Hi there, hope this finds you doing well! I'm in the midst of preparing a bachelor nuh-nigh meal - sure to be tasty and pleasin' - and checking in with everyone. How are things?
It was a crazy but amazing week on the editorial front with work - lots of things happening: Cannes, television upfronts, and original reports. It's been hard work but we're a strong team at my outlet and it's good to see a product growing. By the way, it's free to subscribe to Studio System News. You get two daily digests of the top curated entertainment news content and original reports from established media writers and analysts. Five days a week. We're not going to bore you with what someone is wearing, it's about what Hollywood - the town (not the Ben Affleck 'The Town') is talking about each day. Good stuff!
Other than that, it's been laid-back. I haven't really been a spaz but I could - you know how it is when the week winds down, no more deadlines. I could read a book, I could watch any of dozen DVDs I haven't seen, catch up with magazines, friends. I've tried to do a little bit of all.
Friday night I went out with friends to celebrate a best friend's upcoming birthday. One stop was a club with neon red -lit stairs that could serve as a location shoot for a Bronx walk-up. That was hot, made me homesick for my East Coast. Inside, not so much. A drag queen show. Ummm. Now look, I get it, just not into drag shows - it was just kinda slipped in when the music stopped and there were dudes there - enraptured - who look like they can change tires with their teeth. It was a one-drink stop and I suspect that wasn't Tanqueray I ordered - way to slip in well gin, folks. We left a great tip, but that was before we knew we were drinking gov't label well gin. Thank you, Aleve.
Went to another place and had a bunch of free-range discussions that single friends have on a Friday night after each unknowingly downed well drinks! One was obsessed with a guy in an American Horror Story-style rubber suit, sans mask. "How do you think it feels?" my friend asked. "Tight." I said.
The birthday best friend mentioned, as he's turning 45 this Monday, "Karl, you know we're considered old, right? In the dating world we're seen as old. You know that right?"
Did I answer, "I don't give a fuck!" loud enough? I don't think I did, although I tried. I get carded at least twice a month.For one, I don't date younger, not in the 20s. I didn't like artichoke dip until I was 36. And I'm not 45. Yet. For at least two more years. And when I am, I'll still be fly! Trust me, I don't hate on the youth. Especially in Los Angeles. I moved here when I was 27 years old - a recent 27. It's pretty much your duty when you move to L.A. to up the hot factor, make some daring moves image-wise, represent and mask the frustration that comes with waiting your turn until you hit. I'm all for it. I just don't want to date it. It's not personal - I've always been the younger one in my relationships. I'm talking 1-5 years max - and it's great: when you're mature beyond your years, it's sexy and when you regress to age-appropriate pissiness, you get a micro-pass on some of it because, hey, you're not 1-5 years older than the person who caused it/endured it. Ha!
I told my friend(s) about my psychic reading in 2010. It was a birthday present. The lady was reputable - had made accurate predictions and a friend. Mygroup last night asked me if I'd told the psychic a lot of pre-reading revelations? I did not. I actually cried quiet man tears that shocked even me, but that's because I'm from the East Coast where psychics will tell you if you'll be dead in five years. I told her if she saw anything "bad" then I didn't want to do the reading. She assured me that she didn't do readings if she saw that energy and that my aura is love. Cool.
What the psychic said , on the love life portion, after flipping cards that looked like 'Game of Thrones' rotogravures, was that I'm going to meet an older soul mate, someone who is established and "at the top of their game" and extremely successful in their field. That disappointed me because I'm the least materialistic person I know of - I could care less, I can buy my own jeans - to paraphrase my East Coast 80s peeps - so this sounded Hollywood trophy time to me, which I'd never do. She said no, our connection would be unrelated things and that it'd be our career drive and connection to each other that would be the crux of our love. It's going to be a lot of fun, amazing, incredible.
And we'd have a great, epic romance - until it ends.
The psychic said that I wouldn't end it, that it would be my lover to do this and that it wouldn't be ugly, just a natural progression, no one worse for the wear and everyone deservedly rich from the years of mutual hard work and empire building, perhaps. We'll both move on. And since I'll be younger, it'll be easier? So you heard it here first, if I get dumped in my 50s...or 60s (aww hell no).
My friend, when I told him this last night as serio-comic proof that I won't be dating anyone in their 20s, said, "Psychics are full of shit!" To which I said, "Sometimes they are. God is the one who really knows." It's all so nebulous, but that's a fun story of the sideways world epic romance. I doubt it. Most of the people I've met at the top of their field who think I'm the bees knees are L.A. expatriates in Palm Springs who miss L.A. with a paralytic passion that. is. not. sexy. And I've never been to Palm Springs. I know, I know. But that's because when I was 27, I decided I'll only go when I'm in love. Sometimes that's the best way to see things for the first time.