When CNN Called

late last week, i received an email from my buddy Pete Viles, who writes that awful blog LA Land on the LA Times website. the email mentioned that a buddy of his, a CNN producer named Chuck, was looking to do a story on folks who’ve benefited from the foreclosure crisis by getting a foreclosed house at a discount. naturally, he thought i might be good for the story, which would run on the weekend newscast as a profile piece and would need me to appear on camera alongside my house, and would i be interested because they’re working under deadline and need to begin taping immediately because the piece would have to run the following day.

after about a millisecond of consideration, i agreed and within moments was on the phone with Chuck the producer, telling him about my heroic story, in which i endured a hellish escrow to take a foreclosed off the market while still engaging in my weekend hobby of saving pets from burning buildings. Chuck, of course, was impressed and said that he’d be at the house with a film crew the following morning at 9 am, a saturday, to get the full scoop on video for broadcast that night.

we hung up and i sat bewildered for a moment, knots forming in my stomach, wondering what the hell i just did. then i called Mo in a panic and yelled, “CNN is coming to our house tomorrow morning! CNN is going to tape us for a story!!” after five minutes of convincing him that it wasn’t a joke, he began a panic of his own that centered on everything that still needed to be done to the house before it was ready for its closeup, which got me wondering about what outfit to wear and would they have a hair-and-makeup crew on hand, which got Mo thinking he should get a haircut and finally add the backsplash to the kitchen counters, and would people be able to tell our kitchen came from Ikea and what about adding doors to the bedroom closets, and the house could use a coat of paint and maybe some sod in the front yard, which we could give it if we worked through the night without breaks.

we hung up and i immediately called my salon to schedule a brow and lip wax for that afternoon. then i headed to the flower shop in the lobby of my building to buy a bouquet of bright flowers for the house. at that point, i had decided i would wear my dark skinny jeans with my white-toe wedge heels, though i was still uncertain about a top. i had also started to rehearse answers to the questions i figured the interviewer would ask me, stringing together sound bytes for easy editing: “i fell in love with the house immediately. i knew it was the right house right away. being a homeowner has been fantastic.”

i started imagining the filler shots they would likely need and thought that Mo and i should plan a few natural shots of us putzing around the house, maybe making coffee in the kitchen while the dogs lounged nearby. they could film us on the deck, enjoying the view while looking effortlessly fabulous, the image of good fortune in a great house, and “yes, the foreclosure crisis has been very good to us. without it, we would be in a condo!”

cue the reporter voiceover: “Milla blogged about her house-hunting and house-remodeling experience on her personal blog, MillaTimes.com.” then shots of this bloggy would appear on the screen interspersed with Mo and i throwing back our heads and laughing at something cute the puppies did. Mo would be wearing the crisp white collared shirt he looks so hot in. i still couldn’t decide on a top but was leaning toward something blue.

i could see it perfectly and figured i would leave work early to get started with the house cleaning and also hit up the store for some teeth-whitening trays. i still had my wax appointment to make and needed to practice acting natural for the cameras while getting my story locked down. i knew i had a long night ahead of me, but i was looking forward to it. after all, CNN was coming to my house to film me for a story about my house. this wasn’t public access, baby. THIS WAS CNN. coming to my house to film me for a story about me. dreams do come true!

then the email came — the email that should have been a phone call. that was the least Chuck could do for me after all we had been through. but no, i get an email at 3pm that friday before CNN was supposed to come to my house the following morning. it read: “I’m sorry but I am going to have to cancel out on our plans for tomorrow morning. We were able to find a homeowner in the process of moving in…and that action will enhance the story we are putting together.”

a homeowner in the process of moving in? hell, i could easily hire some of the day laborers who loiter outside Home Depot to carry the junk stored in the garage around the property. i mean, if they just need action shots, i got it covered, Chucky baby. i don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. we can make it work. i got what you need.

i read the email again very slowly in case i missed something. i almost wrote him back with “hahaha, good one, Chucky! see you tomorrow at 9!” but i decided against it and instead called Mo, who was busy pulling weeds out of the front yard, to break the news. “CNN is not coming to our house tomorrow because we suck. they found some homeowner moving in who can give them ‘action.’” i think i made air quotes when i said the word to him on the phone.

ACTION? the word hit me like a baseball to the face. i have a view and cute dogs and i think i finally have my top picked out (definitely blue), and they wanted “action.” puh-lease. i got action, Chucky, though you’ll never see it now.

if you care to see what they ended up running, it’s here. it features some dude unpacking a box of books — that was the action shot? — and a couple that is clearly less telegenic than Mo and i. sure, they have a cute kid ambling around an empty house but my dogs are way cuter.

whatever, CNN. i have one four-letter word for you: LAME.

The Ads

i’d like to apologize to my six readers — zee, germy, wade, courtney, gitella and mo — for the annoying ads i’ve placed on my website. (notice how my mom no longer reads this.) feel free to either ignore them or click them 1,000 times so i can make a nickel.

i put the ads on the site precisely to make some nickels. i’ve been meaning to make BIG CHANGES to this site for a long while, and after swearing to myself that they would happen this year, i woke up and realized that october was nigh and i hadn’t done a thing. the ads are the first in many changes that should be rolling out here. (yeah right, hahahaha.)

i also added google analytics to this site’s back-end earlier in the year to see where readers were coming from. don’t worry, i can’t see your name, email address, home phone number or bank account login, but i do see that most readers reside in california (duh), with oregon coming in second (hi, cousins!!!), and that most regular readers have the site either bookmarked or enter the URL manually into their browsers.

for those who do happen to find the site via googling, search terms often involve my namesake, the lovely Milla Jovovich, whom i sadly look nothing like. to the folks looking for her, the new ads are for you. if i could control the content of the ads — which are generated by google, based on keywords — i would make every single ad read Milla Jovovich XXX Pix HERE!

the other most popular keyword search (of course) involves the famed psychic in hawaii, Lan Vo, whom i had my own encounter with in 2003. but the most interesting thing about these analytics are the seemingly random searches that will pull up my blog, like “38dd tit videos” or my personal favorite, “my boss is causing me to lose sleep and shake uncontrolably,” which pulled up this page.

also notice that i put a link to my flickr account at the right, which was recently upgraded and made public after years of being private. all shots are organized into sets and feature photos that you’ve likely seen here in blog posts, though there are some never-before-seen ones too. if you’re on flickr and wanna be photo contacts, hit me up.

beyond that, i have hired (bribed?) a web designer friend of mine to help with the redecorating of the rest of this space. i would try to do it myself with my limited HTML and CSS skills, but i’d rather that it not suck so i’ve asked a professional. i am also going to make a real effort to post more often, even if the posts are shorter and just feature my dumb observations or snippets of conversations i’ve had or heard. if you have ideas on what kind of content you’d like to see more of, please let me know.

i know you’re probably wondering why i’m bothering with all this when only six people read my drivel on a regular basis. basically, it’s because my day job is boring. it’s a good job and all, one that i plan to keep for the foreseeable future, but it’s not very creative or stimulating. for me, maintaining this blog is creative and stimulating. it’s fun, and i want to invest more time into making it funner — for me, for you and for those who stumble upon it accidentally while searching for naked pictures of milla jovovich.

My Friend Sasha

i’m not sure how i missed the news earlier this year that my friend, Alexander Merman, had died. can i still call him my friend? i hadn’t talked to him or seen him in many years but on those rare occasions when the thought of him did pop into my head, i remembered him warmly — and will continue to remember him warmly.

though right now i’m sad. crushed even. i could barely sleep last night, my mind flooded with his memory. he wasn’t supposed to die so young and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be murdered — with not a single suspect in custody, warrant issued or arrest made. seems like Santa Monica has been safe for so long that the local cops have forgotten how to conduct an investigation. it’s been six months and still nothing.

i read every google entry i could find on the murder as a way to convince myself that it actually happened. but each one left me with a greater sense of disbelief as i searched for the punchline that never came — that it was all a big joke, that none of it actually happened.

but it did happen. my friend alex was murdered in such a random, violent way that doesn’t fit with the life i knew him to lead. when i knew him and saw him regularly, about eight years ago, he was decent and funny and driven. he was a talented artist who produced beautiful work, some of which he gave me. i still have a piece in my parents’ garage signed “love, sasha.”

we dated for a few months, long-distance dating as i was living in SF at the time, he in LA. we managed to see each other every other weekend, with his visits to SF always accompanied by a dozen roses. he was sweet like that, and faultlessly polite, raised well by a single mother, the only russian i’ve ever dated. things were going well until we spent a week vacationing in Acapulco, where we realized that we were completely wrong for each other. we split up soon after.

still, i’d see him around. we stayed friendly and kept in touch. he even came out to a few parties i hosted once i moved back to LA and entered a new relationship. all the while he kept working on his art, and with the students at the Watts middle school where he taught — the students who gave him an endless supply of funny stories to share. he loved those kids, and judging by the message boards that erupted after his murder, they loved him back.

about five years ago, i saw him walking down Santa Monica with his mother as i was walking out of the Whole Foods in West Hollywood. i had moved into the neighborhood a few weeks earlier following a big breakup and couldn’t handle running into an ex-boyfriend, a reminder of another failed relationship. so i crossed the street to avoid them while feeling embarrassed and sorry for myself. now i just feel immature. i could have at least said hello. it was the last time i saw him.

i figured i’d run into him again at some point, randomly and unexpectedly, or that i would open up an LA Weekly and see his name attached to a local gallery show. instead, i see him on the internet, the word “murder” attached to his picture, with a story on how he died painfully and alone. stabbed to death.

i keep trying to chase those images out of my head by flipping through the small photo album i have of our time together in mexico. i keep trying to remember the way he looked the last time i saw him, smiling with his mother on his arm. i keep trying to remember the conversations we had so i don’t imagine the sound of his voice yelling for help and then being silenced forever as he bled to death in his apartment. i keep trying to be ok with this.

Albuquerque, New Mexico: The Sightseeing (Part II)

what the hell: our hotel in Albuquerque, once an artists colony, was an adobe compound with 21 casitas, each of them decorated with the art of its former residents. this painting was in the bedroom Mo and i shared during our stay — for about five seconds before i made him move it to the living room for fear that it would give me nightmares.


not much better: Mo swapped the freaky watermelon painting with this one, which caused me to spend the next four days transfixed by the (lady’s?) nipples. we found out later that both paintings represent traditional clown dancers from the local Keres tribes of New Mexico.


interchanged: i had never been to the american southwest before, so i wasn’t sure what to except from New Mexico. i had some vague ideas gleaned from movies and books about mud houses and desert landscapes, and Albuquerque was certainly filled with both. it wasn’t as hot as i thought it would be, with the temperature rarely cracking 90 degrees, but the sun did seem to shine brighter here, with the shortage of trees making it hard to find shade to hide under. i did appreciate Albuquerque’s rich blue skies, which are a stark contrast to LA’s perpetually grayish, cancer-tinged air.


go bruins: Mo and i spent some time wandering around the University of New Mexico campus and its surrounding college town, which had some good eats. the university seems to be a huge employer and central part of Albuquerque’s culture, with lobo stuff plastered everywhere.


weak: the statue of the lobo itself (“wolf” in spanish) seemed a little sad. i’m probably just used to the oversized bruin i spent four years looking at when i attended UCLA, but come on, guys, couldn’t you dramatize the wolf a bit, making it bigger and more ferocious? as it stands now, the statue is about as frightening as Pinko.


this one time at band camp: we followed tuba players around campus as they practiced marching and playing at the same time while wearing outfits straight out of Hot Dog on a Stick.


craftsman detail: we also found this wooden canopy on campus that had some feature Mo was certain would work well for the house’s exterior. i just smiled, nodded and took the picture.


scarier than the lobo: these two “dancing” statues were smack in the middle of the quad.


Marble Brewery: after spending the day among college students, we decided to hit up a local brewery to drink like them.


IPA, please: i didn’t find the Marble beers as extraordinary as the ones i sampled at the Stone Brewery, but there was some yum in there. Mo became enamored with the IPA, bringing home a six-pack and a T-shirt from the brewery.


where trees are plentiful: our next adventure took us to the Rio Grande Nature Center, one of Albuquerque’s state parks. Mo wanted to see the Center’s main building, designed by local architect Antoine Predock, who also did the American Heritage Center Mo featured in his architecture travel series.


major vertigo: the building looked like a bomb shelter to me and was basically built into the rocky landscape with no discernible facade. walking toward the front door made me dizzy as hell, and i was convinced that on the other side of the door would be some carnival fun house with distorted mirrors and midget clowns running amuck.


the tubes of the internets: i didn’t see any midgets inside, only Predock’s sexy passive cooling system, which keeps the interior cool with giant containers filled with fluid to absorb the sun’s heat through skylights.


the vista: the backside of the building was all glass and provided a perfect view of the river. one room even had a library with cozy theater seats facing the glass, where i sat mesmerized for an hour, watching turtles sunbathe.


Sandia Peak: Albuquerque is home to the world’s longest aerial tramway, which took Mo and i to the highest peak in the Cibola National Forest, where we ate a terrific steak dinner at the local restaurant while watching the sun set and playing footsy under the table.


the scenery: although the Cibola forest looked like a proper forest full of lush greenery, the view of Albuquerque from atop the peak looked like a burnt sienna crayon melted all through the canyon. if each city has its own color, Albuquerque’s is definitely brown.


we can barely breathe: i made the mistake of running toward the tram after dinner (missing it by 10 seconds) and then spent the following 10 minutes gasping for air like a dying guppy.


cool at 10,000 feet: Mo knew better than to quicken his pace while we were at Sandia Peak, and he seemed to enjoy smoking his American Spirits, which he said gave him quite a head rush.


little fluffy clouds: while i enjoyed my time in New Mexico, i was definitely in a rush to get back to Cali. i didn’t particularly like or dislike Albuquerque. it was a decent enough city that was fun for a vacation — albeit a bit sleepy — but i don’t think i’ll be going back there anytime soon, despite its gorgeous blue skies.

Albuquerque, New Mexico: The Wedding (Part I)

people at a wedding: so i went to a wedding the other weekend. the wedding was in Albuquerque, which i kept misspelling with an extra E or U, sometimes an extra R. it just seems like that first U should be an E, no?


the bride: she was a good friend from high school named Christie, who was and still is a stunning doll who never seems to age. just love this girl. she’s all sugar.


Mo and me: given that Mo and i attended the same high school, he also knew Christie, so we made the trek to New Mexico together, leaving the dogs and house behind to take our first real vacation this year. (he looks great in a suit, huh?)


more high schoolers: Deo, Mo, Tim and Damien. all Class of ’94, middle-class, Valley-bred SOCES graduates taking advantage of the open bar.


and even more: me, Shannon, Ann and Raidis. all dolled up and trying not to melt under the New Mexican sun.


20 years and counting: my girl, Raidis, and i have known each other since the 6th grade. in 40 more years, we’ll be looking at nursing homes together, where we can sit in rocking chairs, talking about boys and our hip replacement surgeries.


the family: in total, nine CESers flew in for the wedding. top row from left: Suzanne, Mo, Tim, Christie, Deo, Damien, Ann, Shannon, me, Raidis. we’ve all stayed close through the years and still hang out regularly. people sometimes find it strange that i’ve remained tight with my high school friends, but i can’t imagine not staying close to those who endured puberty right alongside me. i plan to know these people for the rest of my life, and that gives me great comfort.


there was a groom, too: his name is Michael — great, great guy. sweet, smart med student and very deserving of our girl. he also has fantastic teeth that rival Christie’s own beautiful chompers. together, they make quite the colgate couple.


the surgical cut: the cake was tasteful and perfect like the rest of the wedding. it was also neato to see Christie’s family, whom i hadn’t seen since high school, and to meet her new friends, who asked for dirt on our gal, wondering what her nicknames were in school.


valedictorian: that was her nickname, because that’s what she was. she was also voted most likely to succeed. she attended Brown for undergrad, UCSF for medical school and now works as an ER doctor in Albuquerque. congratulations, Christie, you won!

Stuff and Things

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The Stone Brewery

field tripping: Mo and i had been talking about going out of town for ages, but issues with the house, the dogs, the money made it difficult to just get up and go. still, we were aching for a breakin, so we settled on the Stone Brewery. located in north San Diego, it’s nearby enough to not require the burning of too much gas in getting there but far away enough to make us feel like we’re really out of town.


giddy Mo: like a kid in a candy store, a Mo in a beer shop, the Stone brand, with its Arrogant Bastard Ale, is one of Mo’s favorite microbrews.


impressive: they had about a kazillion beers on tap, most of which change daily and can’t be bought in stores.


manic panic on tap: at the time of our visit, the brewery was participating in some annual event where its employees and fans are asked to dye their hair blue to raise money for beer awareness or something. oh wait, it was for childrens charities. hiccup — pass the pale ale.


back to the beer: it was pretty damn tasty, especially for a gal like me who has an underdeveloped beer palate. Mo was in hops heaven, sampling everything on the menu and bringing home a growler filled with one of Stone’s anniversary brews, which was aged in a brandy barrel, alcohol content: 10.25%.


schlemiel, schlimazel: we took a free tour of the actual brewery, which provided a lesson on how beer is made, plus a walkthrough of the premises.


not quaker oatmeal: apparently, beer is made with a lot of rolled oats, or yeast, or barley or something. i was quite drunk at this point so i’m not sure what the tour dude said.


did she get it at Ross? i was so drunk that i kept urging Mo to ask the girl in the orange halter top where she got her shirt. “tell her you want to buy one for your girlfriend,” i said to Mo, who was too busy calculating how many cases of beer would fit in the trunk of my car.


total Stoner: that’s what they call fans of the Stone Brewery. our tour guide was definitely one, leading the tour as he did, beer in hand, while explaining the fermentation process and restating that “yellow, fizzy beer is for sissies.”


kegggggerssss: there were so many. felt like college.


and the food: beyond just the drinking, there was plenty of eating to be done. we had two different meals in the brewery’s “world bistro” restaurant, which served crazy incredible food, some of which was prepared with Stone’s own beers, like the Arrogant Bastard Onion Rings. the restaurant was mighty gorgeous, designed with stones and pebbles, and with this huge wall of glass that faced the back patio.


babylon: the landscaping was also first class, with the most lovely, fragrant gardens everywhere. it provided me with many good ideas on how to landscape the house, which is currently surrounded by dirt and dead grass. something tells me Mo won’t mind growing hops in the front yard.


back to hell-lay: the “vacation” was short-lived (just one saturday night in Escondido), and it wasn’t entirely relaxing as Mo and i had a spat after dinner, but getting away is always good. i’m sure this had everything to do with the beer.

The Home-Improvement Chronicles: The Kitchen

voila! this is a view of the kitchen from the front door. the wall on the left used to be three times as long and separated the kitchen from the living room, but it’s been scaled back so that the kitchen has effectively become part of the living area in one gargantuan main room.


view from the kitchen door: and there’s Pinko following on my heels, thinking that my being in the kitchen might mean a piece of food will fly out of my hands and into her mouth.


prefers lamb to chicken: contrast this with Juice’s boyfriend, Max, who insists that any food be served to him while he’s sitting in my chair.


sink wall: remember the sink wall in the old kitchen — the one where washing a dish meant hitting your head against an overhead wine cabinet?


it works! here’s Mo the architect, designer (and installer!) of this perfect kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. notice how he is not hitting his head on anything.


that view again: i know i keep bragging about it, but it just never gets old. it’s so good that Mo and i decided not to furnish the kitchen with a dishwasher since the view is what we’re forced to look at while washing dishes, which means that dishes don’t stay dirty for very long.


coffee station: you’ll be shocked to learn that morning coffee is made here. just shocking! this is also the only part of the kitchen equipped with the dope walnut countertop made by Mo.


don’t eat the chilis: they are plastic, though the other fruits are real. notice how there are no dirty dishes in the sink.


those floors: sadly, there is no pretty view to gaze at while washing them so they don’t stay as clean as the dishes. that’s mostly because of the shedding shepards i once thought were a good idea to get. i’m on the verge of shaving them.


the cabinetry: Mo’s idea was to match the cabinetry with the dark floor so that the floor would appear to be extending up the walls. everyone thought we were insane when we told them the kitchen cabinets would be chocolate brown instead of a lighter shade, but i think they’re rockin like dokken.


the hardware: pretty much everything in the kitchen was purchased from Ikea for relatively cheap, including the sink, faucet, white laminate countertops and all the shelving. the only splurge was the hardware, which consists of these ultra-cool stainless steel and frosted glass pulls. they are smooth like pearls, meaning the dogs will lick them continuously for food particles.


stove wall: except for two wall panels and the one cabinet above the fridge (see two photos up), the kitchen has no overhead cabinets, just open shelving.


stove station: this handy dandy setup puts everything needed for cooking within arm’s reach, except for the take-out menus, which are in a neighboring drawer.


the corner: i love these C&B wall boxes, which used to house CDs at my old apartment. the small mirrors in the corner also do a great job reflecting light around the kitchen. Mo has strategically placed many of these small mirrors all around the house, some in corners that are too tight for me to fit my fat head into to check whether i have spinach stuck in my teeth. i’ll try anyway and Mo will have to butter my big head to get it unstuck.


the other rooms: beyond that white door is the house’s sole bathroom — it’s the original bathroom that came with the house, which means it’s ugly. to the left is the office, and to the right is the master bedroom. (to the right in the foreground is the piece of shit maytag refrigerator, bought for cheap at a used appliance store, that needs to be defrosted every few weeks, otherwise all the perishable food spoils. but i’ll complain about that some other time.)


those new yorker covers: it’s kinda disingenuous since Mo and i aren’t big readers of The New Yorker, but Mo is a fan of the illustrator, Chris Ware, who did a series of Thanksgiving covers for the magazine. Mo also has his fantastic but depressing Rusty Brown lunchbox, which tells the story of the most dejected kid in high school. get it as a gift for all your loser friends.


the kitchen door: the door leads to the deck that hugs the side of the house and provides access to stairs that lead down to the basement, where the washer and dryer live. oh yeah, did i mention how the door showcases the great view?


one more from a different angle: this is the last one i’ll ever post! at least in this set of photos.


i lied: this is the last i’ll post. gorgeous, ain’t it?