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

Friday, March 31, 2006

Will Someone Do the Math That Will Destroy TV? Please?: 4.35

Question of the day, kids: How much does it cost to run a 24-hour Internet television station with original programming?

Because that's all it's gonna take to change (read: destroy, hopefully) TV as we know it.

Think about the advantages an Internet station would have over a terrestrial one. Do it. Think! Feel that rubber burn.

First and foremost, no censorship. Let's repeat for emphasis: no censorship! None. If some nation gets censor-y, an Internet TV station would be well-poised to migrate. Also, one based in the US would face no FCC regulation. You know how MTV won't let you be? Not a problem on WWW.

Second, low start-up costs. I think. It probably depends on what you want to do. This is where the math part comes in.

Third, more lucrative revenue streams. See, I think it would be much more profitable to launch a channel on the Internet because there are so many possible revenue sources. Think banner ads, text ads, direct email/newsletter ads, product integration, general sponsorship, show-specific sponsorship, and detailed consumer profiles, you capitalist pigs. I mean, um, CEOs-in-training.

All your base belong to us, you dirty Housewives.

Fourth, freer format. Why should we have to make half-hour and hour-long shows?* The only answer is broadcast commercials, and since Internet TV is a totally different thing... So shows could be how long they're supposed to be. And programs of differing length could also be packaged off and sold in different ways to different advertisers for more cash.

*Okay, yes, Adult Swim has 15-minute shows and there are other exceptions. I know. Shut up and pay attention to the point.

Finally, how cool would it be if you were one of the guys or gals who changed media as we know it? Pretty cool, I'd say. Now I wish I'd paid attention in Calculus. Or Algebra, for that matter.

I'll be exploring this theme next week when I finally get around to discussing the Open Source Film. You might enjoy it. I'll explain how you, yes you, can help take more power away from the suits.


Wednesday, March 29, 2006

The Tight-Face Twins!: 4.34

For whatever reason, Teri Hatcher is so desperate for headlines that she's agreed to become Ryan Seacrest's beard. Now, as much as I like gay people, I think we all know how much I don't like Ryan Seacrest. So for him to be fake-dating the hottest Lois Lane of all time, well, it's upsetting.

I mean, Jesus, Teri, couldn't you find someone not gay to date? I mean, Nicollette Sheridan managed to nab Michael Bolton, who, granted, is Michael Bolton, but still. He's less gay than Seacrest. Let's repeat that for emphasis: Michael Bolton is less gay than Ryan Seacrest. Seriously, look:

To paraphrase Brittany Murphy's character in "Drop Dead Gorgeous": "Ryan's gay, Dad. GAY!" By the way, if you haven't seen "Drop Dead Gorgeous", it's Kirsten Dunst's only non-annoying role.

But back to the Tight-Face Twins. Seriously, I get why Teri might like dating Seacrest. After all, they have a lot in common: they both like shoes, clothes, boys, plastic surgery, and publicity, and perhaps both are haunted by a creeping sense of career desperation. But that doesn't mean they should hire a photographer to take pictures of themselves fake kissing.

Because seriously, that's just wrong:


Monday, March 27, 2006

2006, Year of the Hot Assistant: 4.33

If you slept through work today, you might've missed the launch of the Hollywood assistant version of "Hot or Not" called Hottest Hollywood Assistants.

Click here if you want to go there right now, but as you might expect, it's

And I was just informed that someone has put up a picture of my avatar. Thanks, guys. So if you do happen upon Chad Michael Murray's mug, please, be kind. And know that it isn't an official profile. Personally, I'm now going to have search through it until I find it. Hopefully I can find it and report on it.

As for me, I didn't sleep through work. Twelve hours baby, rollin' solid all day long.

But honestly, people, I really hope that this will hail the beginning of a new stage in the intra-agency clutserfest that's slowly swirling in the Hollywood assistant drain. It's happening people, you can tell it, can't you?

But until the orgies break out, enjoy my personal ratings of famous assistants...

UPDATE!: The site is down. Apparently, it ate up its bandwidth or something. I tried to care, but, well...

Samaire Armstrong, and a bit of a muse. I'd give her all 9. [*wink]

La Lloyd gets a 5 thanks to his snappy wardrobe.

Jessica Culter, the Washingtonienne, was a low-level staffer in Washington before she got all famous. I'd say she might've been an 8 if she wasn't so over-exposed, therefore, just a 7 in my harsh judgment.

And of course, your favorite blogebrity.


Thursday, March 23, 2006

Did I Sleep With A Professional?: 4.32

My title has the subtitle of: And did I get it for free?

Hearken back to my previous posts about my business trip.

Tiffany suggested that women in hotel bars with 3 condoms are hookers.

Frankly, I had not thought of the idea. And also, frankly, I'm a little freaked out by the very real possibility of that being the case.

You see, your faithful Atlas can be a little naive when it comes to women. And yes, while I do draw inspiration from Swingers, I often fall far short of that goal of Swingin' masculinity.

Not-Samaire was totally a hooker. She asked me if I partied when we got to the room.

I said: "Uh, yeah!" Like, obviously.

She said: "So how do you like to party?"

Oh, I thought, I understand. "I don't really have anything here, other than what's in the minibar." I prayed that she wouldn't reach into my minibar.

She didn't. She kissed me. She whispered: "You're not holding anything, are you baby?" She smelled so good. I would've given her anything she wanted. But I had nothing I knew she wanted. F___.

To be continued...

Monday, March 20, 2006

My Dad Is Tony Soprano: 4.31

By the way, sorry for the weird posting schedule, Blogger is being funky. And not in a good George Clinton kind of way.

While I referenced my Sopranos love last time on Assistant/Atlas, I thought I'd follow up now that the latest season of the Sopranos is well underway.

You see, your faithful Atlas comes from an Italian family. It's where I went on vacation. Remember, when the Roomie took over?

My Dad happens to be of the old-school 50s-type dads who doesn't emote. So he can be a little scary if you're not used to that. Although in fairness, if you are used to him, he is absofrigginsolutely hilarious. In a dryly intense way.

He also happens to be thoroughly Italian-looking and work for the unions. So take that for what you will. But some of the folks who've heard some of the stories of my clan often think my family is somehow associated with the Mafia. Which is patently false, but makes them look at me a little differently.

For an example, here's a dream a friend once that he told me he had. Here's the setup, me and "Rob" are cruising towards a party, or back from one (who can remember?) with me driving.

"Rob": Dude, I had a dream about you the other night!

Atlas: Um, you had a dream about me?

Rob: Yeah, dude, seriously. It was effed up.

Atlas: Um, okay.

Rob: Yeah, we were totally just driving along when all of the sudden I notice these like four black SUVs appear out of nowhere and cut us off. One like that one there. [Rob points to a black SUV in the rearview mirror] And they like surround us--

Atlas: So it wasn't a sex dream or anything?

Rob: No, dude. So yeah, so all these guys in suits and sunglasses in the SUVs surround us and they like get out and start to surround the car. And you're like: "We're blocked in!"

Atlas: This isn't sounding good.

Rob: Yeah, but right out before they yank us out of the car--

Atlas: [interrupting] I would've had the doors locked.

Rob: It's a dream, dude. Besides, they could've just smashed the windows. Anyway, right before they yank us out of the car, you turn to me and go: "They're going to kill you. No witnesses."

Atlas: Holycrap. What happened next?

Rob: They dragged you out of the car, and this other car in the road started honking at them, and then the like, Lead Guy, he pointed a gun at the driver. And the driver was all 'hands-up-and-I'm-driving-away'.

Atlas: F***!

Rob: Yeah. And then he drove away and there was no one on the road. And this Hispanic family on the side of the road totally crept indoors and I looked at them like "Please f()kin help me and call 911!" and I have no idea if they will. And then I look out and see you and you're on your knees and the Lead Guy has a gun pointed at your head.

Atlas: [in anticipation]

Rob: And then I get pulled out of the car and I'm like in front of it being held by these guys and you're just there with your hands behind back and the gun at your head. And the Lead Guy says "Little Matthew, I was at your christening. And I now I'm here for your Last Rites." And you effing look at him at you're all intense and you say, "If you do this, you're going to die." And the guy just looks at you and says, "I'd be worried if I wasn't already dead." And then right when he shoots you, I woke up.

Atlas: Dude, my Dad is not is in the Mafia.

Rob is a black man from Queens. He has seen stuff go down. And he has nightmares about my white, minivan-equipped family. So thank you, Sopranos. Thanks for making black people scared of me again.

And for the record, in my family, I'm totally the Meadow and my little brother is the AJ. Sorry, bro, it's true.


Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Sex, Single Malt Scotch, & Super Shuttle: 4.30

No seriously, I used to read books and watch movies that were too mature for me and look how I turned out.

And regular readers be warned/made happy, because this post has turned into an epic. Please savor with a joint and a martini. Preferably both while all alone in a dark room with your computer. Because you might just wanna pleasure your lady parts or man areas while you read along. And to my bros who do hos- just laugh along with me.

If you haven't heard, I just got back from my very first business trip. If you seriously haven't, check out the post below first. I begin with where that post left off. . . Saturday afternoon. After a carefree Saturday afternoon, the boss and me and a couple of other 'businesspeople' (read: low-level PR-like leechwhores who were nevertheless quite hot) went out for a lovely dinner.

At dinner, I discovered that my boss is into obscure, awesome Scotch. Stuff I'd never ever heard of, like Laphroaig and certain kinds you can only get in Scotland (if you're really into Scotch, and in Scotland, try finding "As You Like It" Scotch). And, New Big Boss tells great stories and is infinitely better than Sloane.

So full of Scotch and now alone, I sat in the hotel bar. The band was playing okay jazz at first-- inevitable soulful black woman vocalist, old twinkle-eyed salt-and-pepper piano player, talented white man hornblower (sax and jazzy clarinet), token black bass player, and a young, frentic (in a good way) white drummer. So I concentrated on finishing the last sips of my drink and smoking on the outdoor patio when the singer took a break and they kicked into Dave Brubeck's "Take Five"-- my favorite jazz song of all time.

And then I saw a girl who kind of looked like this, but with more clothes on at the time when we first made eye contact. Truth be told, she wasn't quite as hot as Samaire Armstrong. But frankly, I was also under the influence of Scotch and she was definitely pretty hot. The 13-year-old boy inside of me would later notice she had really bouncy boobies.

But at the bar, she looked pretty- velvety- and the Scotch and jazz were making my blood simmer. With the second glance (when she made this soft, lip-biting motion), I was hard. Plus, after that lip-biting come-on, it was all too easy to buy her a drink, make some chitchat, and invite her back to my room. Frankly, it had never been easier.

So I hadn't had sex with anyone since my uberwhore of an ex-girlfriend cheated on me. I've been so depressed that working all the time makes me relatively happy. So when we kissed in the corner right before we made the (unspoken) decision to go to my room, I did have a the faintest sensation of doing something wrong. So I just went with it-- because that was helping make me stand at attention again, too.

Did I mention she had great lips? They were big, like mine. She actually commented on that, our shared full-featured-ness. It certainly made for a smooth kissing experience.

Anyway, we sucked face in the elevator then stumbled into my room. I became even more grateful for the soft, cushioned bed-- and that the lamps were sturdy and not wont to topple to the floor when hit with a wayward pillow. Although I would guess that hotels probably do design with that in mind.

And away went my clothes and we dirtied the sheets while MTV played in the background. I don't ever remember her or I turning on MTV-- since we were effectively occupied once we hit the elevator. Fortunately, Not-Samaire brought protection-- 3 condoms, thankfully (although, um, optimistically for your standard drunken one-night stand). And in another stroke of good luck(pun intended), I'd had a little private time earlier that afternoon, so the experience lasted long enough to become a sufficiently stimulating experience for both of us.

After round one, it was time for a shower. Under the shower that I will remember for the rest of my life, the best shower ever, there was even more knocking of boots, which then moved back to the bed after a sensual tubside toweling. It was then that I appreciated Not-Samaire's three condoms. Genius, that girl.

We actually slept together and it wasn't totally uncomfortable. . . we sort of fit, I guess. She was gone in the morning. No note that I found, practically no trace at all, but the slightly-sex-perfumed sheets and the pillow identation where she slept. So what could ruin a weekend like that?

Nothing, frankly. But guess who tried? AirTran and Super Shuttle.

AirTran is a small low-cost airline that you might have barely heard of. Super Shuttle is usually one easy way to get from almost any major airport in the US to almost anywhere you need to go in the surrounding city. Until Sunday night, I was a fan of Super Shuttle and had a mildly favorable opinion of AirTran, since my flight in from LA wasn't bad and that's really all you can ask. That, and that it doesn't crash onto Headtrip Island.

So I was practically whistlin' Dixie as I boarded my AirTran flight (Big New Boss was going to New York, not LA like me). I arrived early at the airport, my plane showed up at the gate when I got there, boarding started on time, I found my seat, everyone else sat down reasonably fast and BOOM! We sat there long enough for me to notice an inordinate amount of hacking, coughing, phlegm-sucking and the like.

And sat there for another few minutes. Until we hear on the loudspeaker: "Good evening folks, this is your Captain here. I just wanted you to know that one of our flight attendants is sick and unable to make it. The good news is we've found another flight attendant and she's on her way over right now. So it should just be another few minutes."

Twenty minutes, the loudspeaker came back: "Hi, folks, should be just a little longer. Our replacement flight attendant was downtown at mud-wrestling tournament and is taking a bit longer to get back than we expected."

And everyone on the plane laughed. Except me. Because I knew my plans were deader than the TV President. Or someone on the plane who had the Ebola virus.

The loudspeaker would make another mud-wrestling tournament joke a few minutes ("Show us the trophy!") later when the flight attendant finally showed up, saying: "I have every confidence that our great pilots will be able to make good time and get us in to LA close to our scheduled arrival time." And I have every confidence that your stupid airline needs to spend more on salaries that cause people to actually show up for work, and less on hiring 'funny' people.

Despite assurances that we'd arrive on time because they'd go 'extra-fast', we landed thirty minutes after our scheduled arrival time, which was specially chosen so I could see the Sopranos at 9:00. No, seriously, I actually re-arranged my itinerary so I could catch the first new Sopranos episode in two years. I'm that committed. I mean, heck, I am actually Sicilian. So it's sort of required that I'm crazy in love with the show and would do that...right?

But maybe I'll be able to make it home in time, I reasoned, glancing at my watch. Dashing as fast as my carry-on bags would let me, I made it outside in record time, and, not seeing any available cabs, headed for the Super Shuttle station. I sat on the sloping silver bench for a minute shivering in the LA night, but seemingly lucked out when a Santa Monica/Marina shuttle was the first one to arrive. My driver was an angry Russian man who threw my bag into the backseat, snarled at me to write down my address and zip code and jerked his thumb toward the van, indicating I should enter.

I was ecstatic-- if this guy was as rude and short with everyone else as he was with me, I'd be home in no time! And he was! The next girl who got on even remarked: "This guy's a little crabby, huh?"

Unfortunately, Comrade was a little too into capitalism and when we didn't quite have a full van, he decided to make another airport loop to pick up more passengers. At LAX. Which takes approximately 30 minutes-- on a good day. Any hope I'd had to see the Sopranos that night was dashed. And to add insult to injury, it ended up costing MORE on Super Shuttle than a taxi ride. ($17 + $1 tip on Super Shuttle, $15 w/tip for a taxi) I reached my apartment at 9:55, just in time to frantically turn on the TV, and then hurriedly turn it off, so as not to see anything revealing. And then I sighed.

So instead I watched HBO's new series, "Big Love" which, despite Chloe Sevigny's best efforts, isn't a complete waste of my time. Frankly, I like it, especially Lily Kane (aka- Amanda Seyfried) who plays Bill Paxton's daughter, and Tina Majorino, who is rocketing upward on my awesome list for her excellent role choice.

But the point is, I missed The Sopranos. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW I LOVE THE SOPRANOS! You don't, you bastards, you don't!

And it didn't show up OnDemand quickly, either. It hadn't Tuesday, which was fine, because I'd already planned to smoke a lot of weed and watch American Idol until The Amazing Race came on. So by the time I finally saw it on Thursday, I'd already accidentally seen a wide variety of info about it...thanks in part to your stupid emails, guys, asking what I thought about this or that aspect. Thanks a friggin' lot. Anyway... I developed a cold, mid-week, which was lovely.

And now I feel like this picture. Bleckky and out of it, thanks to AirTran's recirculated germfest, a lingering lack of sleep, stress, fatigue, and yes, because I smoke things.

But really, couldn't you use a cigarette right about now? After all, I managed to end a sexy post with an ugly picture and a mention of bacteria!

Next time on Assistant/Atlas: I drink down The Sopranos like a single malt Scotch.
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Tuesday, March 14, 2006

No! Not Tony, Too!

NO! Tony, I know we've had our differences. And though they were sexy, I didn't want you to die. Also, looking back on that post now, it's funny that I surmised in jest at the time that my girlfriend when was cheating on me with Tony Almeida. When in fact, she was apparently cheating on me with retarded Billy Zane.

Hopefully, you will defy death once again, rising from the needle-in-the-heart near-death experience to avenge Michelle. But you're probably dead.

You will be missed, Tony Almeida.

About the promised conclusion to my first business trip, is turning into an epic. I'll post it when it's complete, but I have to go watch The Amazing Race now and I may not finish it tonight. But very soon, and I do hope you'll like it. In the meantime, re-read and enjoy the post below.

Oh, and just as a teaser, I'll tell you the title of the upcoming post: "Sex, Scotch & Super Shuttle".


Saturday, March 11, 2006

My Very First Business Trip: 4.29

That's right, this weekend was/is my very first official business trip, assisting the big boss in place of her normal assistant. Now, many of you may remember that I'm no longer officially an assistant, even if I'll remain one in my heart (and likely, many of my actual duties) for a long time to come.

But finally, finally, I'm getting some perks. As I write this, I'm looking out over a flawlessly-manicured lawn to the water, tapping away on my balcony with my free Wifi. And my hotel room itself? Let me put it this way: my hotel room, which I have to myself, has two bathrooms.

TWO BATHROOMS! What on earth do I need two bathrooms for? I don't know, but I'm totally crapping in both, just for the fun of it. See, even crapping is fun on a business trip!

All the food is free and spectacular. Last night, I had a steak that was approximately the size of my face. For breakfast, it was all the fresh fruit, museli and cereal I could handle and at lunch, it was fresh seafood pasta. And tonight, we've been promised "something special". Frankly, I don't know how you top a face-sized steak, but hey, I'm game.

And then there's the gym, which was the nicest gym at a hotel I've ever seen-- and I'm reasonably well-traveled for a 24-year-old. Seriously, I hate gyms, I generally hate working out, but here, it was almost fun. Plus, there's the pools and Jacuzzis. Oh, sweet Jesus, I forgot the shower.

I almost prayed to the shower.

The shower head is about as big as my head and has the most sensitive temperature controls I've ever experienced. There were loofas and washcloths and moisturizer and multiple soaps and bath oils and that was just in the one bathroom I actually used! And they've even got those fuzzy terrycloth robes. Guess what's going home in my suitcase?

Let's see, other perks...oh, free shoeshine. I have shiny shoes now! Free! Well, I tipped $2, but the service was still free, which counts.

And finally, free respect! Everyone here calls me 'sir', or Mr. My-Difficult-to-Pronounce-Last-Name, and asks how they can assist me.
And that, my friends, is the best perk of all.

Of course, it could just be the suit that people are responding to...

UPDATE!: On Tuesday, I'll be recovered enough to fully update you on the wild conclusion to "My Very First Business Trip" that is, by all accounts, almost unparalleled in the history of business travel.


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Truly An Amazing Race: 4.28

If you aren't familiar with the hit show "The Amazing Race," then get with the times, people. The premise is that various types of teams race around the world doing local challenges in a race to win a million dollars.

The reason it's taken so long to take off ratings-wise is that its original season debuted just after 9/11. Now in its 8th-ish season (syndication baby!- OLN should grab it because the Travel Channel is too stupid to do so), "The Amazing Race" continues to provide fresh insight into global conditions, attitudes toward Americans, adventerous travel experiences, positive reinforcement for education, among other positive attributes.

Last season, in the much-loathed family edition, the racers mostly just drove around the US. This season, fortunately, they headed abroad immediately-- and not just to some semi-American, developed place like Canada or New Zealand--to Brazil.

I loved how they essentially started in Sao Paulo (after a race for flights in Denver). Then, thanks to delays, the plane that was supposed to land first, landed last. Remember travelers, when racing and making connections, always consider the weather and on-time rates for cities.

Finally, I think Phil (the host) and I are rooting for the hippies, the awesome nerds from Kansas, and the mother-daughter team. As long as these three teams at least make it to the final 5, I'll be happy. And if it comes down to them, then all the better. Right, Phil?

To help keep up with all the goings-on and see where everyone's been, there's a helpful Google Maps Mash-up showing the progress of the teams. You can find it online here:


Look for an upcoming segment in Kansas City when they get down to 5-7 teams. They'll run around the Country Club Plaza for sure, and we'll see where else they go. From what I've heard, it is a pretty international season overall, especially once they start cutting down on teams. So hopefully, Kansas City is just a quick stop on the way to somewhere cooler-- much like it is in real life.


Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Oscar Memories: 4.27

So for the Oscars this year, the roomie and I held our traditional party. This year, we celebrated with a theme shot. The theme shot is chosen to encourage increased drinking and general merriment. This year, the theme we chose as our theme (chosen to coincide with the Oscars) was "Gay or Famous". So, we decided that every time someone won portraying someone who was gay or famous would merit a shot. Which made the alcoholics slight upset when George Clooney got the Best Supporting Actor statuette. Plus, when Brokeback Mountain, Capote, Walk the Line, or Good Night and Good Luck didn't win more than a handful of categories.

Still, we all ended up agreeing that, man and woman alike, if we had to be stuck for eternity on a desert island with no man to screw but one, we'd all pick George Clooney. As for a woman, Angelina Jolie is still tops.

The party was good, about a dozen of LA's finest 20somethings assembled in our apartment. And we drank. Heavily. And it was good.

Other Oscar Thoughts:
Who decides who gets to go to the Oscars? Like, what was Jessica Alba doing there presenting? She hasn't won nuthin'. It's because she has the ability to stop time, I tell you. She's a witch! Burn her!

Everyone looked thin this year. Every dress made everyone at my party go "Jesus, look how skinny ____ ________ is!" And while some trains were appropriate, a few of Hollywood's lovely ladies went overboard.

Personally, Salma Hayek's wavy blue dress made me go "Dude, that's an awesome dress!"

And yes, I'm secure enough in my heterosexuality to proclaim that a dress is awesome.

Post Oscar Thoughts
Jon Stewart was fine, but the Oscars were ho-hum. I wish Brokeback had won instead of Crash so at least the pioneering aspect could come from the subject matter, not the marketing campaign. Apparently, I was the only one in Hollywood who didn't get a DVD screener of Crash. So if someone's done with theirs, I want to confirm the fact that Paul Haggis is totally undeserving of his career boost.

Who Should've Won
Best Picture: Brokeback. It should've won. Just to piss off the red-staters.

Best Director: Ang Lee. He deserved it. He did the most with his script to craft a beautiful original vision while hewing close to the story. Every shot was the perfect shot for what he was going for-- and that sort of meticulous planning is why we should hope the 1.5 billion Asian people suffering under repressive dictators keep doing so. You know, so that people in Hollywood can make more money and not have our jobs outsourced.

Best Actress: Yes, Reese earned it, but I would've liked to see someone else win. Almost anyone else.

Best Actor: All five actors were very different performers and very great this year, but I truly think it was Philip Seymour Hoffman who gave the best performance. If there were a silver medal, well, then, Heath, I guess that would go to you for all the great publicity you got from Brokeback. But David Strathairn could use an Oscar, and so could Terrence Howard. But hey, he was in a Best Picture, so I guess it's all good.

Best Supporting Actress: Amy Adams from "Junebug" deserved it. She is absolutely pitch-perfect in that film and reminds me of Frances McDormand, Meryl Streep or other talented actresses. And she could've been our Anna Pacquin moment with an unexpected win. But whatever, Rachel Weisz, you're pretty, easy to work with compared to most starlets and supernice and we love you and whatever. But you totally got that reward because the Academy thought it was time for you to be annointed.

Best Supporting Actor: George won, which is fine since he didn't win Director and deserves an Oscar. William Hurt is too much of a non-entity. Jake should wait a year or two before he wins, but his nomination will surely increase his chances for future nods and wins. Matt Dillon's Crash performance wasn't noteworthy, but it's the first thing he's done in a long time that the Academy thought they might possibly recognize him for- so he got a nod. As for Paul Giamatti, we know you're good, already. We'll give you work. But Cinderella Man? No.

Best Score: Brokeback won, and since the music inspired a million parodies, I say it deserved the win.

Best Song: The Mafia was pretty excited, but I wish Dolly'd won it.

TV/Movie News
Jack Bauer is my hero. And "24" has managed to become the most captivating show on television. Hey, LOST, you know why? Because it almost seems like reality. Remember that. . . reality? It's been, like, this big trend in tv shows for awhile now.

I also caught the X3 trailer during 24. Brett Ratner may be upgraded to mediocre director from his current hacktastic level, if the movie holds up to the trailer. That's a big IF, mind you, Brett. However, I would like to say that the premise is looking fantastic. If you haven't heard, X3 (I'm not calling it "Last Stand" or whatever stupid title the studiohead appended) proposes that a 'cure' has been found for the 'X' gene, the gene that makes mutants mutant-y. The consequences of that on the world of the X-Men could make for a cool movie. Plus, Famke Janssen looks like she gets an amazing role, if that's possible in the world of Ratner. I bear her no ill will, despite the fact that her non-celebrity doppelganger is a raging bioyatchface.

So it looks like Superman Returns and X3 are the front runners in the "Vacuum Up Summer Dollars" Race.


Wednesday, March 01, 2006

You Guys Should Be a Commercial: 4.26

So my lil company recently underwent a lil upgrading of our computers, which meant that "Mark", the outside tech guy, got a de facto extensive tour of our offices.

When he was in the office I share with Awesome Amy's replacement, who is just about as awesome, and thus, gets the name Amanda, with an implied awesome. So tech guy Mark was checking out our offices and rather out of the blue, he remarked, "You guys should be a commercial."

I replied, "A commercial?" while exchanging a questioning look with Amanda.

"A commercial for what?" Amanda asked.

"I dunno, like a commercial for California" he said, "You guys have got your Macs, a big window with sunshine coming in, you're dressed casual, you've got hot tea. It totally should be a commercial for California."

I look around my office, thinking. Yes, we've got a fairly attractive 20- and 30-something staff. Yes, we're a somewhat mixed lot, with biracial Amanda married to a guy of two completely different ethnicities, a computer-savvy Guatemalan kid, and a gay white guy. Yes, the office is smallish, but homey and filled with sunlight. Plus, there's an actual water cooler.

Why, I am living the California Dream!

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I remarked, "All we'd need is a sushi bar in here and we'd be all set."