Say Cheese

I recently went to Disneyland with my mom, and she reminded me of the following story. When I was 4, after a fruitful trip to the happiest place on Earth, I told her that I had every intention of marrying Mickey Mouse so that I could live happily ever after in Disneyland. Cute sentiment, right? Thinking about this, I came to the realization that that moment may be the only time in my life that I've ever thought of marriage in a positive light, as something that may actually have benefits to it. No kidding. So while in Toontown this last Monday I dragged my mom over to Mickey's house to try to relive this old nostalgia for one of America's dying institutions. As I walked through his quaint, brightly painted cottage with overstuffed plastic furniture I thought to myself, hell, maybe I could do this. The Mouse has money, his own place with no roomates and he could probably hook me up with the screenwriting internship at Disney that I applied for last summer...

However, as we walked over to Splash Mountain to cram in a log with strangers and get our butts wet, the old Blackheart sensibility started to rear its lovely head. First off, how could I possibly share an oversized, yellow blow-up bed with a Giant Mouse? Christ, what would our kids look like? I'm aiming for Brangelina type offspring, if any at all, not the Elephant Man. Secondly, his on again, off again ex girlfriend Minnie would be living next door, and the bitch won't even give up his last name let alone his precious free time. Also, I've seen her kitchen, and the girl can cook. I can barely make toast. Plus, I'm lactose intolerant, and they'd always have a love of cheese in common. Lastly, having a workaholic husband who spends more time with his friends (i.e. Goofy and Donald Duck) and on the soundstage than with me, just doesn't appeal to me. I need some comfort and love, damnit, if I'm going to make the effort to walk down the cartoon aisle. And Disneyland is filled with kids and obese Americans at all times, which quite frankly, is not my ideal living environment. I'd rather live on Wisteria Lane with those Desperate Housewife skitches (translation=skinny bitches.)

So, folks, despite my youthful desire to fall in love and marry my childhood hero, my adult self just can't follow suit. Maybe someday I'll find my Prince (barf) and make my own happiest place on Earth (barf, again), but until then, this Blackheart will keep sifting through the Plotus of the world and playing fetch.

Top 10 China Highlights

1.) Climbing the Great Wall of China. Absolutely amazing. We took the harder, more scenic route, and I worked up a sweat despite the 40 degree weather. There was a huge group of people from India all wearing matching Burberry jackets, and one couple demanded we visit their country next, so who am I to disagree? Anyone down to climb the Himalayas with me?
2.) Boat ride down the Suzhou canals. My favorite vignette from the 300 year old stone houses along the embankments was: a house with a fat orange cat watching us float by, next to a house with a bird cage with 3 multi-colored birds hanging from an open window, next to a house with chickens in the backyard pecking at the ground. Every Suzhou resident would smile and wave at us as we passed. A "Ni hao," a nod and a wave, and we were on to the next idyllic scene.
3.) Summer Palace. Loved walking along the lake down the Empress' endless, painted wooden promenade which she had built so she could wander her grounds without ever being in the sun or rain. A major diva of Mariah Carey proportions. But she deserved it seeing as she only got to get it on with the Emperor 2 times a year in between his hundreds of concubines.
4.) Walk through the Ming Tombs down the Sacred Way. Through the long, broad expanse of willow trees, we waved to the many stone statues of Chinese officials and mythological animals guarding the dead rulers while enjoying the faint sound of music and the leaves rustling in the wind. Fyi, they filmed "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" there.
5.) Last night out in Shanghai which included attending the Chinese MTV Music Awards where we had no idea what they were saying but loved the hip-hop dancers and cheesy love ballads that caused the teeny boppers in the audience to cry out God only knows what. Then it was off to Babyface, a locals hangout where we met a group of Australians who shared their Chivas and green tea with us. Danced all night and got a ride home in style in one of our new friend's private town car.
6.) Eating sauteed tofu and quail's eggs in Chinatown (Shanghai) with toothpicks. We bought it from a vendor out of a giant hot pot in the window after roaming the gardens there. Then we gorged ourselves on mochi. My mom bought a sampler pack. My fave? The red bean and the black sesame. Too bad mom ate the entire pack in 2 days or I would have brought some back to share.
7.) Terracotta Soldiers. It's all about pit #1, baby, with thousands of soldiers and their horses lined in row upon row, guarding Emperor Qing's tomb. There are still twice as many waiting to be unearthed but because the oxygen destroys the clay the government is leaving them buried for future generations to enjoy.
8.) 8 motorcycles driving in circles, upside down and sideways, inside a giant steel cage at the acrobatic show. If they bring this shit to the States it's bound to make some major Yuan. I nearly pissed my pants.
9.) The Birds' Nest and the Water Cube, a.ka. the site of the Beijing Olympics August 8th, 2008.
10.) Tiananmen Square. Owen, our ultra-hot 28 year old tour guide who rocked Prada glasses and used to play in a dance metal band, told us that once outside of the tour bus he couldn't discuss the events of 1989 since China was full of government spies who would arrest you for talking against Mao and the government, despite the fact that the guy has been dead since 1976. We were also warned not to take pictures of anyone wearing t-shirts with political slogans or holding banners because the spies and/or guards would confiscate our cameras. On one side of the square was the past, Mao's larger than life picture, still looming over this communist country and its people, and on the other side was the future, a giant clock counting down the minutes and seconds leading to the 2008 Olympics and their capitalist fate.
**Last final small world note: We saw Paris Hilton at club Attica the night before the MTV Awards in Shanghai. As she posed for the club goers and their camera phones, mere feet away from us, I wondered for a second if we hadn't magically beamed back to some lame Hollywood club where the little people take second string to celebrities. But then as I watched her peer at the crowd from behind red ropes, not a sole with her except for some men in suits and whoever was on the other end of her blackberry (a.k.a. security blanket,) I couldn't help but feel sorry for the little princess, all alone in Shanghai, when I had 3 of the best girls in the world with me to enjoy the music, free drinks and fun.

Road to China

Tomorrow is the big day. I'm finally taking that leap into another continent. I'm all packed and am currently awaiting friends who are coming over for a dinner party/let's drink lots of wine and throw everything in the wok and eat too much shindig. You know you have great friends when they throw a farewell bash for a 10 day vacation.

I have a few worries that I'm trying to keep under control, most being of the can-a-vegetarian-eat-in-China-the-land-of-skinned-rabbits-and-ducks-hanging-from-storefront-windows variety. Food is very important to me. If God told me I could either never have babies or lose my taste buds, I'd rescue the buds in a blink of an eye. Other worries include a lack of adapter for my ipod, whether or not they'll allow fruit into the Beijing airport if it's of the dried variety and whether or not this tour company is secretly run by the Scientologists or any other freaky sect/cult that will lead us down a dark alley, steal our Yuan, beat us senseless and leave us for dead, rickshaws unknowingly criss-crossing our bodies in the early morning, Shanghai traffic. Ya know, the small things. So in reality, there's really not much to concern myself with other than making sure I have lots of fun and try not to fight with my mother. The latter will be aided greatly by her supply of restless leg medication (i.e. the one-two sucker punch, lights out wonder pills).

Also, I'm bringing a friend's copy of American Psycho, which I feel will not only entertain, albeit shock, me but will also ward off any lame-ass American tourists that may try to make conversation with me on the bus. You know the type, spouting out diet restrictions as they float on their insoled sneakers... oh wait, that's me. Crap. Oh well, bringing Ellis with me anywho.

Alright, first guest has arrived. Time to discuss the WGA Writers' Strike over a bottle of schwag vino. China pictures to follow. Perhaps I'll even sneak some of the new Olympic site and beat that damn Ann Curry to it. Today Show sucka!

Funny Ha-Ha

Recommended laughter:
1.) "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"
2.) The Groundlings
3.) Salt n' Pepa's "It's None of Your Business"
4.) Weddings (as a former wedding florist myself, nothing says humor to me more than two people pronouncing their love in front of others)
5.) JC Penney
6.) all things Tina Fey
7.) Martin Lawrence stand-up (when he was still wearing the all leather suits)
8.) My dad, always
9.) Christian Womanhood class (it's been years, but I the laughter still echoes in my ears)
10.) Steve Martin as Cousin Rupert in "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"
11.) John Mayer's blog (the man is hilarious, I swear)

**Added bonus: Cats with tape on their paws (terrible, yet true)

Midnight at the Garden of Eden

Halloween weekend. Good god. Can a girl get some recovery sleep? All the sinning culminated at the Garden of Eden party in Hollywood last Saturday night were two boys who looked all of 15 and dressed as the Gotti brothers in their matching white bandanas, over-sized cubic zirconia crosses and tight black t-shirts harassed my friends on the dancefloor. Can a girl get some personal space? When the clock struck midnight this Cinderella Blackheart did indeed turn into a grimy handmaid, and by 2am my pumpkin cab was ready to roll me and my mice friends away. Did I leave a glass slipper? No, indeed. But I did leave behind a great deal of hard earned cash, a tube of cheap lipstick, my sobriety and a bit of self respect.

When I was young, Halloween was my favorite holiday. My stepbrother, who was a dj and amateur carpenter at the time, used to transform our humble home into a den of horror. My friends and I would take turns leading kids through our haunted house and jumping out at unsuspecting victims through smoke machine clouds. His dj lights would spin rhythmically, hypnotizing me as I allowed myself to freefall into a sugar induced coma. We even got in the newspaper once, our home becoming a dot on the historical print landscape. Those were the good old days. Gone are the days of guarding my Reeses cups from my mother. (One time I sniffed the mix of chocolate and peanut butter goodness on her breath and found wrappers in her bed, stuffed under her sheets. Busted.) Gone are the days of someone else sewing a Snow White or bee costume for you. And gone are the days of begging my dad to let me watch just one more horror film with my stepbrother, then regretting it as I ran from killer clowns in my nightmares.

Next year I'm going old school. I'm watching horror films in my bed with a giant pumpkin bucket on my lap full of candy. I may even mail my mom a Reeses cup for old times sake... or maybe just the wrapper. Ah, who am I kidding? I'll probably end up half-naked taking shots of Pitron at some totally pretentious LA party and loving every damn minute of it. That is, at least until I wake up in the morning with a hangover and somebody named Zorro's number on a cocktail napkin in my clutch. Can a girl get some aspirin?

SF vs. LA: The Ultimate Showdown

In my constant battle over which city to reside in, I've come up with a list of pros and cons for both cities. Actually, it's more of an ultimate fighter competition between the two, without all the blood and drool. LA fires vs. SF earthquakes. Well, I'd rather be swallowed by the earth than burnt alive, so one point for Frisco. LA Dodgers vs. SF Giants. I hate baseball, so scratch that. LA men (actor/somethings obsessed with outer appearances) vs. SF men (musician/somethings with lots of facial hair). Hmm, both cities have an excess of gay men, whom I love but who make it a bit difficult for a single woman, but I like a hairy man so SF wins again. Plus, after dating many an actor/_____, I can tell you, it's a lose-lose situation, and who doesn't love a musician? LA smog vs. SF fog. Fog won't kill ya; 3 points for SF. But fog can be depressing, and nothing can beat LA weather. One point for LA. Griffith Park vs. Golden Gate. No comparison. Besides the bums in GG are much nicer. LA traffic vs. SF transit. Love that BART system and you too Muni, you cute lil' thing. Man, SF is kickin' ass. Let's continue. LA vs. SF night scene. Wow, too close to call. It's a tie on that one. LA beach vs. SF beach. LA beaches don't require you bring a parka and wool blanket so LA racks up another. Flat LA streets vs. SF hills. Love them hills. One weekend there, and my calves and butt cheeks feel like rocks. LA vs. SF culture. Both towns house about as many nationalities as the UN so I'd say another tie. LA eateries vs. SF restaurants. The two best meals of my life have been in SF, and I usually side with my stomach.

Look, I could go on and on, but one round remains. The showdown. LA vs. SF charm. Not many people have written love songs to LA. In fact, I can't think of any, except perhaps The Doors' "LA Woman," but that's not exactly a glowing review. SF has an endless amount of songs written in its honor, many of which line the walls in the lobby of Geary Street's Hotel California. But there's only one true love song that sums up my thoughts on who the winner is, and that belongs to the illustrious Tony Bennett:

I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO

The loveliness of Paris
Seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome
Is of another day
I've been terribly alone
And forgotten in Manhattan [insert: Los Angeles]
I'm going home to my city by the bay.

I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me.
To be where little cable cars
Climb halfway to the stars!
The morning fog may chill the air
I don't care!
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco,
Your golden sun will shine for me!

(*Sidenote: Love the use of exclamation points in your lyrics, Tony. Well played.)

Fire Starter

As my plane touched down over Los Angeles last night on my way back from San Francisco, the pilot pointed out that to our left we could catch a spectacular glimpse of the LA fires. Like a bunch of eager tourists on an urban safari, we turned our heads, piling on top of one another to take a look at the destruction. "Oooohhh... aaahhh." And it was spectacular: little lines of sparkling red light dotting the black canvas below. The woman next to me scoffed, rolling her eyes as she dug her face deeper into her book. Apparently, she was above all of this. We were rubberneckers, and she was a highly sophisticated woman of good breeding who preferred not to make light of the tragedies unfolding on the ground. But what she missed was the beauty of it all, a beauty that was short lived once the plane came to the terminal and smoke started to fill our lungs, causing our throats to swell and our eyes to itch. Once home, I spent hours cleaning the soot off the sills of my open windows and prayed that my poor cat didn't have a case of the black lung. Then watching the endless news coverage and the morning sky fill with an eerie orange and black light, I missed that simple moment, when thousands of feet above the earth, the fires looked like little more than grand city lights.