« December 2007 | Main | February 2008 »
As I sit here in Vegas getting high off the oxygen that is being pumped through the casino vents, I have decided that I will be launching an additional blog called An Actor Prepares where I will be giving sound advice and life-altering tips to struggling artists.
Here is a screenshot of a sample blog entry.
I will be keep you posted on the actual launch. Any suggestions are appreciated.
I just caught two adolescents having sex in my building!
That's right! In my building! In the foyer is between two entrance doors is where I encountered the juvenile peepshow 5 PM this afternoon.
I am thoroughly disgusted.
I feel violated.
I have been victimized by a sexual break-in.
Two city kids who don't look a day over fourteen. Fourteen!
They should be imprisoned and shackled to a wall until recess.
Who are these kids and what are they doing having sex at fourteen?
Do they even know where to put it at fourteen....hang on, let me just craw up from under the rock I've been living. Maybe I'm in denial. Denial of facing the truth about sex and this so-called "Millennium Generation".
What was I doing when I was fourteen?
I was collecting Campbell Soup Labels door to door. I was playing Frogger on Atari. I was home by five, having dinner by six. I was still sleeping with a Teddy Bear and a night light.
That is what we were doing. We would walk over plush green grass, from suburban home to suburban home. We would step inside a strangers home and wait patiently as they stripped every can of soup from their packed kitchen cupboards. How dare you walk up to a stranger's home now for fear of the homeowner answering the door with his pants around his ankles.
Times have changed.
I embrace change. But not a pair of misguided youths reenacting their sexual fantasies on my doormat.
So what did I do besides throw-up in an empty bucket of paint? I ran after them. Maniacally. Just as the boy was hoisting up his pants and she was zippering up, belt still in hand, they clearly didn't make it ten feet from the front door until I started verbally whipping them.
A Forest Gump, "Uh huh" is all I got from the boy after my reprimand. And the girl was too busy trying to get the belt around her waist. There was my opportunity to put the belt around her neck. Too many eyewitnesses. 
List of things to do tomorrow:
1. Buy a stun gun (the Taser c2)
2. Use it.
I was so saddened to hear about the death of the too-young, Heath Ledger. I feel sorry for him and I feel sorry for the people who live at 421 Broome Street where Ledger lay dead. I live uptown and a dozen subway stops from where he lived, but I keep hearing stories of the growing crowd parked in front of his building, gawking at the site of an imagined suicide. I say imagined because who am I to make any claims on what his intentions were. Its just nauseates me at the media circus that once again is in town. And parked in front of a dead man's door.
Idiotic Sound bite of the Day:
"He's got more money than God. Why would he kill himself?"
My response: Money helps, moron, but its never been the answer to happiness.
Their comment: "How can anyone take that many pills by accident...pleease."
My response: It's called Narcotics Anonymous, asshole.
I know addiction. Not from personal experience but from friends that have been beaten to the ground by their evil vices. Most of them have come up for air and can now function with their disease but there are a few that have left me speechless.
A girlfriend of mine, in particular.
We have been friends for over a decade, and over the years her pill addiction has enslaved her to a life of staying in doors with the inability to function in society. First their your friend and then your acquaintance until they become a stranger and they no longer remember you or the importance of why you were in their life because their true love now is the addiction. First and foremost.
I've seen my friend go into rehab, that has never worked since she always split. I have been a pillar of support, and in exchange, I have been repeatedly let down. Not that I have any expectations but they become so unreliable. So incognito. Their a no-show.
This past Christmas, I finally had to end my friendship. I love her. I miss her dearly but her addiction was bringing me down. Until she hits rock bottom and can truly face her demons and seek true recovery, I'll rekindle our friendship. For now, I'll kindly keep my distance.
Clean up, girl.
I normally don't steal. Online that is. I don't steal:
Software
Music
Or
People's Identity
...and I don't steal Hollywood movies. But what if there was a website that simply allowed me to view them for free in me own leisure time? Is that considered stealing? I'm not downloading it. I'm simply watching it.
Since I haven't been sleeping well at night, I have been doing everything that I can to stay awake. And that something is Filmz.tv. Filmz.tv allows me to watch films for free and all I had to do was install a Divx wed player.
Now,
what if I were to upload a film that I've had on my shelf and rather than have my friend come over and watch it in the comfort of my own home, I'd rather upload it to Filmz.tv and allow her to watch it with me online. That's not stealing, that's sharing.
Either way, Filmz.tv keeps me up at night better than any amphetamine and ultimately will save me a trip to Narconon in the future.
I will not tell a lie, I cannot tell a lie.
"But why is it Kali that once again, you have been missing for five days? Do you want us to believe you are another milk carton abduction? You say your back but you always leave? What is it that you're really running from"
I will come clean. Figuratively speaking.
I have a bad case of bed bugs.
There. I said it.
Oh, yes, I alluded to it in the title of January 8's entry but I could not keep this within me.
I planned on putting up a facade as if every thing was dandy.
Life was grand.
Lotrimin Free.
But that's not me.
I cannot be two people at once although my therapist swears that I am.
The last time I shed this many tears was when I found out there was no Tooth Fairy.
I am scarred.
I now know what it feels like to be on a witness stand murder.
I know what it feels like to be ostracized from society.
To feel plagued.
Malnourished from the lack of human contact.
Except for the bugs.
And they have chosen me.
Me as a host.
I am the one that they want.
I am the one that they love.
The following is a transcript of the life-changing traumatic events that took place five days ago:
Exterminator saunters around apartment with flash light
ANTHONY
Uh Huh... Huh
KALI
What? What?
(He lifts a finger as to shoosh her)
ANTHONY
Huh..
(Anthony walks over to her bed)
ANTHONY
This where you sleep?
KALI
Yes
ANTHONY
OK, Stand back.
(With all his masculine Italian might, Anthony heaves the mattress up as if dead lifting weights)
ANTHONY
Get over here! See this? Its movin!
KALI
Oh my God!
ANTHONY
(Anthony kills it and drops the mattress as if fatigued)
ANTHONY
You got bed bugs.
KALI
(She does the "get the bugs off of me dance" frantically)
KALI
Oh my God! Oh no!
ANTHONY
Oh, yes.. You got em and this ain't just start.
(He holds out the dead bug)
You see this?
KALI
No!
ANTHONY
You got stage five here.. This is bad. You been traveling?
KALI
Too Brooklyn-
ANTHONY
No I mean suitcase traveling. Anyone going to remote third world countries or the Deep South?
KALI
No!
ANTHONY
Well you gotta sleep on this here bed because if you sleep anywhere else,
they's gonna follow you.
KALI
Are you out of your mind.
(She lifts up her shirt revealing red welts on her back)
You see this? This is what I got last night.
ANTHONY
Can I see the front?
(She is about to lift her shirt and she finally gets the joke)
ANTHONY
Come on. You gotta keep it light.
KALI
So why am I getting bit and not him?
ANTHONY
Are you the type of person mosquitoes feast on?
KALI
Yes all the time?
ANTHONY
You got sweet blood, baby? Once they find who they wanna feast on, they stick with you.
KALI
Ill just sleep on the couch then-
ANTHONY
Cant do that. Not only will they find you then your spreading them even more. They move up to 90 feet to find you.
KALI
And how are they going to find me if I keep moving around?
ANTHONY
Their heat sensitive. So tonight your their meal.
(He points to the bite mark on her arm)
ANTHONY
You see that pattern? They bite in three's. Breakfast lunch and dinner.
KALI
Well what if I were to go donate blood and then print the pint home and leave it in the middle of the room?
ANTHONY
So now you wanna feed them?
KALI
I'm feeding them already aren't I? Whats the difference?
ANTHONY
Listen, this is the severity of the situation. I'm tellin you like it is.
KALI
So when can you come and exterminate them. Can you do it now?
ANTHONY
I don't think you understand the severity of the situation-you gotta pack this place up-books clothes and all
KALI
What?
ANTHONY
You gotta take ever single piece of clothing and you gotta wash em in hot water and then dry each load on the hottest cycle for at least an hour.
KALI
Thats impossible
ANTHONY
Why is that?
KALI
I cant dry bra's and panties! Silks and Satins!
ANTHONY
Its either that or I can breath on em for you and they'll dry that way.
(He walks over to a wall of books)
ANTHONY
See all these books?
You gotta wipe every single one down, shake it and put em in a plastic bag. Same with your clothes after you wash your clothes you gotta seal em up in a plastic bag.
KALI
This is purgatory!
ANTHONY
You ain't seen nothin yet. So when we cryogenically freeze the fuckers, pardon my French, from that moment forward every time you come home, you gotta put your clothes in a plastic bag. You go to someones house now, you better take off your clothes at their front door and put them in a plastic bag.
KALI
This is crazy.
ANTHONY
This is New York City. They spread like wild fire.
KALI
The I'll just have to go to a hotel tonight.
ANTHONY
Not a likely suggestion
KALI
Why?
ANTHONY
Well, your likely to spread em.
KALI
And how much is this gonna cost me?
ANTHONY
'Bout two grand.
KALI
Two Grand!
ANTHONY
They chose you as a host. They want only you. Only you. This is the only way I can help you.
KALI
Bullshit! They'll be gone in a day. You're just another fuckin con man!
Get the fuck out of my apartment!
So Five days later,
I still sit here,
washing and folding,
every concert T-shirt
every designer jean
every hat
every scarf
every shoe in between
I can only think of one other thing to do,
I bow my head in shame
I Dedicate this song
To Anthony, the Bed Bug guy
It seems in the last couple of years there has been a bed bug epidemic in my lovely city, and rather than fall victim to the nuclear surviving pests, I started doing some spring cleaning. Bed bugs may not planning their ambush in your apartment now but if your roommate just flew home after a vacation stay at a local grass hut in the middle of Somalia, you most likely will be scratching for the next 7 to 14 days.
So while I was struggling with life’s most difficult decisions, which scrawled-on cocktail napkin to keep and which one to throw out, I came across a poem that I wrote in the late 90's.
Its called I think and it goes like this:
I think Tori Spelling’s a curse to the arts
And Ricky Lake’s really a man
I think Leonard Maltin’s a hermaphrodite
I was never a devoted fan.
I think David Hasselhoff should be thrown to the lions
And Chris O’Donnell be smacked with a pan
I think Demi Moore should admit their fake
I was never a devoted fan
I think Sly Stallone should stay in the ring
And Hard Copy in Afghanistan
I think Tom Cruise should come out of the closet
I was never a devoted fan.
I think Matt and Ben are long time lovers
And Oprah’s addicted to marzipan
I think Deon Warwick has no sixth sense
I was never a devoted fan.
I think Keanu Reeves has a speech impediment
And Pauli Shore an IQ of an orangutan
I think Ru Paul has made its point
I was never a devoted fan.
I think Jenny McCarthy should stay on the john
And the Real World should move to Iran
I think Hollywood has missed the whole point
I was never a devoted fan...
Since a career in politics is not in my near future, I would like to s hare yet another intimate story starring Marijuana as the protagonist.
One monotonous high school day, my friend Jenny leaned across the aisle in homeroom and whispered, "Hey, do you wanna go somewhere special after school?" At my high school, "special" meant finding the right pharmacy to shoplift from or locating the key to a liqueur cabinet belonging to the rich Bethany Brennan's jet-setting parents. I was too young and too naive to ever imagine there was an even finer place that defined "special", one that far surpassed any five-finger-discounted bottle of Sweet Amaretto from a suburban home.
It was a retirement complex for seniors surrounded by large pine tress and shrubs, giving each small apartment the privacy it coveted.
His name was Jerzey. 
Whenever I see a spider plant, I think of Jerzey, a 74-year-old, pot-smoking World War II veteran with a penchant for only the very finest sinsemella and mature high school girls. Me and my girlfriend, Jenny, happen to fit nicely into that category.
He called up Goils. "Would you Goils like to get high?" he would ask with a northern New Jersey, slightly diluted Brooklyn accent. "Are you Goils listening to me!?" he would often ask due to his loss of hearing from his early days of World War II Battleships. Jill and I would eagerly say yes as he would reappear with a solid carved, wooden box filled with the finest grass God had to offer.
We would sit in a circular fashion around a simple 70's wooden kitchen table, in an apartment sprinkled with spider plants; plants that seemed to have taken a personality of their own after we reached an expected state of smoke euphoria. My back was always closest to the kitchen since it was my duty to make the Nescafe Instant coffee, ironically the same coffee my Mother would drink every morning. And Jerzey would pan fry the Sea Legs as he reminisce of his days as a young sailor working alongside many other sailors. "Sea Legs and Instant Coffee, the poifect meal" he would tell us. A meal only imagined when a smoke-inspired appetite is called to duty.
Occasionally, Jerzey would rest these heavy, dust-free WWII albums on the table and would voice his frustration when we would break into contagious fits of laughter not focused on his stories but on the shadows casted on the walls by the many spider plants. The plants would play a game of Charades with us as we would have to guess which face of famous television personalities were shadowed on the kitchen walls.
These high late day luncheons became a secret ritual, riding our bikes there every other Wednesday. More Sea Legs. More Shadows. Jerzey was lonely and loved our company until he went on a long drinking binge. He wouldn't even have the strength to answer the door. We would just knock and call, "Jerzey, its your goils! Can we come in?" And then we'd wait. We'd wait and moments later come in. The place would reek of week old liquor and his eyes were so glazed over he would barely recognize us. We would offer our help. Did he need food? Help dressing? Help cooking? He would tell us his binges would last five to seven days and then he would be back to normal.
After those five to seven days passed, we would come back and find the temperamental Jerzey at his front door, once again, nodding us in with a smile, pan frying us Sea Legs as I mixed the instant coffee and reprimand us like his children when another wave on contagious laughter would hit right in the middle of his story of ,"...did you ever hear of a place called Poill Harbah....Goilz are you listening to me?"
Growing up enough to realize that his time might be limited, after the second year of high late day luncheons, we started listening.
Life Within Facebook; One Woman's Struggle for Survival.
This will be the title of one of the many books I intend to write in 2008. Of coarse that is only one of my many resolutions:
1. Write numerous novels involving themes of sex and distress.
2. Create an explosive commercial campaign starring myself.
3. Become one of the most sought out Wellbutrin experts; book speaking engagements on Oprah, Travis Smiley, and Charlie Rose.
4. Be one of the top 123,000 MOST GOOGLED NAMES.
5. Get one of my "many show ideas" produced so I can hire all my friends, family excluded, and fellow blog readers (if you are looking for a gig).
6. Find Patience and try never to misplace it.
So back to Facebook. I joined Facebook when I was at Temple University, knowing that the only way I could truly communicate with any of my fellow-student-project-partners was through Facebook.
I'm sorry. I'm having some issues here. I don't get it. OK, I get the whole "social connection aspect" but why the hell am I being:
POKED, PITCHED AND PROBED
HUGGED, NUDGED AND SHOULDER PUNCHED
Soon it'll be I am getting:
KISSED, KICKED AND KILLED
Why do I have to pass a candle around the world?
Why am I being gifted with Teddy Bears? Candy Canes and Cyber Jewels?
Why am I getting emails that say, "You've been probed!" If you really want to probe me, pick up the phone and let's talk about it because obviously there are unresolved issues between us.
Also, why, all of a sudden, do people know what kind of movies I am putting in my Blockbuster Queue? Are they also getting a rear window view of whether I butter my popcorn or not?
And why is there a Cyber Stalker by the name of Nikil Gandhy "high fiving" me?
You're kid's cute but I don't need to see a whole album of what you are doing on a lazy Thursday evening.
And how are all these people joining all these "groups"?
How do they find the time? Is it me? Am I the one that is still so unfocused? Am I the one who greatly lacks time management skills?
Is that a resolution I need to add to my short list of six?
Why is it that I am the only one who is Panic Stricken on Facebook? Its a race against the clock yet they have time to be sending chain letters? Weren't chain letters a fad from the 70's?
Your not my Friend if your sending me a f*&king chain letter? What next?
"(insert friend name) just pitched a miniature Haitian voodoo doll of you?"
For now, I chose to remain somewhat Faceless until I master time management. Or get cloned.
Which ever one comes first.
From NYC, Happy New Year!
Its gonna be a good one.
