Slimmin' with Simmons!

You can do some crazy things in L.A. right?

Riiiiiiiight!

My coworker found out that Richard Simmons hosts an aerobic class in Beverly Hills. This shit was just too whacked to pass up so, against our better judgement, a few of us decided to attend.

This is how we looked like while we were still in our clinic parking lot.

Uh, huh. Read on. It only gets worse.

We had no idea what to expect. At least, I didn't. I have never attended an aerobics class before (okay, maybe one, but I was in a pool in Cancun and I was drunk) but I'm in pretty decent shape and somewhat coordinated so I figured I wouldn't look completely foolish.

It took us about 25 minutes to get down to his studio on a Thursday night. Mr. Simmons arrived soon after and gave us all hugs and welcomed us to his workout. He looked exactly like he has looked for as long as I can remember. Crazy hair, bright tank-top with crystals, short shorts and enough energy to fuel ten gay parades. The guy does not age. Kinda like Cher.

The class started on time and this was no mamby-pamby workout. He wanted those kicks high and the arms strong. If you weren't workin' it, he would give you an icy glare or yell like a drill instructor on speed. After twenty minutes, I was starting to wonder how long this damn thing was going to last. I found out later that the class is an hour and a half long! At the very least, that was WAY too much 90s music at full volume.

Towards the end, our instructor mellowed out a little. We used free weights. We did some pelvic thrusts. He counselled us on how to reach our goals and to think before we eat. He told us a short and somewhat sad story about how he was flooded with autograph and picture requests at the last restaurant he went to. This made me feel a little guilty because I had brought my camera with me. I guess that's your life if your R. Simmons.

At the end of the class, I was the brave one who went up to him and requested photos. He said yes without hesitation and we all got a group photo and individual photos with him.

Here is our group photo.

I also have my individual photo. But I have to warn you. It is TERRIFYING. It should be censored. I fear that people who view it may go blind.

So I'm telling you now. It's okay to skip past this picture.

I can't decide whether to post it. I am getting cold feet. I don't have a lot of shame but in the interest of public safety, I do have some reservations about showing it to the world.

Oh, who cares. I gave you enough warning, right?

Here it is.

As we were leaving, Richard told us that he loved us and we promised we would be back for more ass kicking. We returned to our homes in the valley, exhausted but (strangely) exhilarated. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself but I think everyone enjoyed themselves.

Thanks Richard. Keep on fighting the good fight against fat and flab!

Lessons in Dog Walking

Acton, California


On Sunday, I had the opportunity to go visit many of the dogs rescued from a hoarding situation in Lancaster, California. These dogs are currently housed at a facility in Acton, which is overseen by a rescue group called A Wish for Animals.

A hoarding situation occurs when an individual or group of individuals collect animals (sometimes with the best of intentions) and are unable to care for them. In Lancaster, nearly 400 animals were involved. By the time the rescue groups stepped in, the animals were either very sick or dead.

The dogs I saw seemed to be in very good health. The volunteers have certainly done an amazing job in rehabilitating these animals and now they are all ready for adoption. Many of them have abundant energy and would be so thankful to find permanent homes.

My friend and I spent about three hours walking the dogs. Or should I say, they walked us. Either way, it was an afternoon well spent.

If you would like more information and especially if you could help in any way, please contact A Wish for Animals at their website http://www.awishforanimals.org/.

LOVING

CALM

CURIOUSKINDA CRAZY

Three reasons why I live in California

Reason #1 Reason #2

Reason #3

These pictures were all taken recently by my dad in London, Ontario, Canada.

The devil above me

Call me privileged but I’ve never lived in an apartment before, at least not until I moved to Studio City.

I thought that apartments would be fun places to live. I had this perception from Melrose Place. There would be bitchy people, people with secrets, definitely good looking people and everyone would be having sex with each other, bitchy or otherwise.

Instead I live in an apartment with people who are merely indifferent or even worse, anti-social. I have said “hi” to people and they walk past me in silence. A smile doesn’t get returned. The pool area is vacant. When I go to the laundry room, there might be clothes tumbling in the dryer or spinning in the washer but nobody is around. It’s as if ghosts need clean clothes too.

It isn’t all that bad. I don’t live next to sex-starved menopausal women, voyeuristic men who don’t show their mouth, or religious freaks who scream like a girl and have abs of steel. Life is not a tv show, even when you’re living this close to Hollywood.

I do, however, have Satan living above me.

How do I know this? Every so often, I hear a very un-human voice yell “God, I fucking hate you!”. I expect to hear furniture being thrown or maybe a scream but this outburst is usually followed by a very frightening silence. This leads me to believe that a) God has done something very bad to the entity above me b) the entity is pretty darn mad c) there is no one else above me except for the entity and d) the entity is the prince of darkness who arguably has the biggest beef with our sweet Lord.

In fact, one of my friends slept over last night and she was awoken by one of Satan’s outbursts. She asked me who was living above me and I told her. She didn’t question me; this is, after all, California where weird things do happen and no explanation is necessary except for “this is California”.

The voice still scares me when I hear it; it is so guttural, so animalistic but so far, I have yet to witness any other ill effects from living beneath Satan. The walls haven’t started bleeding, I haven’t looked in the mirror and witnessed my own death, I have not heard voices behind me telling me to “get out”. Actually, I wouldn’t mind meeting him some day. I’m sure he is well connected in this town and he could probably hook me up with some pretty important people. He might want my soul but those things are really overrated anyway and I think I gave mine up when I moved here two years ago

The truth about L.A. #1

Everyone has a car in L.A. even small children and dogs. If you use public transportation, you're destitute. If you are travelling by foot, then you are likely hiking and not walking. If you are using a bicycle, you are either near the beach or have too many DUIs.

The 80th Academy Awards

When are they going to let me produce the Oscars? I try to give the world so much and in return, I have frustrated ambition.

It’s a sad, sad world.

I would never have let the Oscars be so boring. It’s criminal. Hollywood can put on huge blockbusters with dazzling special effects and yet the night they celebrate ART, they fall to pieces. Maybe that’s the point. Art and Hollywood don’t mix. In the end though, they are congratulating themselves and you think they would do a better job at THAT.

Of course, there were some parts that I enjoyed. Amy Adams bubbling over (as usual) while singing “Happy Working Song”. The incredibly beautiful Marion Cotillard from La Vie en Rose (and the obviously well deserved movie’s award for makeup). The speech about hope for all the struggling artists made by Marketa Irglova from Once. The gospel choir singing Raise It Up from August Rush. Javier Bardem’s passionate thank you to his mother in Spanish. Thankfully, there were enough of these moments throughout the evening to make it bearable.

But this is how it could have been better …

*More nudity. Robert Opel had the right idea when he streaked past David Niven during the 1974 Academy Awards. People are STILL talking about this quick flash and it’s probably the only reason why we remember the 1974 Oscars. Most people want to see Jennifer Garner or Will Smith run bare-ass across the stage but I think seeing a naked Jonah Hill from Superbad would be more of a jolt to those sleepy tv audiences. It would also make people feel better about their own bodies (and who doesn't need that?) so it could double as a public service.

*More eccentric characters. Is this the night when the public actually finds out how BORING the actors and actresses are in real life? They have one chance to really make an impression on millions of people and all these winners can do is a list of thankyous? The public wants outrageousness, something indelible, something theatrical. Well timed tears just aren’t enough. Roberto Benigni didn’t really deserve an oscar for Life is Beautiful but you had to love his breathless speech about making love to everyone in the firmament (or some such thing). Cuba Gooding Jr. should have had his oscar taken away after Boatrip but his excitement after his win for Jerry Maguire made us want to stand up and cheer. Even Jack Palance knew a thing or two about thinking outside the box when he got down and did his one-handed pushups after his win for City Slickers. I suggest that the next best actress should do cartwheels across the stage. In high heels. Wearing a wig. In a low-cut gown. This might require a lot of double-sided tape to keep everything in place but the spectacle would be worth it.

*Use different methods to cut off the long-winded speeches. Why use the nice polite orchestra? People can talk over that anyway. (We’re talking about you, Miss Julia Roberts.) I think feral dogs would be a good substitute. Yes, I know they might make a little mess with the blood and all, but it would certainly bring those laundry list of thankyous to nobody-we-should-care-about to an abrupt end. Best Actors and Actresses should get the most time, probably ten seconds before the dogs come out. Sound Editing people, well, we all know that they have absolutely nothing to say and they aren’t even good looking so the dogs should be let out as soon as they approach the stage.

*More humor. I loved it when Matt Stone and Trey Parker walked down the red carpet in 1999 wearing famous dresses. Bjork obviously had a sense of humor when she sang her nominated song dressed up like a dead muppet swan. Gwenneth Paltrow was damn hysterical in her see-through saggy boob goth dress the year after she looked so serious in her Ralph Lauren number. Yes, we all like the crazy wardrobe choices but I say we should bring back the disastrously funny musical extravaganzas; Rob Lowe and Snow White singing Proud Mary during the 61st Academy Awards was freakin’ hilarious and should be imitated if not recreated entirely. With midgets. Short of that, falling sets and tripping dancers could elevate any musical number, even a ho-hum song from Enchanted NOT sung by Amy Adams. And while we’re on the subject of injecting humor, we need to get rid of Jon Stewart as a host. Yes, he had a lot of good lines (I especially liked the line about Hollywood needing a hug after all the nominated movies being about psychopathic killers) but he seemed way too smug. The best host is funny without “realizing” it. Paging Billy Crystal. Billy, we need you back. Or Whoopi. She did seem aware of how funny she was but I liked the sex jokes. Hmmmm, Billy AND sex jokes. Now there’s a combination.

You see, there ARE ways to improve the show. Make it more entertaining without it being just a way to make a fast buck at the office party oscar pool. (I made a whopping $25 this year). Hollywood just needs to call me. I could make the Oscars bigger than the Superbowl with better commercials.

Get me while I’m cheap. As you can tell, I won’t be for long.

I'm ready for travellin'

This is my suitcase when I go on overnight trips.

I know it's big but I like to be prepared.