcoming film SNAKES ON A PLANE, we would like to invite you to an exclusive sneak peek of our booth at Comic-Con.

Please let us know if you will be attending Comic-Con this year and whether you can make it to this exclusive sneak peek. It should take approximately 30 minutes, and we will be personally walking you through the booth. The tour is scheduled for 5:30 pm on Wednesday 7/19 (30 minutes prior to the convention floor opening to pre-registered guests). You will be the ONLY group allowed to walk through the SNAKES ON A PLANE booth this early. In addition, you are welcome to bring your camera and take photos of the booth to exclusively debut in your blog as a first look. Please note, this invitation is exclusive to you only. (Access, ET, etc.. won't even have this first look access).

Separately, we'd like to invite you into a select group of bloggers to conduct 3 round table interviews with our star of SNAKES ON A PLANE, Samuel L. Jackson, David Ellis (director) and Jules Sylvester (snake handler) on Friday 7/21. These will be approximately 20-30 minutes in length, and are conducted in a private room upstairs at the San Diego Convention Center. You will have the opportunity to ask the above talent questions in a round table setting along with around 8-15 other bloggers.

We look forward to hearing back from you. You must RSVP to these 2 opportunities by replying to this e-mail in order to participate. Once you RSVP, we will follow-up with more details.
Thanks for all your support!

So, if you're going to Comic-Con and would like to attend the Snakes on a Sneak Peek event, email me. That's assistantatlas at yahoo dot com. I will be taking this post down as soon as I find the right person, so if you're reading this, whip out an email detailing why you should get to go to a lil 'exclusive' taste of Snakes on a Plane!

Added bonus: You get to pretend to be me at this lil event.

Which is the reason why males are preferred on this one. Not that I don't love my lady readers. I just think it'd help the illusion and mystery angle I'm working. And also, when was the last time a woman attended a comics convention when she wasn't a booth babe? (joke)

Enjoy- and don't say Atlas hasn't ever done anything nice for you.


Wednesday, July 12, 2006

How'd You Learn So Much About New Media?: 5.13

QUESTION: How'd You Learn So Much About New Media?
Cuz I'm young and I'm black and my hat's pulled low? Do I look like a mind reader, sir? I don't know.

That was Jay-Z's answer (admittedly, to a different question). Here's mine. . . .

Hint: You're reading it. This blog is how I know so much about New Media. (Well, that and the extensive reading and research)

You see, when I started this blog more than fifteen months ago, I was unhappy, cynical, and, some have said, witty. But I was not tech-savvy. At least, not compared to now.

You see, today I made a Hollywood/coding joke. This suit, whom I'd thought was equally tech-savvy, was all: "So your team can handle basic HTML coding?" like he knew what he was talking about, and I was all: "Underscore blank, baby."

And he looked at me like I was insane. Then again, I also created a lyrical turn of phrase regarding finance today, so maybe I'm just bursting at the seams with creativity. (not kidding-- my officemate Amanda called it "a lyrical turn of phrase") And if you want to know what the lyrical turn of phrase was, let's just say that "hyperinflation" rhymes with a lot more than you think it might.

In the entertainment industry, people have to know a little bit about a lot of things. LA, this is why people call all of us shallow. Because you are. Unfortunately, New Media is one of those things you've gotta learn. Because if you leave it to the young, we will soon figure out how to eat you alive in this town.

Look in the future people. You must embrace "The Long Tail" because it just might save us all.

Or at least me.

Anyway, here's the dilly, yo.*

I keep nearly blowing my cover with this sh**zy--this blog.

It is NOT good. Even though I know you're all titillated. Voyeurs.

I keep referencing blogs, deploying basic web tech know-how, understanding how search engines operate on at least an anecdotal level. . .and stuff. Even this outside company's consulting web engineer guy was like: "I thought you had a computer science degree."

And the best I could come up with was: "Um, no. I'm twenty-five."

And it worked.

*FYI: This phrase is officially back in ironic fashion for the 21-29 set.


Monday, July 10, 2006

I Miss Phil Gordon and Other Bravo Observations: 5.12

So, I've definitively joined the Tivo revolution. It's pretty sweet thus far. Although apparently my Tivo thinks I'm a little gay, although I'm sure Tivo would tell me that I'm just sophisticated. Because it's been recording Bravo whenever it gets the chance.

Thus I've been watching the latest season of "Celebrity Poker Showdown", in between continually mildly disappointing episodes of Entourage.

Look, here's the point, Bravo. I don't care what it takes, but get him back. Bjs, strippers, a bunch of midgets on a monster truck, I don't care. Get Phil Gordon back. Because I seriously can't watch the show at this point. And some people are REALLY broken up about it.

And while that's a very small problem for me, Bravo, it's a very big problem for you. Because this new guy and Foley (who is awesome and should also be showered with money and bjs to stay) don't have chemistry. In fact, they seem like they hate each other. And not in that fun buddy cop way.

Here's the point: It sucks. I'm going to stop watching. Fix it.

Kathy Griffin, though, who is the only celebrity** in the world who knows what I look like, should actually do a buddy cop movie with Tyra Banks. I think it'd be funny.

Kathy currently has an enjoyable show in "My Life on the D-List". Seriously, it's pretty darn funny. Crazy, D-List-y stuff happens. She goes to Iraq and gets big laughs with vagina-jokes. She gets the keys to the city in like, Kentucky or someplace, and the mayor doesn't even show up. And her niece nearly gets herpes from Talan from Laguna Beach. Plus, she wisely makes liberal usage of her stand-up footage. And good standup is hard to find.

She once called herself a "Helping Television Whore." And you are, Kathy. But Kathy, the fact that you called it first makes it okay. Because if only Seacrest was as honest as you. . . well, American Idol might be different for one thing.
Ms. Heidi Klum-Seal.
Project Runway 3 is also starting to air. I mildly like it, but honestly, Heidi Klum needs to be pregnant all the time. Either that, or I've developed a severe case of pregnantophilia. I swear it's all the hot Hollywood moms that's doing it. And my member.

Queer Eye is back. I saw the one they did with the model guy and Tyson Beckford. Is Tyson an ass or is Perez coked out of his gourd? Probably both.

**Unless you count Kevin & Bean. Which I don't.

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Friday, July 07, 2006

It Just Takes One Bad Day: 5.11

One bad day can ruin everything. I know I seem to have been doing pretty well lately, jetsetting around, enjoying a decent job that heretofore had been eroding my sanity only very slowly, and gettin' laid.

But it takes just one bad day to make me so phenomenally unhappy/angry/frustrated that I pretty much freak out.

And by 'freak out', I mean that I went to the bathroom after a horrendous meeting, checked to make sure there wasn't anyone in the stalls, and started punching the stall walls. I punched until I wept from pain and frustration, clutching my bruised hands and arm, slumping down next to the toilet. Even laying my head against the metal flushing appartus as the tears streamed down.

Why should one day be able to bring it all crashing down? Months, if not years, of hard work. Why can it all be thrown into question by a single day?

And why do I feel so horribly trapped? The American unemployment rate is under 6%, and probably less for college-educated white males, but I'm a little too worn out to do the numbers. . . but it's gotta be low. Employers should kill for my skills. . . and my productivity level relative to my pay. I mean, I can compete in America today, right? But if that's true, then why I do feel so scared to quit and try to find a new job?

Because seriously, if I stay at my current one, thanks to downsizing, I'm looking at about a third more work. Which is insane, because I've been begging for help and telling them there just isn't more time in the day. If there was, I'd be Stephen Hawking's assistant. Or maybe the Lone Ranger's. . . you never know in Hollywood.

Hi-ho Silver, away!

So if my job is causing me to cause violence to myself, why don't I just up and quit? Well, here are the reasons:

1) I may be a masochist. Maybe I like being abused.
2) I may have very low self-esteem. Anyone who reads this blog probably agrees I'm egomaniacal.
3) I may not be that talented. Anyone who reads this blog could easily agree.
4) I may not be treated better elsewhere. What if I get an even more sanity-draining job?
5) I may not get another good job ever. Oh sure, everyone tells me I'm talented while I'm employed, but the second I'm not? Pssssh.
6) I dunno. I don't. Freakin'. Know. Happy now?
7) Why? I'll tell you why...

Because my consolation is also my main source of anxiety: The knowledge that tomorrow is a whole new day.

Yeah, suck on them deep thoughts.


Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The Devil Makes Superman Wear Prada: 5.10

How's that for a headline, just after the 4th? Nice and American, right?

The numbers are coming in all over the place and they're wacky. Everything from Italians in the World Cup, to the solid overall box office, and even apparently-clean Mexican elections.

Just in case you were looking for it, the "Brandon Routh Has a Gay Resume" page has become the unofficial site for all things relating to the questioning of Routh's sexuality. Which I think is funny, and a little sad, considering it has received more comments than anything since the Poop on Ryan Seacrest's Star Contest. By the way, re: Brandon Routh discussion....who the hell is Tyler Miller? The name's too generic to Google.

But the "real" story is that the box office is doing fairly okay, up about 5% over last year, at least for this weekend.

Considering all the stories above, doesn't a story about Hollywood's fortunes seem inconsequential? I hope it does. . . even for you wannabe assistants out there.

Here's a quick 'me story.'

For the Fourth, I went up to Mulholland with some people. And we ended up parking near Famke's house. You remember, Famke, right? The whore?

Right. Anyway, I actually suggested it. The parking. But only because it was convenient to a nice spot near Runyon Canyon. And not because I wanted to see if she was still screwing retarded Billy Zane. No. It was just convenient.

Shut up. I hear you whispering. And don't think I don't see you. . . lurkers. Okay, yes, fine. Being cheating on made me a little crazy, but at least I hadn't thought about her much before then. Swear.

Anyway, we saw fireworks from the top of Mulholland and it was glorious. La la la. I can still smell her hair sometimes. In the breeze. I'll catch just a whiff of it and turn my head around just to see if she's near.

I need a new girlfriend.


Monday, July 03, 2006

JetSetting: 5.09

So you know how I do. Here's what I've been doing: Jetsetting. So I guess, here's how I jetset.

Yes, it's now a verb. And yes, you don't need to hypenate it.

Well, according to me, anyway. Yeah, I jetset. I'm THAT relentlessly cool now.

It's like Joss Stone was singing to me: I got jetlag, and I never even left the ground / So hungover, and I never even touched a drop.

Anyhoo, that's why the posting's been light lately. In the past, say, 30 days, I have literally been in four different countries: Canada (Vancouver), Great Britain (London), Italy (yes!), and New York City.

Okay, yeah, NYC isn't (technically) a foreign country. But dude...I'm all LA now, so it might as well be. What's weird is that I never imagined I'd be traveling so much as a Ho'wooder, especially in business and first class. But take the perks where you can get 'em, I say.

Here are some other jetsetter observations from my travels:

-Alitalia is the worst foreign airline. It never flies on time, baggage is usually late, their lines are huge and don't move, and security is so lax it's a bit scary. The Italians just can't seem to be bothered with checking bags and such. That said, Italy is an all-around awesome place in nearly every other respect.

-Delta is the worst domestic carrier. I actually flew LA-NYC in first class (aka-BusinessElite): the seats were tattered and didn't recline more than they do in coach, there weren't any power outlets, the food was inedible, the JFK lounge had no Wifi, the crappy movie played on a distractingly large big screen, and overall it just sucked. I will say that Delta is a bit less bad for international flights.

-Vancouver is fantastic. It's gorgeous, clean, the people are surprisingly friendly, the weather wasn't as rainy as I expected, and the coffeehouses seemed even hipper than Seattle's. If LA falls into the ocean, I'm moving to Vancouver.

-With all due respect to the London Cokehead, I found London to be the crappiest of the cities I visited in my travels. It's incredibly expensive (stupid American dollar), surprisingly unpicturesque, quite dirty, kinda hard to get around in (though the trains did run on time- perhaps the apocalypse ISN'T nigh after all), and I nearly starved to death. Thank God sushi has gone international.

-The British assistants worked very hard to puncture the stereotype I had of hard-working, efficient, polite British people. Seriously, they were harder to work with than the Italians-- and they weren't nearly as nice or charming. . . or hot. . .or stylish. . . or chill, you know? ('s tough being 25 and inevitably hip) Shape up or ship out, chaps.

-Is it just me, or does New York smell worse and worse each summer? Comment away, NYC. Word.

-The Stewardesses were unfortunately not hot. Like, at all. Throughout the world. Yeah, I know. It does suck. I read somewhere once that on vacation, men like to sleep with any piece of hot a$$ available, including stewardesses and waitresses, while women prefer men who teach them to surf or ski, etc. Which I guess fits prevailing gender stereotypes, but also makes some sense.

Thanks to PimpWiz for kindly letting me leech off their images.

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