I have a fetish for “women”
Category: Romance and Relationships

I have a bit of a confession to make. I know it may seem odd, but I really have a thing for women. Something about this child bearing better half of humanity really does it for me.

It all started when I was about 13. I began feeling strange yearnings for physical contact with girls who attended my classes. "Why?", I would ask myself. "Can’t I just fit in like everyone else?". Thankfully, I didn’t act on those impulses, since doing so would have ostracized me from the community of uptight squares that I was surrounded by.

Over the years, I’ve become more adept at concealing my fetish, but I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like if I embraced my sexuality and presented my true nature to the world.

Its gotten to the point where I find myself engaged in a seemingly innocuous conversation with a woman about the soup of the day and all I can really think about is whether she holds the same unspeakable desires that I do, only for men. Just last weekend, I was hanging out at a local bar, where I happened to notice an attractive woman and her group of attractive female friends. I had an uncontrollable urge to approach this woman and engage her in a series of playfully romantic overtures, with the hope of securing some means to contact her in the future. I didn’t even tell my best friend, for fear that I would be ridiculed.

Sometimes, when I’m bored at work, I’ll start daydreaming of racy scenarios that involve a member of the opposite sex. It starts out by me inviting her out to dinner and holding a series of deeply personal conversations. The heat turns up when I invite her back to my apartment, where we kiss and watch old Seinfeld reruns. I’m sure you can figure out the rest of the kinky details.

In my day to day life, I’m completely floored by the sheer number of these anatomically compatible individuals around me. I’m on sensory overload 24/7. Seriously, I don’t know how to contain myself. Society looks down on these abnormal obsessions, but in my own mind, I could care less. I’m perfectly happy with my deviant love of women.

Currently reading : My Uncle Oswald By Roald Dahl Release date: 02 May, 1990

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Liam and Brandan’s Excellent Adventure
Category: Travel and Places

I finally made it off North American soil for the first time in my life. Brandan and I visited Scott in Beijing from 02/14/2008 to 02/24/2008. Prior to leaving, I spoke with numerous people who advised me that this would not be enough time to truly enjoy my trip. Turns out it was plenty. Sorry if this blog is too long, but this is the only way I'm going to remember this trip in the years to come.

Brandan and I arrive at Beijing airport at 5:30am after a sleepless 12 hour flight from LAX. Beijing's airport is clean, efficient and well-organized. We blow through Customs with no wait. The agent checks out my visa and stamps my passport, at which point I push the green smiley-face button on her workstation counter that indicates "Excellent Service". I've barely arrived and I'm already mad impressed with China. If only the goddamn DMV could have such an easy customer service feedback system.

We meet Scott after I pick up my luggage and find out that he's been waiting there for an hour and a half. He's hungry and announces that he's going to the Kentucky Fried Chicken within the airport. We file into KFC and order a few chicken sandwiches. I'm sure anyone reading this knows how much I hate fast food, but I am curious to see whether there are any substantial differences between USA KFC and its Far East counterpart. I order water with my chicken sandwiches. Our tray comes back, my water steaming like hell. I touch the cup to my mouth and my tongue is instantly burned. I set the cup down in disgust, Brandan and Scott chuckling away. Apparently, its impossible to get cold water at a restaurant in China. Important note: KFC in China is just as crappy as KFC in the US.

We roll out to Scott's apartment, which is located at a university about a half hour from the airport. On the way, I was pleasantly surprised to see that most traffic signs are in English and that vehicles travel on the right side on the road. This is where the similarities end, since most Beijing motorists drive as if they are extras from the set of Mad Max. Its a no holds barred battle for every stretch of pavement. A chaotic ballet between drivers and pedestrians in which the idea of polite compromise seems laughable. 

Prior to our arrival, Scott had suggested that we stay at a hostel in Beijing, since his university is in BFE, at least one hour from anything exciting. Upon our arrival to his school, we find this to be the case. The campus looks decent enough and even features a main building eerily reminiscent of the US Capitol. Still, school is out and fuck all is happening out there. We start discussing our plans for the next few days while "Regulators" by Warren G flows from Scott's speakers. We unanimously adopt this as our trip theme song.

We hop on the bus and later the Beijing Subway. As we enter the city proper, I'm shocked at the sheer number of tower cranes dominating the skyline in every direction. Endless blocks of apartment and office towers line the freeways. The subway is clean and prompt and only costs 2 yuan, which is about 28 cents. We check in at at the Red Lantern Hostel and discuss the evening's possibilities. Scott has heard of a nearby district called Houhai, where there are scores of lakeside bars and clubs. Later on, we roll out there and confirm that there are indeed an assload of bars around the lake. Problem is, every bar has some dude outside who is assigned to gather patrons for their respective employer. They do this by calling out to us in Chinese and sometimes English. Its really annoying and all the bars are dead anyway. Scott then mentions that he knows of a club called Propaganda, which is located in the college district of Wudaokou.

By the way, there are unbelievable numbers of taxis in Beijing. Way more then New York. Anyway, we make it over to Propaganda. This place was supposedly established by some foreigner that wanted to deliver a western nightclub experience to Beijing college students as well as the many foreigners working and living in Wudaokou. I'm assuming nobody in the Beijing liquor licensing department figured out the joke. The place even has a big red star posted next to the front door.

There's a line of attractive women waiting to pay a 50 yuan ($7.00) cover to get in, but we walk by the cashier without disruption. Security doesn't care and it seems foreigners are a hotter commodity than attractive women at this place. Still, the ratio is pretty freaking good. The cheapest beer, Tsiangtao, is 20 yuan ($2.80). According to Scott, this is really expensive for a Chinese club. I start double fisting Tsiangtao and go downstairs to the dance floor. The place is completely packed by 11pm, with the DJ spinning the usual lineup of American club staples like Soulja Boy and Ying Yang Twins. At one point, Brandan comes down to the dance floor and informs us that he found a couple girls to talk to. They're both Chinese but speak really good English. We chat them up for a while before leaving the club at around 3am. I find out that bars and clubs in Beijing don't have a specific closing time. The place just gets shut down whenever it starts to go dead.

We crash out at the hostel and I spend most of the next day sleeping. Brandan and Scott went out to some shopping district, where they were accosted by a thirty something woman who spoke good English and claimed that she wanted to hang out with them. We found out later that she likely a lure for a "tea/coffee scam", in which unsuspecting foreigners are approached by an English speaking Chinese woman and brought to some bogus venue, where there are then stuck with a 1000 yuan bill.

That night, we decide to visit the embassy district, Sanlitun. Its kind of a crazy entertainment district, with streetside food vendors jockeying for space with the myriad taxis clogging the main street. The bars and clubs cater to a western audience, though the majority of patrons are still Chinese. We end up at one club called Poacher's, where we pay a 50 yuan cover. The place is ridiculously off the hook. Girls are dancing on elevated stages positioned throughout the main room. The DJ was spinning hip hop for the first half of the evening, but then switched over and started playing a lot of brit pop and punk. It was pretty trippy to see a bunch of Chinese chicks dancing to the Ramones at a Chinese nightclub. One other phenomenon that I began noticing was the difficulty that American/European women have picking up guys at clubs in Beijing. Euro chicks were pretty much ignored unless they come with a group of Euro dudes.

The next day, we explored the neighborhood around our hostel. We came across a Playboy store, though there appeared to be no connection with its infamous American namesake. Just a bunch of innocuous western style sportswear. One thing I should mention about Chinese people is their friendliness. Sometimes, when we were walking down the street, we would be approached by a random Chinese dude that could say "hello" in English. When we acknowledged him in response, he would be super stoked that he had successfully communicated with a foreigner. It was like we made his day. Seriously cool people. I learned a couple useful Chinese phrases, including "Si Si" (thank you) and "Tai Guela" (too expensive).

We hung out at Propaganda and another place called Lush for the next couple nights. On one afternoon, we went to an art museum called UCCA, located in the 798 District, which is the main art district for Beijing. The museum had a pretty awesome exhibition space, the featured work being of Chinese New wave artists from the mid 1980s. The most striking piece was a twenty page pedantic guide covering the rules of "peeping". No, not voyeuristic peeping, just a set of regulations governing one individual's "peeping" of a civil conversation between two other individials. It was pretty entertaining for a bizarre set of fictional rules.             

We visited the Great Wall, which turned out to be a majorly arduous experience. Scott unwittingly escorted us up the steepest route, with the steps 18 inches apart at one point. It was easily the most grueling hike I have ever experienced. You begin to realize why the wall must have been effective in its heyday. If it were this laborious to ascend just a short stretch, there's no way the Mongols would ever want to bother with crossing it, let alone assaulting its defenses.

We also visited Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City. Both were impressive, but the Forbidden City was so massive it made detailed exploration impossible. Many of the interpretative signs through the Forbidden City featured the American Express logo, which I found ironic. One thing about the Forbidden City: the Emperor had a lot of concubines. In some parts of the city, it seemed like every other structure was for a different set of concubines. Just above the Forbidden City, there is a beautiful park with an excellent view: 

I also visited the Summer Palace, which is a series of royal buildings surrounding a park and lake. I went with Ivy, one of the Chinese girls that we had met at Propaganda the previous weekend. The park was superb and I'm sure it looks even better in the spring and summer. She also took me to a kick ass Chinese restaurant, where I had roast duck. I couldn't believe how awesome the duck was. That's how it was at every Chinese restaurant I went to. Big portions of delicious food at good prices. Word to Panda Express: real Chinese restaurants do not give you a lame fortune encased within a cookie after the meal.   

I did a little outdoor shopping as well. You peruse the aisles of merchandise and the salespeople produce a calculator so that you can indicate how much you want to pay. I saw a deck of Chinese propaganda playing cards, each of which featured a different slogan. Here are a couple slogans:

"Ruthlessly criticise the bourgeoisie"

"Be a good child of the party"

We hit up Propaganda and Poacher's a couple more times before leaving. Really, I was sad to go.         

Currently listening : Regulate...G Funk Era Release date: 21 June, 1994

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Liam meets some Mormon missionaries
Category: Religion and Philosophy

I'm leaning against a post at the corner of La Tijera and Lincoln, near the airport. I'm holding up my shitty Nikon Coolpix camera, waiting for traffic to clear so I can take photos of the road.

Out of nowhere, two young men in their early 20's approach me with a purposeful gait. They're both wearing white, long-sleeved shirts with black dress pants and matching ties. One is a lanky redhead, the other has dark hair and a serious acne problem.

"Hello. We're from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost."

I put my camera down in shock. The fabled Mormon missionaries of which Brandan and Scott spoke have singled me out for conversion. I mentally fumble around for an appropriate reply.

"Uh, that's cool. I've heard about you guys - I have friends from Idaho."

Acne acknowledges this and produces a promotional card from his black knapsack. He hands the card to me.

I look at the card in non-comprehension. Its in Spanish.

"Sorry, we don't have any in English. But there's a phone number on there that you can call for more information."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. We'll hear from you soon."

They shuffle off. I begin pondering how Mormons can seriously expect to convert an obvious Anglophile using Spanish promotional materials. Then I go back to work.

Currently listening : Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone? By The Unicorns Release date: 16 March, 2004

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The 5 worst fashion trends of the last 15 years
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping

I'm going to play Mr. Blackwell for a moment here and rag on what I consider to be the five worst fashion trends of the last 15 years. In no particular order they are:

1. Trucker hats. An egregious exploitation of lower middle class Americana, popularized by one of the biggest tools in Hollywood.

2. Backwards clothing.

A played-out attempt at counter-fashion and a pathetic excuse for non-conformity. Horrendous in any form, especially backwards baseball hats with a pair of tinted Oakleys balanced on the brim. Disastrous.

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3.  Oversized sunglasses.

The ultimate in shameless self promotion.

"OMG! Lets go to the Beverly Center and get the same glasses as Paris! I heard they're on sale!"

4.  Whitenened jeans. My favorite were the ones with the white patches on the chick's ass, as though she'd just risen from a freshly painted park bench.

5.  Popped collars on men's polo shirts. The photo is self explanatory.

Please discuss.

Before anyone attempts to criticize my fashion sense, or lack thereof, I would like to point out that I make no attempt to look cool, thus absolving myself from the criticisms levied on the above.

Currently reading : The Average American Male: A Novel By Chad Kultgen Release date: 13 March, 2007

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This is how my weekend went
Category: Parties and Nightlife

Friday night was utterly lame and unworthy of discussion.

Saturday night was decent. Amun and I visited a huge art show in Culver City, a "nascent Chelsea" according to a recent New York Times article. The event was sponsored by Scion (godawful boxmobile) and curated by Giant Robot, an Asian-American pop culture magazine. There were more attractive women packed into that exhibition space than could ever be found on the Sunset Shit. That's what's so interesting about art shows. They attract a diverse crowd of attractive, worldly women. That and the art.

Drinks in hand, we made the rounds, reviewing the better-than average pop art on display. We bumped into Burnt Out Acid Hippie, an acquaintance we encounter regularly on the art show circuit. Somehow, BOAH chooses the exact same events as us.  There's a whole art show subculture in this city, I'm beginning to realize.

We left at ten. Amun has a friend in a band that knew about a zombie-themed birthday party in the downtown warehouse district. It seems like nobody even throws traditional house parties in LA any more. The cops show up by midnight and break them down. The solution is to throw all night ragers in scuzzy warehouses, the only neighbors to which are junkies that occasionally get invited to said ragers.

After some indecision about the evening's choices, we arrive at the warehouse and ascend two rickety flights of stairs. I walk in to the main room and immediately consume eight pieces of pizza while absent mindedly watching footage spliced together from various zombie films. The entire room is shrouded in fog and the majority of guests have shown up in costume, and by "costume" I mean white face paint. There were a few enterprising standouts, e.g. guy with broken pencils sticking out of his body. Ups to you, sir.

My hasty ingestion of an entire large pizza has rendered me bloated and listless. I locate an empty couch near the rear windows and stare at a set of uneaten cupcakes. Within two minutes, an unaccompanied brunette in her late 20's sits down at the edge of the couch and feebly attempts to engage me in conversation. She successfully convinces me to eat a cupcake and waits for me to question her about her job, where she's from, her favorite movie. I refrain from doing so and we chat momentarily before I excuse myself by pretending to text message. She wanders off after a few minutes, no doubt looking for a more accessible target. 

With her departure, I am free to zone out. My reverie is interrupted again a few minutes later, this time by an attractive woman attired in tight jeans and a black blouse. She's about 5'4, with curly blonde hair and a sprightly step. She seems overly animated and plops herself down on the couch next to me.

She produces a cigarette from her matching black handbag, which she lights using a set of  matches from Le Meridian Hotel. Every puff and withdrawl is exaggerated, her body language confidently deliberate. She is a far cry from her predecessor and this disparity incites meaningful interaction on my part.

Rather than introduce myself, I give her my point blank impression of the party and discuss its flaws and merits. After two minutes, she asks me if I'm a writer. I respond negatively, expecting an inquiry into my actual line of work. The inquiry doesn't come and I begin to get turned on by her insouciant attitude and unconventional conversational tack.

She goes off to dance with her friends, thankfully excluding me, before returning 15 minutes later. I'm still on the couch, playing Tetris on my cell phone, which she snatches away. She enters her phone number, informs me she's leaving and walks off. Confidence.

Currently reading : The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists By Neil Strauss Release date: 06 September, 2005

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So, what’s your sign?
Category: Life

I'm getting somewhat tired of the conversation below. It takes place at least once a week, usually upon being introduced to some chick at a social function.  I could avoid answering these questions, but then I look like a major asshole. So, I just get disinterested and appear aloof. Which makes me appear like an asshole.

Note: I definitely enjoy meeting new people, but I tune out immediately if the conversation begins like this. I'm thinking I should carry around informational leaflets about myself to hand out to prospective conversation participants. That way, the mundane questions get taken care of and we can proceed straight into more interesting territory. 

"So, what's your sign?

I'm not really sure what you mean by that.

Well, what's your birthday?

August 4th.

Ohhhhh.... you're a Leo. Didn't you say your name was Leo as well?

Actually, its Liam.

Like Liam Neeson?

Yes.

That's such a cool name. Why did your parents give it to you?

My mother was into Irish names.

Is she from Ireland?

No, my entire family is from Canada.

That's awesome. I have a friend who's from Canada. Do you speak French?

No.

Do they teach French in school there?

In Quebec, you're required to attend a French school unless your parents were educated in English. Fortunately, mine were.

So where did you go to school?

I didn't go to college. I went to junior high in Montreal until I was 14. Then I moved to Florida but didn't enroll there.

You didn't go to high school?

No. I didn't feel like it.

Wow."

Currently reading : Look at My Striped Shirt!: Confessions of the People You Love to Hate By The Phat Phree Release date: 26 December, 2006

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The Life Incompetence Test
Category: Life

I visit many households during my travels.  Some are messy, some are neat, some are non-descript, some are lavish. You can spot much about a person by the upkeep of their home.  Plenty of slobs lead productive lives, though.  Just because someone doesn't consider aesthetics and order to be worthy pursuits doesn't make them incompetent. Here's what does:

IF YOU HAVE A CHIRPING SMOKE DETECTOR IN YOUR PLACE OF DOMICILE, YOU ARE MOST LIKELY INCOMPETENT. 

I remember Adam Carolla mentioning this phenomenon regularly. During a call, usually from a particularly inept caller, Adam would overhear a chirping smoke detector.  The smoke detector makes this noise every 30 or 45 seconds once the batteries start dying.  The theory is, a person who can't even take notice or take action against the incessant chirping of a potentially life-saving device is basically incompetent at life. The smoke detector is the just the tip of the iceberg, serving as an annoying indicator of an existence rife with incomplete actions, neglected duties and altered priorities.

This is borne out by the dismal state of households I've observed that feature this situation. Garbage uncollected, unpaid bills scattered on the stained coffee table, cluttered lawn, etc... 

I anticipate an angry response from some readers:

"Liam, how dare you ridicule those who don't care to deal with their smoke detectors?!!!!!! You're not so competent yourself, you know".

Yeah, but at least I don't have a chirping smoke detector.

So, to my asshole neighbor who can't be bothered to hook up some Duracells, fuck off. You can at least do your neighbors a favor and do the right thing.

Currently listening : Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo By Black Lips Release date: 20 February, 2007

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Tater tots and area code prejudice

I'm really into tater tots. Really. I'm having an entire tray of them for dinner tonight. I recommend the Ore-Ida brand. I wish I had some steak to go with my tater tots. Then I could invite a socially retarded Idaho Mormon over to the Gramercy  to test out a non-operational time machine. It would be tubular.

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Why would anyone want an 818 area code? Here's what it says:

-Sleazy porno producer who hangs out at Dimples

-Aspiring actor who can't afford to live in the real LA

-Valley Girl

-Encino soccer mom comparing ingredient labels at the Whole Foods on Ventura

Currently reading : The Philosophy of Andy Warhol : (From A to B and Back Again) By Andy Warhol Release date: 06 April, 1977

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Musical elitism dissected
Category: Music

I had a co-worker of mine accuse me of musical elitism the other day. This was after I told him that 106.7 KROQ was the embodiment of uninspired modern rock corporate radio. Their DJs are a bunch of self-aggrandizing douchebags who march to the beat of their program manager's drum. No original thoughts or selections-just the same old three tracks off Dookie. What about Kerplunk?

A certain good friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, recently exemplified the elitism that was incorrectly ascribed to me. We somehow arrived at the subject of Conor Oberst, better known as Bright Eyes, when nameless friend made this priceless utterance:

"Yeah, dude. But everyone listens to that guy. So what?"

That was his assessment of that particular recording artist. No songwriting critique, no discussion of Oberst's plaintive vocals, no half-hearted Bob Dylan comparisons. In other words, Bright Eyes was being judged solely on his relative popularity, not his music. A more cynical observer than I could say that nameless friend was actually judging Bright Eyes on his lack of exclusivity.

Nameless friend would probably enjoy Bright Eyes more had he secretly discovered their long forgotten debut EP in a funky record store. Clutching it in his grasp for weeks, he would then triumphantly announce this special find to his like-minded friends and bask in the glory of his supposed musical superiority. Sorry man, but I had to get that out of my system. 

A surefire way to spot a musical elitist is their initial enthusiasm for a talented/obscure band or recording artist. Once the band in question reaches a wider audience or "gets big", the musical elitist disavows their former enthusiasm, citing the band's sudden popularity as the primary reason for their withdrawl of allegiance.

Of course, many bands begin making crappy music once they have established themselves on the scene. They start resting on their laurels or start experimenting in unwanted directions. That is a different subject entirely.

This blog is about people who value their knowledge of music more than the music itself. Naturally, they become disenfranchised when "their" special little band hits it big. I say fuck that.

God bless The Strokes, The White Stripes, Death Cab For Cutie, The Shins and The Decemberists. Indie music has never been more popular thanks to these bands. Just six years ago, youth-oriented radio was dominated by nu-metal bullshit like Limp Bizkit and Papa Roach. Don't even get me started on Korn.

Currently listening : Icky Thump By The White Stripes Release date: 19 June, 2007

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Question: how does it feel to live by yourself?
Category: Life

Answer: words cannot describe how cool it is to live by yourself. Everyone needs to experience the raw liberating power of a single apartment. Scott Huntsman, you know what I'm talking about.

Question: don't you ever get lonely?

Answer: no. After three months at the Gramercy, I have developed a profound appreciation for kicking back with a book or updating my Netflix queue.

Its a bummer I didn't make this happen sooner. I'm 24 years old and living by myself for the first time. Its a great day when the only personalities you have to come home to are Tolstoy and Bret Easton Ellis.

Never again will I open my front door to the smell of stale smoke. Never again will I have to endure random people coming over to watch "The Game". Never again will I hear jackass commentators working themselves into a frenzy over "The Game". Never again will I fall asleep listening to my roommate's "buddy" banging a high school acquaintance from back home in the next room and then wake up to said "buddy" gone and High School Acquaintance hanging out in my living room.

I'll bet there are some haters who, upon reading this, will take me for a self-centered sultan of solitude. Emancipation, fuck yeah. 

Currently listening : A Lesson in Crime By Tokyo Police Club Release date: 01 May, 2006

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