OUT OF FOCUS

Having "The Runs" in Hollywood

ADD Symptom" Is it dyslexia or is it that you just can't read?

As I was speed walking underground from one subway to the next, I saw this film poster duplicating itself along rows and rows of wall tile.  When I finally got to the No. 2 train platform, I saw the poster again. I stopped and stared.

The Runs.  That's right. 

Not The Ruins but The Runs.

That's what my unfocused eye saw. I must have stared at the poster

for a solid three minutes and as each second ticked by, heat rose beneath my shirt collar. So I turned to the bike messenger standing next to me and I said:

"Leave it to Hollywood to profit off of diarrhea.  Why couldn't I have thought of that?" 

He walked away from me.  Feeling slighted, I called back to him, "Shouldn't you be on a bicycle?"

I figured this bike messenger must have been a fan of the film and I kept thinking irritable bowel syndrome and gastric intestinal issues are never the plot devices I typically have in mind.

Should I?

The Runs, I thought.  What could it possibly be about? 

LOG LINE 1: A bloated woman has less that 24 hours to "hold it in".

LOG LINE 2: A dehydrated woman has less that 24 hours to "hold it in" while saving the world from extinction.

LOG LINE 3: A laxative overdose reunites a young woman and brings relief to a Mayan civilization.

I can imagine the trailer....it remind me of a film I shot years back.  Some of you may have already seen the trailer...you might be able to get the DVD...

This Is Where I'm At Right Now

I often read Tara McGillicuddy's blog about ADHD and today's blog post really hit me hard.  I get Julie's story. The ability to multi-task to the point where others may label you as overworked or think you are insane to overburden yourself with so many activities and "projects". 

At over-energized state of mind.

So now, I am one two pills:

One that speeds me up

and

One that supposed to slow me down...

I feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass.

The Monkey On My Back

The most commonly used phrase by those with Attention Deficit is unquestionably, "I forgot". 

After an anxiety attack on the plane: "Oh my God, I forgot to take my Xanax"

After a minor break in: "Sh*t, I forgot to call the cops."

After getting caught buying liquor for minors: "Damn, I forgot to use a fake name".

Its non-stop forgetfulness that can be tremendously frustrating....until I found:

(Cue Commercial Music) Monkey On Your Back 

Monkey On Your Back is a To-Do List for things you want other people To-Do.

Now you too can delegate your responsibilities onto others and not feel guilty for slacking off.

Its an incredibly effective way of staying organized and you can also send monkeys to yourself.

Try it.

 

 

New York I Love You Film Shoot Feeds the Homeless

Crack & Dinkins would make a great name for the law offices of a pair of defunct personal injury lawyers, but for New Yorkers who remember New York in the 90's, the names now just bring up bad agida. Since then, racial tensions have weakened, cappuccino has substitute from crack, and the city has become more and more altruistic.

A perfect example of how selfless this city has become is the street filming of the feature film, New York I Love You.  Not only do these film folks generate more income for us, they also also make it a long day affair to feed the homeless by setting up these elaborate buffet tables. 

For free.

Food everywhere.

When was the last time I could gorge for free on a mini smoked salmon and caper croissant, or as they say, cwa-sonn.

I just could not pass up on the festivities and made sure to share the happy discovery with my fellow neighbors. 

I wonder if the homeless can tell a fresh baked good from a stale one?  I know I sure can.

I give New York I Love You a thumbs-up.

It'll gonna be worth the exorbitant ticket price and two buckets of popcorn.

http://adhd.typepad.com/kali_karagias/2008/04/new-york-i-love.html

Emperors Club VIP Girl #26

There's a rumor that has been floating around the blogoshere that I have been involved in the Spitzer sex scandal.

I mean, my last blog entry was a week ago, the same week more names were released from the Emperor's Little Black Book.

One blogger asked me,"Kali, how is it that you have all this free time to blog?  It doesn't make sense?"

Oh, yes, it does.  Thanks to Emperors Club VIP, I have managed to make ends meet.

As Girl #26.

At Emperors Club VIP, I get to make my own hours, travel like the rich and famous, drink and smoke with the rich and famous and stay at some of the world's greatest hotels.  I never worry about extra charges on my hotel bill, room service is always on the house.  And the friendships?   Well that's what makes it all worthwhile.

It's the only way I can possibly stay loyal to my readers.

Happy Anniversary

A.D.D. Symptom: Starting tasks and never finishing them. Wait, I finished something.

One year ago today, I did something I never did before; I set myself a goal.  Could I write for one full year without giving up or getting sidetracked ?  Could I finally get all my thoughts out of my head, out of my file cabinets and my many scraps of scribbled napkins?

Thank you to those whom I've gotten to know over the year; those who leave their entertaining and occasional cynical comments and those who "hope they find a cure for whatever it is that you have, Kali".

Wellbutrin.  Ask your doctor about it.

 

Los Angeles/Lake Tahoe Petty Thief and Con Man, Mark Chodos

I once bought a lemon from a Los Angeles petty thief by the name of Mark Chodos.  A broken-down black Saab that this clown, Mark Chodos, sold me.  I should have known better but what to do when you are twenty five and you fall for a con artist. 

What ever made me think of this loser whose name I choose to defame?  Well, spring cleaning of coarse.

I was living on Canyon Country Road in what looked like a tool shed. My roommate at the time was a male who would later be crowned, Joe Millionaire.  An adventurous traveling partner, Joe and I drove cross-country from the east coast, sharing his Jeep Eagle as well as platonic living space for one long month.

Get to the point. I was doing something no one ever does in L.A.; I was walking to a corner store for a bagel.  No bagels.   I sat at one of the outdoor picnic tables in front of the store, pen and a pad of paper in hand.  And then I heard this voice:

"You know The Doors used to write their songs here" (insert cheesy construction guy smile).

Today, that statement would have been a loud cue for me to walk away from a guy with the world's worse pick-up lines.

We started talking and I told him that I was looking to buy a used car. Casanova tells me he has a 1990 black Saab for sale "in perfect condition".  In a moment of severe desperation, I actually agreed to meet him for a margarita that night. Bad move.

So I meet him and he kisses me that night.  The drinks must have been strong. I was young, stupid and attracted to a sleazy L.A. con man yet I never believed it at the time.

The following afternoon, he picked me up in the used car so I could "test drive" it.  And later that evening we had Chinese take-out at his mother's house whom he still lived with.  Another red flag.

On my way home, I agreed to buy the car.  The following morning I gave him 800.00 and I would follow up with future payments.  Later that evening we met for dinner at his place and he accuses me of rummaging through his belongings and stealing the money back from him.  Another red flag.

Psycho.

The car was in my ownership no longer that 24 hours and it breaks down.  Dead.  Kaput.  Lifeless.

I call him.  I get no answer. That following day, I have a friend's boyfriend stop at his house.  No answer. 

Then all of a sudden, he pulls up to the tool shed of an apartment that I lived in an he said he would take the car to a shop. 

He split with the car and my money.  I took him to small claims later that year and there was a judgment made against him.  But I still saw no money. I'm hoping that in the age of Googling, this story may just resurface in his future (there's always room for a little revenge.

The moral of this story?

Never befriend a guy from Mulholland Drive by the name of Mark Chodos.

Swallow or Spitzer; the tell-all autobiography by Ashley Alexandra Dupre

the tell I always wanted to be the person who brainstorms the witty headliners for the New York Post, but it seems that if notoriety is what I am seeking, I better start partaking in illegal activities considered 'disgraceful' by the majority of society.  It's a sure guarantee that after the story of my shameful illicit affair breaks, I will be immediately rewarded with a book deal, record deal or perhaps my own talk show. 
I am never one to judge call girls, hookers, male gigolo's or whatever you want to call them.  Hell, if I too, really wanted that limited edition Prada purse, I would probably consider selling my services to Al Gore in exchange for three grand and a handful of carbon credits.

I have to give the young, rich and beautiful Ashley Alexandra Dupre some credit: 

At 22, I certainly was not living in an upscale apartment in the Flatiron district but if I had had a john to run my career I would not have been housed in a dilapidated Queens apartment with decorative gunshot piercings on the front door. 

At 22, I didn't think of having a glossy 8 x 10 black and white photo of me sporting a black leather jacket, pursed lips over my shoulder and a bottle of Johnson's baby oil slathered in my hair. I just wasn't that creative. 

And at 22, I certainly did not have Ashley's gifted singing abilities. If I had, I would not have been working as a traveling elf entertaining preschoolers in remote regions of Pennsylvania.   

According to Freakonomics, the name Ashley is the most common low-Income white girl name, and if that is in fact true, the real brilliance of Ms. Dupre is her ability to prove she is anything but low-income.  The name Kali never got me free rides on a yacht, enchanted evenings at five star D.C hotel or a concierge  service  that would greet me with a head-bow and a hello whenever I came home after a night of political  shenanigans.

I have faith that Ashley a.k.a 'Kristen' will grow up and become a great motivational speaker. In the meantime, I'll friend her on Facebook and maybe my Jersey roots will give me V.I.P access to her little black book, or even better, an autographed copy of her soon-to-be-released tell-all book, Swallow or Spitzer; My Decision to Do the Dirty.

 

One Night In Charo-Save Elliot Spitzer Foundation

Last night, I attended a fund raiser for the Save Elliot Spitzer Foundation.  Since the most publicized photo of his gang-bang pal, "Kristen" has been a photo on a boat, we decided to go with a Love Boat Theme.

I went as Charo, the "coochie-coochie" musical star of the 70's.  I think the make-up job is pretty amazing. 

That's Charo with Stubing.  And that's me on the right.

To protect the anonymity of those still secretly shocked by Spitzer's naughty-boy behavior, I have disguised their identity although I think its still pretty obvious who attended the event last night:

That's me and Latoya Jackson. 

And that's me dancing with one of Spitz's favorite girls.

Spitz approached me last night and said he would consider "One night in Charo" only if I were twenty years younger.

OK. So that means I would have to 12.

Will these  photos will ever prevent me from running for office? I'll just say it was for a good cause.

A night of free drinks and free herpes tests.  What can be better?

And for those of you who are too young to remember Charo....

Script It Out; A New Form of Therapy

I tried something new today with my therapist.  That's right. We occasionally meet for a Sunday coffee, sit on a park bench and make fun of people walking by.

We tried a new form of therapy today: Scripting it Out

Shrink: "If I were to ask you, what do you think of when I say marriage?, can you script it out?"

Kali: "What the hell are you talking about?"

Shrink: "I want you to write a script"

Kali: "I pay you, you're the one whose supposed to come up with a script of what I'm supposed to say."

Shrink: "Since you have a tendency to hurl hot coffee in the middle of a heated conversation with a loved one, I think this would be a wonderfully soothing exercise."

Kali: "An Aveno bath is soothing."

Shrink: "You like to write?"

Kali: :"I like to bitch?"

Shrink:  (handing me a pencil and paper).  "Try it..."

Kali: "What is this?"

Shrink: "Its a pencil, a writing instrument consisting of a thin stick of graphite. Write what comes to mind."

Kali: "Like a Public Service Announcement?"

Shrink: "If that's what you see marriage as." (insert creepy smile here)

This is what I wrote. 

EXT. CENTRAL PARK. TRAIL
Dressed in a wedding gown, a FRANTIC FEMALE runs through desolate wooded trails, hurling over fallen tree logs as she trudges up small hills.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK. FOUNTAIN
She trips through a park fountain, mouthfuls of water, gasping for air.  The killer is not far behind.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK. TRAIL
The KILLER is closing in. In a tiresome crawl, she struggles up a small hill but the killer closes in on her.  He grabs her ankle.  For the first time we see the killer is a handsome GROOM dressed in a starched tuxedo.  With a look of insanity, he holds up a noose in his hand and asks,

GROOM
Will you marry me?

CUT TO:

A GOLD WEDDING BAND falls against a BLACK SCREEN.  A woman's blood curdling scream is heard.  The gold ring hits the bottom, spins and stops.
A hangman's noose made of crude rope swings from each end of the screen.  The following words light up against the dark screen, Thinking abut tying the knot?  Think again.

FADE TO BLACK.

V.O. This has been a public service announcement.

 

**********

She thinks we need to double up on sessions.