Diva Las Vegas

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" -- an adage that's often repeated (if not lived by).  This past weekend, I was actually able to abide by it (despite this, um, public blog post...). Anyway, after months of organizing and outfits planned, my friends and I made the long awaited trip to Las Gaygas where we prepared for the worst... and anticipated the crazy.  I can easily relay tid-bits of the entire weekend in a mere paragraph slump, but that's so unlike me.  Let's break it down:

TIMELINE

Friday, April 3rd: 1:34 p.m. - The Car Ride.

And it wasn't your typical car ride.  It was your Popstar intensified car ride.  With tunes from Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, and Hilary Duff intermixed with lollipops and teen pop magazines, what more can a boy ask for? 

3:23 p.m. - The Gas Station.

When you're with friends, why make a typical gas stop boring?  We transformed the station into a Top Model photo shoot.  "Two girls stand before me, only one can stay...".  Suffice to say, it was a blast.

5:21 p.m. - The Near Death Experience.

Just about two hours later, a vehicle drives beside us, rolls down their window and frantically points to the hood of the car.  Paolo dismisses them politely and we continue driving.  Well, it turns out we'd been driving with the hood still open - flapping around just waiting to fly open.  Incidentally, Paolo knew about it the entire time!

5:25 p.m. - The Pee Break.

So after pulling over and securing the hood, it was time for the obligatory pee break.  The only problem... we were in the middle of nowhere.  Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go...

6:30 p.m. - The Hotel.

Ironically, we departed from the city Hollywood only to stay in the hotel Planet Hollywood.  While we could have stayed in any ole' actor's room (Darryl Hannah anyone?), we were able to stay in a Michelle Pfeiffer decorated room.  Catwoman over the bathtub?  ... um, meow.

7:25 p.m. - The Strip.

And no, I'm not talking about taking off my clothes! It was time to take the city by storm... literally.  We refueled with pizza adjacent to an indoor rainstorm.  Only in Las Vegas would you be treated to a slice of cheese with a side of rainfall.

11:00 p.m. - The Gay Bar

After a few hours of gambling (and losing), we decided to make our way to the trashy gay bars of Vegas.  And trashy they were... Fortunately, we were treated to a nice cup of Hot Chocolate.  (oh, by the way, Hot Chocolate's the name of the drag queen.)

2:30 a.m. - French Fries and Gambling.

While we know Vegas never sleeps, it's safe to say my friends sure do.  After most of them dropped like flies, Jamison and I tried our luck for a few more hours.  Jamison won!  I did not.

April 4th, 2009: 12:30 p.m. - The Buffet.

When in Vegas, it's almost mandatory to dine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  And boy did we!  After our fourth plate, it was unanimously decided we'd never go to a buffet again.  Our thighs would eventually thank us for that promise.  (And p.s... the plate to the right was the work of a Mr. Paolo.  He and his sweet tooth makes Willy Wonka look like a diabetic.)

6:25 p.m. - The Divide.

After a much needed rest, it was time for an evening of shows.  A third of the group went to see the divine Bette Midler, another third went to see Peepshow (starring Spice Girl Mel B), and the remaining peeps decided to show everyone that drinking margaritas and vodka at 7 o'clock was actually a good idea.  (Oh yeah, that person was me...)

10:00 p.m. - The Last Night.

A math equation: Eight friends + alcohol + a gay bar x debauchery, a fist, a hand towel, and cement construction tubes = utter mayhem.  Our last night consisted of a few memorable moments (and even more forgotten ones).  However, after what seemed like Nevada's house of shame, I'd have to say the trip was an overall success!

4:20 a.m. - French Fries Part Deux.

Hey, it seemed only appropriate...  

Having been an official college graduate for nearly two years now, I've encountered many different obstacles in my life.  From unemployment to taxes, I've realized growing up isn't as glamorous as my delusional 19-year-old self envisioned.  It's tough.  It's exhausting.  It's nothing like Friends makes it out to be.  However, after actually experiencing the journey, I've realized there are only a few things I'm certain about in Los Angeles: Constant creativity, traffic jams, pollution, and the reliability and grandeur of my friends.

Though, not exactly in that order.

Comment vas-tu?

There's something about the French language that's so hypnotizing.  In fact, there's something about most foreign languages that pulls me in -- like a literary magnet, allowing me to observe a completely different culture.  I've deigned to create a short film that's completely foreign to me (both literally and metaphorically).   Why I've chosen to do this, I have no idea.  However, the more I dive into this project, the more captivating the story becomes.  

Human language is a tricky thing.  Two people who don't necessarily share the same language can have a completely intimate interaction.  A connection that's not formed through dialogue, but a human connection.  That's beautiful to me.  The words are important, yes.  But what's really relevant is the relationship --  real and fascinating.  

Je n'oublierai jamais les choses qui m'ont fait sourire autrefois.

Random Ramblings

It almost shames me to admit that I've been an American Idol watcher for a whopping 8 years.  That confession goes hand-in-hand with the fact that I'm an avid decoupage enthusiast, read PerezHilton.com daily, and actually enjoy dining at Chili's... (What? I like their chips and salsa...)  Anyway, ever since Kelly Clarkson donned the Idol crown, I've dedicated my Prime Time life to that of Simon Cowell and the gang.  I don't include Paula in the lineup since she's never entirely "there" either.

However, this season I've noticed that my AI obsession is dwindling and my attention span for reality shows equals that of the time it takes to drink a can of Diet Coke.  Fortunately, I've gotten into the habit of DVR-ing the episodes and fast-forwarding through 80% of it.  Wouldn't it be great if we had that luxury in life?  Traffic jams and blind dates wouldn't stand a chance.  

In fact, just this past week I went to a few networking mixers where I left the hoodie sweatshirt at home and packed the business cards in my back pocket.  With any social situation, it's inevitable that we encounter people we'd happily DVR straight through.  I met a few myself.  (Side note: I'm convinced wine is the networking equivalent of DVR.  Tune out.  Get out.)  Yet, this time I sailed on through -- swift and smiley.  I think I enjoy interacting with actors the best.  Little ego since we're on a different playing field (and I don't have to listen to the "film guy" drag on about the fact he's a tortured artist). 

What was I talking about?  Oh yeah, American Idol.  This is definitely one of my periodic babble-blogs.  I don't really have one coherent thought, but random ramblings that don't really make complete sense.

I'm drinking the Green Tea Frappacino from Starbucks.  It's like crack.

EDIT: Another side note.  My friend created this hilarious promo pic for our Vegas Vacation 2009.  Just the gays and our favorite artist.  Yes, that's Jennifer Hudson.  More evidence that my past Idol obsession has become widespread...

Fate Stepped In

It's a brand new day and the air has never been fuller. Circumstances have arisen that set a completely new cycle into motion. I won't bore anybody with the details, but it involves three things: More writing time. A new found energy. And a path that's inevitably better than yesterday's. (p.s. Who thought up the word "severance"? Or "sever" for that matter? The image of Jason Voorhees and a knife always comes to mind).

Anyway, I have a feeling that better opportunities are around the corner and my previous post concerning irrelevance is, well, irrelevant. It's time to put my metaphorical running shoes on, focus on my primary goal, and chase after my dreams.

I'll see you at the finish line.

SlumHOG Millionaire

It's that magical time of year again. The red carpet's been rolled out and the statuettes have been shined. Oscar Sunday is this weekend and I must admit, my enthusiasm is rather lackluster. Sure, I'm looking forward to the fashion, speeches, and the months of speculation being put to rest. However, this awards season has been anything but exciting -- primarily due to a little/big film called Slumdog Millionaire.

Don't get me wrong, this film is one of my top favorites this year. However, it's hogging every precursor award thus far extinguishing any possible build-up or anticipation for this Sunday's telecast. Slumdog mania has taken over! In fact, just yesterday I was driving on the 405 freeway, minding my own business, and my iPod frequency was interrupted by another driver passerby. Guess what he was listening to? The Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack.

Instead of posting my predictions like every Joe Shmo out there, I'll wish upon my lucky stars for potential upsets including:

- Best Cinematography - Claudio Miranda (Benjamin Button)

- Best Original Screenplay - Mike Leigh (Happy-Go-Lucky)

- Best Actress - Anne Hathaway

- Best Picture - Milk

Hey, no guts, no glory. Right?

Self-DiagNonsense

There's nothing like the seasonal slump. The sky seems foggier, the air seems more polluted, and the days drag on like a timeless universe. Or maybe it's just me. After a few weeks of dismal proportions and a conscious hiatus, I've decided to claw myself back into literary civilization. I must admit, it wasn't easy and it took almost every ounce of my effort, but I think I'm finally back. Well, for now at least.

However, this mental self-diagnosis didn't occur overnight. It took days of observation and countless hours of analysis to discover what was actually wrong with me. I'm at a stand-still. While I originally thought time was moving forward with me along for the ride, it seems time actually decided to leave me far behind. Waiting -- hoping -- needing some sort of change that will finally shake me from this common day monotony.

I know, I know. At twenty-four, I shouldn't expect much, if anything, to go exactly how I originally planned (especially in this industry, right?). However, it seems like the "routine" of my life has taken over any spontaneity and I feel trapped. Yes, trapped. I'm stuck in this dark corner where the realm of possibilities seem distant and the Groundhog Day effect seems inevitable.

Therefore, before I let this disorder get the best of me, I've decided to write myself my own prescription. A prescription that will allow me to break free from this entanglement and into something more fulfilling. A prescription that inspires instead of hinders. And finally, a prescription that involves some huge life changes (both professionally and personally) that will ultimately change me into the person I want to become.

I mean, I've come this far, right? What's another 50+ years?

I'm Puxatony ill...

Each year, like clockwork, I unfortunately encounter an inevitable time of year - the seasonal slump. I reach a point in my life where my lack of motivation meets spontaneous self-loathing and I lock myself in this uncomfortable rut. It's my own equivalent to PMS... but with less tampons. Which, in due part, explains my lack of blog posts.

Therefore, it probably comes as no surprise that I've been lacking inspiration. Perhaps I'm verging on exhaustion. Or maybe Los Angeles is wearing on me. Either way, I better shake things up quickly before I officially become cynical.

Fortunately, I have the ideas... I just need the motivation.

Motivation where are you?

Why have you left me so?

Come back.