L.A. Confidential

I managed to dig up some pics from my trip to Hollywood... I don't know where the rest are, though I suspect I downloaded them on to my laptop. And for some reason, I can't get any of my videos to upload. I guess I'm just another Raiders fan.

I also uploaded some pics of my last few days, which have been spent entirely on the boat.

This would be at Universal Studios - at the Raiders store. I had to get some ish, but I couldn't find my all-time favourite shirt: "Real Men Are Black." Off to eBay, I guess...


















This is the actual car (or one of them) from The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. I snapped it on our way in to the Nacho Libre premiere. While seeing Jack Black snort refried beans out of his nose has some comic appeal, these movies had one major thing in common. And if I need to tell you what that is, then you have the intellectual capacity of someone who'd really enjoy watching them ...



The editor in me "absolutey" refused to let this sign pass without some mention. And if you don't see what I'm talking about, the above post applies to you too ...


THE BOATING SEASON BEGINS


The Ladeez



The Ladeez Pt. II



Homey C



Sarah, Jizzle and me working on my tan



J-Yet iwith a Stella in hand.



America's Next Top Model. Blue Steel, what? I call this pose "Copper Copper."



The same look, just from a different angle ...

Stay tuned for more...

He's No Chris Walken

The Miami Heat held their victory parade on Friday, celebrating their first NBA Championship.
And then, the inexplicable happened...



I would make a joke about old, white men and their dancing, but hell — Christopher Walken still has the MOVES.

I'll hopefull have all the vids and pics from LA uploaded tommorrow. It's been a little busy round these parts the last couple days...

Parting Shots

Some random thoughts on my trip to La-La land ...

- There are some hothotHOT women in L.A. Or, at least I've heard that. I didn't see any of them.
- When I get drunk, and I'm only around white people, I dance like Carleton.
- Driving in L.A. is a lot like a roller-coaster... lots of fun, except if you have to do it every day. Any more, and you feel like puking.
- Driving with my sister in L.A. is a lot like riding a roller-coaster... lots of fun, except if you have to do it every day. Any more, and you feel like puking. Or have a broken foot from where she's run over it with her car.
- I'm not sure how I feel about knowing Colin Farrell has grabbed my sister's ass.
- If I was rich enough to be pretentious, I'd live in Malibu.
- From the sample of men I met in my sister's social circle, I'm guessing 99 per cent of LA is made up of gay men.
- Fried chicken tastes great with syrup. Or wrapped in a waffle. Try it - you'll like it.
- Family is one of the world's greatest things.
- Next year's tax refund will be spent on a plasma screen TV and wireless speakers.
- Next year's credit card purchase will be a TiVo.
- Saying you'll leave room on the TiVo for your fiancee's reality TV shows is a pretty corny marriage vow. But that's what relationships are made of ...
- White girls can't dance, even if they are from South Central LA. Ask DJ Quick.
- Eddie Murphy seems like a big asshole.
- A Jheri curl suits Marlon Wayans.
- I will have a chocolate fountain at my wedding.
- I'm glad to be home.


Yeah, LA was cool and a lot of fun, but daaaag ... It tired me out. I'm glad to be home, be able to lounge on my couch watching World Cup soccer, without being marauded by a brigade of fire ants. Word to my sis - thanks for entertaining your brother. An Okanagan wine tour is in the future for you and your friends...

Stay away, Ashley Olsen

Me n my sis in Malibu


Ok. Wow. Whooo. God. Good laaawd.
I rarely go to a wedding where it's a lot of fun, where everyone is happy, where everyone turns out to be a lot of fun. Who knew you could have good conversation standing on line for the men's room?
Malibu. gooood lllawd almighty. I want to move there.
My sister's friend's wedding was held at this huge estate in Malibu - and when I say exclusive, I mean Diana Ross was blackballed from buying a house there - and it was the bomb diggety. We arrive fashionably late (this is LA, of course), just as the wedding was beginning. Remember, this was a "HinJew" wedding. We sat through 90 minutes of mildly interesting Hindu customs, with the bride and groom lighting fires, throwing rose petals, taking steps ... yada yada. Of course, it might have been more enthralling if it hadn't been 100 DEGREES in the sun, which we sat under in its blazing glory. But I was relatively cool in a Sean Jon linen suit (cough cough. Cause that's the way I roll), and did find the ceremony culturally intriguing.
After the Hindu portion, there was the Jewish part, which happened to be way more entertaining. Maybe it was because we had a fat, 70-year-old Seinfeld stand-in as a rabbi. He was cracking jokes left, right, and between your legs. It was damned funny.
The only problem I had with the ceremony was a mild feeling of guilt after I thought "gaaaawdddamn, the bride looks good." Which she did. She had lost, according to my sister, about 60 pounds for the wedding.
This estate was off the hizzook. We're talking palm trees with white lights wrapped around them, an orchard, a catered dinner for over 100 guests, a five-piece band ... ooooh lawd. And I usually don't enjoy weddings. But this one ... yikes.
Maybe it had something to do with the open bar. Or maybe it was all the "Uppies" - the Up With People alumni that were friends of the bride, including my sister.
Lots of drinking, lots of dancing, and these girls that I swear were the Olsen twins. Well, at least they looked like them. Inebriated and, ummm, impulsive. Don't worry folks - I was in the back. Waaaaaay back. I avoided any possible blemishes on my .. sister's reputation. ;)
The party ended early - around 11 p.m. - and we took the limo back to town. (Cause that's how we roll) ...
It was good to meet some of my sister's UWP friends - they were a riot. Bob (My Scotch) and his wife, Anke, who kept trying to get me to say phrases like "Das un deutchsen auto?" to each other, Eric and Brynn, the dancer, my sis's friend Erick, who has the kind of laugh that's infectious and triggers an unavoidable wave of laughter... Christi the bride, Robin and her husband Eric (No, I'm not drunk - they were all named Eric), and so on. It was tight.
It gave me a high-water mark for my wedding, whenever it may happen. It was the most fun I'd seen guests have at a wedding in a long time. I'm glad I went.

The other highlight of the day was battling LA traffic to visit my Uncle Connie in Woodland Hills. Yes, I braved the notorious 405 - one of the worst highways in the US - to visit my great uncle. It was a trip. It reminded me of when my grandpa took me out to breakfast, by myself, when I was like six, and everyone treated him like Don Corleone wherever we went. It was the same thing with my Uncle. I'm booking time off when I get back to come to his 90th birthday party, since he was at my Grandma's in Vegas two years ago. It goin' be CRAZY, I tell ya.

Tomorrow morning, on Sunday, my sister and I are having breakfast at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles before I hit the airport. It's a legendary staple of american fast-food livin' ... and no white people. Cause crackas would just ruin the whole thing ...

Just playin .. but that's what LA will do to ya in five days ...

and Im out ...

My ass has touched the same places as Eddie Murphy's ass

I think L.A. is affecting me. A trip to Ross yesterday to pick up a pair of pants for today's wedding turned into three pairs of pants and three pairs of shoes. I'm not a shopaholic, it just happened. This city does something to change you. Like this dude at the Kenneth Cole store at the outlet mall the other day. He asks me where I'm from, and I tell him the truth: I moved here from Vancouver to pursue my acting dream. Well, it just so happens that he HAPPENS to be a filmaker, and HAPPENS to be an actor, and HAPPENS to know a guy ... and he'd only been there for a month. From Tennessee. No real experience beyond that.

Anyways, yesterday we made the trip to Fox's Dreamworks Studio, where Eddie Murphy's new movie, Norbit, was under production. Anya happened to be real good friends with one of the assistant directors, the wonderful Renee, and she took us on a tour of the entire set. Of course, Anya took the chance to do a little networking, a little schmoozing, while we were there.
So the whole premise behind Norbit is that Eddie is an orphan, and he falls in love with this little orphan girl. They get separated, and decades pass until they meet again. But Norbit is married to this hag of a wife, Rasputia, who is having an affair with her crunk/tap dance teacher, Marlon Wayans. Yada yada yada, blah blah blah, and we likely have Pluto Nash part II.
Apparently Wayans is a real trip to work with. We were watching the digital playbacks of a scene (right after they shot it. Tight.) where Marlon's character is caught in bed with Rasputia, and you could see this massive bush peeking over the top of his bikini briefs. It'll be edited out in the final cut, and Marlon apparently did it just to fuck with Eddie's mind. I guess he is funny after all.
Now Eddie, for being a legend of comedy, is apparently a real dick to work with. He's constantly late, has no respect for most people, and has this massive entourage that follows him wherever he goes. He's got not one, not two, not three, but FIVE trailers, all arranged in a circle to create his own little compound on set. No one, except one production assistant specifically assigned to him, is allowed in.
Funny story - Thandie Newton got sick of his tardiness one day and stopped his limo as it was rolling through the lot. She motioned him to roll down the windown, which he did, then she berated him in a calm, non-confrontational manner. "It's not just me, it's the crew, too. It's just not very professional," she said.
She leaves, and Eddie says to his production assistant, "Somebody betta talk to her. Let her know how things are."
The producer and Thandie have a little chat, leaving the Crash star in tears, and erryting was back to the way it always was.
Eddie just don't seem that happy for someone with more money than God, a talent to make people laugh on par with the Big Guy Upstairs, and a loving family. Walking across the lot, he practically scowled wherever he went. I guess one too many Pluto Nashes will do that to a brother.
The tour of the set was real cool. I got to see everything, including shots, editing, make-up, the whole nine. I went through trailers, the Honey Wagon, saw the prothestic make-up artist, saw it all. It was pretty tight, and I have to thank my sister for taking me. Even the food was off the hook - catered gourmet cuisine. There was even a molten chocolate fountain for dessert.
I'm expecting more of the same this afternoon. We're taking a limo out to Malibu for my sister's friend's wedding. Malibu... good lord. I've never seen so much money before. It's crazy. Hopefully, I won't be too hungover to make my flight tomorrow.

and I'm out ...

Lazy Thursday

My shoulders feel like they've been worked over with a bat by a finnish woman named helga. Actually, it was a Romanian dude named Miho and he had no bat - just his fingers.
My sis, in her continued quest to make me a meterosexual, went to a spa on Thursday, where I met the aforementioned Miho.
"The World Cup, zee football World Cup . . . you watch?" he asked as his thumbs pushed through my back to my rib cage.
I don't remember what I replied, I think I swore allegiance to Romania, but it seemed to satisfy him, since the pressure dropped to an 8 on the pain scale. But like Lauryn Hill said, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?
I made my way to the sauna afterwards, for a good ol manly heat bath with some swarthy un-toweled men of eastern European persuasion. Note to all you out there - take off any jewelry before you go in. My chain turned into a red-hot collar of pain around my neck, and I'm surprised it didn't melt.
Still, I felt refreshed and loose after my spa experience, and might have to make it a monthly - or weekly - trip once I get home.

We picked up some grub after the spa and headed to her friends', CJ and Raphael, house. It was like the game "Pick the Gay Guys House" as we were driving up. We pass by all these houses in their neighborhood with dirt for lawns, cracked windows, and generally ugly patio furniture.
Then, like an oasis in the middle of the desert, this lush, green, piece of paradise appeared; A massive Koi pond, trees, shrubs, flowering vines, secluded little sitting areas, and a massive gate made from two artfully weatherbeaten doors.
This crib was aight.
We stopped by ostensibly just to eat our food, but it somehow turned into an impromptu dinner party. (What? At a gay couple's house? What are the odds?) The next thing I knew, it was 11 p.m, I was stuffed with food, sipping on a vodka tonic, talking about some crazy shit with all these different people I had just met. It was a lot of fun, and was sort of reassuring to know that my sister had some cool ass friends she could hang with. CJ and Raph (who took over the mantle as the reigning genetic freak from Bridget. He's in his 40s but looks younger than me) are, well, indescribably fun. Sam, their boarder, is flamboyant and funny, though I'm not so sure about his hobby - collecting stuffed birds. He had most packed away when I was there, except for a peacock and a FIVE FOOT TALL OSTRICH. It was a little creepy. I kept expecting the thing to try and poke my eyes out (Shudder).
There was George, the model-turned-fashion photographer who hates kids to the point of ... well, that's just between me, him and our drinks. Rita had some messed-up stories, Jen is, ahem, "corresponding" with some girl in Nelson, of all places, and Hannibal is the most polite person I've met in a 30-second span.

I sometimes forget this is LA, or the business they work in. There's lots of celebrity talk, but not in the E! or People Magazine kind of way. It's strictly first-name stuff, and when they tell a story about LFB or Donnie, they're actually talking about these mega-stars that are really good friends. It's kind of surreal, but understandable. It's the same thing in the sports journalism industry, too. I talk and interact with all these superstar sports figures, but rarely get star-struck. They're just athletes, for the most part.
Though I do have to send a shout-out to CJ, who dutifully tried to hook me up with Elgin Baylor's daughter. She was too busy to come because, unlike me, she was watching the Heat tie the NBA Finals series up with Dallas. I hear she's fine, though. We'll save that for another trip ... just kidding, Homey C.

Today we're off to the set of Eddie Murphy's new movie, and then to the premier of Nacho Libre. What would a trip to LA be without a film premiere?

Lata

Blazing at the House of Blues

Awoke in a haze today ... sirens and chirping birds for most of the night didn't contribute to a restful sleep. Or maybe I'm tired because I stayed up till 3 a.m. watching the homosexual scientologist himself, Tom Cruise, in Vanilla Sky. Sometimes I question my decision-making process.
Anyways, today's No. 1 task was a must-do on the list of what to do in L.A. ... shopping at the outlet mall! And not just any outlet mall, but the second-biggest outlet mall in California. AwwwwYeaah baby. I do it up RIGHT.
Me, my sis and her friend Bridget - the youngest-looking 46-year-old I've ever met, headed up to Camarillo (taking a scenic drive through scenic celebrity-filled Malibu) and spent five hours trekking around Hugo Boss, Sak's Fith Avenue, Kenneth Cole, Armani... and so on. Bridget just happens to be the wardrobe manager on Las Vegas (the TV show. Duh.), so she was a wealth of clothing knowledge. I think I'll look really good in my snakeskin pants.
After the five hours of shopping, we spent another two crawling through rush-hour traffic trying to get back to Anya's crizzle. I tried falling asleep, but my sister drives like Mario Andretti. A blind Mario Andretti. In fact, she actually backed OVER my foot today. I didn't need my feet anyways ...

We got back to the house, I scarfed down some Chinese fast-food, took a power nap, and dressed for the highlight of the day; DJ Quick at the House of Blues.
We got there around 9ish, walking into a cloud of Mary Jane while one of the warm-up acts were still on the stage. It was like 20 little 12-year-olds running around acting hardcore. Remember Steve Harvey's commentary on hip hop on Kings of Comedy? This was straight off the script. No talent, no star, no entertainment, really.
They were nearly done by the time we got there, so me, my Grey Goose and soda and my sis hit the pit in front of the stage. Plenty of elbow room, and we settled in to watch the show. Quick's compadre, Mitchy Slick, did it up for a half hour, and he wasn't bad. The usual short gangsta black dude with cornrows.
There were some special guests in the house: Talib Kwali, Carl Thomas, and X to the Z himself, Xzibit. The crowd went nuts with Mr. Pimp My Ride hit the stage. There must have been a hundred cellphones lit up in front of us, as everyone held them up to grab some video or pics. It was kind of the modern version of the lighters in the air.
Quick came out around 10, and went straight through until a little after midnight. Great live show, the old school was rockin the spot. Let me just say this: It doesn't matter if they live in the hood, white people in LA are just like ya'll in the rest of the world. RHYTHMLESS. I say that because they pulled a bunch of hoochies up on stage for a booty dance, and it was almost painful to watch some of they spasmodic gyrations. And once they realized people were laughing, they tried to get freaky instead, and started stripping. Again, laughter. And tears (from me). It was that embarassing.
There was one dude who was beside us the entire time. His girl had been super energetic at the start, dancing and ish, but crashed HARD about 1/4 through Quick's set. He couldn't move her off the floor, cause it was jammed like Gotcha's women's bathroom, with people shoulder to shoulder. So he had to hold her up, bascially unconcious, for the entire set. My feet were aching by the end, so I have no idea how he managed it.
Anyways, it was a good show. Glad I went. Though I'm missing Talib perform with The Roots on Sunday at the same place. Ahh, oh well.
Tomorrow is a chill day. Magic Mountain had been on the itinerary, but we decided to take a pass.

lata

Celebrity status

Quick anecdote: Ric's Grill, last Friday. Our server, who just happened to be Miceail's little sister, comes up to me, and breathlessly says "my manager REALLY wants your autograph. I'm serious." I thought it was a joke at first, but she insisted and persisted, and finally I scrawled a quick note of "thanks for the grub. JJ" on a napkin.
No joke, ladies and gents.
On our way out, to much eye-rolling from Christa, the manager repeated his admiration for my, ahem, "work," and how much of a fan he was. He even comped our dessert. What a guy ...

Anyways, yesterday (Monday) I jetted south to Los Angeles, the home of Hollywood's hottest and hippest. Is it any wonder I feel at home here?
I keed, I keed.

After arriving at the airport, my sis picked me up, we had a quick lunch and then it was off to Manhattan Beach Studios, home of the set of CSI: Miami. I got a personal tour of the various sound stages and permanent sets (I hope I haven't skewered the beliefs of some that it was actually filmed in Miami), met some of my sister's co-workers, bosses and underlings. I even saw her massive office, complete with stacks of cardboard boxes, stationary lockers and extra chairs. She's big time, ya'll ...

After chillaxin at the crizzle (A little LA speak for ya), hit the arclight theatre for a little MI:3 action. This was a pretty swanky theatre, with registered seating, really expensive snacks and lazy-boy like seats. Tom Cruise wasn't too bad, either. I only thought of him as a gay Scientologist once while watching the movie. Lots of explosions, gunfights, stunts and the best bad-guy death I've seen in a long time. 3.5 stars from me.

Today was a day for roots. I'm always identified with being black, being afro-canadian, just because of the way I look. People forget the other half of what makes me ... me. Sometimes I even forget that. So today's trip to the Museum of Tolerance was a bit of a reminder for me, a little "note to self" to remember some of my roots.
We took in a couple exhibits on the Holocaust, on Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal, and had the luck to attend on a day when an actual survivor of the Holocaust was speaking.
Bella Friedman was the lone surviving member of a family of six. Barely 13 at the time, she made it through two Nazi-created ghettos, two work camps, and the gas chambers of auschwitz. Her tale was stirring and emotional even for her, even though she must have recounted the story many times. She told us of a forced labour camp making telephone equipment, and how she picked up a disassembled phone one day in a fit of despair, and tried to talk to God, ask him for his help. A Nazi guard appeared. "I will help you," he said, and then beat her and her friend to within an inch of her life.
I was riveted by her talk, though the high school class that comprised most of the crowd seemed disinterested, at best. One of the museum staff, who bellowed while s-p-e-a-k-i-n-g r-e-a-l-l-y- s-l-o-w-l-y unintenionally gave everyone a good laugh when soliciting the crowd for questions. A lesbian couple, one of whom had short hair and was, ummm, let's just say masculine, raised her hand to ask a question. He turned and said "Yes, young MAN. You have a question."
I had to laugh, even though I had just heard a tale of grim deaths and suffering. But I'm glad I had a chance to go to the museum, and especially to see Bella speak. She was truly an inspiration.

We're bizzack at the crizzle now, cooking dinner for my uncle Rob and aunt Fran, and their kids Rae and Eli. My aunt Sue and husband Art took a rain check, and we're meeting them for lunch tomorrow.

Stay tuned for pics and vids from the trip. I'll try to make a daily entry.

and I'm outtie ...

Royal Cup Finals Bound

My ankle is dunzo like the Suns. A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. A twist, a pop, and three weeks of no soccer, except for watching Peter Crouch (LiverPOOOOOL) do the robot after scoring on TV. And, of course, watching my team roll through the Royal Cup like Shaq through a post defender. The Royal Cup is sorta the Kelowna mens league equivalent of the World Cup ... minus the skill, the money and the fans. The beer, however, flows as gushingly as it does in Germany.
Anyways, my team has made it all the way through to the final, thanks to super-sub (and Bo Jackson wannabe) Miceail. He had a hat trick in the second-round game, and now we take on First Division LCFC Sunday in the semifinals. With me on the sideline...
Anyways, here's some pics of the boys in action in our opener. 2-0 over Attitude Ressurection...

And I'm out like the robot dance... which you can find a video of at the bottom ...




This is the way Anj looks when he smiles. Really.



Kyle gets all brokeback with his friend from Resurrection...



This is Rich. I posted his pic because he also happens to be my girlfriend's first aid teacher. No shame in sucking up whenever you can ...



Lucas gets mad ...



So Lucas gets even ...



Our man Miceail shows his skill...



Our man Miceail shows his displeasure after being dispossessed of the ball at short time later by who appears to be Frodo Baggins...



As Skee-Lo said, Iwish I was a little bit taller ...