Happy Birthday

This morning I woke up to my friend Rob’s phone call. After a pleasant morning chat, I wandered over to the window and saw my car, which had been looking just fine the night before, completely torn up. I thought I was hallucinating. I had not yet had any coffee, so this was entirely possible.

It turned out that I was not hallucinating.

Here is my car.

It was sitting on the street, properly parked, when apparently, the garbage truck hit it.
My insurance apparently doesn’t cover stuff like this. SO GLAD I PAY INSURANCE.

One of my neighbors supposedly saw this but if you happen to live on Hannum Drive and also witnessed this please email me at tricia at triciaromano dot com.

Happy birthday to me!

Disengage

For most people, a new year is a chance to jump start their lives. They attack everything they’ve been neglecting with a renewed sense of purpose.

As for me, I’ve been sick since 2009, and have alternated between sitting on the couch, coughing, lying on the bed blowing my nose, and sleeping since the New Year. I am not in any rush to become a full-fledged member of society and am content to sit in my PJs for half the day.

This is strange because just a few weeks ago I was in a full-blown anxiety-ridden panic about my career and state of my finances.

I should still be in a panic. On the eve of the New Year, I got the news that my Blackbook column was axed. The column was the only guaranteed form of income I was getting. I have not a single guaranteed assignment on the books. I had also been blogging a bit for Popeater.com, which was fun when it didn’t entail lots of research and reporting, and actually took the guise of blogging. But Popeater was inconsistent. Some weeks, I did a lot, sometimes, nothing.

But, rather than be really upset about the loss of income, I was a little relieved. I came to understand something about my relationship to professional blogging: I hate, loathe, can’t stand, don’t want to do it ever unless I am starving. I hate it. This is not what I signed up for when I went to journalism school, when I moved to New York to be an intern at the Village Voice, when I dreamed of writing stories. I didn’t not sign up for waking up and having a semi-panic attack about trifling problems like: what stupid shit will I send into the ether today? What unnecessary rumination will I deliver unto the procrastinating eyeballs of office workers getting real paychecks while I hammer this piece of crap out for a fifth of my rate? (You know, something just like this very post here.)

Additionally, Blackbook was about nightlife, and as you may know, I didn’t want to ever do nightlife again. It nearly killed me while doing Fly Life. I had developed a propensity for  badly mixed vodka cocktails and early morning walks of shame that left me exhausted, depressed, and constantly sick. While I can’t help but be drawn to the creatures of the night, as they are all I’ve ever known, the idea of driving 45 minutes to Hollywood by myself in the middle of the night to watch people cavort and get drunk—usually gay men and fag hags, neither of which will ever get me laid—was just too depressing for words. When I got an email from a publicist in December pitching me two artists who would be appearing in July and suggesting we could cover them then, the thought that I would still be blogging about nightlife eight months from now—or at all, ever, really—made my stomach drop 90 degrees.

Make no mistake, I am supremely grateful for that opportunity. I now have a few fistfulls of contacts in Los Angeles I didn’t have last March; I know more about the city now than I knew then. I have a little bit of momentum, which might help in other ways. I am also supremely grateful for my friend Andy Brooks at Tru Tv, who has also kept the Romano lifeboat afloat through some assignments for Crimelibrary. These tawdry long-form things I rather like doing; since now that I am bed-bound, I have every police and law procedural running on an endless loop on my television.

Right now, I have some money in the bank. I am finally getting the unemployment insurance I needed so desperately back in July, but because of California’s weird chart-timetable, I couldn’t apply for until recently. It’s helping revive my savings account. I still have to figure out how I am going to move apartments without a real set of paychecks or cut down my expenses.

But I decided that I don’t want to blog—at least not in the traditional sense. I don’t want to pump nothingness into the world. I will write articles. I will report. I will try and make a living at this stupid thing we are all a part of for a little while longer. But I think I’ll do it on my terms. I have a couple of ideas about how to go about it, maybe they are fantasies, maybe I will get off of Twitter long enough to find out. Right now, I just don’t care. I am in no rush. I am going to keep applying for editing and web jobs, even though this has been a fruitless process for the past 10 months (the duration of time that I’ve been without regular employment). Maybe someone will take a look at my resume and understand that I can edit extremely well and understand that I know how to use the web, and that I am not “just a writer.” Because right now writing is so undervalued and if you put me in the writer pile, this is the same as putting me in the dogpile.

So, I’m disengaged from action. I have arrived at someplace strange. I am somewhere between sanguine and dispassionate. Something like an emotional shrug. It’s zen-like. I suppose I should find a new career. And I suppose, I should figure out what to do with the rest of my life while I have one. I suppose I should start exercising and saving money. I suppose I should start doing all of those things. Right now, I need another nap.

Seven Ways Flashforward Resembles Lost

See and download the full gallery on posterous

TV addicts already knew that one of the fall season’s most anticipated shows, Flashforward was going to have some similarities to Lost, since ABC desperately needs to find a way to fill the hole left by Lost when it ends in 2010. And they aren’t being shy about the hat tip, either; we saw a couple of Lost references in the form of an ad for Oceanic Six, the doomed airline. We’re sure there were more but we watched it online very late. 

We had a serious case of deja vu watching the show, which is set in Los Angeles and based on a sci-fi novel of the same name by Robert J. Sawyer.

1. Two of the Same Awesome Actors. We’re watching and enjoying ourselves and then thought we saw a familiar face. Um, OMG, “What’s Penny doing over there? Where’s Desmond!” Sonia Braga plays a doctor Olivia Benford (she’s Mark’s wife); meanwhile, her accented brethren, Dominic Monaghan (long lost Charlie) is signed on for two eps.

2. The Chaotic Opening with Things Exploding and Fireballs Nearly Missing our Beloved All-Knowing-Must-Save-Everyone-Fearless Leader, Jack Mark. 

As FBI agent Mark Benford makes his way in what looks like downtown L.A. —which appears even more apocalyptic than usual, what with the exploding gas tanker trucks, and cars that have piled on top of each other—Mark hears people screaming and crying and runs erratically in all directions trying to save everyone he can find. He’s nearly taken out by an exploding fireball, but survives so that he can become the series leader, telling a bunch of confused people to stay calm and directing them to help while looking kind of frazzled and purposeful.

3. The Character Who We Already Know is Going to Die. 

Like Charlie, John Cho’s character Demetri Noh  is aware that he might not make it to the fateful date on April 29, 2010, because unlike everyone else, during the blackout, he didn’t see scenes from the future. He saw nothing at all. Desmond in Lost, of course, predicted Charlie’s demise, and tried fruitlessly to prevent it, until Charlie realized that in order for the events on the Island to unfold correctly, he had to die. Will Demetri have a similar realization or will he try to fight it?

4. The Flash Forwards as a Plot Device:

We have to wonder if the Lost folks weren’t given a hefty chunk of change for this bit of intellectual property. Lost fans will recall the  finale of Season 3 that revealed the first flashforward was a doozy, totally turning the whole show upside down. (“We have to go back!”) The mystery wasn’t just what happened, but how everyone got there. Flashforward is a little different. People have vague clues that they are piecing together collectively from snapshots in their future memory. However, with Lost, part of the problem is that once we  could see how the puzzle was going to be finished, it took the air out of the reveal. 

5. The Weird Animal Sighting.

In the downtown is on fire scene, Mark is basically harried, but normal, considering that hell has just frozen over, until he comes across something that literally stops him dead in his tracks. We waited as the camera panned over and thought, “SMOKEY IS THAT YOU? (Smoke monster!)” Nope, just a kangaroo, which apparently either hopped itself all the way over from Australia or was transported in a time traveling wormhole ala the polar bears in Lost. Also: the kangaroo/Australian connection is another hat tip to Lost, which is where flight Oceanic 815 was headed when it crashed in the Island. 

6. The Previously Hopeless Character with a Renewed Sense of Purpose (and Maybe Even a Second Life).

 At the beginning of the ep, we see a young doctor, Bryce Varley, played by Zachary Knighton, standing on a pier by the beach, holding a gun up to his chin about to shoot his head off. Then everyone goes blackout and he wakes up to see that a little boy in the water needs help, and jumps to his rescue. Later, he confides to Sonia Braga’s character Olivia, that he was about to commit suicide, but during the blackout, he saw his future and it was good, very very good. If we were the betting types, we’d call this the John Locke character. When Locke arrived on the Island his paralysis was miraculously cured, and the formerly depressed man had a renewed sense of life and vigor. And like Locke, Bryce seems to be game to save people; will he be the one to challenge Mark in the future? And what does Locke-tk say to Braga during his confession: “Whatever I was thinking about doing, obviously wasn’t meant to happen.” To which we say, “Uh-oh. This feels awfully familiar.”

7. Fate and Destiny vs. Free Will.

 Remember when Hurley explains to everyone that the future can’t be changed, that no matter what they do, what is supposed to happen will happen. Mark and his sobriety sponsor Aaron have nearly the inverse conversation. Mark wonders if because he saw himself in his flashforward as being a drunk again, if there’s nothing he can do about it, and  demurs. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Maybe because you saw it, you can change it. What if you can, you know ghost of Christmas future crap.” Ever the skeptic, Aaron answers, “What if I can’t?” Well, we’ll say this: that’s not very Jack-like of him.

 

In Memory of My Dad

Yesterday was the sixth anniversary of his death. In honor of Father’s Day, which is coming up, I thought I’d post the obituary I wrote for him. I remember, I tried to make it a bit more substantial.

RONALD ROMANO

Ronald “Harpo” D. Romano, 60, of Henderson, died June 16, 2003. He was born on September 10, 1942 in Morristown, New Jersey. He resided in Las Vegas for 30 years, for 20 of those years he worked in the gaming industry, most recently at the Sunset Station in Henderson. Prior to his employment in casinos, Mr. Romano was a bass guitarist in numerous jazz bands and still occasionally played gigs around town. He was married and divorced three times. His first wife, Patricia, and the mother of his daughter, died in 1980. Though he moved briefly to the Seattle area, he made Las Vegas his home for most of his adult life. He loved fishing and dreamt one day of living on the Florida coast. He was preceded in death by his father, Patrick. He is survived by his daughter, Patricia Anne of New York City; his mother, Antoinette Caruso; his older brothers, Anthony and Carmine; and his younger sister, Patricia Linfante, all of New Jersey. Services at 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, June 21 at the Chapel of the St. Rose Dominican Hospital, Sienna campus on Eastern and St. Rose Parkway (Pecos). Father Lou will officiate the service.

My Cat and Her Many Looks

Via L’emploi du temps via http://lucylou.livejournal.com/

I Hate NY—As Told By Andy Brooks.

Andrew Brooks gives us an intelligent reasoned argument for hating New York.

Favorite bit:

“Welcome to spending half your cash on rent for a horrible apartment with headaches your head cannot imagine, and spending the other half at bars to forget how miserable you are.”

I Hate NY

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I Hate L.A. (Not Really)

Extremely profanity-laden stream of consciousness diatribe about L.A. courtesy of comedian Suzi Barrett, friend of Sarah Silverman (of course.). Suzi tries to convince her friend not to move here by telling her how “awful” it is, against the backdrop of total awesomeness that is my current city. “Fucking pleasant weather, fucking pretty houses, fucking pretty trees.”

Yeah, L.A. sucks,  it’s totally filled with vapid Hollywood people, and it’s completely boring having perfect weather 360 days a year (yeah, we suffer for about five days). Stay in New York or whatever shitty East Coast town you live and feel superior for doing so. More for me and my friends.

Reverse psychology’s a bitch, man.

more about “I Hate L.A.“, posted with vodpod

Mobbed Up, Yo.

The best part of the Real Housewives of New Jersey are the Defamer/Gawker wrap ups. Even better are the comments.

 

Source: Gawker.

real housewives of new jersey, mobbed up, guidos, goodfellas

How To Get Killed By Your Cat

So these two crazy people work out with their mostly docile cat. My animal is about 10 pounds heavier and 60 x meaner. I would get about one rep out of her before being beheaded.

more about “How To Get Killed By Your Cat“, posted with vodpod

Related funny: Gavin McInnes uses his ultra-cute babies for weight lifting.

Why the Pre Treo Won’t Keep Me From Leaving Sprint

I have a been a Sprint PCS customer since 1997 or 1998. In 2007, after being absolutely pissed off at Sprint PCS’s piss-poor customer service, their unbelievably crappy phone selection, their death-grip contracts, and my Treo breaking so many times I lost count, I wrote a completely unhinged, totally adolescent, obnoxious letter to all the top executives at Sprint that ended like this:

“your company is bleeding customers and losing stock value an unprecedented rate because:

—your outsourced customer service is crap; the agents take days to respond to emails and the experience of being on the line with them is like falling into a vortex. bring it back to America for a few extra dollars.

—your phone selection is garbage.

—your website is a buggy piece of crap; it is often unviewable, with broken links, and failed several times during my recent attempt at inputting information for your security upgrade (thanks for that) to accept or save the information.”

I ended diplomatically: “Are you running a multibillion dollar corporation or a lemonade stand on the side of the road?

In the letter, I made childish demands: I wanted either a brand new phone of my choosing–the latest Blackberry or Treo—for nothing, and I wanted no changes or re-upping of my contract. If neither one of those things were met to my satisfaction, I informed these very big powerful people at the top of the food chain, they were going to let me out of my contract gratis, and buy me an iPhone or a Blackberry from one of their competitors.

I hit send and figured that I’d never hear from anyone and that I’d fulfilled my need to vent about the incompetence of the company to the ether.

Big surprise. The next day I received something like four or five phone calls from people who handled larger accounts at Sprint. It was somewhat overwhelming. I had a personal connection with someone in New York who got me a new Blackberry and set up my new account, and removed the two-year contract restrictions on my account. I had gotten everything I asked for. Whenever my phone died or broke, I had a rep who would helpfully replace it immediately.

Everything was going swimmingly until I moved to Santa Monica.

You know that Verizon commercial where the dude walks around to different areas of a room and asks, “Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?” That’s me, every time you call me on my cell phone. I literally drop every single call. Every. Single. Call. The rest of the beach area is completely spotty, as well. Text messages don’t always arrive. Important phone messages go straight to voice mail, and then I don’t notice them for hours. I’ve stopped bugging my personal connect at Sprint about how awful it is, because my year of being treated like a Very Important Person is over, and because asking Sprint to spend a few million dollars on towers in my neighborhood just because I have dropped calls, doesn’t seem very fair.

Sprint had a tough time after its merger with Nextel, and it’s doing the worst of all the cell carriers with new subscribers. On the bright side, the loss of six million customers will make the network easier and better to use. But it finally got a real CEO, Dan Hesse–after the last one quit when Sprint actually fired 1000 of its customers for complaining too much–and has been making strides in trying to fix its reputation. When I call customer service, I get clear-speaking Americans, people who can actually troubleshoot, rather than the outsourced employees from India, who read off a script and don’t really interact.

Sprint’s also gotten some better phones. They got the Blackberry Curve and Pearl, the Instinct and the Motorola Razr.

The biggest news, though, is that they are getting the Pre Treo.

This is the part that makes me very sad. I really liked my Treo when it was working. Except for the bulkiness of the phone, I liked the way it displayed text messages better than the Blackberry, I liked the emails, and I liked that you could touch the screen or use the hard keyboard. Options.

I have the Blackberry World phone now. It’s fine. It mostly does what it’s supposed to but the stupid ball gets stuck all the time, and takes forever to scroll. But it’s really loud, and I can hear everyone perfectly, and that’s mainly what I need when all is said and done. Everything else is bells and whistles. Except, it never works because the network never works.

But the Palm Treo looks like the best of the Blackberry and the iPhone. I know that everyone says that you get used to it eventually, but typing on the iPhone makes me want to throw it at a wall. The sweep and pinching thing is cute, but I’m bored by it. I like the Pre’s ability to have multiple apps open. I like it’s hard keyboard, and the fact that it’s not the iPhone. Too bad I won’t be getting it.

Because of the unbelievably sorry state of my cell phone reception via Sprint, I am literally forced to get another phone at a different company. Since I am not really interested in another Blackberry, I will likely just succumb to iPhone fever, which is on the ATT network, and I hear is marginally better than what I’ve got with Sprint.

Shockingly, I’m a little sad about leaving Sprint. It feels like letting go of an old friend.

Sprint, can you hear me now?

[From Sprint Predicts That the Pre Will Be Big - Bits Blog - NYTimes.com]