I am starting up a new website call The Arkivist™. It is a web site by a collector (me), for all collectors. For years, I have had my own custom site set up, where I had all my collectibles entered into a SQL database (pretty, relational, clean). If I needed to double check if I owned something, I simply went to this site I built, and searched through my list…while on a mobile phone. It took years of people going “Wow. That is cool. I wish I had something like that.” before the dim light bulb in my head finally lit up and said “Hey. Dummy! Build the site for everyone else to use!”

Great site. Or…it will be, when my WestHost hell is over with.

As a smart business man, I know that trying to host what will be a HUGE website on a small shared server is not a smart thing. So, on Tuesday I ordered a Dedicated server. This is smart to do BEFORE the launch of The Arkivist™, so my future clients don’t need to experience any downtime. Buy a server. Switch a domain. In a perfect world: 24 hours, max. In reality: much more time…

Tuesday: Buy the server. I find out after a few hours it is crippled to hell. $12/month on shared hosting will let me do loads of things, but $300/month and I am crippled (no root access). Thanks a pantload, Chet, but that math does not add up for me. Deal with tech support and sales, and get a better (and cheaper? WTH?) server on Wednesday. Now, since Wednesday, all I have been waiting for is for the domain to appear on the new server. Has it? NO!

I launch (softly…beta launch) on Monday. I have lots of other crap I am working on, and yet this is taking up my day.

I have said it before, and I will say it again: WestHost, when their sites work, are great. If there is a problem, though….oh man is it an epic fail.

A shout out, though. to Isaac and Troy in tech support. They took the extra time to help. Most appreciated!

“You FUCKING piece of SHIT! FUCK!” This is what I said shortly after paying $12 for parking one mile away from the Los Angeles Convention Center, after picking up my less-than-three month old Blackberry Bold, and almost immediately dropping it due to the insane heat coming from it. The phone had not been charging. The phone was not in direct sunlight. It was a barely-70 degree day in Los Angeles. The phone was simply having a supreme malfunction.

From day one, I did not care for this phone. The weird curved buttons make for difficult text entry. Getting stuck in odd sub-navigation areas when I was quickly trying to find an app was frustrating. It was not my Curve, but at least I did not have to deal with that annoying trackball anymore.

At least the trackball phone didn’t overheat, or… (wait. I am getting ahead of myself).

So, for three months, I used the Blackberry Bold constantly. Texting, Twitter. Facebook. IM. MMS pictures. The whole deal (it’s unlimited anyway, so why not?). At night, I would put the phone in the charger, and in the morning, I would start over again. Everything seemed fine.

About two weeks back, I started getting a white screen. I saw nothing else. I could not get it to go away. Removing the battery (for any length of time) did not fix the problem. If I locked the phone, the screen would turn off, but as soon as I unlocked the phone again, I have the white screen. I appreciate a good flashlight, but this is not a feature I needed in my phone.

Eventually, the screen would come back, sporadically. Usually, though, the white screen would just persist. I could still get calls, but I had no idea who was calling until I answered. I could not use the phone for any other functions, until the white screen decided it was tired, and would leave. I had already put in a call to T-Mobile to get a replacement, but that would take a while, and I did not have a replacement phone, nor did I feel like blowing more money on a temp phone until then. I could still receive calls. It was good enough until I could get it replaced.

Then, the night before “the end”, a friend texted me, offering me a pass to E3 (the Electronic Entertainment Expo). I am not a guy to pass on this, so I text back “hell yeah”. I was told to get down to the Los Angeles Convention Center in the morning, and call/text him when I was there, to get escorted in. Cool.

Turns out….not cool.

The morning of June 8th, I get nothing but white screen again. Ugh. I lock the phone (so as to not waste the freshly charged battery), hop in the shower, and drive down to E3. I park a mile away, pay my $12, and prepare for the walk. I grab my phone, and exclaim the top sentence of this little article. No exaggeration, the phone was insanely hot. My hand hurt after picking the damn thing up. I am playing hot potato with the damn thing, trying to get it to turn on, as I walk down Figueroa to get to E3. As I get to the venue, I have a horrifying realization: I don’t know my contact’s phone number. Hell, I don’t remember ANYONE’S phone number, excluding my friend at T-Mobile who was supposed to get me my replacement phone later that day (ahh, irony, I love you). From multiple pay phones along the final stretch to, and inside of the L.A. Convention Center, I am frantically trying to call my phone friend (collect - I had zero change on me), who ignored all my calls. In a last ditch effort, I blow $6 (plus tax) for 10 minutes of internet time at the L.A. Convention Center Business Center. Those of you who follow me saw my frantic messages on Twitter and Facebook. Sadly, these failed. My E3 friend was not monitoring either.

On the one mile walk back to the car, I eventually pass a T-Mobile store. They confirm the phone is dead. They let me call my T-Mobile friend, who was apparently sleeping the entire time I had been trying to call him (reference: it is 2pm when he finally answered the phone). After then driving deep into the Pomona area for my new phone, and installing my SIM, I then notice that every number I have installed to the SIM of the old Bold in the last two months is gone.

Brilliant.

Thanks to the absolute CRAP Blackberry sync app, I was never able to properly get my numbers to back up to my laptop. Now, I have to spend the next few days emailing people, asking for the phone numbers again.

What I learned: I absolutely fucking hate the Blackberry Bold, but I want buttons on my phone, so I am pretty much stuck. I now have a printed backup of all my phone numbers in my wallet, just in case I enter another black day like yesterday, I will at least have more than one person to call.

Side story, but related: When my Mom was dying, I always had my phone in my hand, or right next to me. Even if I went to the bathroom, I would carry the phone with me. My Mom was calling me a few times a day, asking me to save her from hospital food (which I did - very expensive, but it brightened her day, so it was worth it). After she died, I could not break myself from the habit of keeping the phone right next to me. I’m sure some psychologist would read into that and conclude I can not let go of my Mom. Well, DUH! Anyway, yesterday was a really bad wake up call on just how dependent I am on my phone. With cities removing more and more pay phones, and strangers not willing to let you make a call on their phones (I did ask yesterday…I got a lot of “No, sorry”), what is the solution? Do I now have to carry two phones with me, just in case of a backup?

Ugh.

It is 2011. I can have my music horribly compressed from it’s original beautiful quality and put into a cloud, but if I need to call a friend when in need, I am shit out of luck? Great.

(rant over)

Tonight was the final night of the new OMD tour. A band who has not toured in decades, and yet who killed it tonight. A great performance.

I was psyched for this show. I was psyched when I scored floor tickets (no thanks to Ticketmaster raping me with service charges). I was psyched when I saw their pre-show appearance at Amoeba Records. I was psyched all day of the show. My enthusiasm dwindled about 30 seconds after hitting the door of the venue. One simple word: douchebags.

Douchebags to the left of me. Douchebags to the right of me. And, especially, douchebags coming from the back (spilling their drinks as they pry their way through the floor crowd), only to decide their prime concert location is right in FUCKING FRONT OF ME!

Over the years, I have gone to less concerts. I love live music, but I absolutely hate the people at the shows. At any concert, I have been guaranteed any (or all) of the following:

“OMG, I LOVE THIS BAND!”
Version 1:
The girl (99% of the time) who insists on screaming that sentence, at the top of her lungs, to anyone who makes the error of showing her any attention. This is almost always followed by the band starting to play their biggest hit, and the girl saying “What song is this?”

Version 2:
The super fan who feels the need to tell their (annoyed) friend every anal-retentive fact about the song currently being performed live. This usually involves either a shrill voice that would shatter glass, or a loud voice that manages to cancel out the amplification behind the band.

Version 3:
The person (usually a girl) whose daddy made a phone call, and got AAA laminates and passes for her and her friends. These people are at the show solely because it is hip to be at the show. They don’t know the music. They have never seen the band before. They spend most of the show taking pictures of themselves, with the band in the background, to prove to their “friends” that they were really there. All the time, I am standing there, wondering if I would really do any time for causing bodily harm to any of these people. Surely a jury would understand that my concert experience was being ruined by a Kardashian/Lindsay/Hilton wannabe…right?

DUDE WHO SMELLS
Usually involves someone drunk off their ass, “lost in the music”, spilling their $10+ alcoholic drink all over the place (including on me), and dancing wildly. This person usually has a gift of body odor that will eat through any existing antiperspirants, and - lucky me - I am stuck right next to them. As I stand there, missing the expensive concert, I try to distract myself from the smell by playing a game. “Is it his ass?” “Do his armpits qualify as weapons of mass destruction?” “Did this fucker bother to shower at all today?” Usually, this does not work, and I am forced to miss even more of the show, as I try to move to a different location. That bring me to…

MOVING DURING A CONCERT
Acceptable: gently working your way through a crowd to be near a friend who you were already standing near.

Unacceptable: Roughtly barging through a crowd (with obligatory drink spillage), to get to your loud ass friend (who is ALWAYS standing in front of me), and then proceeing to have a conversation about some bullshit. Hey Einstein…If there is no space in front of me, and you are a foot taller than me, then your ass doesn’t belong there.

THE PHONES
If in the first five minutes of the show, your phone isn’t taking good pictures, it won’t fucking take a good one for the rest of the night. Give up, and just watch the fucking show! I did not pay a shitload of money for a concert just to watch the show through your phone.

PERSONAL SPACE
Fuck that. You get none! You get to enjoy the sweat of the people surrounding you. If I leave a concert sweaty, is it too much to ask that it is solely my own sweat on me?

LOUD BITCH (male or female)
I have touched on this in earlier blog entries. This is the person who feels the need to talk as loud as possible through the entire show, about anything, as long as it has nothing to do with the show. I don’t know about you, loud bitch, but I paid a lot of money for this show. I want to hear the show. I don’t want to hear your babbling. You must have paid as much as me, right? You’re sitting right next to me…you must have. Do you really go and pay all that money, just to idling (and loudly) chat with your friends during the concert? Do everyone a favor. Stay home, play the band’s music on your multimedia device of choice, talk until your vocal chord bleed, and donate the money you would have spent on the concert ticket to a good charity. Everyone wins.

If you have ever seen me at a show, going in happy, and pissed off coming out, now you know why.

To all of you who qualify for any of the above, think of this. One day, I (or anyone else who can’t stand your type at concerts) might snap. Do you really want years of repressed anger showering down upon you, simply because you are a screaming douchebag?

Here is your lesson, douchebag: Shut the fuck up, turn off your fucking phone/camera (unless it can actually capture a good enough sound and picture quality that I will WANT to see on YouTube later), dance within YOUR personal space, and for FUCK‘S SAKE, take a fucking shower before you go to the show! If you body odor eats through a fresh shower, just fucking stay home. Extra cologne is not the cure!

Did I mention that I love OMD. I wish I could have enjoyed the show.

“Dude, you should put your mashups on YouTube. Everyone is doing it. You have to make videos for your mashups or you won’t get enough exposure.”

Fine. I caved in. I made videos for my mashups. I put them on YouTube. Some, like my Nine Inch Nails / Rick Astley “RickRoll” gained over 400,000 views. There was always a flaw, though. Copyrights…

I have had a very small (but loud minority of) people accuse me of being a hypocrite, as I maintain Depeche Mode’s copyright account on YouTube. “How can you upload copyright infringing video, when you went and deleted mine?” Let’s address that first. The ONLY videos I remove from YouTube are straight rips of home videos (Singles 86>98, 101, Devotional, et cetera), or content stolen from depechemode.com and then re-uploaded to YouTube. I have NEVER deleted any fan-made compilations, live clips, or TV performances (and only once was I asked to remove a bootleg, because the people at The Grammys did not have access to a copyright account). In other words, if you made something with content, other than just “rip, compress, maybe add a subtitle, then upload”, I let it slide (99.9% of time time). Why? Because I am a fan too. Obviously, with the mashups, I have fun with the content. It’s free (I own the material), I am not making any money from it (YouTube and it’s advertisers definitely are), and it makes people happy.

After the first few hits (you are allowed three), I stopped using YouTube, and went to Vimeo, which is more of a “creatives” web site. In all honestly, YouTube is ads, music videos, pets, babies and the odd item being flung at crotches. It is not exactly a rocket science web site. At least the Vimeo footage has a bit more purpose.

Tonight, apparently the people who control Roy Orbison’s estate took issue with me having Eddie Van Halen play guitar on Roy’s “Oh Pretty Woman” song. So, tonight, The Orbison family killed every video I had on YouTube, including all the non-mashup videos.

It’s not like I don’t have them all backed up here on multiple drives. It’s not like I can’t just upload them all to Vimeo (which I will), or to my personal site (which I also will, as a backup). It is rather bullshit, though, when so many other people have put up “fan creations” that were ABSOLUTE SHIT, and they remain, while my mashup videos got yanked.

Farewell, YouTube. I did fine without you before, and I will continue on.

…and a special FUCK YOU to Rick Astley, NBC/Universal and the Orbison Family for getting me deleted. In order: YouTube resurrected your career, you are a huge monopoly that needs to be policed before you take over the world, and…seriously?

“You’re really ruining my Zen thing, man.” — Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges)

I have turned comments off on this blog. Why, you ask? Because I just had to go and delete all these spam accounts!

No more of this. Sorry, but I just don’t have the time to deal with spammers. A few people screwed it up for everyone…as per usual.

To the spammers, this simple message: FUCK YOU!

This is just the list of spammers in the last month!
You have specified these users for deletion:

ID #584: aabulgarForeva
ID #539: aandalina
ID #491: AbibeGrooxGexp342
ID #490: acaiberriesfx
ID #543: acrodadum
ID #599: Addetwomced
ID #579: affitsEtest
ID #525: Alexlll
ID #585: algoloset
ID #547: allnudecelebsc
ID #573: Alloffplayecy
ID #537: angelikafrazer
ID #583: asfur2wlrcndk
ID #541: assurpipt
ID #511: avinnerllife
ID #601: Babsseecetync
ID #507: BaliaDier
ID #530: bCUEZpskNbyGfRhUp
ID #527: Beadnemeguete
ID #591: Bigclisse
ID #501: bijuteriiargintf
ID #554: BlewGessire
ID #506: bursatransi
ID #587: bvwshzvmu
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ID #569: Callprearpcen
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ID #493: caseteluminoasecd
ID #596: clonErat
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ID #518: Darlannq
ID #542: darmoweGryK5
ID #504: Deastefag
ID #487: DishinciseE
ID #555: djjzumc
ID #519: doremelotrzyna
ID #523: DuevelaKfef
ID #586: dvd player
ID #588: eloiseseotons
ID #559: Enriko
ID #581: Eteddyles
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ID #600: muffDaunk
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ID #558: nakedcelebsa
ID #560: narnia
ID #510: NicAlololax
ID #567: nudebeachesh
ID #482: OBES
ID #503: Othetaeffenia
ID #590: patPeterzyzaz
ID #575: PEREGLIRM
ID #207: pete
ID #498: PlayernPeam
ID #520: pmailoq
ID #556: rechtsschutzversicherung test
ID #517: regimedukanp
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ID #568: replicavTed
ID #486: restaurantlancpa
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ID #499: rieaprMTfTNLJiNzzod
ID #572: RonsCejelssow
ID #500: Sambvoimi
ID #563: sevenForuxxtyvi
ID #502: sex anonse
ID #496: Shobiagaita
ID #548: SladiaMaw
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ID #578: tatu-Wrineagiano
ID #540: Tewlytelm
ID #512: top100wii games18
ID #598: TorbaNaLaptopa
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ID #509: xdDEIXISef
ID #534: xipodpe
ID #483: zoonszekpex

(image taken from TheCounterBurger photostream on Flickr!)

I am not a vegetarian. Ask anyone who knows me, or follows my stream on Twitter, I am a meat lover. When I have a burger, I will go so far as to only put cheese. If I wanted a salad on my burger, I would get that, but as I hate salads, I prefer my burgers with cheese…and grilled! Take your char burger and leave my presence now! People who enjoy char burgers may as well eat ashes out of an ashtray. Why would I want my otherwise fine burger burned to a crisp in a pretty pattern. Go away! I want a nicely grilled burger, dripping and juicy.

Now, with that introduction, you can imagine I am very selective when it comes to a burger. When The Counter opened up, I was happy to drive 30 minutes to Santa Monica every once in a while to savor their fine burgers. Luckily, The Counter has a local-to-me location in Studio City, California. Readers over at LAist know I had been waiting for the day. LAist actually ran a “coming soon” posting with one of my weak little BlackBerry pics.

I like The Counter burgers. Apparently, though, I need to be specific about this. I like The Counter burgers in Santa Monica.

In much the same way that Houstons restaurant in Pasadena is seriously outstanding, while many of their other branches ruin the food, The Studio City location has some serious faults. Allow me to outline:

Cooking
Every time I order my burger, I say “Medium Well”. So far, it has never failed that every burger was “Well Done”. Why not just send it back, you may ask. Simple: It takes too damn long to be served!

Restaurant Size
There’s an Italian place I tried once for a business meeting on Sunset Boulevard called Le Petit Four. The tables were so damn close together, you felt as if the people sitting next to you (who were NOT in your party) might, in error, start eating from your plate, due to the uncomfortable proximity of said tables. Now, The Counter Studio City is not *that* cramped, but - damn. The tables are SUPER close together. As I am rather anti-social, I prefer not to bump elbows with people as I am eating a $10+ burger! I would think for the money I am throwing down, the place could lose a few tables, and allow the customers to have some breathing room. I did bring this up to a manager. Sadly, I guess they prefer to make more money, instead of making the eating experience more pleasurable for the customer.

The Chairs
If you look at the picture at the top of this blog, The Counter Studio City uses metal chairs. On the surface, there seems to be no problem with this…until you try to move one. You can try to be as gentle as humanly possible when lifting one of these light-but-loud beasts, but you will still hear “BAM!” when you go to carefully set one down. The damn things cause an insane amount of noise when they meet the ground. So, try enjoying your burger, while people are banging these loud chairs around, or the staff is banging them even louder as they are cleaning tables. Which brings me to…

The Bar
I am a proponent of sitting at the bar. You get served faster, you get your drink refills faster, and even though the seating on the floor is cramped to hell, the bar is surprisingly roomy. Now…the negative. I don’t know about you, but when I am eating an expensive burger, the last thing I want to smell is the bleach from the used rag that they use on the bar. I went to sit down at the bar today, and before I got to the seat, the bartender gave the bar a wipe down. Now, that is nice (I like clean things), BUT…not only did she not dry the bar down after wiping it with the wet rag (read: she left it super wet), but the bar area reeked of bleach! Personally, I get ill at the smell of bleach, so now I am sitting at a wet bar, being smacked by the very strong bleach aroma. Fail! I had to wipe the damn bar off myself with a napkin just to have a dry bar area to set my phone down. Then, during my meal, the people to my left and right exited. Sure enough, here comes the wet bleach rag again. By the end of my expensive burger, I had a splitting headache, and was dizzy. Fun. Luckily Nora does not get as affected as I do, or else we both would have been running to CVS for Aleve (only I did that).

Romper Room
You have a kid. Congratulations, you can fuck. Guess what, Babies R Us? While I am saddened at your attempt at a “Kate Plus 8″ sized family (way to be suckered into the multiple kid hype of late), and I am impressed that you can afford to buy your entire flock $10+ burgers, if your kid is 3 or under, then leave them the fuck home! Get a babysitter! Again…these are not cheap burgers. This is not In-N-Out. Hell! I never hear this kind of WHAAA WHAAA WHAAA racket in an In-N-Out. Apparently every family in Studio City who are not vegetarian eats at The Counter. From the waiting-to-be-seated people, to the too-close-for-comfort tables, there are 0-to-3 year olds EVERYWHERE! Again, imagine the extreme proximity of the tables. Picture the money you are throwing down for your burger (and getting it overcooked, consistently). Imagine trying to have a nice conversation, while trying to battle with the volume of the chairs. Now, along with that, you have to battle to even hear yourself over the screaming kids. I am not exaggerating. Over half the tables there were packed with kids today. Hint to parents: If your kid is screaming bloody murder at a restaurant, ignoring them punishes EVERYONE ELSE in the restaurant! Take the damn noisemaker outside, or pay for my fucking meal. Learn how to be a parent! “Timmy, can you please be quiet?” is not parenting. “Timmy, shut up, or we are leaving RIGHT NOW. This is your only warning!” is parenting! This poor quality YouTube clip summarizes this paragraph perfectly.

Summary: I paid $31.00 (plus $4 tip) for two burgers, two Cokes, an order of fries, an insane cacophony of metallic objects slamming around mixed with babies screaming, and a headache induced by the noise and the bleach.

I chose not to mention the obese man to my left, reeking from body odor and bad breath. That one is not the fault of the restaurant.

Purpose of this post: If you want to go try The Counter, skip the Studio City location. I will be, from now on. I’ve had enough.

“I don’t like to dream about gettin paid
So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made
To now test to see if I got pull
Hit the studio, ‘cuz I’m paid in full”
Eric B & Rakim - “Paid In Full”

2005 was an interesting year for me. In order to please my (then) girlfriend, I over-extended myself, talking on many more jobs than a sane man would take. This cut deeply into my personal time, but the reward was a lot of money. I thought that in the end the money would make everything better. Well, it didn’t.

By the end of 2005, my girl dumped me, and my Mom was in a hospital bed, about to pass away from cancer (cancer isn’t worthy of capitalization). I even got bit on the leg by a dog (now and forever called “Cujo”, by me at least) that used to love me. 2005 ended BAD, but not everything was bad…

At the age of 36, I finally had enough money (with help from my credit union) to get myself my baby: my 2006 PT Cruiser. I never had a car before that. Simply put, I just didn’t have the money. I was also rather stubborn. I wanted my first car to be a new car, with that new car smell, and a happy warranty. If all the rich kids in my high school back in 1987 could have new cars, I wanted the same! I just had to wait close to 20 years to do it.

(NOTE: I don’t want to hear from people hating on my little PT. I rented these things for months before I bought one. It’s run beautifully for five years, with *me* driving it. If you knew how fast and hard I drove a car, you would be impressed by my little PT surviving. Sure, it’s not a Ferrari, it’s not even a BMW, but it is my baby, so shut your trap with your feedback on my car!)

So, on December 29th, 2005, I took delivery of my Signature Series (fancy way of saying a Limited Edition without a sunroof) black 2006 PT Cruiser. I finally did it. I didn’t have a girlfriend to share it with, my Mom only had the chance to be in the car once before she died three months later, but December 29th was a huge day for me.

Growing up in Burbank, and seeing all the rich kids of Warner, Disney and NBC getting cars for their 16th birthday, while I lived at poverty level, was difficult. Hell, I never had money. I grew up very poor (bet you didn’t know that, did you). I struggled for years to get any money. I had enough to get by, but never a proper savings.

I was so proud when I got my car. It took me twenty fucking years to save the money, but I finally did it. *I* did it. No one helped me. I didn’t have a rich Mom to lend me money. I never have had a Dad, period. My hard fucking work got me this car, and I was DAMN proud of that.

Today is another big day. At a little after 4pm, on August 23rd, 2010, I was able to finish paying off my car, months earlier from when the final car payment was due. Special thanks to an unnamed client for hooking me up with the job that made it possible.

As a matter of fact, a huge thanks to all of my clients, for their faith in my work, and their loyalty: depechemode.com (and related solo sites), Peter Facer, Wayne Beauchamp / SPFX Inc, Eric Beauchamp, Chris Carter / Breakfast With The Beatles and Henry Diltz (and Gary).

So, you might ask, “Daniel, why is there a candy on your receipt?”. When I walked into the credit union, and saw that I had the funds to pay my remaining car loan off today, I did it…happily! After a minute, the nice lady behind the counter said “OK, there you go. You are paid in full.” For me, that wasn’t enough. I asked why there wasn’t confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling. Why wasn’t there a cake. Hell, can’t a guy get a cupcake? I just paid off a car loan! I *OWN* my car! I know this is not a big deal for some people, but for a kid who grew up on welfare, and who never expected to be able to own any nice things, this is damn huge. The lady reached into her drawer, and put a Green Apple Now & Later on my receipt. The picture above was taken right after she did it.

Look Mom…I got a new car!

I ordered a package from Amazon. Tracking the package on Amazon, the site said that the FedEx delivery would be March 31st, 2010. Cool.

Wake up this morning (March 31st), and see the web site (reduced image above) saying that my package was out on the truck, for delivery. Yay me.

Skip ahead eight (!!!) hours. I am still waiting.

I got annoyed, so I called FedEx. I was told that a few hours ago, the delivery truck broke down. I was also told that my package could be as late as 8PM, since it was “Home Delivery”. Now, look back up at that web capture. Where does it say an approximate time for final delivery? Where does it say the type of FedEx package it is? Lastly, WHY THE F*** DOESN’T IT SAY THAT THE TRUCK BROKE DOWN!?!?

The best part. The absolute “I couldn’t make this up if I tried” best part. The truck broke down a half block from my home! For three F***ING hours, I have been waiting for a package that was essentially a quick walk from my front door. Hell, in the eight hours I had already been waiting, I could have walked to Sun Valley and back!

Me, driving away from the broken truck.

Now…I have no problem with the truck driver. He’s just trying to do his job. He didn’t know his truck (not FedEx, mind you, but his truck - didn’t know FedEx made the drivers have their own truck) was going to break down. I don’t blame Amazon for not being absolutely clear on the exact method of delivery. I don’t even blame the three FedEx phone operators I talked to.

I blame the people who are in change of the FedEx web site. It’s 2000-F***ING-10! Why aren’t the trucks wired with GPS? Why can’t I track my package (via the truck GPS) on Google Maps? Why did I have to call, after waiting EIGHT F***ING HOURS, just to find out that three hours previously, the truck broke down? Seriously - you can’t type that nugget of information on a PACKAGE TRACKING web site!?!?

Again, it’s 2010 FedEx. You are the big boys in the delivery business. Step out of the stone age, and make it so I never have to F***ING wait this long for a package again.

March 31, 2010 - 04:09:29 PM - Burbank CA US - Delivered

UGH!

Do you hear that, Doug? I’m coming to London.
Avi (Dennis Farina), “Snatch” (2000)

Nora and I have hit London. One of my clients is playing the Royal Albert Hall and the O2 this week, so I have headed to London to cover the events.

This is a brief rundown of the events…

* Wake up super early on Monday morning. Rush to L.A.X. Get to L.A.X. with 3.5 hours to go before my flight. Check-in doesn’t even open for an hour. Bad sign.

* To ensure that I am passed out cold for the entire flight, I take a double dose of Nyquil. I take the Nyquil 90 minutes before the boarding time. All is fine.

* See Tommy Chong ordering a pastry. Cool.

* Flight is slightly delayed (30 minutes). I force myself to stay awake, and as such, ruin the effects of the Nyquil. I am groggy for 10.5+ hours of flying. I never sleep.

* Baby crying in my lovely (read: smaller than half of me) coach seating area cries for 3/4 of the flight. F***!

* Due to stomach issues (well documented in previous posts), I could not eat on the flight. Also did not eat before the flight, or on the trip from Heathrow to the hotel.

* To save money, I take the Underground, in the rain, to the hotel. 45 minutes of train + rain + lugging luggage up long flights of steps = exhaustion. Remember - still haven’t slept or had food yet.

* Get to hotel (which I will not name). Go through four rooms before I finally get one that is usable. Seriously - check these issues out (the following spans approximately three hours or waiting and ruarounds):

** 110V outlets are not hooked up. Literally! There’s a faceplate for the plug, but no inner working to actually plug into! Fourth room it finally works!

** Front Desk clerk failed to mention that the room key enabled the lights.

** Heater fuse was blown in room #1.

** Internet Ethernet cable (hello? wi-fi!) was missing in room #1. Sent up a replacement cord. Did not work. Sent up another, finally worked.

** Toilets take over 10 flushes before they “flush”. Redefines “floater”!

** Sink in room #3 did not drain.

** Bedsheets in first three rooms have mystery stains (multiple colors).

** Towel in room #3 had what appeared to be smeared blood on the white towel. The clean towel!

I am now sitting here, checking my email, drinking a complimentary Coke (front desk sent up a pitcher with eight mini-bottles) and finally having my second meal of the day (literally just inhaled a 20pc Chicken McNuggets with Fries, and am still starving). Hell, the last meal I had (and last time I slept) was Sunday night. I went about 35 hours without eating or sleeping.

It’s rainy. It’s been difficult to get settled. I’ve gone through a lot. But - who cares. I am in London, I get to see (and shoot) two bound-to-be-great shows, and I have two full days of “not working”.

Bet I end up getting jet lag, and sleeping through my days off.

After being home for a little while after my $32 payout to see the Cameron hype, I have these conclusions:

$16 per f****** ticket!?!? “Sir, please be advised that the “Avatar” 3-D screening is a special event, and as such will be an additional $4.” What!?!? It’s already bad enough that I have to smuggle in food and drink to the Burbank AMC 16, but now I have to sit in a puddle of my own blood (read: my ass is bleeding from being raped). Are you kidding? Wow - James Cameron has the biggest movie of all time. OF COURSE HE DOES! Charge $16 for a ticket, and of course your movie is going to make more!

We have 3-D and cutting edge effects. Yeah, you sure do, Sparky. Maybe you should have taken a few dollars from the F/X budget for better acting! This made Starship Troopers look like Shakespeare! And, seriously, enough with the damn 3-D! Yeah, it’s fun for a few minutes, but I had to sit through 2+ hours of crap movie. Having random 3-D effects did not improve the experience. It simply pissed me off that I had to wear glasses through the entire movie!

The Story. Yeah, I get it. Thinly veiled protest against war, and pro-nature. Sucked that I could tell what was going to happen at least 30 minutes before it happened.

The “Na’vi”. Am I the only one who felt this was a bit off. Seriously, when I started seeing the characters all gathering together, swaying back and forth, joining together to pray to their “God”, the movie lost me. Enough with the tribal ripoff crap. I was watching a movie about the future, and it turned into Lion King. Remember The Matrix? Everyone loved the Matrix. I loved the Matrix, until the part in Matrix Reloaded where the people of Zion started raving. What? What happened to the bullet time F/X? Why am I now watching sweaty people auditioning for the lead in Stomp? UGH!

The special effects are great, but a movie is more than CGI and over-used 3-D effects. Give me a proper story. Give me a movie that has substance. Give me a F****** reason to believe that my $16 is being well spent!

I have loads of DVDs (and Blu-Rays) in my collection. I love movies. This movie will never be entering the collection. The next time James Cameron makes a movie, I will not waste my money. I’ll grab a copy for free online.

Movie Studios: Why do people pirate your movies? You make crap like this!

I want my $16 back (technically $32, as I paid for my girlfriend as well)!