Design for Humanity – SOLD OUT

3 06 2008

Design for Humanity is SOLD OUT!

From the ticket purchasing website:

THIS EVENT IS NOW SOLD OUT, ONLINE TICKET SALES FOR THIS EVENT ARE NOW CLOSED BUT YOU MAY STILL BE ABLE TO GET TICKETS THE NIGHT OF THE EVENT AT THE AVALON BOX OFFICE AROUND 9:30PM IF CURRENT TICKET HOLDERS DO NOT SHOW UP.

Sorry if you didn’t get any tickets…get on it next time!

See you there..





New Games on The BBD!

29 05 2008

In our continuing effort to evolve the Bigger Better Deal from its infancy, we thought a games section might help you find ways to pass your day. When sticking pencils in the ceiling has lost all of its fun, you turn to this internet superhighway for a means of temporary occupation. Well now come here and play any one of the games that we tirelessly researched, reviewed and re-posted here. Do you have a game you love to play and think the world should too? Tell us! Good luck at work today lemmings!





Guns, Boobs, and Beans

20 05 2008

If you have looked around the retail landscape in the last five years, you surely noticed Starbucks’ omnipresence. On every street corner you can enjoy a quality, hot cup of their latest exotic brew or perhaps one of their truly delicious breakfast sandwiches. Starbucks’ impressive domination of the market yields different affects for espresso shops competing for your dollars. For the ‘Mom and Pop’ shops so often the darling of the anti-business hippy media, when a Starbucks up-and-locates next door, it actually serves to benefit the flailing cafe. The overflow traffic from the obscenely long lines filters next door, where a cheaper cup of coffee comes without the wait! For those shops further away, you have to brew your own luck.

That’s exactly what some clever cafe owners did just south of Seattle. (Why always Seattle with these coffee ideas?) Cow Girls Espresso in Bonney Lake, Washington, changed their cafe uniforms to include two pieces with a healthy dose of skin, and “business has never been better.” Wearing nothing but bikinis, young women are serving up the locals’ daily fix at joints as cleverly named as Hot Chick-a-Latte. When some media attention naturally came their way, one articulate barista observed, “You see people-you know-out on the lake in their swimsuits and I don’t see how it’s any different, right? We’re just making coffee!”

Well one mother was not having it after her child noticed a nearly naked espresso dripper (?) wearing nothing but panties and pasties. Mom was outraged (Pop was excited) and organized a community protest and bla bla bla, whatever… Don’t you know sex is bad?

Recently, I was playing Grand Theft Auto IV where the current mission asked my avatar to chase and assassinate some lowly scum who hadn’t kept up his protection payments or something stupid like that. A mother and her 10 year old son came by the house for a visit. She asked if he could play too. I mentioned (selfishly) that the game was practically X-rated, to which she asked, “What does that mean? Sex or Violence?” Both, I thought, would have been accurate, but given his presence I said that the game was mostly violent. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “that’s ok then!”

How can that be? What is it about violence that is “ok?” Why is seeing a remarkably realistic character with his head blown off by a remarkably realistic gun in a remarkably realistic New York City better for the development and edification of our youth than a female body (or any body for that matter)? I have never understood our nation’s love affair with gore, fear, death, and vengeance. Meanwhile so many live in true fear of sexuality, love, nudity as art, nudity as pornography. To many, sexual obscenity is the devil incarnate.

Why is SEX more obscene than VIOLENCE in our communal consciousness? I thought ‘thou shall not kill’ (#6*) comes before ‘thou shall not commit adultery’ (#7) and ‘thou shall not covet they neighbor’s wife’ (#10). There isn’t even a mention of lust in the Ten Commandments. So the assumption that our being a bless-ed “Christian” nation doesn’t sufficiently explain our blood lust.

Dangerous or Divine?

Dangerous or Divine?

For the last century and beyond, moral crusaders have told us what is acceptable and what is deplorable. The very same people that demanded Tropic of Cancer be banned 1938 for its being “a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity,”[2] successfully demanded assault rifles be legal again in Washington DC. I propose it is time to visit our priorities and ask ourselves: what is so horrible about the naked body? What about sex scares us so deeply? Remember, the flesh that God so painstakingly created is only now covered by clothing because we ate of the tree. It seems odd that the apple didn’t carry with it information on the impact of violence on humanity-something God left for us to learn ourselves. A class we signed up for, slept through, and failed.

Anyway, I got to get back to GTA IV, this guy owes me some money and I’m going to introduce him to my old Russian friend, Mr. Kalishnikov. I guess all I’m saying is, why not put a little T&A in your tea and coffee?

Peace! Please?

Z.





Bill O’Reilly Goes CRAZY

16 05 2008

Thanks for all the laughs Bill!  Saw this one on The Coundown with Keith Olbermann last night.

-Z-





How very LA of you…

14 05 2008

 

  

 

This past weekend heralded the 24th birthday of someone special to me.  In her honor we threw a 12-hour pool party in the Palisades.  A fine concoction of tequila, whisky, vodka and our dear friend Mary left a slew of 20-somethings draped along the edges of a 90 degree pool.  The weather was sunny if chilly, and a long as the beer lasted, so too did the party.

Another dear friend of mine mentioned that he was having a “very L.A.” weekend, in large part due to the lavish poolside extravaganza.  This makes me wonder: is being very LA a good thing or bad, something to aspire to or best to avoid?

I am a recent émigré to these parts.  I spent my whole life growing up on the East Coast, always reminded by those in the East of LA’s traffic nightmares, rude people, long lines and smog. ‘Ugh, I thought.  Why would anyone ever live in that hell-hole?  I would never…’   Until I did.  Despite the muckraking of the eastern press, I looked for change that met all of my critera: 1. big city (if spreadout) 2. warm weather.  So here I am, in the City of Angels.

I’m told that the first year living in LA is the hardest, but I have had it easy.  Met a lot of people, live in a great place, deal with negligible traffic and found a [good] job almost immediately.  Perhaps I’m just lucky to have caught this wave.  Given my recent success, how could I not like this place?

What is LA?  You would have to define it to saddle it with such a boring adjective as very.  Given the city’s diametric size, diverse population, and economic capacity, LA is everything you want it to be.  A list of pro’s and con’s may better illustrate what is means to be LA.

PROS:  weather, beaches, nightlife (bars, clubs, music), women, Mexican food, proximity to Vegas, avocados, pool parties in May, fashion, cannabis club

CONS: traffic, pollution, long lines at above nightlife, bars closing at 2 AM, cost of living, flour tortillas, rude people, making-up-for-something bouncers, jay walking tickets, bureaucratic governance

There are more pros and cons surely worth discussing.  However, on my experience whenever I hear “very LA” I am usually having the time of my life.  So keep it coming Los Angeles, I can handle you…

See you by the pool this weekend?

-Z-





THANK GAWD IT’S FRIDAY

13 05 2008

Friday night I am hanging with my friend Stephen A. I decided to walk a good 2 1/2 miles to THE BAR located on Sunset and Bronson where we got a drink and then, along with Stephen A’s friend, and the friend’s piece we decided to head to HAPPY ENDINGS on Sunset, a mere two blocks from my dwelling. The friend’s piece used to work there, and I knew before we went that it would be a shiteous evening filled with prurient frat boys. It’s a lot like going to the bar where the guy from MY NEW HAIRCUT – a youtube classic – would hang out. A crappy and huge quasi-sports bar where there is some tail for sure, but the ratio of bros to hos, is not in our favor. In our search for parking, Stephen A ended up parking on my block and we smoked personal joints of the $25 1/8 of Cat Scratch Fever marijuana I purchased from THE FARMACY in Westwood. The weed sucked, and required each of us to smoke as much as possible to feel the effects. And feel them we did.

This is the type of weed that is neither indica or settiva, but it just fucking hits you in the dome a few minutes after you’re done. With most marijuana of a quality caliber, that feeling is immediate. So as we finish our walk we end up at the bar, and Stephen A tells me that bitches are giving me “the eye.” This is especially good news for me, as in the past month I had not been going out much, opting to smoke copious amounts of marijuana or as I like to call it: my anti pussy. My friend with whom I hunt tail has been studying for the law school finals, and I have been hanging out with my practically married buddy Lucky on the west side of LA (Santa Monica, Culver City) where nothing fun ever happens. ***SIDENOTE: this is in part because my friend does not look to go out to bars where there are going to be a lot of single women looking for mr. right/wrong; nor should he be, but for me, this has a deleterious effect, because as much as I love going to his place on Friday nights to watch BSG and smoke, it deavstates the rest of the evening.***

Stephen A and I get to hitting on some girls and I cannot begin to overstate the importance of starting early when it comes to hitting on girls. For me, the longer I wait, the less confidence I have and the more likely I am to turn to the bottle and sulk by my lonesome. BUT NOT TONIGHT, nigh, tonight, we are on a mission and although the talent is lacking in quality, there is no dearth in quantity. The hunt is both good and bad, as the marijuana and booze are starting to take effect. At the end of the night, I call up the girl I was getting cozy with and Stephen A and I drive a great distance to pick them up.

We take the girls home, and long story short, have a good time with them. What’s interesting is not what happened, rather THAT WE MADE IT HAPPEN. This is the type of thing that Stephen A is good at, and no matter how “in the zone” I am feeling, sealing the deal at all – and especially on the same night – is not where my talents lie.

I wouldn’t have dared call them up that night and try to take them home without Stephen A’s prompting. I was nervous about the possibility of the encounter and Stephen A, served as a true guardian angel on that night and all metaphors aside: made it happen. “But aren’t you nervous about this, do you ever get nervous about this type of thing?” [I am referring to the possibility of picking up women in general is a rather nerve-racking proposition] Stephen A just tells me that he doesn’t get nervous, and that we’ll have fun, either we’ll get some, or we might not, but who knows, and why is this a bad thing? I am paraphrasing here, but the message resonated, and for this evening alone, I will always be in Stephen A’s debt.

The evening’s festivities and message of relaxation and “fuck it, who cares what happens,” also helped me to get over my recent flaccidity problems. A while ago, I was seeing a girl I did not particularly like, and she was also terrible in bed. Her technique with my schwanz was so amateur, that it felt like I was being blown by a frightened 12 year-old (again). When it came time to fuck her, part of it was nerves, part of it was hatred, part of it was a lack of arousal: I could just not get my junk tumescent. Although I would eventually get over this problem (barely) it haunted me up until Friday. My mind was awash with thoughts of worst-case scenarios: what if this happens to me when I am with a girl I like? What if this problem turns into a fear that will not wane, but increase and my guilt, angst, and self-loathing will combust and turn into one giant clusterfuck of an issue with the only remedy being suicide (a bit dramatic, but still).

Friday night also seems to have galvanized me to desire more and better. While most of the time I want women, now I crave them, and feel as if I can possibly have whichever ones I want. Because we can’t all be 6’6″ (in cowboy boots), play the guitar (albeit poorly), speak Italian (again poorly), or have a general understanding of current events and global cultures (mediocre at best), but for those of who can measure up to these lofty, and yes, self-appointed and self-anointed heights than shouldn’t those of us who can, use these talents as best we can? Of course you can insert your own special qualifications here, but the best analogy is with food: seeing starving people all over the planet does not make me want to eat less, it makes me want to eat more, to cherish every bite, so that my fellow humans know that I am not taking their struggle for granted. I should savor every morsel and every girl I am lucky (and talented) enough to have…besides, who else would you want to live vicariously through?





LORD I WAS BORN A RAMBLIN’ MAN…A LONG-ASS POST TO MAKE UP FOR MY SINS

8 05 2008

Sorry for the delay. I have pieced together a bunch of random thoughts from other drafts that should at least keep you occupied (if it fails to entertain) for the next 30 minutes. It’s just free-form, so deal with it pissants; time is money and I don’t have a lot of either.

THINGS I AM RANTING ABOUT THIS WEEK:

1) I know the sayings about dipping pens in company ink, I avoid the COUGAR lady in my building, and I am generally a smart guy. I have gotten to a point where when I go to a bar I can just be comfortable and happy with life, liberty, and the pursuit of tail. But this one girl I work with makes me nervous. It’s not that I even want to get to know her in a biblical sense, which I do (generally if there’s a pulse that’s good enough for me) it’s that I know I couldn’t.

The girl is my kryptonite and she knows that I am powerless against her. That I don’t think she likes me that much to begin with has nothing to do with the fact that in our social dynamic, this uber-blonde vixen has all the power. It emanates from that electric mane of hers, but it’s not the length or quality, it’s the shocking almost white color of it, and she knows that if she were a brunette, she wouldn’t have the same effect on FOOLS LIKE ME. It’s psychotic to know that something is amiss and go along with it anyway. I also think that part of my attraction to her is born out of a desire to do to the Nazis what they did to my people for a long period: fuck em bad.

So this girl is a tormentor, and she also works for a seriously attractive but very cold and distant woman of about 30. They both have piercing blue eyes and think they are both hotter than is actually the case, but they are both very attractive. If I had to pick a sandwich to be in with two girls from Antarctica, it would be these two ice princesses, for the simple fact that they have their noses in the air (much like the French) and are extremely cold (like the Germans). In many senses, I am Woodrow Wilson at Versailles and they are George Clemenseau, Vittorio Orlando, Neville Chaimberlain, and the chancellor of the Weimar Republic all wrapped into two uber-bitches, who don’t like me cuz I am not good-looking, kinda schlubby, not wealthy, and oh yeah, not a complete asshole.

2) So the guy who wrote the blog ‘things white people like’ got a book deal. I have my dick in-hand and a case of bedhead. That’s fantastic. The point is, I am not reaching you people, and you, my precious few readers are not doing a good enough job promoting my diatribes of truthiness (now an actual word so you can go fuck yourself spell-checker). It’s my fault really, as selling-out means one has something to sell. I am totally envious of that blog guy; he was smart enough to make a list, and apparently, that’s all we have time for in the modern era, where attention spans last 90 seconds and then…what was I talking about? Oh yeah, your shitty attention spans. Look, I am not going to beg, because that is a shameful thing to do, but the more I think about it, yes, okay, I will beg, I have no shame.

3) In the past 7 + years, Americans have made the argument for George Bush because they would rather have a beer with him because he seemed like a man of the people and all of these other things which he is most certainly NOT. These are the same types who argue for limited government and attend the NFL draft and chant USA USA USA from time to time. These people are the reason why we can’t have a small government, because the stupid people can’t think for themselves and short of having them all killed (my desire) we must tolerate them by putting the umbrella of big brother over their heads. These people serve their purpose (as we still need coal and I am too smart to go into the depths to retrieve it) and I think it would cost too much to kill them. But their poverty and necessity to this society also provide us with a problem: we don’t understand that, in many cases, what allows these people to do the menial tasks and live their uninformed, shitty existences, is the belief that they are America; that they have the power to influence government; that THEY MATTER. They’re wrong and in case you hadn’t noticed, there is a new form of racism in this country that is not about white or black, it’s about GREEN. Who has it and who doesn’t. It just so happens that many of the marginalized are still suffering the repercussions of the old-guard racism (white vs. black).

4) One of my great problems with this country is how we tend to undermine and slander then apotheosize people, places, and things after they have left us. Britney Spears is a good example of how we try and bring out the worst in people and then, after things go wrong and she eventually kills herself, we will cry our crocodile tears and say how tragic it was, so to pacify our collective cultural guilt at leading to her death, erecting a children’s hospital in her name and naming a memorial American Music Award (who gives a shit about them anyway) in her honor. Patrick Swayze is going on with a “brave battle against cancer” by continuing to smoke 3 packs a day, Anna Nicole Smith was a tortured soul who was ‘really bright and lucid’ according to some. It’s not that these people are wrong in printing these claims, but they are so after the fact that the public has no choice but to agree, even if it ain’t true.
Heath Ledger died a couple months ago. At the time, everyone was quick to praise him as a great actor who had so much more to offer us and his death was labeled “unfortunate and accidental” by mass media. BULLSHIT. Heath Ledger’s death was inevitable as he was taking copious amounts of drugs and booze and not taking care of himself in other aspects of his life. He had a two year-old daughter whom he left behind, and she will never have a father because daddy was a moron. I don’t care to get into the WHY of his situation, as it matters not, I care to talk about how Heath Ledger’s death hurts me…
I am a 23 year-old young urban professional. I work in Hollyweird and although my schedule is lax for being in “the industry,” there are a few nights when I am up till the wee hours of the morning working. Rare though they may be, it is more common for me to have to be at work at 8:30 in the morning and when one factors in my 40+ minute commute, that means that I have to get up at 7:15 in the morning if I want to shower and have a healthy breakfast. There are people who will read this and scoff, as I know they work much harder and god bless em, but they just enhance my point.
I don’t sleep that well. This is a problem that has been getting worse since college. My life isn’t all that stressful, nor would I consider myself depressed – at least now right now – and I don’t have a drug problem — unless you consider food a drug. I went to my doctor the other day and relayed all of my information to him, underscoring my point by informing him of the subsequent problems I have had because of sleep-related fatigue. “My mind is always on, I can’t turn it off, I am never at peace, I can’t sleep, help me doctor.” What I really wanted was an Ambien prescription (generic brand, I am not made of money) and he knew it too. He even gave me a look which said it all: ‘Zach, I believe you, and I know you want Ambien, and it could probably do wonders for you, but who knows, you’re a young single guy, living in a big city, I am sure you go out and drink on occasion, I just can’t take the chance of getting SUED.’ One look communicated all that.
Drug abuse has been epidemic in our society and any argument saying otherwise is pure sophistry. Unfortunately, it’s not feasible to write Bristol Meyers-Squibb on a marijuana plant and so the only organic medicine which, when abused, leads to eating massive amounts of cookie dough, and not taking one’s own life, is considered illegal. Our rules are stupid and hypocritical, but the pharmaceutical industry is the second largest in the world. One cannot argue with business. Nor can one argue that doctors live in states of constant fear at the possibility of being sued. As soon as Heath Ledger was dead, there was an inquest into whether his doctors were responsible for his death, which is again, innately American: let’s blame the people who gave him the drugs (legally) and not the 28 year-old ACTOR who could have used his cunning to get about anything he wanted. If you’re having trouble sleeping, take an Ambien every now and then, don’t mix the pills with all sorts of other powerful drugs and booze. The things are clearly labeled “do not take with alcohol,” and Heath knew better. While I can’t wait to see him as THE JOKER, and after seeing the DARK KNIGHT trailer even cynical I am convinced that his performance might be oscar-worthy (Peter Travers of Rolling Stone is already convinced), I must say a big FUCK YOU HEATH LEDGER, YOU’VE RUINED MY DAY.