The two are not directly related. This is a more of a double feature.
First off, a month or two ago I had the pleasure of being pleasured by an early screening of Synecdoche, New York - a new film written directed by the acclaimed Charlie Kaufman and starring Philip Seymour Hoffman as well as a host of award-nominated babes like Michelle Williams and Dianne Wiest.
As for the movie, if you thought Being John Malkovich was weird and you thought The Hours was very sad, well.. this movie is both of them getting black-out drunk and fucking you. Whether or not you're into that depends on how open-minded of a film-goer you are. If you're confused by movies with Daniel Day-Lewis chasing around preachers with bowling pins or Billy Bob Thornton seeing UFO's before he's sent to the electric chair, I wouldn't recommend Synecdoche, New York. If you don't know what two movies I just referenced, I wouldn't recommend Synecdoche, New York. If your favorite movie with Philip Seymour Hoffman is Twister, then of course I recommend Synecdoche, New York.
So after the movie which I found drawn-out yet very satisfying - we were treated by a Q and A with the man himself CHARLES KAUFMAN. Yes, he is exactly like Nicolas Cage's Charlie Kaufman in Adaptation. If you haven't seen Adaptation, this means the real Charlie Kaufman hates crowds, hates answering questions about his motives as a writer, hates genres, hates outlines, probably hates himself, but surprisingly might not hate you. From what I could tell he seemed like a pretty nice guy. It just seemed like being in front of so many people made him extremely anxious. Ya gotta understand, the guy does very few interviews despite media interest.
I remain positive on him and am filled with even more of a desire to give him a big hug than I had before. Though he likes to keep a lot of things secret, he still gave a lot of great info to the aspiring writers and filmmakers that filled the audience. He even got comfortable enough to crack a joke or two. My favorite moment was seeing him was after the Q and A when his very attractive personal assistant in her late 20's(tops) came up to him and I could see and hear her say "you did a good job. you were funny." It's great because you know that's what he wants out of an assistant: a pretty girl that will say he did a good job and that he's funny.
-------
Speaking of sexual frustration, I went to the Halloween party at the Playboy Mansion. My friend Greg called me on the morn of Satan's birth to tell me that his girlfriend was tearing tickets at this event and that he could get himself and one other lucky gent in. After my "why certainly" to his "would you like to go?" I spent the rest day trying to make myself believe this wasn't really going to happen.
Now let's get one thing straight, I'm not the get-12,000-boners-at-the-mere-thought-of-the-playboy-mansion kind of guy. We all have our own degrees of perversion but mine don't involved silicon... they involve steel.
So the work whistled let me and Greg out of our respective jobs with the night of mystery ahead of us. From there it was a less than National Lampoon's level race against time to get to the parking structure that would shuttle us via shuttle bus to the ultimate Den of Iniquity while Greg's girlfriend was tearing tickets(I will not use her name just in case she wants to work for these people again). This is because we weren't supposed to be allowed to the $2000 a ticket function for free. Greg's girlfriend would have to pretend that our names were on the list while bald security guards with womb-broom facial hair circled the wagons screeching into their walkie-talkies.
Arriving at the parking structure after getting lost in Century City no less than three times, we told the parking people we were here for the "CANDY PARTY". That's code for objectification of women. God Bless America, no exceptions. I will never forget the terror that streaked through my spine when the parking attendant said "Ok. Let me get your ticket." I stared at Greg with pupils as shrunken as my puckered anus. Then the parking attendant slapped a ticket on the windshield and motioned for us to go forward. Oh, he meant the ticket that keeps us from getting towed.
So we got to Greg's girlfriend at a table of other girls tearing tickets. As planned, she pretended that she didn't know us and that our names were on the list after we gave our ID's. No crap from any security guards. Only minor waterboard torture. Simple. Did i mention these tickets were supposed to be 2 grand? I spent the rest of the night wondering how many people actually bought the damn tickets and how many - like us - knew a guy.
After taking a shuttle bus with a host of female sub-mentals, we had arrived. The whole place was decked out with all manner of delightfully cheesy headstones and expensive neon lights. As Greg and I walked up the steps to the mansion, Jason's, Freddy's, Michael Myers, and Mummies jumped out at us. I only jumped from one of them who then called me a pussy in his monster-voice. The party also featured a fully functional haunted house with a lot of production value.
But this isn't what you want to hear about. The main location of the party was under a large tent which featured a DJ, unlimited free food, unlimited free drinks, and unlimited women young and old with no self-esteem. I would say it was about a 30 to 1 girl-to-guy. One girl that i met told me I looked like Ryan Gosling, and she wasn't shitfaced. THAT's how desperate they were.
The costumes ranged from the standard whorish to the puzzling whorish to INGENIOUSLY WHORISH. Slutty Army girls. Slutty Nurses. Slutty Devils. Slutty... Borat(yes and in the big neon green thong). but the gold goes to Slutty Cookie Monster..... SLUTTY COOKIE MONSTER...... Tufts of blue cookie-monster fur on her elbows knews and waist, googly cookie monster eyes on her head, and cookie nipple pasties. That's it. Clearly not safe for PBS.
The women I met, well they were actually very nice, but I will say their collective intelligence was maybe enough to power a Sega Game Gear for 5 minutes. Women that couldn't hold a conversation without cackling with laughter or asking you to take twelve pictures for them and their "BESTS".
On a sidenote, the Playboy Mansion has a zoo. Specifically, monkeys. Monkeys that crawl right up the cage and will give you a cold stare in the face. Monkeys that will surely bite the finger off an unsuspecting drunk poser Playmate.
Sadly I was expecting way more D and F celebrities and I got like 1: The guy who played Boone on "LOST". I don't really feel like looking his name up on IMDB. Where were the Andy Dicks? The Bret Michaels? The Daniel Baldwins? Greg saw Jon Lovitz and Bill Mahr but only momentarily. The severe lack of mugshot hall-of-famers was disappointing, but I did get to see Hugh.. though surrounded by a million bodyguards.
All things considered, I got the dosage of ridiculous that i had hoped for. Sure enough, by the end of the night, well many people had taken to the pool with little or no clothes on. I would call it an orgy but most of them had the decency to stick to one partner. Even in the depths of depravity, monogamy still prevails.
I went home that night with enough eyefuls to haunt and delight me for years to come.
It was the sluttiest scariest Halloween in a long time. I slept well that night.
