CHEAP EATS Oh the horror!
Oh the hilarity!
Oh the black bean and chicken chili, spaghetti and meatballs!
No, it wouldn't look good, journalismically, for me to review Hedgehog's second li'l movie myself, being after all her ever-loving domestie. Not to mention my three (3) credits, for catering, co-production, and co-score. So, for once I have decided to do the right thing: ask my dad to review it for me.
Having lived 78 years and weathered numerous careers (gas station attendant, softball pitcher, ditch digger, guard rail painter, mail sorter, school teacher, cartoonist, imaginary basketball star, stay-at-home dad, composer, composter, memoirist, country music performer, poet, etc.) I thought I'd try my hand at film reviewing.
Since I'm new at this, I'll start with a critique of a nine-minute film, "The Chain," written and directed by Hedgehog (of "Treme" fame), starring the wonderful character actor Earl Butter, the Maze, and Long Tall Philip, with music by Bikkets and Chicken Farmer, Bullet LaVolta, and Daniel Voigt. It begins with Bob (Butter), sitting before his TV waiting for the big game to begin. Soon his friend Jeff, played perfectly by the Maze, arrives with a stash of beer and his cell phone.
I won't give away the final eight minutes (no spoiler alert here), but it's scary and surprising. And the music is probably very good.
Cheap Eats continued
Speaking of big games, I of course couldn't keep my nose out of the World Serious brouhaha. First I hurried home from Lost Weekend for socks and my winter coat, then I went back out into the mayhem, looking as clueless as possible, and asking as many revelers as would meet my eye, "Excuse me, do you know who won?" And other such dada doozies — none of which achieved their desired effect.
Worse, at the bonfire at Mission and 22nd, I must have brushed up against some fresh graffiti, because my favorite white winter coat woke up ruined.
Oh well. Destruction is how we say "yay." No?
As usual, when the bottles started to fly, I headed home and tried to sleep, beep beep.
The Giants won the World Series! I'm sure you already noticed that since you were in San Francisco at the time and buses were on fire outside your house and shit. Me? I was (and still am) in Los Angeles.
My beloved Chicken Farmer needs a new pair of shoes — and now, it turns out, a new winter coat, to boot. Since she's on strike, that means it's time for me to look for a real job which, in my line of work, means going to Los Angeles.
Or Skywalker — but I've yet to learn their secret handshake so... Traffic wasn't bad, thanks for asking. I listened to the first four innings in the car on the way in to town. And by the time things really got heated up (the 8th), I had put in enough face time with Kristy Kreme, my Valley bestie, and my hosts (Groovy and Julie of the Julies), that it seemed appropriate to turn on their huge plasma TV and ignore them for a while.
They have 3D! It makes everyone look like colorforms when the programming isn't 3D though, so I watched Sergio Romo strike out Miguel Cabrera in only two dimensions, like most of the rest of yous.
Here is LA's reaction to SF's win: Kristy said "Fuck yeah." Julie declared she was in awe. Groovy grilled steaks.
If you work at Skywalker/Disney, please rescue me from this warm, sunshiney place with wide lanes and ample parking. I'm homesick and you're my only hope.
Cheap Eats continued
Here! Here! No matter how you spell it, it's better than there there.
New favorite restaurant? ...
Don't have one, deal with it.