It was at Crown Bar in West Hollywood where the next Carl’s Jr. burger would be unveiled. And what better place than a whiskey bar to hold an event called, “Bourbon & Burgers?” And bourbon and burgers we would get – almost necessarily in that order!

So upon arrival – after meeting up with Sarah of TheDeliciousLife and meeting Brooks Bayne and Joe Said for the first time – I got right down to business. We were already situated by the bar so I decided to give the “signature drink” a whirl. After all, it was the drink that was created especially for that night. Truth be told, I couldn’t really figure out what was going on with the drink, as I tasted mostly soda. No matter – I saved the rest of the night for either requesting more bourbon or ordering bourbon on the rocks.

Just before Caroline on Crack arrived (yay) and meeting Food Marathon, I also ran into an old girlfriend from the glory days of undergrad. What a small world. With fast finger foods to entertain us.  Kentucky Bourbon Burgers – many of them – were quartered and toothpicked for our dainty consumption. And they pretty much lived up to the task too because I found myself probably eating a full burger by the end of the night. That’s not counting the onion rings and fries I nibbled on throughout, either. For some reason, I just couldn’t stop!

Of course, how special could a burger being introduced in this day and age be without bacon? And the burger didn’t disappoint. It provided a nice texture and a good salty taste to contrast the sweet bourbon sauce on the patty. The burger itself had even a little smoky taste to it. If you like sweet-sauced burgers, the Kentucky Bourbon Burger is your sure bet.

Picture credit to Caroline on Crack

As for the festivities of the night, who would complain about open bar? We also got to meet CEO Andy Puzder and the Happy Star up close and personal. A couple Laker girls were on hand and Rob Dyrdek made an appearance. For good measure, we were shown current and up-and-coming Carl’s Jr. television spots. My favorite was a Jackass-type skateboarding video with Happy Star. As for guys being the target market – I admit, for running a past campaign showcasing P. Hilton in an Ashley Paige while washing a Bentley (you know which one) – they had a lot to live up to. But I think they did a pretty good job going forward with that guy appeal thing…

See more pics from Bourbon & Burgers at Crown Bar on Flickr

Night boarding in Mammoth? Awesome. Especially since they had staked out the stash the night before, I was eager to reap the rewards of their labor. And this is what we got:

Photo credit to Kenyan

It was a truly beautiful view. I had never seen the town of Mammoth from this perspective – at night nor under the stars full moonlight.

It was a nice, steep slope too. All was calm and still. And when you looked back at the hill, you also caught a different sense of appreciation. It couldn’t have been a more perfect night to experiment with night boarding – it was a full moon:

The snow was pretty fresh as in it hadn’t been tracked – but old in the sense that maybe it had a layer of the krusties on top. No matter, because it was certainly fresh underneath. When you tackled the slope, the moonlight gave it an exciting kind of mystery. You didn’t know if you were going to hit a rock underneath or run into one because you couldn’t see – either way it was a different kind of rush than the one you get in a white-out. Our first time coming into the bottom, single-file into a walkway, we managed to avoid (er, ski/snowboard past) a couple walking their dog. We felt apologetic about riding in and surprising them in that way but they seemed unfazed – like it was business-as-usual in a day of the life of a Mammoth resident..

We took turns driving Rob’s truck back down the hill for the pick-up after a total 4 runs down the slope. Nearby, a house party was being had with people watching us from out the back bay window of the house. They yelped and cheered for us as we cheered back.

They understood our thirst for a fresh stash.

See e*star’s Night Boarding in Mammoth Flickr Set

“…I’m the kind of person who…”

I tuned out.

“When x happens, I y…”

I tuned out yet again. Until I realized he had stopped talking about himself long enough to feign interest in myself. Yes, he made an inquiry:

“So describe yourself.”

I guess it was my turn.

I wouldn’t say I feel exactly pretentious describing myself – but I think I’d rather hang out with a person who could, who might even prefer to, figure me out himself. That – or stop faking the opportunity to keep talking about himself.

There is an art to quantification and articulation, I’ve always believed, but then there is an art to knowing when to let things stand as they exist because talking about them would ruin mere comprehension and interpretation. It’s the art of knowing when to shut up. For cryin’ out loud, just let it be.

Talking should be saved for work purposes – because that’s just expected. There exist incentives for efficiency. Snap, snap.

Snap. I gave “describing myself” a hack anyway.

“Well. I’m real easy-going. I -”

He responded, “I can totally see that,” before continuing on.

I tuned him out yet again.

That was even before he asked permission to drunk dial me – while swearing he was “entertaining” on the drunk dial. He wasn’t. I mean – I don’t expect you to be the next Richard Pryor or anything but it’s another thing to chalk up the hype on a veiled attempt to make me an enabler to your addiction.

Yawn. Next.

There was this other line were these other lines I got from somebody else.

I had to have “a talk” because although I had seen him twice – total – the 1am, 2am, 3am and 4am texts were a tad much. A tad. As were emails with a singular You Tube link to a music video in each, which I suppose were meant to artfully and lyrically convey messages to me through the rhymes of another being or artist who had once felt exactly the same way he did at that moment.

Actually. I don’t remember what I said – admittedly, I buffered the whole “I’m just not into you” mantra with a predictible sprinkle of “I’m into being single right now.” But I’ve been all about seeking out the truth recently – while honoring others with the truth as well. After all, the truth sets you free. So does compassion and tact, however. So I managed to avoid covering the whole, “I want to never see you again because you creep me out” premise with an untruthful “we need to slow things down.” But it left things open a bit, because he tried to make his case.

“You’re really cool…”

“I have no expectations, no – none at all…”

“You can do whatever you want – you can call me, you can not talk to me ever again…”

“Yeah … I’ll take whatever I can get.”

What. What? Seriously.

Vouch for yourself for cryin’ out loud. It may be true that yes – you will take whatever you can get – but don’t actually say that. Don’t show all your cards at once. I don’t even want to play my best a good hand so I’d rather bow out.

Contact again on Facebook. Via text message. How are you doing? Really, guys and gals. And I’m not talking to them; I’m talking to you. It’s just not that hard – spare more time and pain in the long run. I wrote it out in a message, over text – in the same format it was sent – and there would be no mistake.

“I’m sorry – I’m just not interested. Just thought you should know.”

You don’t need a movie to teach you what should’ve been learnt in normal human interaction since the age of 5. Why is common sense not so common, anymore?

Next.

With this birthday being the 30th, I wanted to do it not only in a way hardly anyone else had, but I wanted to do it big. I don’t know how to apologize for that, so I won’t. I’ll just tell you that I did, and a little bit about how.

My girlfriend’s name is Charlie and she lives at the top of Beachwood Canyon – her house was the setting. There was a full moon out on a beautiful, clear night and my celebration had one of the best views of it – straight from the Hollywood Hills. Little did I know that that night was and will be the biggest moon of 2009. Serendipitous. I love it.

Because I like to think that everything about this was big.

In the daytime, the road leading up to the house is littered with tourists parking their cars along the side before straddling the paint for a good, up-front shot of the Hollywood(land) sign.

While making daytime deliveries to the house, I often became stuck – frustratingly – behind “Star Buses” traveling extra slowly as the tour guide pointed out celebrities’ residences to tourists inside the roof-torn van. Even after you drive the curved, narrow roads in the area - the living space in the house is atop two flights of stairs. But from the balcony of the house is where it pays off: A clear view of Griffith Observatory – and on that balcony rested two hookahs for my guests’ enjoyment.

Never mind that one of Tom’s hookahs was broken before the night was well underway – I was just in cahoots that my many different worlds were colliding in one very special place. School friends came, blogger friends came, coworkers as did my peeps from Mosaic and my old Volkswagen car club. Libations were poured by a very special bartender and furnishings were in no small part thanks to Corrie. The sound system was set up by Tim. Hookah supplies by Giancarlo and Melissa. Errands, cooking and clean-up were entirely Chris, Bridgette and Tim.

I have to admit that I was stressed out about the night’s playlist beforehand. I had decided to not do a DJ and to outfit the audio ambiance myself. I was aiming for lounge over dance party. Conversations over gyrations. I was pleased – if even relieved – to receive compliments on the playlist the entire night. I’ve always believed a playlist (see my last.fm) is so personal it’s almost like being an artist. A bastardized DJ at most. In the most extreme scenario, my existence would be judged by those closest to me according to which tracks I picked – and in what order. It worked out.

The hookahs were great conversation pieces. Cherry, strawberry and blueberry flavors were shared by friends of all walks of life – my favorite part of Los Angeles. My native Angeleno (Silver Lake, to be exact) coworker came up to me at one point in the night and mentioned that everyone he sat with during his hookah session were “all from somewhere else” and that he felt rather plain. In fact, I thought him special because he, as a native, was actually the minority in my circle. Even the bartender was from Oklahoma – that is, from somewhere else. It’s par for this course.

While there were 77 confirmed guests on the Pingg invite (good-bye, Evite!) and 20-something maybes, I got a few sick calls. After all, it’s January and multiple bugs are being passed around. No matter – about that many showed up and I was ecstatic to be surrounded with great friends, great camaraderie.

And great cake! My girlfriends managed a HUGE triple-berry shortbread cake from Sweet Lady Jane’s – my absolute favorite!!

Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone who came and helped make my 30th so special. I feel so blessed to have the quality people in my life that I do. It’s nothing I will ever take for granted. After all, a girl is only as good as the people who surround and support her – and I couldn’t have made it this far without you.

To a new decade, a new era, and continually – new beginnings…

<3 Happy Birthday to me – today! <3

See codemunky’s e*star Birthday Flickr set

See my Birthday Flickr set

(I will update these sets as you make them available to me.)

It was the New Year’s celebration taking place at 44th and 6th on the bottom floor of ABC Studios – where they broadcast Good Morning America – and Pepsi, with their RefreshEverything campaign, was the sponsor. Stoked. Tara and I met up first and we had the pleasure of meeting and partying the night up with NY Gothamist cats, Neil Epstein and Jen Chung, and their significant others.

H’ors d’oeuvres such as shrimp cocktail, stuffed mushrooms and chicken skewers kept my dinner-less stomach happy. Open bar, a variety of fun party favors and dancing entertainment completed the night. We noticed (but could not hear) performances going on by Taylor Swift and Fergie on the TV prompters as well as Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest fulfilling their respective hosting gigs. No matter. I got a picture with a sailor, and it wasn’t even Fleet Week.

At about 11:40 on December 31st, we trooped outdoors to join everyone else, who had probably been there for a minimum of 12 hours by then – in single digit weather!! Not to gloat! And since I pulled the novice blogger mistake of capturing video of the ball drop with my camera vertically, I’ll defer to Tara’s awesome video capturing and editing skills here. You can see glimpses of what went on during the night (there’s even a special greeting to us Angelenos at the end ):

Happy New Year, everyone!! Cheers to a wonderful 2009.

The best part? I’m still in New York!! More to come later…

View my NYE Times Square Flickr Pics

I admit it. It really was an impulse thing. Well hey; if it’s any other American city I’d uproot myself to start over again in, The Big Apple is certainly it. Naturally, the next best thing is to visit it. I may have booked the flight to New York only 8 days ago, but hell if I didn’t have a good reason to do so on short notice. It’s almost 2009, folks! Happy New Year.

My good friend Greg has been gracious enough to put me up for the week.

My friend Tara, whom will become an even better friend by the time this trip is over , has been gracious enough to help me out with a VIP pass to ABC studios in Times Square for the New Year’s Eve celebration. Dick Clark, open bar, the works.

And just to make the trip worthwhile, I will be staying for a whole week to see the city. It’s my third time here – the first of which was marked by a performance in Carnegie Hall with my high school city-wide youth orchestra. The second – a pleasure trip. But the third time’s a charm, so needless to say, I’m excited about my New York holiday.

The winter holidays, for me, extend just a little bit further than everyone else. That happens when you have a mid-January birthday (and you happen to care about it – no shame here, man). This particular birthday is a big one, so you can expect a return to regular updating around here because a lot has been going on from snowboarding … to this New York trip … to my 30th birthday. Yeah, I said it. I’m excited about my 30th birthday. I’ll wax philosophic about that later; I got a couple-a weeks.

So this is more of a heads-up post to be checking my Twitter tonight for some live micro-blogging action and back here for follow-ups. For the first time, I’ll be ringing in the new year 3 hours ahead of my fellow Angelenos. What better way to remember such an event?

Currently, I’m in the middle of a week and a half-long vacation. It began with boarding in Mammoth for a couple days. We crammed 18 people into a small condo, which was walking distance to Canyon Lodge. The second night we were there, we played Rock Band II (without the drums) and were so loud we didn’t even hear the noise complaint because we couldn’t hear the neighbors knocking on our front door. They were gracious enough to give us a grace night by waiting til morning to warn us to not do “that” again or they’d simply call the cops if they heard noise after 10pm the next night.

That night, we watched bad cable movies and Futurama DVDs.

It was on Sunday during a lunch break in our usual riding session as we were standing in line for the grill when I found my right pocket unzipped and my new Blackberry gone. Gone. Next came panic mode.

The realization that you have to replace something that has, on one hand, become so pertinent to your day-to-day life and, on the other hand, also costs hundreds of dollars, is a hard one to absorb. It makes you pause, reflect and maybe even ask yourself why you didn’t have that crap phone within which to insert your SIM card for days on the mountain. It would be completely stupid to take with you a phone model that has only existed for about one month, unlocked versions of which eBay for $500.

But that’s exactly what I did. And the phone was gone.
I alternated from praying for signs and praying for hope to systematically rearranging finances in my head to make room for the new BlackBerry I’d be forced to purchase. The thing about a phone falling out of your un-zipped pocket is the most likely scenarios are either when you’re sitting down to strap in at the top of a run or rest in the middle. As in, rest on choppy, once frozen-over moguls of powder such as on the double black run called Dragon’s Back.

My “crew” graciously helped me retrace our routes. We checked Eagle Lodge (a smaller outpost) lost & found, repeated 4 runs including through trees before going to Canyon Lodge to check the lost & found there. It was where our cabin was, anyway. I had planned in my head to tell the guys to go ahead on home so I could ride to Main Lodge myself to file an official report, but got an inkling to slow down and check Canyon first.

As I walked up to the lost & found counter, I told the girl solemnly that “I lost a BlackBerry.” She asked, “Like a pretty new model?” And I knew then that the little bit of hope I had gotten back wasn’t for naught. “Yes – the newest, or second-newest,” I responded.

And as she held up my BlackBerry Bold – complete with the Mammoth Mountain trail map as its wallpaper and TwitterBerry, Google Maps and BlackBerry Messenger as the top applications on the menu – I lowered my forehead to the counter while chanting “Oh my god” and “Thank you” five times. Each.

Hallelujah.

The two excruciating hours spent searching for my phone while simultaneously praying and checkbook balancing were humbling. The lesson of the day might have been as simple as remembering to zip your pockets on your snowboarding jacket or getting a shoddy cell phone for use on the mountains but the fact of the matter was that the outcome of the experience renewed my faith in humanity. The notion that whomever had found my phone could have easily turned up $400-$500 richer but chose not to out of the goodness (or indifference, or ignorance) of his/her heart wasn’t something I was about to take for granted.

For the record, I’ve turned a cell in at Mammoth before. Though I’m for certain that its value wasn’t as much as my BlackBerry, I’d like to think that I somewhat paid it forward way back when. Or that the Mammoth trail map wallpaper struck some sort of karma chord in its finder – perhaps he/she was another season pass holder.

Whomever you are, this is for you. Thank you for all you did (turn my phone in) and didn’t do (sell it on eBay). I’ve sent up some good thoughts for you and am hopeful you will reap your reward!

There’s something about finding a niche at a place you’ve invested time into. Getting to know the shifts of baristas to avoid and favor. Getting to know other patrons who come to do work the same time you do. The cool ones, anyway.

Describing it as “work” doesn’t do it justice.

Screenwriters, composers, math teachers, video editors. You’re reading this, but I’m somewhere between blogger and internet surfer. The latter is something to do while I’m being inspired by my surroundings. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have internet at home. No espresso machine, though.

There’s something beyond inspiring, though, about joking about Xenu in a coffeehouse across the street from a main Scientology centerpiece. Chances are, your jokes will graze the ears of an actual Scientologist. You’ve been forewarned.

Thank god it wasn’t me – doing the joking.

It was like being a fly on the wall, and realizing that maybe the wall was instead a venus fly trap. Yeah, get me out of here.

Oh god, here it comes. Please don’t engage her.

He did.

“Don’t talk about something you know nothing about.”

“It’s about leadership.”

“Do I look like an idiot who would invest my time and money in something which didn’t improve me?” Uh.

And the classic, “It’s not about aliens.”

Look, I may think – but not necessarily argue – one viewpoint over the other on the matter. You can save the arguing for other people. Hopefully far away. I have a hard time expending time or breath on someone else who has clearly already had his or her mind made up. (I’ll admit it: Mine is.)

“What an integral part in this community they play,” I’m thinking. That’s it.

I’m just an observer … caught in headlights.

Please don’t come get me. I’m broke.

“Writing for a penny a word is ridiculous. If a man really wants to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion.”

-L. Ron Hubbard

I’d been up there enough times. I don’t really expect people to know this, per se, and well – all reckless behavior should be reprimanded at all times no matter committed by whom.

Apparently, my carelessness was as readily apparent as was slick the OneBallJay wax on the bottom of my snowboard (and actually, my board was really pretty dry). We were at the top of the gondola. I dared rest my snowboard on its flat probably a whole 30 feet away from the edge of Climax – just inside the frame taken above.

Thankfully, Ski Patrol helped bring to light the error of my ways. I call this, Enlightenment.

“Is this your board over here?” the red, black and white-dressed patrolman in ski boots asked me. There were probably 10 other people – total – around the entire landing, which is large.

“Yeah,” I responded. What a funny question to ask, I thought. Maybe I had a limited edition snowboard and I didn’t even know it.

He proceeded to reach down and turn my board over so that the bindings were touching the snow. “When you’re standing around, you’re gonna wanna turn your board over so that your bindings are facing down,” he says.

Call me crazy but – bindings down or not – I think overall board awareness at all times is more important. And I think I have that. No upside down snowboard is going to stop itself from going downhill, anyway. Also, no one else was even near me, which might be the only scenario I could think of that might cause someone to haphazardly kick my board 30 feet and over the edge of Climax, the nearest bluff. I carry the sense around me of where my board is at almost all times, including if my snowboard might slide away.

You know, though. He made a simple suggestion. Who am I? Certainly not Ski Patrol.

And then he drops a bomb.

“Because you know, you’re responsible if you kill someone.” The best part about it was there was no expression on his face except a completely deadpan look.

Drunk on “power,” much? Huh. Interesting. Pray tell me, “So what situations would I NOT be responsible if I killed someone?”

No “someone could get seriously hurt at the bottom,” nor a simple “your board could go off the ledge” if somebody even kicked it. But *I* would be responsible if *I* killed someone. Thank you, Ski Patrol a.k.a. Cops on Skis. Don’t hate me because you failed police academy. I know, you get the short end of the stick because instead of getting to set up speed traps as a source of municipal revenue all you get to do is harass innocent little Asian girls about their homicidal snow equipment – but hell if you won’t make the most of it.

You probably live in Mammoth Lakes, Mr. Ski Patrolman, and you have great pride that you’re a local. I completely respect that. And I know there are a lot of us L.A. punks who come up every weekend and ruin all y’all locals’ traffic on Old Mammoth Road to have you eagerly anticipating every winter Sunday night when we finally leave town and go home. I apologize for that. But who’s supporting your businesses? I do my best not to act like the Urban Cowboy Hipster who comes into town and thinks she’s all high and mighty over you Funny Mountain People. If I had the guts I’d move to Mammoth for a couple years, myself, so really – you have my props. And I try and be courteous and respectful in all local establishments, I swear.

I respected Mr. Ski Patrolman’s God-given authority rolled my eyes. This particular season pass holder certainly does not plan on killing anyone this particular trip in Mammoth, but thanks.

Punk.

Obama referenced Dr. King’s term, “the fierce urgency of now” when he announced his candidacy. And maybe not in so many words, but that was the essence of what I felt when I knew I had to do something to help him get elected. Anything – like drive to Nevada and canvas there. I have believed in him – oratory and inexperience considered – from the beginning, even more than Hillary. To me, his speeches were and never are just words, but eloquent articulation communicating a broad understanding of issues he has weighed time and time again. His charisma isn’t empty, but a fresh and graceful challenge to our lowered standards of Presidential rhetoric and diplomacy as a direct result of the past 8 years.

The General Election was quite an animal. The mere prospect of the alternative being elected was just not something I could face myself with if I had not done my part. I won’t lie and say that “negative” motivation wasn’t also factor. Everything that came up Ayers, socialist, Hussein, Wright or non-policy in general, fueled me as well. But Palin scared me the most and and that was that.

I definitely felt all of that come to a head in that large room at the Hyatt Century City. I don’t know that it’s all really sunk in, actually. All this and more rushed through my head as my best girlfriends and I walked into that room, immediately before Obama had acquired more than the 270 electorals needed.

Just 10 minutes prior had we gotten dropped off by a cab, scoped the 100-yard line of people wrapping around the hotel and said, “No way.” Luckily, I remembered from a long-past company holiday party at the same location that the big room was downstairs and that we had come from underground to cross the street. I had spied from that outdoor stairwell an open entrance with  volunteers milling around inside and said we should go back. As we strutted in like we belonged, I did a quick check to make sure there wasn’t a qualifying wristband or badge everyone had on and there wasn’t, so we were safe.

And that was when we bought drink tickets, got our first glass of wine and walked in literally 5 seconds – at 8:00 – before they called the electoral college for Obama. I am convinced this is no coincidence because after all, we believed we belonged there. But being around Obama volunteers, supporters and even union leaders and celebrating with them was like no experience I’ve ever had. The memory of carpooling with other strangers-become-friends, going door to non-foreclosed door in Henderson came back. All of it was so moving that before McCain’s graceful concession speech and before Obama’s acceptance speech, the realization, the weight – and lightness – caused me to just stand there and cry for 5 minutes. My friends and strangers nearby understood and hugged me, and through my tears I heard, “Aw sweetie, it’s okay. I know how you feel – but I’ve been crying all day!” We clinked plastic wine cups with strangers, cried with them, shook hands with them, hugged them.

And then it was time to send love to Chicago from Los Angeles.

The rest of the night was marked with intriguing conversations with others in the bathroom line, in the line for the bar, in the general lobby. It was interesting to learn of different unions who sent volunteers and representatives…not withstanding the lifeguard union. (I remember acting impressed if not to be polite. I mean, what do you say when someone asks you – first thing - ”What do you think about lifeguards?”) B, C and I danced up a storm for a little bit while Shepard Fairey (the HOPE poster artist) DJ’ed. Yes, he DJs too. We didn’t see Pierce Brosnan, Zooey Deschanel nor Sarah Silverman as was touted in the invite, but then again it’s not like we had remembered to look for them. Everyone had the means to amuse themselves, and amuse we did. Case in point: My friend Rob also pointed me in the direction of this tidbit of amusing coverage on Fox11 News, in which the anchors smell a little something fishy in the air.

Of course, I don’t expect a perfect term or a perfect President, but I made the choice to support him 20 months ago and boy has it been worth it. This memory will last forever.

Time to get to work.

You can also view:

Barack Obama Election Night Gala Flickr set