aric with an a

There’s not a lot to do when you not only just spilled expensive wine on an even more expensive table and rearranged a $20,000 art piece, but also just got caught with your clothes off in a store of your girlfriend’s most respected mentor.

Not a lot at all.

Even Lori laughed nervously and she, being Sicilian-from-Brooklyn, isn’t scared of much.

Granted, it didn’t help that on the way over there, she more-or-less explained to us that the lady we were off to see was big time. Widely respected. A designer to the stars. And while she and Lori were good friends, Tim and I, both sitting in the back seat both understood clearly to behave.

She opened the door, gave Lori a hug and the both of us a firm handshake. Tim, being from England, barely mumbled a word and I tried to overcompensate with an Oklahoma persona that rarely comes out unless self-deprecation is absolutely necessary. Oh, I spoke of the farm and ‘good people’ and tactfully tried to fly under her radar of actually knowing she was on a first-name basis with most of Hollywood’s elite.

Within a few minutes of design talk and hand gestures that only Italians and very successful businesswoman understand, they decided to leave Tim and I to sit quietly under the supervision of her Asian assistant and go next door to get some wine.

We sat silently for a few minutes until the assistant heard the phone ring and ran upstairs to go get it.

Tim and I decided to explore. He, to a set of 6 chairs that, together, ran $40,000, me to what looked like a authentic-looking steel sculpture of a leather coat. Upon touching the sleeve, I would quickly realize that it was anything but steel and leather so old, it seemed to come apart in one’s hands. The elbow, previously bent; now it hung as if picking up some shekels or whatever currency used at the time such fashion was popular. As I dropped to my knees to pick up the residue of the aged fabric, I glanced at the price tag and even now can’t bring myself to write it. Let’s just say it made the chairs look like a successful Ebay accomplishment.

I ran back to the $30,000 couch, whispering loudly to Tim not to touch another thing and there we sat until Lori and her friend, the owner, came back with wine. I was given the bottle to open while the 3 girls went upstairs to take a tour of the new office space.

Somehow, despite possibly breaking something that cost more than what I’d made in the past 3 years, I opened the wine correctly – even with a nice little ‘pop’ at the end. I walked to the glasses and even though no one was looking, put my left hand behind my back as I poured, paying close attention to spin the bottle slightly when done pouring.

It looked great.

I looked great.

No one noticed the leather coat rearrangement and here I was pouring nice wine for LA’s elite… until that final glass. I swear to you, something was not right about it and when filled, it simply tipped over and that’s the honest truth. I heard Tim let out a high-pitched worry freak-out sound while I rushed to clean the wine off.

Wine that had spilled on one of the most expensive pieces in the studio – barely priced under 6-figures.

In a cinematic form that only Los Angeles could provide, the invisible camera both pulled away and zoomed in at the same time. I heard voices behind me and saw the shapes of the 3 ladies upstairs slowly making their way back to the stairs to the right of the studio.

Stairs that would bring them down to some chairs.

Chairs that were near the weird lights.

Weird lights that hung over a now-drenched table.

As I tore my shirt off, I must admit to congratulating myself on quick-thinking. I could tell that at the pace they were moving, I had enough time to clean it up, pour some more and sit back down like nothing had happened.

Which is exactly what I did.

Even Tim gave me a nod of approval as I slid my shirt back on.

Until the head that the nod came from moved to slightly to his right.

My left.

To the couple peering in the window.

I could do nothing except stand there.

They let themselves in.

Friend’s of the boss, I assumed, which means I’m fucked.

But they weren’t friends of the boss.

The boss who now stood with Lori and the assistant behind me.

In fact, they were just some normal people.

People who look.

People who don’t know the boss.

People who don’t know the boss.

They were offered wine and thankfully, poured it themselves.

I was in the clear.

They made their around the store and, doing as only poor people do, would pick up a price tag, feign approval, put it back down, take one more look at the object in question and then slowly walk to the door.

I took a deep breath, basically inhaling the nice Shiraz.

‘Come back anytime’ said the owner.

‘Oh, we will!’ said the man, opening the door.

‘Free wine and a stripper?’ said the loud lady ‘Best place in town!’

It was a long, long ride home.

[click to enlarge]

q - ‘why do indian kids cry every halloween?’

a - ‘because they can’t have any ghandi’.

that’s about as offensive as I could get when it comes to those hailing from india, yet, a few days ago, someone we interviewed for [show title removed] proved to be so boring, we couldn’t even salvage it as producable.

so I called it.

I emailed him and explained that the final decision was mine and unfortunately, this one didn’t make the cut.

so he emailed me back.

[and you thought podcasting was easy].

pah*.

*that ‘pah’ is to indicate dismissal and does not in any way reflect the fine inhabitants of pah, india.

this week’s french special of ‘rough sundays’ is, well, good I think.

it’s number 4 in the last 4 of this show.

I’m ending it.

while the ratings are high.

I have an idea for a new show.

but will take a break for a while.

can I say thanks?

thanks.

a good number of you found that show through this site.

and a good number of you found this site from that show.

here’s hoping you found a few tracks you liked.

here’s hoping it got you through a few sundays.

[even though most listened on mondays]

and here’s hoping you heard more Otis than you had before.

thanks. again.

[photo of where the past few shows have been recorded - home, los angeles, california]

I’m tired.

I wanted to write this tomorrow with…

well, lots of adjectives.

but wanted to write now.

see this film.

my friend Adam is funny.

he once told me something funny, but I can’t remember it now.

smart.

he knows lots of things.

nice.

so nice, he made me some travel cookies once to share on a seoul-san fran flight.

creative.

so creative, that converse made him one of their creative people.

so, Adam’s solidified, yes? yes. ok.

I sported his shirts in both oklahoma and berlin - both fashion capitals in their own rights.

he’s now making more t-shirts.

and posters.

posters like the ones above.

you can buy them from him.

they’re cheap. and in limited edition.

and then some.

I highly suggest reading him.

and then buying him.

he’s very nice.

he’s very talented.

and nice.

for reasons that might bore you, I won’t get into the details of why.

but I’ve spent a few trips now to Home Depot.

there are lots of things there one needs.

and in true Americano form, there are lots of things you don’t.

but are made to feel you do.

even though you don’t.

even though you don’t.

it’s been 10+ years since I’ve had a reason to buy something from a Depot of Home.

so going there fascinates me like the Indian cab driver’s music might you.

and still me.

a little.

but in this multi-aisled playground for not-so grown-up boys.

there lie lots of toys for not-so grown-up boys.

one of which I want.

it’s a box of tools.

tools for what my grandpa called ‘puttering around’.

and for a long, long time, I’ve not had anywhere to putt.

so, a little bit.

not a lot.

nor enough to make me buy one.

I want one.

just to have.

in case I need.

cause that’s what guys do.

we gear up for stuff that will probably never happen.

[but something with a vice-grip wouldn't hurt]

[photo by marius graesby]

I rarely like photos of myself.

thus, the ridiculous hats and constant-yet-fading-quickly facial hair constructions.

if I look at a camera, I end up become facially aware of my face.

but this photo I like.

for the story it tells.

for the expression on Lori.

for everything the pub has come to mean.

more beer! more foam! more all!

I haven’t talked much about the sailing trip we took a month-or-so ago.

and that’s with good reason.

there were things regarding the decision to go that ended up causing an unfortunate outcome.

with me and a friend.

I’ll leave it at that.

what I can say is it was fun.

27 feet for 4 people ain’t much.

nor is one bucket for everything.

but it was fun.

I have a weird disorder in that I can sleep amazingly on boats.

even in horrible conditions.

I was supposed to be first on the helm when we took left but I was sleeping.

I was sleeping when it was my turn again and Lori had to take over.

I finally got up and took over.

and then fell asleep at the helm.

I don’t want to say I got us lost.

but I got us lost.

we were headed to Belgium by the time everyone realized.

meaning, with the wind, we had to take 3 left turns [so to speak] to get going south again.

I wasn’t allowed to touch anything after that.

but it was fun.

we made it to the coast of France.

but never France itself.

considering 4 adults made it across the busiest shipping lane in the world, I think we they did well.

we explored the Channel Islands and sailed some more.

and then we went home.

it was fun.

a good experience.

but next time I’m bringing some Red Bull.

and maybe another bucket.

I used to put scary things in the freezer.

turns out, I wasn’t the only one.

I even once saw a Friend’s episode that mentioned this.

meaning, if it wasn’t already, it’s a well-known practice.

this clip should go there.

between the praying mantis and gum that stays in your digestive track for 7 years.

good luck.

I always scoffed at those who update their twitter/facebook with ‘______ is eating breakfast’ [exclamation point] [photo link], which is why I shy away from occasionally updating this.

but here’s what’s what. if you care. and if you don’t, that’s okay as well. it won’t hurt my feelings.

la’s good. I’m getting used to it all.

I’ve picked up a few projects for Fatburger while I’m here. they’re small and funky so I’m having fun with it. if you go in and they tell you about the new special for those with a college idea, you can tell ‘em that said promotion was your old pal Aric’s idea. I’ve never sat in a board room and have people like my idea. it was a nice feeling.

Frank had a heart-attack. he’s fine. but still. Frank had a heart-attack. that’s fucked up.

the newest ‘rough sundays‘ is decent enough.

I had this wine the other night. it’s good. for a white. and the bottlecap is enough to gain you a little street cred at a dinner party.

this Lemonhead’s album is on and I always forget how good it is. before Evan Dando started ending up with strippers and blow.

I might get to meet Bruce Campbell in NYC. that makes me queazy.

have yet to see David Bowie’s son’s film. but want to. badly. can’t go wrong with Ziggy doing the score and Sam Rockwell starring.

I might get some new shoes today. it’s been a long time, but hey - they were $4 fakes [above as well, if you don't feel like hyperlinking] and lasted 2 years.

have a good day.