A friend tweeted me earlier...

Apparently the ladies of "The View" discussed this Adam Lambert controversy.

Not that that's important. What's interesting is they used quotes from MY STORY. Score one for me.

You're welcome Barbara and CO.

Labels: Epic Fail

The world of Gerrickwood has changed...

So why not switch things up with a new layout.

More posts to come. Soon.

Labels: New Look

I debated about writing about this...

My summer was shaped by the untimely passing of Michael Jackson. I had started my first week on the new job, which required me to go straight to the scene and be with the mourners. Asking them how they felt? What was it like to loose your icon?

But he was mine as well. In retrospect, I think I did a heck of a job having journo Gerrick on the forefront, although inside quiet as kept I too was distraught.

I spent my life influenced by Michael, something that every little black boy would be lying if they said they hadn't. My fondest memories was watching him in awe. Wanting to recreate the "Thriller" video. Learning the steps to "Remember the Time" and showing off to family members. Begging my parents to take me to his childhood home, they did and forever thats one of my favorite memories of them. They didn't know it then - but that was the coolest thing. To see where he was from. It gave me hope, at that very moment that I could be more than where I came from. Standing in front of that tiny house humbled me - and made me hungry for success.

I can go on and on of fond memories shaped by MJ. But the point is I realized I never had a moment to grieve the loss of my childhood, and the loss of his life. All he wanted was this show, this one last chance to show the world, the naysayers, the haters, those people who spent all summer speculating, doubting he still had it. This was it. This was that moment. Sitting through the movie I felt tears sting my face. I finally had my moment to grieve the man who inspired my love of music and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I fully understood what Elvis meant to so many, what John Lennon meant to so many, hell what Tupac meant.

I used to think the passing of Aaliyah would take the cake of musician deaths that rocked my life. But there wasn't the same magnitude there. Of course her death was tragic, no doubt about it. But I didn't grow up transfixed by her. That came later, when I had already proclaimed MJ as theee man. Her death shook me, and each August - for a moment I feel the sadness in my heart.

It felt like that day in June when I had to interview fan after fan, this time they were waiting to see his last performance. But there was a difference. I saw people just there for the excitement, I could be holding a gun to their head and they couldnt name ten songs. I looked around for that little black boy waiting to see the man on screen that they admired at home. I guess I was looking for me.

As I watched him dance - God those moves, like magic - and I heard that voice - so boyish, yet strong, powerful. I realized this moment was only for those that deserved to witness his talents. And lets face it, more than half of the people in the theater don't deserve to share in the moment. More people will turn out to see "This is It" hoping to see a freakshow, hoping to see him fall, flub is lyrics, need help. That wasn't there.

But what was there, was sheer magic. And each June from now on, I'll feel a sadness in my heart, and then I'll pop in the DVD and remember just what he was. And hell I'm not too old to bring back those moves I learned from him. But I'll keep that to myself.

Labels: Fandom

At first I loved my apartment...

I had a killer view (which of course meant an inflated rent). I was close to Hollywood and close to downtown so it made the morning commute to work golden.

To bad that fairy tale only lasted so long before the REAL Koreatown exposed its grimy little self for all to see.

One, the people are a little unnecessary. I'm a pretty nice guy, but I can only take so many crummy drivers and my personal favorite - the vultures. Koreatown vultures are terrible drivers who follow you closely - within an inch everywhere you go, and because they are inept drivers the sit and idle on streets and wait for cars to leave before they pull in. They are the reason we should all be retested. Just saying.

I've never had an issue with all things foreign. I mean I love trying new foods and embracing new cultures. But, this is awkward, its not exactly a two way street in Ktown...which um, yeah. Weird right? Needless to say it only takes me a few times to go to your stores and restaurants before I realize you aren't going to freshen up on your English skills and that if you yell at me i understand you. Nooooooooooo you yelling just makes me want to punch you in your throat.

Over time I realized Koreatown just isn't for me. There are no hip, cool bars for me to knock back a few beers (ones that I can pronounce and that were crafted in one of three countries). There is definitely no good shopping, and that is unnecessarily unfortunate. There are no trendy stores for me to get new threads and I'm sorrrrrry but brightly colored shirts in sizes no bigger than xtra small and hello kitty paraphernalia DOES NOT MAKE A TRENDY CLOTHES STORE.

So goodbye Koreatown.

I hate your congested roads.
Your annoying signs I can't read.
Your mean neighbors who steal.
Your abundance of stray cats.
And most of all, your trainwreck of a parking situation.

Labels: Epic Fail

The recent anniversary of my parents reminded me of something...

My folks have been married for 11 years and to be frank I'm jealous.

As hell.

Yes, I'm jealous of my parents. They have each other and they love each other. And THAT is what I'm looking for. I'm only 22, but I feel like the clock is kicking. Now, I'm not saying I'm ready for holy matrimony and all that good stuff but at least the cheesy stuff - someone to call and see how my day went at work.

Someone I can go the movie house with and catch a picture show.

Someone to go to a sock hop with.

Someone to share a milkshake with and argue over what to play next in the jukebox. All old school references aside. I want someone to add to my life. Right now coming home to two cats ain't cutting it.

I actually think it's to the point where it might not happen for me. And maybe I need to lower my standards. Beyonce certainly didn't help, and yeah I've shucked and jived my single ass to the beat of her year long anthem. But it gets to the point where enough is enough. No longer do I want to pretend like I'm not lonely around these parts. Hell I've watched enough romantic comedies to buy into that shit.

Sooooo I'm on a quest. I'm scouring LA for a suitable mate. And of course because I love making fun of myself along the way I plan on detailing every minute on my quest. To take a line from B I'm looking for someone "that makes me, then takes me/And delivers me to a destiny, to infinity and beyond/Pull me into your arms/Say I’m the one you want."

This is gonna be a mess.

Labels: Single in the city

So I have to admit something…

When I first moved to LA, I thought my food habits would die – mainly my fast food habits, which are terrible.

I had this image in my mind that because all I was seeing on television were skinny, beautiful people there was no way anyone was shoving McDonalds, Burger King or KFC down their throats.

But what I was most worried about wasn’t if skinny bitches was eating it, it was if this fat boy could! Would I not be able to find them? Would I have to leave Hollywood and go to Fat Central for some grub? Would I … wait for it … give up the greasy stuff? Would this mean a life without my two fav destinations: Taco Bell and White Castle?

Sadly this was half true. The latter is no where in California other than my grocers freezer which is

NOT THE SAME AT ALL ONE FREAKIN BIT NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES LOSERS TELL ME SUCH ONLINE.

As for Taco Bell. I could get shot in the foot for saying this, but Taco Bell is magically delicious. In fact it’s the best taco. Period. No argument. So many people would tell me how great the tacos were out here and how there are great ones everywhere. Well they are true. I can take a leak out my window and hit a taco truck. I can throw a stone from my car and it would land on a taco stand. I could – you get it, there are a lot of taco places out here.

I’m just not impressed. Sorry. I don’t like the real thing. I’m not even in the least bit ashamed to admit. As opposed to eating a real, genuine, authentic taco. I’d much rather eat its bastardized step cousin. Sorry but that damn Chihuahua (God rest his precious lil soul) was onto something. Taco Bell is fucking fabulous.

Now to get over my fat boy wounds of not having a White Castle (which I fully intend on binge eating on when I visit the Midwest) I wanted to discover new – equally tasty fast food joints. I didn’t think my heartbreak would end so fast. But the second I sunk my teeth into a double/double (animal style of course) from Inn-N-Out I heard an angel sing from heaven. I kid you not.

It didn’t end there.

Jack In the Box (OMGee).

Del Taco (Not as fabulous as Taco Bell).

Wienerschnitzel (It’s derlicious!!)

El Pollo Loco(the Mexican Popeyes)!!!!

Carl’s Jr. (Its Hardee’s no matter how hard they try)

My tastebuds had arrived to the mecca of fattening, no good for you, fried, dipped, wrapped and sauce laden deliciousness. And for that, I like California just a little bit more.

Labels: Derlicious, So yeah

Out of all my dislikes about Los Angeles this has to be my #1 pick…

The drivers in this city drive me crazy. SO much so that I wish my horn was a gun. I know that’s a bit intense. But after a few months living here it’s very necessary. Very.

What I love most are the drivers who are extremely inpatient. Imagine this. You’re on a four lane road waiting to turn left. Typically in most rational cities there would be a little green arrow – just for you…not always the case in sunny LA. So there you sit, waiting. Mr. And Mrs. Assholeface are behind you honking for you to go. Now, I know you’re thinking, “But traffic is oncoming in the opposite direction!” Why, yes it is. These dumb asses in this city actually expect you to jump out in traffic, get hit just so they can go around you, give you the finger and make their way to Pinkberry.

My next love is what I like to call “riding my ass until I go bonkers.” Apparently 35 mph on a street really means 50 mph and if you aren’t going fast enough for Joe Blow he gets right up on your ass and trails you about an inch away until you’re so flustered you speed up. Well not me. I’m king of the road rage assholes. After I had to perform a quick, but courteous brake check on this turd one evening he decided to follow me. Why? Not too sure considering I could be bat shit crazy and have a gun. So I decided to scare him a little. On the closest street I pulled up right along side of him and I lowered my window and the said the following (excuse the sailor language).

“What the fuck is your fucking problem, asshole.” You see adding the asshole at the end was more powerful than saying fucker because I’d already used two allotments of the F word. That’s all you’re allowed in the Rage language (a mixture of f bombs, ridiculous yelling, and often times spitting – but I think the latter is gross and can get you pummeled).

With the bass in my voice, and lets face it the blackness of my skin. The guy (who was a small white guy speed off). This gave me new ammunition. All I have to do is show these crazy drivers that I mean business!

But, what do I say to bus drivers – who in my opinion are THEE worst drivers in LA. Bar none. They straddle two lanes, get over unexpectedly and my favorite they run you off the road – especially those big ones with the middle that looks like an accordion. I hate those damn things. I hate them so much I hope they all break down over night – or blowup (not while people are in them of course). The roads would be much better.

Until that happens I have one hell of a filthy mouth…

Labels: Misadventures