luck, music
Let’s take a looky why, shall we?
- On Sunday, I went to NYC for about 44 hours. I did so because my editor, the incredibly talented Rakesh Satyal, released his own book, Blue Boy, and had a book release party for it. Though I wanted to attend this party, both to show my support and because I just fucking love to party, I didn’t think I could swing a trip back for it. Lo and behold, I found a round-trip ticket to NYC for $250, flew back, partied like a crazy person for two nights (and slept maybe eight hours total) and then flew back to LA. A tremendous stretch of fun for Uncle Jason.
I also got bumped up to first class both ways, making it (I think) six flights in a row that I’ve been bumped up (due to my Delta SkyMiles status, not because I’m paying for it). On the flight back to LA, which left NYC around 4pm on Tuesday, I saw a beautiful girl boarding before me and thought, “My god, that girl has the most amazing and luxurious hair I’ve ever seen” – a sea of dark, shiny locks, slick as onyx, suitable to be drowned in. As I got closer, I then thought, “My god, that girl’s ass is just unstoppable” – a rump in the almost literal sense, mouth-watering, primed for biting, grabbing, squeezing. As we entered the first class cabin, I then thought, “My god, that girl is Kim Kardashian.”
Sure enough, it was Kim Kardashian. I had only a strong hunch until a few hours into the flight when I looked up from “Family Guy” and standing right in front of me, in line for the bathroom, there she was (I sat in 1B, right in front of the bathroom). And I am here to report, boy, she is really, really fucking hot. Like really, really hot. Generally speaking, I’m not so high on women who almost exclusively date brothers – going from a black guy to my Irish Catholic goods is like going from one of those mondo snickers bar to my lil’ tootsie roll and results in me having (even more) cripplingly low self-esteem and at least one crying jag after every other lovemaking session – but I think I might be willing to take her out for a beer or two.
I was totally blown away seeing her, and not because of her celebrity status or how hot she was, but because I’ve seen her have sex. Sure, I watch porn all the time, probably too much, but this was the first time I’ve seen – up close and in person – someone that I’ve seen have sex (aside, of course, from those poor, unfortunate ladies who’ve slept with me and I’ve later seen hanging around the Carl’s Jr. at La Cienega and Jefferson offering blowjobs for cheeseburger money). It just kinda blew me away. There’s this hot girl, standing in front of me, waiting to use the restroom, and with two clicks on the computer sitting on my lap I can bring up a video of her getting mauled by Moesha’s brother. Strange, indeed.
(By the way, you should totally buy the book. I plan to write more about it; I’m currently on page 85, but can already tell you it’s hilarious and a worthwhile read. And it’s about $10! You can’t beat that.)
- Two weeks ago, on a Friday morning, my buddy Brian and I were in our respective offices in LA, talking about how slow it was and how we had absolutely no plans for the weekend, when we came up with a radical plan: Why don’t we drive up to SF and binge drink for a weekend? Our buddy and old roommate Ben, who now lives in Seattle, was planning on being there, both Brian and I could take half-days to gather out stuff and get going, and I have the Lincoln Town Car, the ultimate road trip car, a “hotel on wheels” as Brian calls it. A few hours later, I picked him up in Hollywood at 4pm and we were standing in the lobby at the Westin (which I got on Priceline for $80) in Union Square (the SF version, not the NYC version) at 9:15pm.
What followed was an awesome, awesome weekend, spent with old and new friends, getting bombed, and having a blast. I kinda love San Fran, because it’s a real actual city, and I was surprised that everyone was so good-looking there, which is not a bad thing. One tidbit that stands out is how on Friday night, Brian and I went to a diner at about 3am, quite drunk, and Brian was so blown away by the pancakes (he kept repeating, mouth full and food falling out, “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had…I can’t believe these pancakes are so good…Oh my god, they’re so good”) that he actually walked back into the kitchen and tipped the short-order cook $20. I tried to stop him, saying that I didn’t think he could just waltz into the kitchen and that short-order cooks don’t usually get tips, but he would have nothing of it. He loved those fucking pancakes.
The next morning, we went back and this time both of us got the pancakes. They were…meh.
- A few weeks ago, I went to New Orleans for my agent/friend Joel’s bachelor party. Two words: holy shitballs. I’m writing about this for a separate post so I don’t want to blow my load here, but I can’t recall a time in which I’ve had more pork, bourbon and fun. Absolutely, positively a fucking blast, with a great group of guys.
(I’ll give you a hint about NOLA and what I’m writing: it involves my finger, a stripper, some throw-up, and an AC/DC tribute band. So there’s something for everyone.)
- Not travel-related, but I thought I was going to have to pay a pretty nice chunk of change come income tax time. Instead, I wound up getting money back (!!!). Between the money I had stashed away to pay the taxes and the refund I got, I mean, if I had a drug problem we’d be in serious, serious trouble. Fortunately, my day-to-day life in Los Angeles still revolves around sitting in traffic, watching television, and waiting to go back to sleep, so I will have to continue to spend my new-found income on my travels.
- And further back in March, before NOLA, I went to NYC to gorge myself on beer and expensive Italian meats and cheeses, spend hours and hours watching college basketball, draft an incredible fantasy baseball team (which has been in first place by around 15 points since the third day of the season) and see how much fun I could have without exploding. Still working to figure this out.
And in the next few weeks/months, there’s a bunch more great stuff going on:
- As I write this, I am sitting on a plane, going from LA to Cincinnati. I’m meeting my buddy Joe in Cincy and together we’re renting a car and driving down to Louisville and the Kentucky Derby for our buddy John’s bachelor party.
So, um, yeah, this should be fun.
- We are about 90% certain that the Second Annual West Coast Wine Drinking Competition will be held in Seattle on Sunday, May 17. The rules will be the same as they were last time (which was back in December 2006, so I guess it’s not annual, but whatever) – two bottles of white are to be consumed, followed by two bottles of red, with each participant’s budget capped at $44.
It might sound easy, and those first two whites ain’t bad, but man, once you hit the red, things get ugly quickly. If you’ll recall, I “won” last time, when the only other competitor, Brian, left the event grounds (read: Ben’s apartment), packed his things, and hailed a cab to the airport, where he asked the driver to take him to a minimum three-star hotel with a dance club. Thus Brian got dq’ed, and victory was mine.
But the wine competition really isn’t about winning, anyway; it’s more like, “Look at me, look at the luxurious life I lead, look at how I can drink delicious and wine all day on a Sunday, etc.” So it’s really more of a celebration, which will be expanded this year to five competitors. I look forward to defending my title.
- The planning for the 11th Annual “Drink Until You Shit!” tour, to be held on Saturday, July 11 in North Wildwood, NJ, is going smoothly. I mentioned this before, but I think this year’s going to be especially great because we’re starting earlier (3pm), which means less crowds as the night goes on, and because a number of my friends have decided to come on the tour from NYC and Boston because my 30th birthday is the following week (July 17 – start saving those pennies now, because I’m going to expect a beer from each of you, even in a shitty economy).
My co-partner David and I have decided on this year’s captain (a ground-breaking decision), are almost finished the t-shirts designs, and are working with hotels/motels in N. Wildwood for all those coming from out of town. The best place for info is probably the Facebook group, but I’m sure I’ll get around to posting stuff on here as well.
- Within two weeks of my turning 30, I will be in LA, NYC, down the Jersey shore and Boston. This is not to celebrate my 30th, but because of DUYS (which accounts for NYC and the Shore) and a wedding (which accounts for Boston). Even though I’m not really a big birthday person, preferring a steak and a goodly amount of whiskey over streamers and cake and fuss (well, I guess I’ll take the cake, too), I am looking forward to one part of my birthday – my 30th Birthday Threesome. Yep. Totally, totally looking forward to that. So whenever you guys are ready for that, just let me know. That email again is jason_at_jasonmulgrew.com. I check it all the time. Just let me know. Pretty open. Pretty, pretty, pretttty open.
So, all things considered, I am pretty much the luckiest guy in the world. Good lord. Don’t get me wrong – I still hate LA. But I have been on such a hot streak with the fun and the awesomeness and the luck that it just might be worthwhile for me to buy a lottery ticket or two.
(Again, I’m writing this on a plane. If I just jinxed this and the plane explodes upon landing, I’m going to be really, really pissed. And God will have totally won, once and for all.)
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Six Songs
“Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time” Jarvis Cocker
I can’t tell you how much I love this song. I really can’t. It’s so wonderful and British (and has an important/poignant/funny message, ladies) that I just don’t even know what to say about it (although I guess I just did say some things about it).
It also makes me sad that I haven’t made out with more British girls. Even though I studied abroad in and have been to London a half dozen times, I’ve only made out with one British chick, and that was in Dublin during a post-college/graduation-gift-to-ourselves jaunt to Europe. We met at a club-ish bar and she was (not surprisingly) bombed and (quite surprisingly) thought I was a bodybuilder; a fitness nut herself, when she learned that I was moving to NYC the next month, she wanted to make plans to come to NYC to run in Central Park with me. I said that one of the things I was most looking forward to about NYC was running in Central Park. I then think we did more shots.
Obviously, she’s dead now from life-ending/brain-exploding insanity and poor judgment, but a fun memory nonetheless.
“See You At The Lights” The 1990’s
Speaking of British girls, if this song doesn’t make you want to do a bunch of coke in the bathroom of a London club and then dance your balls off all night long, well, you’re just not very fun. Sorry. But that’s the verdict.
“In The Aeroplane Over the Sea” Neutral Milk Hotel
A beautiful song that I’d hadn’t heard in ages until it randomly popped up on my iPod. This song makes me feel nostalgic and important; nostalgic because NMH was one of the first real “indie” bands that I was introduced to (I remember thinking, “’Neutral Milk Hotel?’ What a strange and lovely name!”) and important because I feel like this is such a monumental song, not necessarily because it’s grandiose or long or complex musically or anything like that, but because it’s just so g.d. unique.
“Electric Feel (MGMT Cover)” Katy Perry
Look, I know almost nothing about Katy Perry. What I do know I don’t like – that “I Kissed a Girl” song is stupid, and she seems kind of loud and obnoxious. But god help me, when I hear this song, if I don’t want to reach through the alternative universe on the other side of the iTunes with an ether-soaked rag, a good tarp in the car, and a nice lil’ cabin in the mountains waiting. The way she sounds singing this song, particularly how hot she sounds singing this song…I mean, the things I’d like to do to her would probably get me into some serious, serious trouble. Wowza.
(Wowza.)
We should probably change the subject.
(Man, I really need to get laid. It’s getting a little frightening.)
“One Way” The Bridges
Like Fleetwood Mac, but without all the drug use and intra-band fucking. Well, I hope there’s no intra-band fucking, since it’s four sisters.
(Wait – or do I?)
(I’m so confused.)
“Trashcan” Delta Spirit
Y’all know I like my driving rock n’ roll songs. So here you go, a genuine, real-deal, pound-on-the-steering-wheel-and-yell (“My love is coming I can barely hardly wait!”) piano-driven rock song. Terrific, terrific, terrific.
[Wish me luck at the Derby – and have a good weekend.]
