Poptarticus

Today is my four year anniversary of living in Ocean Beach.

I still love it here. I mean, I REALLY love it here.

In my life, I have been in love with three places: San Francisco, Venice, and Ocean Beach. And I have lived in all three. My love affair with San Francisco lasted a long time, but it was sort of crash and burn with Venice. I still love Venice, but not like I did. It was probably too intense to keep that one going.

But Ocean Beach is different. Ocean Beach’s call is sweet, easy. Never exactly intense. Damp on the skin, but never very cold. It’s a small town inside of a big city on the edge of a vast sea. It’s really awesome here. I swear.

Today I did what is easy to do in Ocean Beach - nothing. Nothing by the sea. Now I am going to eat Macaroni and Cheese and Ice Cream to celebrate my anniversary here. Thank you, Ocean Beach, for letting me in.

Well. I guess I am all of a sudden realizing that I am a sucker. A sucker! I bought into this whole Top Chef thing thinking it was real and shit. It can’t be real. I am just realizing it now, but it can’t be real.

It’s TV, it’s make believe. Hello-ey, girlfriend.

Anyway, Dave got the ax, and he didn’t shed a tear - not one tear. The question is, did he deserve to lose?

First though a little on the reunion show, because I just watched it for the first time last night. It was pretty clear that everyone was HAMMERED. Except for maybe Harold and definitely Andrea. Did the producers deliberately set out to get everyone drunk? Tiffani was slurring, her eyes were like slits, and she appeared to almost puke on the side of the stage. Then there was the fight between Stephen and Kenneth… who would have thought Stephen would almost get into a fistfight? I guess it was the expensive Champagne talking, since he was holding an entire bottle with maybe a sip left by the end of the show. For the most part it seems all the contestants really like each other, with the exception of Kenneth and Tiffani who are pretty much universally disliked. Everyone even seems to like Stephen now. So take that, all you Stephen haters!

Then on to part one of the finale. I thought it was going to be one two-hour episode, but I was wrong. And four months have gone by, and now all the action has moved to Vegas. That breaks up a little of the momentum, doesn’t it?

Anyway, Dave, Harold and Tiffani, show up for the quickfire challenge at the MGM Grand only to be told that it is not a quickfire - it is an elimination challenge. So instead of a two-hour battle between the three remaining chefs, there is a one hour battle, and whoever wins goes to the next one hour battle.

Here is where the believability factor started to head into the twilight zone for me. The challenge was room service, and it was broken up into three segments. The first was room service for high rollers, the second for poker players, and the third for acrobats in Cirque du Soleil. Whatever. The thing is they only had half an hour to cook each one of these, and there were two dishes required in the first, four (!) in the second, and three in the third. And they only had ten minutes to acquaint themselves with the kitchen, and the available ingredients, which were pretty much everything you could possibly imagine.

OK. Half an hour? And with not even having a fucking clue? Come on. Nine episodes have gone by and I haven’t really tripped on the time thing, but tonight the clincher was, for me, seeing a tray of egg rolls during the poker player segment. So Dave, creator of said rolls, hasn’t got the time to even breathe while making his four different dishes in that short time period. But there it is - a full-on shot of a tray with maybe ten egg rolls on it.

You can’t make filling and roll all those egg rolls and then make three other dishes and fry shrimp and make the sauce for the shrimp and slice up salami and grill the panini, all in half an hour. You could maybe do it all, but you couldn’t roll ten perfect egg rolls, at the same time. Something is very very fishy here. Now, if the egg rolls were all crooked and had stuff coming out the corners, I would believe. But they were PERFECT. (AND NOW I KNOW WHY - THEY WERE FROZEN, PREPACKAGED EGGROLLS. I DIDN’T GET THAT ONE LAST NIGHT.)

Also - the judges in the high roller segment were Lee Anne, Stephen and Miguel… I am not sure having ex-contenders as judges is fully kosher. And they all hate Tiffani, and wouldn’t they be able to figure out which ones her dishes were? Even served blind, I have to imagine that they would guess where Harold’s spicy mussel soup came from. And to not be able to tell Dave’s plate from Tiffani’s? No way.

Anyhow. Harold totally won everything (and I was sketched because they were making it look like he was going to choke) and then it was between Tiffani and Dave. All of Dave’s dishes did really well in the judging, and Tiffani’s absolutely did not. But Dave messed up badly on the third round and only made two out of three required dishes. So he lost.

At this point, it’s all about hating Tiffani. The other chefs hate her, the audience hates her, she’s getting some rashes on her face, from everyone hating her. Which kind of sucks. The thing is, they hate her for being an asshole, but tonight she really proved that she doesn’t know fuck-all about cooking for Everyman. The poker challenge was a clear indicator of that. (Three different kinds of potato chips tossed with smoked Gouda? Um, bring me some Ruffles please.) I don’t hate Tiffani, and I feel bad that she got that nasty rash. But the bottom line is, in a year’s time, if Harold and Dave (and Stephen, and Miguel, and Lee Anne) all have restaurants, people will want to GO to them just to see Harold, Dave, Stephen, Miguel, and Lee Anne. I am not sure anyone would even want to go to Tiffani’s restaurant, at least to see her. Which is kind of sad. She is not only a villain, but she is a villain that nobody wants to see for the pure pleasure of seeing a villain. Whereas, seeing Stephen would be totally and completely pleasureable.

Well, it is TV and next week I won’t be able to see the final finale because I will be seeing We Are Scientists and the Flaming Lips at about that time… so the winner will cook and be chosen and I will try not to see who it is until I can watch the rerun the next day. I guess it will be Harold, because all that is good and true (and hot and sexy) gets ahead in TV land, and the nasty, rash faced villains only go so far, just to make it interesting.

I still love Top Chef. I am just a little pissed about the egg rolls.

Foggy here in OB, really, really foggy. It reminds me of what I grew up in, what I mostly knew as summer for much of my life. But it is warm and also, it is not summer yet. Also there are super tall and skinny palm trees on my street that wave to me every time I come home. So it is all good, even with the fog.

I came home from an evening at The Vine and was totally ecstatic to find that Bradley posted the recent Mogwai show in Boston on his blog. I LOVE Mogwai and am entirely bummed that I have not been able to see them on their recent tour. This is killer stuff. Check it out.

Tomorrow. Team Harold will prevail. Go, Harold, GO! Ya’all know what I am talking about.

A is for Awesome.

Today was a rollercoaster. I have been a little freaked for the past few days, because of the whole Radiohead-touring-these-small-venues thing. As in - can I get in? You can always get a ticket but it is so much nicer to get a ticket, and not get scammed by dickheads who are buying FAN CLUB tickets and immediately turning around and selling them on ebay for eight times the price. Please, don’t get me started - I almost have an ulcer from the past 24 hours as it is. And yesterday when I tried, in vain, to get tickets to one of the New York shows, despite being in the Ticketmaster internet queue right when it opened, it totally freaked me out. I’ve never been shut out of a show before.

Yesterday was awful. I was beyond bummed that a lot of real fans in New York got shut out and seconds later all these tickets went up on ebay… it was sick. SICK. I have sold tickets on ebay before, don’t get me wrong… but they were always tickets I got then couldn’t use. The one time I made a huge profit (P.J. Harvey at the Belly Up a few years ago) I felt so guilty that I almost gave the dude the tickets for free. So now I just sell tickets I can’t use on craigslist, at face value. Anyway.

I’d already made a pact with my Sigur Ros buddy David that we would each try to get tickets, for all the shows in San Diego and Los Angeles. But then I didn’t talk to him, so I wasn’t so sure he was still into going with me. Then last night at about nine, my cell phone rang, I answered it, and on the other end was live Sigur Ros. David was in Boise, at a show. I called him this morning. “You’re in fucking BOISE?” I asked him. Homeboy is seriously into Sigur Ros and hung out with the band last night so he was pretty happy. “Did I wake you up?” I asked him. “Well I am totally tired and hungover but I have to get the RADIOHEAD TICKETS” he said. “OK you get Monday and I’ll get Tuesday and I’ll call you back at 10:15″ I said. Then we hung up. Then I called him back. “If you get Monday fast then try to get Tuesday!” He was like, CHILL. THAT IS OBVIOUS. I was sort of going a little crazy.

So it went down pretty fast, I was sitting here neurotically hitting refresh until 9:59:50 (and that is when they went on sale - I swear it) and I scored the tickets for Tuesday. When I got back in to try to get Monday, all the tickets were sold out. I called David, and he had got the Monday tickets but couldn’t get Tuesday.

A few minutes later Mark called. The first thing I said was “Mark I can’t take you.” What a friend I am. Well really, I am a really great friend. But nothing comes between me and Radiohead. Sorry bud.

After all that trauma and excitement I should have been flipping out, but I wasn’t, I was merely ecstatic. But then I went to a Kentucky Derby Party in Mission Beach (KAMB - all of them - were there) and of course I threw down for the racing pool because I love to gamble. It was a random pick, and for some crazy reason, I got Barbaro. That was AWESOME… I knew as soon as the race started, that Barbaro and his jockey with their apple green outfits were going to bring it in… I walked out of the party richer, I walked out of the day richer.

True love waits, in haunted outtakes. I fucking love Radiohead, and I am so, so happy right now. Truly.

That’s a teaser. The best photos are below.

Five more days gone next week and then I will be home for a long while.

And in June, Radiohead is coming. Tickets go on sale Saturday, so I won’t sleep well Friday. I’ll be going to both San Diego shows, obviously, but it would be nice to get a ticket at the regular price.

I have been traveling so much that I have forgotten what it is like to be home. I love this time of year, when the days start to get really warm, but there is a mist on the horizon. I can’t tell you, seriously, I can’t tell you, what it is going to be like to sleep in my own bed tonight. I had this idea on this last trip, to take a picture of every single room I sleep in when I am on the road. But then I only took one picture. I could always take it with the TV on, to be reminded of what I have watched. Last night it was A Place in the Sun and then Top Chef. I remember, because it was last night. But where was I when I did take a picture? And what the hell was I watching?

I think it was San Luis Obispo. It’s all sort of a blur.

Anyhow if I ever retire from the wine business I think I will set up shop as a portrait photographer. Check these out:

Have you ever seen a better looking kid than my nephew Ryan? Plus he is a born actor:

We represent, the Lollipop Kids. I will never, ever be able to look at this picture and not crack up. He is so freaking awesome, I can’t even tell you.

I am home! There is nothing like getting back home to OB.

It was kind of a busy trip, and pretty fun, too. I’ve got to get down to The Vine to get my fix but in the meantime, FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS.

Jason Mecier is a genius. I am so happy with my new purchase. Now, all I want to do is lay on the couch and look at my new picture.

I drove home, fast, from Sacramento. To break the monotony of 300 miles on the Interstate 5 I played “Crown of Love” by Arcade Fire over and over and screamed the lyrics as loud as I could. Finally I made it over the Grapevine, about to collapse from hunger and screaming, so I stopped at the In N Out Burger in Santa Clarita. Here, I learned something new. I am not really into In N Out and could never understand why people like it so much. Also, the fact that they put those scripture thingies on their cups kind of turns me off. But, I’ve now learned how to make In N Out taste good. You have to be hungry enough to eat plain ketchup. Also, it helps to chase it with a glass of Sangiovese. But mostly, be hungry enough to eat plain ketchup. Then, In N Out burgers taste like flaked Dungeness crab topped with shaved white truffles and melted imported farmhouse butter. I’m serious. Check it out.

After a strange and unsettling week, I am now hanging in my old hometown torturing my nephew by trying to get a photo of him smiling. He smiles when the camera is not in view, but as soon as he sees the camera, he gets all sour and perplexed. He is not a photo whore like his auntie. Not yet, anyway.

Coming back to where I grew up is always weird. There have been so many changes in twenty years that it always makes me sad and sort of horrified when I visit. But today, it didn’t seem so overbuilt and ruined as it has seemed to me before. Maybe because it was so green and lush out there that I didn’t see all the houses. Or maybe it was because Colleen was with me and seeing it through her eyes, it didn’t seem so bad. We went to the new Ritz Carlton which looks like a cheap copy of the Hotel Del Coronado without any of the charm. We had a drink in the “Conservatory.” Wondering where Professor Plum was. The service was crap and the wine was sort of off, and the music was horrible. One wonders what the big deal is.

But it has been that kind of a week. Sometimes I just don’t want to leave OB. Being here with Jay, Carrie and Ryan is great though. It just took a while for me to release my arms from their pharoah-like grasp across my chest. Ryan is movie-star handsome and also, totally brilliant. I would have trudged across eight thousand Ritz lobbies to spend just a few hours with him. Tomorrow, San Francisco, where I will eat way too much food with all my old friends and will also gaze, for the first time, at my Britt Daniel bean and noodle portrait. I’m feeling all nervous and jittery just thinking about it. In a good way, not in an arms tightly crossed way. Throw open those arms, and receive your new bean and noodle, baby. It doesn’t get much better than that.

This is the first Christmas in many years where my little family is not hanging out at my Grandma’s for several days. Since Jay and Carrie brought Baby Ryan down at Thanksgiving, Mom came out for that, instead. So this Christmas, I am kind of on my own.

Kind of. Today, me and my brother Tom are going out to my Grandma’s for lunch. This evening, I am going to a birthday party (with a tropical theme!) Tomorrow, I am going to a Christmas dinner, and then another party. Thankfully I have both Monday and Tuesday off to recover.

I also have to watch all the movies I love to watch at Christmas. I already watched Auntie Mame. Tonight I’ll watch Meet Me in St. Louis. Tomorrow morning - as I do every Christmas morning, I’ll watch Babette’s Feast.

Last night I watched Mostly Martha. I really love that film. I think I will add it to my list of movies I always watch at Christmas, even though the story of a wounded kid and an exuberant Italian guy breaking through to the closed-off heart of an uptight German chef isn’t very Christmas-y. Neither is Babette’s Feast. They are both films that make me feel happy and human and make me feel like celebrating. Babette’s Feast always makes me cry at the end. ALWAYS. I love movies that always make you cry, no matter how many times you have seen them.

Happy holidays, or happy weekend, to all my readers, and even to the one-times who type “super sexy” into a search engine. Have fun!

Type, into Google’s search engine, “the most awesome website in the universe.” Then hit search, or even “I’m feeling lucky.”

As Napolean Dynamite would say, yesssssss.

Sorry Pauline, I know your website is way better. You just need to use the word “awesome” a lot more.

It’s not often that I get infatuated with a movie. I never even get infatuated with movie stars, really, though I do sometimes get sort of into an actor here and there. Now I am infatuated with a movie, AND an actor, and I am also infatuated, once again, with a city I once lived in for a brief time.

I lived in Budapest a few years ago, when it was teetering on an edge somewhere between capitalism and communism. I loved it there. I don’t know what Budapest is like now - it was changing rapidly as far as I could tell - but in 2001 when I lived there, it was sketchy, crazy, and colorful. The air was full of sex and violence and all the guys looked like they’d had their noses broken at least once. It was an energetic place to live, one that was scary and weird enough that you felt like you were really LIVING. My personal life wasn’t exactly the best during those days but man oh man, did I get off on living in Budapest. Just thinking about it makes me want to change all my dollars into Hungarian Forints and go back.

My apartment was across the street from the insanely huge, American-ish West End Mall. I went there almost every day to go to the cheap internet cafe and eat nachos at (I kid you not) TGIFridays. To get to the mall, I had to go underground, through the Nyugati subway station, to emerge on the other side of busy Vaci Ut, the boulevard above. That was the most insane subway station I have ever been in. It connected to one of the biggest train stations in the city, so it was a double whammy. You could get anything down there - cheap wine (at about a penny a glass), pink-frosted donuts, a change of underwear, puppies, kittens, fresh corn or flowers brought in by peasants from the countryside, counterfeit phone cards, all manner of porn magazines (Budapest was heavy on porn), cheap cigarettes and Cuban cigars (ditto on cigarettes)… you get the idea. I probably walked through that station at least once a day and every single time I thought, if a bomb were to drop on this city right now, all of us stuck down here could live here, for a very long time, on all the stuff down here.

All this gets me to what I really wanted to write about (finally.) A few months ago, I read in a newspaper about this film that was completely shot in the Budapest subway, the subway that you could live in and never leave. And the film was even about a guy who never leaves the subway! So I put the film, Kontroll, in my Netflix cue. I figured it would be a sort of low-budget film with maybe some good acting and the novelty of being filmed in a subway.

Not. Kontroll is a beautifully filmed and well-acted story full of characters and moments I won’t forget (especially because I plan on buying the film.) It has a mysterious and sad but strong leading man, some truly inspired chase scenes, dozens of characters that are really like the fairly bizarre citizens of Budapest, and color. The film swims in color. The color of a face that never sees the light of day, the color of a green wall lit by florescent lights, and in the end, a kaliedoscope washing over all the color of a black and white existence. I know that doesn’t make much sense now, but you just have to see the film.

The story is basically this: Bulcsú, the dark and mysterious ticket inspector played by Sándor Csányi, heads up a group of inept ticket inspectors, all of them funny and unique in their own way. They go around trying to get people’s tickets, but the subway riders don’t give a shit about them. These guys can’t even get a ticket out of a group of Japanese tourists. They wander around trying unsuccessfully to do their job, and get pretty thrashed trying to do it. Bulcsú seems above it all, but something in the real world above has scared him into a place where he can’t go back up, so he lives below, sleeping on platforms. There is a subway driver, Bela, who gets so hammered in the morning that he drives his subway past all the passengers waiting, and has to back up, and his daughter, Sofie, who has to wear a bear suit for her job and who ultimately, will change Bulcsú’s life.

There are whores and pimps and street punks, housewives who will beat the shit out of you if you ask them for a ticket, deaf people and stutterers. There is also a guy with a black leather jacket and a hood, that is killing people by pushing them in front of moving trains.

So Kontroll is a film about life and death. I think - though I can’t be sure - that it is about Bulcsú’s choice between his own life and death. I think it may even be a side of Bulcsú that is pushing people off - well, I won’t go there and spoil it for everyone. Just check it out for yourself. You’ll fall in love with Sándor Csányi and you’ll want to check out the Budapest subway, yourself.