Fire

I have spent 34 years watching the news. Watching natural and man made disasters - hurricanes, plane crashes, terrorist attacks, 2 Gulf Wars, assasinations and countless murders. To be perfectly honest - it all had a sense of detachment to it. With the exception of 911, none of it directly affected me.

That all changes when you turn on the news and see the above image - a raging fire approaching YOUR HOUSE. Suddenly, it's very real. Ash is falling from the sky covering everything in my yard, the sky is black at 12 noon and the world smells like a smoldering campfire. Yeah, it's very real.

Almost every town around us has been evacuated. Thankfully there are no casualties and only one house has been officially lost, but thousands of my neighbors are in shelters right now waiting to see if their house is next.

If the winds do not change, we should be ok. If they get stronger, well, we're fucked. I just spent the last hour video taping every belonging in our house for insurance purposes. My wife and I made a list of valuables we will begin to pack if the flames get closer. Suddenly, I am not watching people in New Orleans lose their entire life's work...and then going for a dip in our heated swimming pool.

The fire is affecting phone and cell service so it might be difficult for us to contact anyone soon but know that if the fires come closer during the night we will evacuate and be safe. We can get another house, not another family.

It took 20,000 acres of flames, but I think I'll watch the news a little differently now.

Survivor

I might be the last person on earth to have never seen Survivor. Not one single episode.

Sure, I have stood around the office water cooler while co-workers passionately spoke of mythical heroes like "Johnny Fairplay" and "Boston Rob" - whoever the hell they are. Embarrassed someone would learn of my horrible secret I would nod, careful not to agree or protest so enthusiastically that I was questioned.

I turned down offers to come to "Survivor Finale" parties for fear of being exposed. To these die hard followers, a Survivor Finale is as big as the Superbowl and I didn't want to be the one loser at the party that asks, "Why is that ball shaped so funny?"

I recently made a life decision. I have decided to commit to watching this season of Survivor. I figure with my trusty TiVo at my side I should be able to keep up with the Joneses at the water cooler.

I am two episodes in and I have to say - it has nothing to do with surviving at all.

They travel to some exotic local. Got it.

They have very little food or water, ok, I'm with you.

They hike 11 miles through the jungle - awesome. I am totally there. Dehydration, fatigue - great drama.

They must run a relay race, climb over a huge man made rope spiderweb and retrieve bags full of nothing. Excuse me?

They must compete in an ol' fashioned tug-of-war in (drumroll) mud. What the fuck?

It looks like one big episode of Battle of the Network Stars...without the stars. Put a paper bag over their heads and it might as well be the cast of Soap battling against the Eight is Enough gang. What does any of this have to do with surviving?

This is what the hype is over? This is the Superbowl of reality TV? At this rate, by episode five they will be going head to head in an egg toss, or a three-legged race to the death.

C'mon - let's see them beat each other with a rock over a pint of dirty water. Let's see them kill the fat guy and eat his meat like those soccer players. Can we at least see one get hit with a blow dart or fall into a pit of spikes or something?

You would think there would be some kind of danger. After all, a bunch of dorky white folks standing around the jungle with huge, fucking, incadescent headbands on would attract something, anything.

People Watching

Yesterday's rant on NY food not only made me hungry, it reminded me of another big difference between NY and LA - the People Watching.

New York is a pedestrian city. Everyone walks, or crams into buses, squeezes into a subway car - New Yorkers are forced to interact. The People Watching is fantastic. It's in the odds - come in contact with a million people a day and you are bound to come across some characters.

Most days I carry a journal with me on the off chance I witness something awesome or inspiration strikes. The following list was compiled during the years I communted on the NYC subway...

Adam's Top Ten Things Overheard on the NYC Subway: (completely true)

10. The left one looks real, but you can tell the right is fake, right?
9. Yeah, that's easy for you to say - you didn't tattoo his name on your ass.
8. I swear to God I could just shoot someone (said 2 days after the L.I. Railroad Massacre)
7. I just puked three times in my mouth.
6. How do you get to Carnegie Hall?
5. No way man, I clocked her block good. She's probably still layin' there.
4. I told my shrink, women, they like throw themselves at me. I mean look at me? I'd fuck me.
3. These panties are killing me. (It was an old man)
2. I'm going to grab a Shasta and kill myself and I'll probably never see you again.

and the number one thing over heard on the NYC Subway (this one said directly to me)...

1. Look at me one more time and I'm gonna stab you in the mother fucking eye.

I moved to LA and now I spend 4 hours a day in my car. It's a lonely communter city. At first it drove me crazy - traffic, you can't sleep - two years ago I didn't even own a car! But then I guess I got used to it.

About 4 months ago I was back in NYC for the first time since moving out here. I looked forward to riding the subway. I looked forward to coming in contact with New Yorkers - my people!

Five minutes in that 100 degree, sweaty subway with some strange guy rubbing up against me and I thought...

"I would love to be in my car right now."

L.A. Food Sucks

"I don't want to live in a city where the only cultural advantage is that you can make a right turn on a red light." - Woody Allen, 1977

"I will never, ever live in Los Angeles." - Adam Freeman, 1971 thru 2002

"Wow, it's so sunny." - Adam Freeman, 2003



No one was more surprised than me when I moved to Los Angeles, but at 5'7" I am still a big enough man to admit when I am wrong.

It's always sunny. There are palm trees. Palm trees. I feel like I am on vacation. I have palm trees in my backyard. I'm Magnum PI.

But for Christ's sake will someone get me a real eggroll?

Californians can build roads straight through the Santa Monica Mountains, they can produce over 80% of the world's movies, they can do a riot better than anyone...

So why can't they make decent Chinese and Italian food?

When you order Chinese out here:
- they don't include a little oil covered waxy bag of crispy noodles
- they don't include duck sauce. In fact they don't even KNOW what duck sauce is. No joke.
- white rice is EXTRA? WTF?
- Eggrolls are not eggrolls. LA eggrolls are really shitty NY spring rolls. The size of a roll of quarters.

Me and Krissy's first apartment was directly above a Chinese Resturant. I got down on one knee and proposed in that apartment. To this day I can't get an erection without the smell of eggrolls wafting up through the floor boards.

And don't get me started on the Italian food. My mother-in-law would slit her wrists. I didn't know this but apparently pizza, the food on which NYC was built, the product a thousand different "Rays" claim to have invented, was really created by an Austrian named Wolfgang Puck.

LA people don't know what a "slice" is. Wolfgang fucking Puck has brainwashed the entire West Coast into thinking "gormet pizza" is the only pizza. Two slices with meatball and a coke? No way. Goat cheese, pineapple and ginseng? Coming right up!!!

The first thing Krissy and I did when we got out here was look for a good place to buy Italian groceries. It took months. We would drive around and pass other transplanted New Yorkers with this look in their eyes that said, "Parmesan....someone....get...me....fresh Parmesan..." We all looked like zombies roaming the city for brains.

No one is "from" Los Angeles. 90% of this state moved here. I had to move 3,000 miles away to meet people that grew up less than 5 miles from me in Freeport, Merrick and Massapequa. Not to mention every goomba named "Terry" that is obviously in the witness protection program.

You'd think out of all those transplants ONE would teach these people how to make a decent eggroll and slice of pizza. Until they do I'll just have to settle for my Peking Halibut in an Almond Reduction and a personal pizza with BBQ Pork, Thai Chicken and Pomegranites.

But hey, I have palm trees in my backyard.

My Wife the Racist

How's that for a headline?

Most of the people visiting this site know my wife, Krissy. For those that don't let me fill you in...

She is the polar opposite of me in everyway. In other words - the perfect person. How this kind, caring, thoughtful, selfless, romantic person fell for a bitter, thoughtless, selfish bastard like myself baffles everyone including me. I am clearly making out better in this deal so I'll just keep coming down for breakfast until she catches on.

- Krissy is the person that doesn't forget your name...
- The person who sends a card for every occasion...
- Knows the name of every child and every parent in my daughter's class before the first day of school is over. No joke, half of the parents think she is a teacher she is so welcoming...
- That starts knitting baby blankets a year in advance because she knows her friend is planning on being pregnant this time next year...
- Spends the month of December making homemade X-Mas cookies as personal gifts...
- Will always put someone else's happiness before her own...
- Let's me have the last piece of pizza.

Simply put, if they gave out an award for "Best Human" (and they should) she would win hands down. Maybe Oprah could give her a run, but Krissy would still take it in the end.

If you don't agree with the above - fuck off. If you know her, or the above description sounds like someone you would like to know, keep reading.

My Wife Is A Racist...

Or at least, as of today, half of the San Fernando Valley thinks so.

A "Moms Group" is made up of stay at home moms who get together regularly for play groups, ladies night out and do charitible things to help the community. Very Nice. Very noble. And more political than the White House and Wysteria Lane put together.

Most are smart, quick, and once successful professional women who have chosen to stay home to raise their children. They now crave adult interaction so much that who brought "just a salad" to the pot luck dinner becomes as big as the Iran-Contra Scandal.

Needless to say my wife attended one meeting and was made publicity chairperson.

In between meetings and playdates, the group communicates through a huge online network. Plans are made, info distributed. If someone finds a good pediatrician they pass them along etc. Fine.

They also send out a lot of spam. Not solicitations, more like, "You know you're a mom if..." and "Top 10 Reasons Husbands Suck" etc. My wife is as guilty of this as anyone.

Well today Krissy got an e-mail from a friend outside of the group and in a flurry of mom-multi-tasking, forwarded it to her Mom's Group Network without really reading it. After all, there's a 90% chance it has do with "Make One Person Smile Today" or some similar Hallmark sentiment.

Not today.

Today it was a tirade against a propsed US Stamp Celebrating the Muslim religion. This chain letter was being circulated to "remind us" of every violent act a Muslim has ever committed against the USA. It encouraged you to write your congressman to express outrage etc.

Krissy didn't realize this. With in a nanosecond of hitting "send" she was bombarded by angry stay at home moms "replying all" acusing her of being prejudice, anti-Muslim, completely inappropriate, out of line etc.

I don't know why, but I find this hilarious. Not the subject matter, but the fact that my sweet wife who tries to "bring a smile to someone everyday" is being outed as a Right Wing-Conservative-Racist. This is a woman who bought my daughter dolls in different races so she would learn tolerance!

If any of them know Krissy do they really think this is her style? Do they think she is running a Klu Klux Klan sleeper cell out of our gated Calabasas Home? We can't even sneak someone into the pool without getting busted, let alone plan world domination. And if you think she'd let anyone cut holes in her sheets fuggetaboutit,,,

These women really have to get another hobby. And while they are "replying all" and spreading their own brand of propaganda - can they guess which of them secretly e-mailed Krissy personally to say "I totally agree with you." Classic.

P.S. - Paul - your response about Krissy being able to "express her feelings as a constitutional right" was really sweet and well intended but made her look like she endorses Al Queda. Thanks though...

My Music Pet Peeves

MY LIST OF MUSIC PET PEEVES (in no particular order)

1. Hidden Tracks On CD's:

This annoying novelty wore off after Nine Inch Nail's "Broken" EP. "Gee, why does my cd player say this disc has 127 tracks? That's odd." Ok, we get it. They are about as well hidden as Tara Reid's left breast.

2. Music Journalists:

For me, they rank up there with Al Queda. They all wanted to be rockstars and are now bitter. They sit around wearing Guided By Voices t-shirts trying to think of new ways to destroy an auditory experience by turning into a literary one. Ex: “His guitar cuts like a chain saw through the trees of their sonic landscape.” They all are so incredibly "indie" but some how always turn up when VH-1 needs a sound bite on who was the best Van Halen singer. Oh, and they smell. Honestly - have you ever met a music journalist that didn't smell?

3. People Wearing Headphones Who Lie About What They Are Listening To:

You are riding the elevator at work. You see a co-worker sipping their morning Starbucks and listening to their iPod. "What are you listening to?" you ask. They always pause before they answer. That pause says, "Shit, It's Terrence Trent Darby - think, think... "What? Oh Lou Barlow. You know, one of his old lo-fi four track tapes." Just fucking admit it's 9AM and you are totally rockin' out to "Wishing Well." You cared enough to buy, it rip it and upload it - be proud! Damn, I got the freakin' Wiggles on my iPod. There is no shame.

4. 14 Year Old Kids Wearing $68 Designer Rock T-Shirts Of Bands They Never Heard Of:

It's not just that they have never heard of them, its not just that some freaky Betsy Johnson-look alike took a bedazzler to a Good Will t-shirt and is charging $68, it's that I didn't fucking think of it first. Someone's discarded, bong water stained Blue Oyster Cult Shirt just helped buy a house in Malibu. I could have financed the next space shuttle if I kept all the crap in my closet.

5. Addendum to #2 - Journalists That Put Themselves Into Their Pieces:

"So there I stood on Route 66, dust blowing, wind howling when a lone '68 Cadillac appears in the distance. There are only three constants in this world: death, taxes, and Keith Richards is always late to pick me up." Hunter S. Thompson is dead, let the art form die with him. We all know you were at a press junket squeezed between Channel 38 and Telemundo with your little tape recorder.

6. Rock Stars Who OD But Don’t Die:

If you die you become a tragic figure in the annals of rock history. If you OD and live it means you're a light weight.

7. Kareoke And People Who Sing Kareoke: You used to sing into an unamplified hairbrush for a reason. You suck. I would rather have my scrotum pulled gently over my head then hear one more drunk version of "Mandy."

8. The One Rocker In A Band of Pussies:

Every pop band has one "badass." Donnie Wahlberg, Bobby Brown, Joey Fatone, that tat covered AJ from the Backstreet Boys - you are Backstreet Boy, not a Crip. He's just a motorcycle guy in a moped band.

9. People That Make Shoddy Mixed Tapes (cd's):

They make a mixed tape or cd with no thought as to theme, running order, organic flow etc. You have the opportunity to create an experience for the listener – take them on a journey. You can’t just throw “We Got the Beat” after “the Needle and the Damage Done” cause you think they’re both kinda “neat.”

10. People that take mixed tapes and cds way too seriously.

*BONUS: The years of my life when music was the only thing. When a band mattered so much you'd drive 9 hours to see them or sleep in the cold waiting for ticketmaster to open. Now I got the freakin' Wiggles on my iPod...and I'm starting to dig them. Rock On.

Hurricane Photo Op

Aspen? Miami? St. Barts? Nope. Hollywood's newest vacation hot spot? New Orleans.

Now with miles and miles of beach front property, society's most treasured asset - celebrities - are flocking to the worst natural disaster site in American history. How do we know this?

Because they all brought fucking camera crews with them.

Fresh from his vacation in Iraq, Sean Penn was so moved by the images of the sinking New Orleans he saw on the news he had to do something, anything to help those poor victims. He grabbed the bare essentials: a life jacket, fresh water, a boat, and a personal photographer.

It reminds me of the age old philosopher's conumdrum, "If a celebrity does something charitable - and there isn't a camera around - did they really do it?

Kirstie Alley put down the Krispie Kremes long enough to travel to New Orleans to visit the true victims of this tragedy - pets. Thank God she had a camera crew with her to capture this surely Pulitzer Prize winning piece of documentary footage. I am sorry - I had a dog, I had cats. I loved them. But if my house is floating away and it is a question of who gets the last spot in the lifeboat - Lassie or another human - Lassie is shit out of luck.

Bono in Africa, yes. Angelina Jolie in every Asian country known to man - I get it. Kudos to them for the attention they have brought to horrible conditions. But when I see Richard Simmons walking down a flooded New Orleans street in a bedazzled tank top and dolphin shorts I gotta call bullshit.

That's right - tonight on Entertainment Tonight Richard Simmons returned to his home town of New Orleans. He didn't help anyone. He just walked around in his sweatin' the oldies gear and made enlightening statements such as, "How are they going to get all this water out of here?" Thank God the ET cameras were there with him. Maybe tomorrow "Cojo" can show us how to turn those water logged body bags into this fall's hottest fashions.

George Clooney and all the folks that appeared on the 911 tribute, all the celebrities set to appear on this week's Katrina tribute and Joel Gallen - who produced both of them - you have the right idea. Use your skills, your pull, your celebrity to raise money so trained professionals can delivery food, medical help and rescue boats to all of those suffering people.

You have the right idea - stay in Hollywood. You can do much more good from there.

Outnumbered

Many minorities face discrimination on a daily basis. At work, at school, on the street - their only safe place is in the comfort of their own home.

I am a minority in my own home.

I am Jewish. Although spiritually I am an athiest, I am Jewish in virtually every other way: I am neurotic, a pessimist, I love Mel Brooks and Woody Allen, I don't find lox disgusting and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I hear Wagner.

My wife is Catholic. And although she was raised in a semi-religious household, when we met in 1993 she was not practicing and had not been to church in several years. She is also Italian - which makes her practically Jewish. Italians love to eat and only communicate at one volume - an ear piercing shout.

The only real difference is their armies. On the street, any Italian could kick any Jew's ass. But put an army uniform on them and the roles are completely reversed.

When my wife and I discussed starting a family we agreed that we would raise our kids with no religion at all. She was not a practicing Catholic and I am a devout Atheist. Great, agreed.

Then our daughter was born. (Round one - two females vs. one male).

Suddenly words like "baptism" and "communion" and "white bread" started being dropped around the house. My wife, who hasn't been to Mass since Ford was President, was having a change of heart. She wanted our daughter to be blessed in the eyes of "God."

My wife and I are partners - in love and in life. In other words, I have no power what-so-ever. A church was booked. Contrary to my fears, I did not burst into flames when I entered the church, I was not singled out for killing Christ and no one asked to see my horns. (Round Two - Two Catholics vs. One Jew).

My wife and I agreed there wouldn't be any other religion in our house. The baptism was a one time concession to ease her mind and her family's minds. Understood. Then we started looking at pre-schools...

So two months later and my wife and I are dropping Ella off at St. Bernadine's. My wife tells me this was the best school she could find and religion plays a very small part in their day. There was no praying, and only some stories around the holidays.

So, we walk down the hall, passed the portrait of the Pope, passed the crucifix, passed the construction paper prayers the kids have decorated and drop her off in her class room. Class room looks nice, nothing out of the ordinary..ok, cool.

The next day my daughter has to wear a grass skirt to school. Why? It's Hawaiian Day. How cute. I drop her off and everyone is wearing something flowered or Hawaiin. They look adorable. I see a map on the wall and a big star is on Hawaii. The map has a title...

"JESUS AROUND THE WORLD."

I take the gefilte fish out of her lunch box and drive home.

My wife and I are expecting another baby in December. A girl. I am sure a baptism will follow because we wouldn't want the baby "to go to a different heaven than the rest of the family." No one has stopped to think that Big Ol' Dad is going to be carded at the Pearly Gates and sent to the Heaven next door that looks like the set of "Fiddler on The Roof."

Round Three - Three Catholic Women vs. One Jewish Male.

What does this mean?
- I will never use a bathroom in my house ever again.
- I will be paying for two weddings IN A CHURCH (oh, the irony)
- All my televisions will be permanently tuned to Lifetime.
- I will have to put mayonaise on everything.

So if you need me I'll be in my bedroom watching Annie Hall, eating a Knish and reading the Sports Page.

Inventors & Perverts

My 2 year old daughter was invited to a friend's birthday party this morning. The last time we let her use the car proved to be a huge mistake, so my wife and decided to drive her.

While the kids were running around, playing and being generally immature, us parents began to coagulate into little groups. For the wives, this was fine. They all know each other from playgroups and mom's groups and Gymboree, but for the husbands it was like one huge blind date.

"Husband A, this is Husband B - you have so much in common. For example, you both shave. Now go off and discuss while we talk about personal wife things like how to commit the perfect murder..."

So I wandered from discussion group to discussion group: shaving, football, peeing standing up, body hair, until I managed to squeeze into a co-ed group talking about the internet.

One of the moms was talking about how worried she is when her teenage daughter surfs the internet - all the online predators, grown men pretending to be 14 year olds and trying to get kids to meet them somewhere.

And was when it struck me. Take any invention in the history of mankind and I promise you its first use was what it was intended for, and the second use was sex.

The Telephone - an invention that would revolutionaize communication world-wide. On March 10th, 1876, Alexander Graham Bell made the first ever telephone call to his assistant, Thomas Watson. "Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you."

The next sentence? "What are you wearing?"

The obscene phone call is born. 1.800 sex lines are soon to follow.

Leonardo Da Vinci takes the first photo in 1562. Later that week he hung a nudie pin-up in his locker and pornography was born.

Nicholas Cugnot drove the first automobile in 1769. I bet he got laid in it that night.

ALL INVENTIONS FIND A SEXUAL APPLICATION.

- The Club. First used by cavemen to kill wild boar, next used to drag females back to their cave.

- The Motion Picture. First movie - "Train Pulling Into Station." Next? "Boobies!"

- The photocopier? 23 minutes after first ever inter-office memo was distributed, Herb Cromwell's bare ass landed in everyone's In box.

- Sausage casings? Condoms.

- Police Handcuffs? C'mon...

- The Back Massager? Nuff said.

...and of course the Internet. Brag away Al Gore. The majority of all revenue it generates comes from Adult Sites.

God damn, some horny schmuck even looked at the vaacum cleaner hose and thought, "I bet if I..." Now that's fucked up.

I Am Living With A Crazy Woman

I am living with a crazy woman.

Let me clarify, I am living with a crazy, pregnant woman.

She has been eating nothing but "hormone sandwiches" and I fear for my life. I only mention this in case I am found on the side of the road strangled by my iPod headphones - my story deserves to be told.

I understand how many of pregnancy's symptoms are nature's way of protecting the mother and child. I understand the swelling, the cravings to ensure nutrition - but if we are truly animals and these symptoms are survival instincts genetically woven into our DNA for protection, why would nature create a symptom the forces the male mate (the traditional provider and protector) to want to go bowling by himself 5 nights out of the week?

When I come home from work every night, I turn off the headlights two or three houses away, cut the engine and coast up to the house. I do this in case my wife is on the roof with an M-16 waiting for me. Once I make sure the perimeter is sniper free, I then check the front walkway for trip wires and land mines.

If I am still breathing, I open the front door - CAREFULLY - and listen. Is Ella, our 2 year old crying or laughing? And more importantly, can I hear my wife and is SHE crying or laughing. If she is crying, screw it, game over and I sleep in the car. If both are laughing I proceed with caution because we could still sink to Defcon One at any moment.

The problem with pregnancy hormones are the follow no logical pattern. No werewolf's full moon, or Dracula's sun setting - oh no. They can strike at any time, right in the middle of watching "Meet The Fockers" for example. It's approach is silent and deadly.

After Ella goes to sleep my wife and I usually retire to watch 4 or 5 of the 3,256 episodes of "A Baby's Story" she has TiVo'd off of TLC. I have seen every episode at least 3 times and I gotta tell you - I can totally guess the ending by now. They have a baby every time! No ninjas, no bombs to diffuse, no giant robots - where's the drama? Nope. A baby. Every single time.

But what keeps me entertained is watching the show from a different perspective. Women viewers watch the women. "Oh she didn't gain any weight at all!" or "I hope the baby doesn't have her nose?" or "Geez, how many family members are going to crowd around her crotch?" I watch the show differently. It's like I have special decoder glasses that reveal a whole new level embedded in the selfish "me me me" cries of the mother.

Watch the dad's face. Watch his eyes as he looks from the clock to the doctor. He is counting the seconds until those hormones flush out of her system. In some episodes the men cry, and my wife always says, "Oh, look how sensitive he is." Fuck that. The men are crying cause they are mentally saying, "Doc, Doc, help me doc. If for any reason this baby can't be born today....kill me. Kill me right now. I can't take another frozen yogurt run during the last 2:30 of the game...I can't stand being asked questions there are no right answers for...Can I have an epidural?"

But of course the baby comes, and it is one of the most joyous moments of your life. You feel connect in a way you never did before. You look at this beautiful creature you've created and blah blah blah...all that mushy Dr. Phil stuff.

And a few months later things go back to normal. You have spit up and baby shit all over you, but that is your new definition of normal.

But remember a year, two, three years later when she turns to you in bed and say, "I want to have another baby..." Kiss her gently, look into her eyes, say "Whatever you want honey."

Then punch yourself square in the face.