THE SITE OF JUSTIN SHADY + WAYNE CHINSANG
Boy does it ever,
Hasta la beasta,
You ignore what you see everyday,
I forgot to post this last week… mostly because I spent most of last week drunk.
Our good friends Roxy (top middle) and Clifford (top left) came into L.A. from Cologne and Beijing (respectively) to work the AFM (American Film Market) for THR (The Hollywood Reporter). (PARENTHESIS!)
Before last week, we had only hung out and partied with these guys in Berlin and Cannes. Without fail, those evenings ended in two categories: late and drunk.
I thought L.A. would be different. I was wrong.
They got in on Monday and immediately wanted to go drinking. I ended up sleeping all day Tuesday. Literally, all day Tuesday. Roxy and Clifford, somehow, got up and went to work. I’m convinced they are androids.
Saturday night, we met up with them at a bar around 10PM. By 2AM, the owners were yelling at us to, “…seriously, leave already.”
I love these guys—and can’t wait to see them both again in February when KB and I head back to Berlin for a fourth time—but I don’t think my liver would’ve survived if they had stuck around L.A. for one more day.
Shady: “Hanging with you guys is so much fun! Let’s drink more!”
Shady’s Liver: “Fuck you guys. Go home already.”
So excited (and yet, dreading) Berlin,
Back when I was living in Columbus, Ohio my friends and I started a quote wall. Whenever a bit of brilliance (or otherwise) poured out of someone’s mouth, somebody would yell “Quote!” thus nominating it for Quote Board status. The quote then had to be seconded by someone (it almost always was), and then it would be written down to be forever immortalized on the Quote Board.
This is the modern day equivalent of that classic piece of my past.
Kathy: “Would you wear this?”
Kathy hands Justin her phone, which has this photo on it:
Kathy: “You wouldn’t? Why not?”
Justin: “Because I’m not Angela Lansbury.”
- Justin, 11/11/14
Fashion murder she wrote,
You may remember this, which detailed that move.
Anyway, nine years later, in July 2003, I moved out of Columbus.
Before last month, I had only been back to Columbus twice since 2003: once to give a lecture about Tastes Like Chicken at my alma mater (CCAD), and another time when I was passing through on my way to Pennsylvania.
Oddly enough, that last time was in October 2008, and I was going to Pennsylvania to celebrate the recent marriage of my good friend Jamie and her new husband Dave.
Last month, I returned to Columbus a third time (in 11 years… holy crap) because Jamie and Dave (who are now expecting their first child) threw what would prove to be a memorable (and epic) reunion party.
Old friends, some of whom I’ve known for over two decades, came from all over the country to celebrate food, friendship, and a little bit of fire.
We kicked shit off right at Thurman Cafe. Oh, sweet baby Jesus… I’ve missed you.
After a day of prep (to be read: a shitload of drinking to cope with our Thurman-induced food comas), we kicked off October 11th with a stop at Young’s Jersey Dairy, the farm we spent our first pumpkin picking at in October 1994.
There are three people in this photo who were also there on that first outing 21 years ago: John Marshall (first guy on the far left), Bryan Loar (fourth guy from the right), and yours truly (idiot wearing the bright-as-fuck orange pants all the way on the right).
Three-quarters of the original 206 Crew reunited (We miss you, Special K!)…
…who pretty much look like slightly older (and in my case, balder) versions of these three kids from December 1994.
Later, we were joined by a second-semester 206 Crew member: the Goon!
So many folks showed up! I love each and every one of them dearly.
We quickly fell into our old hijinks… which, for some reason, usually involve farts.
Before I left, a few of us ventured over to 886 N. Dennison Avenue, which (from 1999 to 2003) was famously known as “The Coop.” The two windows on the left of the second floor look into my old bedroom. This is also the building where Tastes Like Chicken was born.
I experienced so many amazing moments in this building…
…and I experienced all of them with these two guys: Milan and Brett, my fellow original members of the Coop Crew.
The last time we were together was at Brett and Marci’s wedding in September 2005. Before then, one of the last times we were together was in this photo, which was shot on the front steps of the Coop near the end of June 2003, just before we moved to Milwaukee, and Brett moved up to Cleveland.
When we were living at the Coop, our good friend Michelle lived right next door at 888 N. Dennison.
Michelle and I returned to reenact our neighborly feud (which never really existed). Thankfully, no one was home at the time; that, or they just wondered why some old strangers were snooping around and taking photos on their back porch. Either way, this photo made it all worth it.
Back in the day, Milan had a habit of “tagging” Michelle’s apartment. He would write “WALL” on her walls, or “FISH TANK” on her, you guessed it, fish tank. One day, he wrote “MICHELLE” on the ledge outside her window.
It’s still there.
We stopped next door and visited (and smoked a filterless Lucky Strike with) our old friend Eddie (who famously gave us this shotgun as a going-away present when we moved out of Columbus)…
…and his sweet wife Rose.
Before it all ended, a group of us met for lunch at Katalina’s for Nutella-filled pancake balls and thick-cut bacon.
As Jamie drove Michelle and me to the airport, we made our way through downtown one last time. The city looks completely different than it did when I left 11 years ago, but somehow it still feels exactly the same.
It was such a great weekend. Seriously, it was one of the top-three events of my life, right up there with our wedding on October 30th, 2011, and my surprise birthday party on September 3rd, 2006.
Sure, the food and booze helped, but it was the friends (who are family), the laughter, and the love that made the weekend so amazing.
The bathroom walls in Katalina’s are covered in chalkboard paint; sitting in a tray beside the sink are sticks of chalk, which everyone is encouraged to use.
And I do.
Let’s do it again… soon,
I know it might seem like I sit at home all day long, drinking whiskey and updating The Blarg, but the truth is I spend much of my day writing.
Lately, most of that writing has been on long-form projects, like screenplays, teleplays, detailed pitches, and (those ever-dreaded) rewrites. The shortest of these projects come in around 30 pages; the longest ones top out around 120.
Because of this, I sometimes take an hour or so to write a short comedic sketch (between one to ten pages) to break up the monotony of those more long-form projects. Over the past couple years I’ve written about a bunch of them; but while they’re fun to write as an exercise, nobody ever really gets to read them.
So to remedy this, I’ve decided to put them out there for everyone to read. I’m doing this for two reasons:
1. I like to share! That, and it’s better than having them sit on my hard drive until I’m dead.
2. It’s my hope that someone out there might be inspired to actually do something with them. Want to film it as a short? Awesome. Interested in animating it? Go for it. Feel like performing it onstage somewhere? I double-dog dare you. All I ask is that you give me credit where it’s due, and (if possible) send me a copy of the final product to check out. I’ll even put it up on The Blarg to share with the four people who visit my site. Hi, Ted Cruz!
The fourteenth of Shady’s Shorts is called “Awake.”
Download it by clicking below.
The man, World War II vet Arnold Abbott, is a homeless advocate who dishes out food numerous times a week in public spaces to those in need.
A true felon, obviously.
Anyway, Abbott’s insane arrest was not only justified, but also doubled down on by Fort Lauderdale Mayor John P. “Jack” Seiler, who defended the arrest by saying, “the experts have all agreed, if you’re gonna simply feed ‘em outdoors, to get ‘em from breakfast, to lunch, to dinner, you’re enabling that cycle of homelessness.”
Because of this, I sent Mayor Seiler an email calling him a dirtbag. Literally.
And he replied again.
Here it is in all its glory. Read from the bottom up.
If you feel like sending this dirtbag an email of your own, click here.
Fuck Mayor Seiler and Fort Lauderdale,