DRINKING IN L.A. — HALLOWEEN IN HOLLYWOOD

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a town specializing in entertainment and make-believe throws down pretty frickin' hard-core when Halloween comes rolling around. Seriously, these people are sick. I don't think I can keep up. Nor do I think I want to.

DRINKING IN L.A. — SWAG BAG

You know who loves getting free stuff? I love getting free stuff. Join me now as I take a walk down Free Stuff Memory Lane. It's in an up-and-coming community.

DRINKING IN L.A. — THE TRAVEL JUNKET

What happens when a movie studio spends a lot of money flying me out to a fabulous location to see their new movie and talk to the filmmakers? Certainly I can maintain my objectivity about said movie, right? Right? I mean, what am I? Some sort of whore who can be bought with truffle fries and in-room massages?

Yes. Yes, I am.

DRINKING IN L.A. — HUFFMAN'D!

We only have time for a quickie this week, so to make up for it, here's a look (or listen) at how certain stars of certain network shows about certain housewives who are desperate react when faced with an exhausted journalist. God, I'm petty.

DRINKING IN L.A. — POLANSKI!

Everybody else is talking about Roman Polanski, so why can't I? This week, I take a look at the hubbub surrounding Poland's favorite son — and how I can get a little piece of the action. Because the only thing worse than people talking about your 30-year-old rape conviction is people not talking about you.

DRINKING IN L.A. — CABIN FEVER

Hey, everybody! It's over 100˚ up in this mug we call Los Angeles, so I'm staying inside and finding ways to avoid writing. Fascinating, isn't it? I know I'm fascinated.

And Ms. Bell, if you're reading this, I'm sorry, really. That came out more aggressive than I intended. Please send me the dry cleaning bill.

DRINKING IN L.A. — DRINKING IN NEW YORK

This week, Ned is back in New York, visiting the Drink at Work head offices. Where there are adorable animals.

DRINKING IN L.A. — BURN BABY BURN!

This week, Ned locks himself in the closet to avoid the smoke and ash of the week-long Station Fire rampaging through the Angeles National Forest. We weren't doing anything with those 100,000 acres anyway.

Fun fact: Did you know L.A. has a "fire season"? It does! And yet not a single Dunkin' Donuts.

DRINKING IN L.A. — EMBARGO!

Sometimes, studios put out movies that they're not quite ready for anyone to talk about. So they get real secretive and start using terms usually reserved for discussions of trade relations with Caribbean Communist regimes. Because if there's anything Hollywood's great at, it's hyperbole.

This puzzles me, but then I'm easily puzzled these days. But at least I still get a free meal out of it.

DRINKING IN L.A. — FOOT TACO!

A funny thing happened on the way back from Montana. And by funny, I mean painful. And mobility-impairing. So check out this video while I go see if my Medicare will pay for a suped-up Jazzy to get around in. Reform!

DRINKING IN L.A. — GOE JOE!

This week in Hollywoodland, Ned takes a critical view of Paramount Pictures' decision to not screen "G.I. Joe" for critics before it opened. Topical! And topical is half the... wait, what? Oh, never mind.

Fake Rockstar's Guide to why we hate you

You make us procrastinate.

A totally unfounded accusation and we hate you all for it.

Words, Lies and Cheap Beers with Lime,

-FRS

DRINKING IN L.A. — REMAKING IT BIG

This week, check out Ned's re-imagining of the classic rant, "Hollywood is Out of Ideas." With the recent rash of remake and adaptation deals going on in the movie business, there's only one thing an aspiring screenwriter can do: pitch his own.

Included: a sneak peek at Ned's next cinematic masterpiece.

DRINKING IN L.A. — COMIC CON WRAP-UP

I spent five days in San Diego getting lost in a sea of stormtroopers and level-five mages, and all I have to show for it is this video.

DRINKING IN L.A. — A MESSAGE FROM SAD KLAUS

Posting a day early this week because Ned's heading down to Comic-Con, or "Nerd Prom," or "Hey, aren't there supposed to be comics here?" More on that next week. For now, more Sad Klaus.

DRINKING IN L.A. — ON NOT WRITING

This week, Ned takes a look at the writing life and the fine art of procrastination. PLUS! A special appearance by the adorable personification of Ned's insecurities, Sad Klaus! Hi, Sad Klaus!

DRINKING IN L.A. — THE KING IS DEAD

This week, it's off to the Michael Jackson memorial! Well... close to there, anyway.

DRINKING IN L.A. EXTRA: VIDEO POSTCARD

A message from Ned on how things have been going out west, as featured on the July 6 FindTheFunny show at the Bowery Electric in NYC.

THE NEW & IMPROVED DRINKING IN L.A.

Huzzah! Today's the day our "Drinking in L.A." column relaunches as a video series! Because reading is hard!

In our first installment, I take a look into where my time in Los Angeles has put me on the douche bag scale. Enjoy!

DRINKING IN LA: ENOUGH TO SHARE

I had a sobering experience at a junket recently. It was another big summer blockbuster look-see at a big fancy hotel that I won’t name (but it rhymes with Cleverly Stilton). While giving a studio rep my blurb, which I hope will read:

“Man, that was loud!”
—Ned Ehrbar, Street News

I noticed a stack of boxes in the corner, each stamped with the enticing word 'TOYS.' So I oh-so-casually inquired about said toys, only to be told that they were action figures for the movie. My eyes lit up — swag!

Now, I’m not saying we can be bought. OK, fine. That’s exactly what I’m saying. And sometimes, with these $100 million-plus summer event pictures, the studios feel the need to go beyond simply feeding us fancy catered lunches at five-star hotels. Sometimes they give us toys in the hopes it will improve our opinions of the movie and the actors involved. I didn’t create this system. I merely opted into it, so shouldn’t I be entitled to some free crap?

But it was for naught, as the young lady, who must’ve spotted my burgeoning enthusiasm, quickly cautioned, “Those are for the TV people coming tomorrow.” Son of a…

See, at the bigger junkets, which span days, they keep the print/radio/online Morlocks and the flashy TV Eloi separate. This is partly because they invite so many reporters, but it’s also down to a widely known fact that the studios treat the TV people better. Because really, they are better. We all know that. But you don’t have to rub it in my face.

To wit: At the same junket, the TV folks got a whole separate section of the hotel to work in, set like a futuristic bunker, with statues of big scary robots hanging around. What did the print press get? A free demo of the Xbox tie-in game. Not a copy of the game itself, just the chance to play it.

I mean listen, I know it seems pretty petty of me to whine about this stuff, but why the hell am I even in this dying profession if I still have to shell out for Christmas presents every year like a normal schmuck? You want good press? Well I want a goddamn action figure. Is that so much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awkward as that sounds.

DRINKING IN LA: BIKINI SEASON

(My apologies for the delay in posting this week. You see, Monday was a bank holiday in England, and yesterday was Cinco de Mayo, so… You get the idea. But I’m back! So let’s commence with the squinting.)

It’ll come as a shock to exactly no one that this town is a body-conscious town. For true, yo. In L.A., they set the standard for how bad the rest of the country is supposed to feel about their big bones. And you know what? Between putting off trips to the gym to write and spending more working days at fancy hotels with fancy build-your-own-Belgian-waffle-bar breakfast spreads, I’ve gotten a little… what’s the word? Unthin. I’ve been unthinning.

So while I’ve been trying to do something about that, I’ve also been talking to professionally attractive people about how they stay unfat. Or rather, I’ve been doing interviews for big summer movies, which involve a lot of “physicality” (read: no fatties), and somehow I keep ending up in the same press conferences as reporters from fitness magazines.

Here are some gems for you: Megan Fox actually had to gain weight for “Transformers 2” because Michael Bay likes his women “curvy.” And another actress (what? I talk to a lot of them) finds the whole idea of people in gyms “unnatural.” Yeah? Well I find your natural lack of cellulite unnatural. So there.

Listening to the professionally hot discuss diet and exercise just makes me feel like that 250-pound woman I saw at Disney Land, puttering around on a Jazzy, morosely gnawing on a churro, staring ahead blankly, unable to find even the meekest whisper of joy in a delicious Mexican sugar baton in the Happiest Place on Earth.

Man, I could really go for a churro right now.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awkward as that sounds.

DRINKING IN LA: LATE EDITION

The past week has been a study in excess, between the parade of well-catered junkets for blockbusters and the visit to a very special exhibit (more on that in a sec).

Apparently, the studios really like to put on show for their summer movies. I now have a lovely “Wolverine”-branded hat and T-shirt ensemble, for the inevitable day this week when I really want to let people at the gym know what’s opening Friday.

For the new “Star Trek,” they even held a reception before the press screening complete with dinner and an open bar. Waiters offered as many “Star Trek” cocktails — piña coladas with green food coloring in martini glasses — as we could drink. Only two-thirds alcohol! And they even let me take my bourbon into the theater. But none of that has any bearing whatsoever on my opinion that the movie is freaking awesome. None at all.

And today I got to learn all about another Big! Summer! Movie! For fear of studio publicity Google alerts, I won’t name names, so let’s just call the director Dr. Boom. He screened some never-before-seen footage of his latest quiet, thoughtful period piece, but only after making sure we knew how much he didn’t want to. “What a coincidence,” one of the European reporters seated near me muttered. “We don’t want to see it.”

But hey, free food.

But perhaps the best — and creepiest/saddest — exploration of excess came last week, when I visited Michael Jackson’s garage sale, an exhibition of possessions that were set to be auctioned off before he came into some money and put a stop to the whole thing. BUT! The auction house still got to put them on display for a little while so that we could all bask in the glory of a man whose tastes range from chintzy antiques to creepy statues of children. Seriously, the light fixtures on the tour bus were even little naked boys. Anyway, here’s just a taste of the chintz:

His garden was filled with lots of frozen frolicking children:


He had original artwork by Macaulay Culkin, who's not really famous for his artwork:


Hey, look! A People's Choice Award!


Anyway, you can check out the whole shebang here, if ye dare.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awkward as that sounds.

DRINKING IN LA: THE COMING TWEENPOCALYPSE

It’s springtime in Los Angeles, which apparently means two things: 95-degree weather in April and marketing blitzes for Big Summer Movies. It’s never too early to get people excited about Hugh Jackman’s muttonchops.

While at one recent press screening for a teen- and tween-heavy movie, I was lucky enough to sit in front of a pair of portly, slouched middle-aged men and listen as they discussed teenage flesh. But don’t worry, it’s totally cool. They’re agents.

More specifically, they’re child actor agents, that odd brand of talent rep covering a very unique end of the industry, where the soul crushing operates on a much more potent level.

The way they discussed their quarries was illuminating, if disturbing. As they greeted each other, one asked if the other “had anyone” in the movie.

“One of the Wonderbras,” the other agent replied. I couldn’t help but notice the embarrassed blush on the 15-year-old client he’d brought along to the screening. (Probably as some sort of tutorial: “See, Dakota? See what happens when you wear the low-slung top to the open call?”) But don’t worry, she’ll lose that obnoxious sense of propriety soon enough.

The other agent started pitching the twin sister of the boy he’d brought with him. “She’s little and pudgy, but really funny. Great eyes. And, you know, ethnic.”

At one point one of them mentioned thinking about “bringing another kid out here,” as if referencing some sort of Christian Child Actor’s Fund. (“For just the price of a Pinkberry and a mobile texting plan a day, you can make sure little Madison gets the auditions she so desperately needs. Once you sponsor a child actor, we’ll send you a headshot, a list of skills and a parental emancipation application. With your help, no more precocious triple-threats will have to languish in the squalor of the Midwest.”)

But the most illuminating part of the evening was when they began discussing in great detail the upcoming L.A. area high school theater season. The aforementioned blusher sitting with her agent had blown everyone away last month in “Into the Woods,” after all. But the production of “Wicked” going up in Toluca Lake is supposed to be gangbusters.

And you thought your high school drama department was intense. Imagine having these guys in the audience. Because they’re coming to every show at every high school. Trust me. I had to listen as they listed them all.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awkward as that sounds.”

I’ve been spending a lot of time for various reasons at landmarks or sorts, some famous the world over, others only famous to people who care about fancy Hollywood crap like me. (See? I admit it. I care.) Landmarks like the Four Seasons Hotel, and the Beverly Hilton, and the… well, luxury hotels mostly. What can I say? I love a good lobby ballroom.

But yesterday, I found myself accepting a last-minute invitation to the landmark to end all landmarks in California: Disney Land. The last and only time I’d been to the Happiest Place on Earth was my freshman year of college when, hours after returning from spring break and in the midst of an ambitious drug detox, my friends woke me at 8 a.m., threw me in the car and drove me to Anaheim. I proceeded to have a first-class freak-out in Toon Town. That place is just… yikes.

This time around I was more in my right mind, and an early morning rainstorm that scared away a lot of other visitors had given way to a lovely, breezy day. Smaller crowds meant shorter lines, meaning more time on the Mountain triumvirate of Space, Splash and Thunder. And this time I got to see the oddity that is California Adventure, built since my last visit. It’s a theme park about all the great things you could do in California! If only you were there! Oh… wait.

Visiting with an insider gives you great perspective, like now I know that California Adventure cost about $1 billion to build, and now, just a few years later, they’re spending another billion to fix it. Because it needs fixing. At least thematically. BUT! California Adventure is the one area that serves booze, so there’s always that.

By far the most delightful discovery of the day came in the safety video for Star Tours, a "Star Wars"-themed ride where you board a shuttle for some Lucas-sanctioned vacation. In the video, when they get to the part about no flash photography, a kid takes a picture of Chewbacca sitting behind him. Everyone freaks out. Blink and you’ll miss Admiral Ackbar, that pillar of leadership and grace under fire, raising his arm to strike the child. Awesomeness.

(Also, the ride itself features your shuttle — which inexplicably has guns mounted on the front — helping out in the destruction of the Death Star. So, you might not make it to your final destination, but you still get to help kill hundreds of thousands of government employees.)

And the least delightful discovery? Outside the “It’s a Small World” ride, they play the damn song on a loop. They don’t even have the decency to wait until you’re inside to torture you with it. Or at least to set up a bar nearby. That’s just cruel.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awful as that sounds.”

Drinking in L.A.

Time passes differently out here in California. Maybe it’s the adjusting to a new place to live, maybe it’s the perpetual Spring weather, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since I left New York, and yet last week Paul Rudd was a guest on “the Daily Show” for the second time since I’ve been here. Which means either it has actually been quite a while, or Rudd is a workhorse when it comes to publicity.

Hell, I’ve barely even worked through my State of California Welcome Kit, which consists of a GPS unit, a bottle of self-tanner and a coupon for laser hair removal. Of course, with the budget crisis, I’ve heard the 2009 kits are just a box full of shredded Lionsgate stock and a note saying, “IOU one Welcome Kit. Stay black, Arnold.”

But the pace out here is seriously slower, which is unsettling at first. But then you get used to it, and suddenly your whole day can be nothing more than staring at the mountains in the distance for a while, stopping at Trader Joe’s and meeting a friend for coffee. But so long as you and that friend come to some sort of vague agreement about some half-conceived “project” you’re both “passionate” about, you get a great sense of accomplishment.

And this week, I’m very much looking forward to forcing that lackadaisical sense of semi-purpose on some lovely New Yorkers I haven’t seen in far too long, including Sean and Carol. (Leaving Pandolph the sole soul minding the East Coast stores. Mind the whiskey, Limpy.)

As you might have heard, they’re in town for a brief-but-awesome L.A. run of Wake Up World. If you’re in L.A., and you can manage to shake yourself from your Del Taco-induced torpor, you must check it out. Get tickets here

Also, as a warning to my East Coast visitors: The bars close at 2 a.m. here. For serious. But I’ll save that rant for another week.

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awful as that sounds.”

Drinking in L.A.

Hi, everybody! Welcome to the first Drinking in L.A.,* a regular column chronicling my thoughts on this curious, sun-baked pseudo-city that the public radio station I listen to calls “the cultural capitol of the world.” And without a hint of irony, at that!

Now, New Yorkers moving to L.A. and telling anyone who will listen how gee-golly different things are out here is nothing new, and I believe everyone’s heard all the usual complaints and observations about this place, so I’ll try to avoid talking about traffic, sunshine and a general lack of Dunkin’ Donuts. (They swear there’s one opening soon! Somewhere! Probably in the Valley!) But I’m still new here, so you’ll have to forgive me if every once in a while I openly lament my bagel-less existence.

So, what’s been going on? Well…

I’ve spent the past few days skulking around the inaugural L.A. Comedy Shorts Festival , where they’ve been screening tons of films that I haven’t managed to see and throwing parties every night. So, you know, free booze! It was all based out of a theater in Downtown L.A., which is the nameless city in any movie you've ever seen not filmed in Toronto.

Plus, the Fest starts each day with some seminars (and free coffee), where I get to sit, hung over (thanks, free booze!), in plush stadium seating while folks from Atom.com, Atomic Wedgie and Funny or Die wax poetic about the future of comedy.

And what did I learn? The formula for a guaranteed-successful web short is this: Big boobs + personal injury + cute animals + music = record traffic. So get to work, boys. Your big-breasted kitten doing the “Single Ladies” dance until it steps on a rake isn’t going to shoot itself.

There were also some informative lectures on how to get industry attention. Apparently, the trick is to be talented and put everything you do online. The agents and managers will find you! Stop calling already! And at the “Famous People Talkin’ About Sh*t” panel (their censorship, not mine), I got to watch Sean Astin and Regina King bond over shopping at Target, Aisha Tyler talk smack about Jaime Foxx and Mindy Sterling complain about not getting recognized. Also: Laraine Newman looks fantastic.

Man, one column in and I’m already name-dropping. Sorry about that. But the Fest was a blast, and I'm sorry I didn't get to see more of it. By the end of the weekend, I was so wiped from Daylight Savings, bite-size Luna bars and positive-ion water that I didn't even make it to the closing night gala, where Tom "SpongeBob" Kenny presented Bobcat Goldthwait with a lifetime achievement award and apparently Mark Hamill showed up. Now that's some name-dropping I can get behind.

See you next week!

* The title is taken from the sole single from one of the greatest albums of all time, Bran Van 3000’s “Glee.”

“Drinking in L.A.” is Ned Ehrbar’s weekly look at life as a bleary-eyed East Coast refugee in sunny Southern California. You can see Ned’s other work here, and you’re more than welcome to follow him on Twitter, as awful as that sounds.