NeighborGuardie's Blue Table Report #2

Hello, Scumbags!

Guardie here lettin' ya know that the new machines are 'ere. Looks like they took Street Cleanin' to a whole new level. YAAHHAHHAHHAHAHA!



Anyway, by the time Jeff comes back from Infectin' the East, the NeighborGoodies Table should be up an' runnin!

Guardie over an out!

East Coast NeighborGoodies!

As you know, I'm on a road trip while the NeighborGoodies Laundry Room is under construction.

Last night, while at my friend Aaron's apartment building in New York City, he took me down to the basement where the people in his building have their own version of NeighborGoodies!

They usually place things on and around this makeshift wooden cart, which will give you splinters if you get to close...


Last night's NYC Goodies featured a Snoopy Snow Cone Machine, precariously perched upon a pipe above the wood:


This Snoopy Snow Cone Machine is in great shape and seems to have all its pieces...


...but I still wouldn't want to consume anything that was made from it, no matter how catchy it's 1980's jingle was:

Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine (1982) - Commercial

Also available on East Coast NeighborGoodies...

...this wire shelf--which was gone before we woke up this morning. Apparently, NeighborGoodies are popular on every coast!

In other news, you'll be happy to know that our NeighborGuardie reports that the Blue Table is still hanging in the laundry room, so it looks as though the NeighborGoodies will resume in a few days--and I won't have ot move to NYC to keep up the tradition! (Although it's nice to know there are options...)

NeighborGuardie's Blue Table Report #1

Hey, scumbags. This is Ol’ Guardie comin’ atchya from NeighborGoodies Central. I’m keepin’ an eye on things while Jeff is out carousin’ with his hooligan friends during this ‘ere “Upgrade.” Wouldn’t want any varmints comin’ in and removin’ our blue fun table, eh? If they try that, they gonna have ME to answer to—and I got a strong background in “persuasion” if ye catch my drift. YAHAHAHAHHAAHAHA!







So far, things is goin’ pretty slowly. All the machines are out of the laundry room an’ in the parkin' garage:

The Blue Table is still hangin’ in there...

...but ain't nobody gettin' into (or out of! Yahahhahha!) the laundry room 'cept me, so no one’s leavin’ any of their crap around.

I’ll keep you posted on the progress while Jeff is busy infecting the east.

The Road Trip Begins

While the NeighborGoodies Laundry Room is under construction, I am on a road trip! Come check it out at EastInfection2008.blogspot.com

okbye.

NeighborGuardie

A memo went out this week in the apartment building stating that the laundry room (home of the NeighborGoodies!) will be closed for a week as they upgrade it. Apparently, they will be making it even more luxurious than ever before with new floors, new paint... and new machines!

Since there will be no NeighborGoodies for an entire week (!!), I have decided to use this time to take my annual impromptu road trip, which will begin on Monday! (Feel free to follow my progress during East Infection 2008!!)

During this Luxury Upgrade, it is my sincere hope that the NeighborGoodies table stays safe and sound. Luckily, I found this little guy hanging around:

I like him because he looks as though he's the Guardian of the NeighborGoodies. His no-nonsense, gun-toting stance clearly indicates that he will shoot anyone dead if they try to remove the NeighborGoodies table during this improvement project. Judging by his weapon, trench coat and attitude, I believe we can rest assured that he will do all he can to protect our rights as NeighborGoodies Enthusiasts.

And so, I leave the Luxury of the Hollywood Hills comforted by the fact that there is an armed NeighborGuardie watching over the Big Blue Table--he will be our eyes, ears and blogger while I'm gone, so if anything should happen--we're in good hands.

By The Seat of Your Pants

Today, we’ve got a couple of decent looking dining room chairs:

These firm, sturdy and, dare I say, handsome seats look to be in pretty good shape. (And, as you know, I’m well-versed in The art of Chair-ery.)

The fact that there’s practically no wear on these items means one of three things:

A: The NeighborGooder was meticulous about chair care while in use in their luxurious home in the Hollywood Hills.

B: Someone purchased them specifically for a Very Important Meeting at the NeighborGoodies Table, and left them there upon completion of Said Meeting.

Or C: The chairs sat empty in the NeighborGooder’s apartment for years, serving as a reminder that no matter how many seats you have in your home, no one will sit in them if they hate you.

Each day, those chairs would sit beneath the dining room table, where a popular person would host dinner parties and game nights... and Oh! how the chairs would wish for an ass to perch upon them! Now, through the miracle that is the NeighborGoodies Table, one of the asses in my building will be able to fulfill this furniture’s lifelong dream..

And wouldn’t that ass look incredible in these Sexy Jeans?

From Emale Industry’s Denim Division…

…these jeans are just lying on the table, likely full of poo (why else would you discard a pair of jeans?) just waiting for someone to take them. There's always something creepy to me about used jeans, and I can't quite put my finger on it. It may be because of the time my roommate and I were walking around somewhere in Hollywood with one of the asses from the building, and we stumbled upon a pair of filthy Diesel jeans laying on someone’s front lawn—with a pair of underwear still inside.

You just know that whatever the events were that lead to those jeans being on the lawn, it wasn't pretty. So you can imagine how revolting it was when The Ass went over to the discarded jeans… and picked them up. My roommate and I recoiled in horror as The Ass jumped around excitedly with the dirty denim in his hands. He was psyched because they were Diesel Jeans—in his size! He let the briefs (which, I think it is safe to assume, were soiled) drop to the ground and brought the jeans with us, despite our protests: “You’re going to get feces in the car!”

“They’re Diesel!” he cried, “These things are expensive!”

So is treatment for Hepatitis, ass.

Weirdly, we stopped going to his apartment after that. Hmm... Come to think of it, those chairs do look kinda familiar...

Good Time Women

Housewives and gay men everywhere love Martha Stewart. I personally don't see the appeal, as I find her a little bit... forceful with her unique brand of OCD.

For example, if you are in the studio audience for her syndicated talk show, you might be treated to a piece of swag with the "MARTHA" logo on it. Most shows will hand you a balled up t-shirt that you'd stick in your pocket or massive 1980's purse:

...but when you go to see Martha, she passively aggressively suggests that you fold it neatly, her way, by attaching the Martha-approved: "How to Fold a T-shirt" instruction manual to each of her gifts:
Her entire empire seems to be based upon the motto "Do it my way, or fail!" Anyone foolish enough to unwrap the t-shirt in front of her will immediately be seized and placed in a brainwashing chamber filled with Lemon Pledge fumes and reruns of Martha Stewart Living until she becomes a t-shirt folding , cupcake decorating housewife zombie.

I hesitate to think what Martha might do if she saw the stained NeighborGoodies table, in all its unfolded T-shirt glory:

Whatever her reaction, I can guarantee it will not be good times.

We Might Just Make it After All. . .

Cloris Leachman gave me the finger last week.

It was right after Betty White faux-flashed me.

Well, not just me... but me and my friend Erin. And about 598 other spectators as well. We were at the Academy of TV Arts and Sciences (The Emmy People) watching Betty get honored for her sixty years in television.

It was quite a spectacle. The still-sharp & hilarious 86 year-old Betty White was joined by dozens of special guests, including every single regular cast member from The Mary Tyler Moore Show (Except, of course, for Ted Knight, who is previously engaged... what with being dead and all).

Photo snagged from seriouslyomg. See more Here!

The stories they told were incredible and it reminded me of why I wanted to work in television in the first place.

And then I discovered this set of Production Binders on the NeighborGoodies Table, which reminded me of why I almost left television altogether:


On the middle binder, you'll note this logo--which made me shout out in unbridled terror:

You see, when I first moved to the Hollywood Hills, I worked on a lot of crappy shows.... including the first two years of the abortion that is the World Stunt Awards (WorSt Awards for short!) Basically, it's an awards show for stunt people. But it's much, much more than that. It is a nightmare from which I will never recover.

The first year I did it, I was a Production Coordinator, which is to say I had to do pretty much everything that no one else wanted to do. I was terrible at it, and it was the first time in my career that I failed at a job.

To be fair, show was cursed... By the end of it, there were 7 (seven!) non-stunt people with broken limbs of one sort or another (including the receptionist who fell down the stairs), one guy wound up in rehab, two audience members got hit in the heads with swords. A partial list of my own traumas include a broken car, a car accident (in a different vehicle), a near-beheading by a ninja, a run-in with a pissed off tiger and the decision of the owners of the first apartment I lived in kicking everyone in the building out in order to remodel (which, to be fair, led me to the apartment with the NeigbhorGoodies table. But I was still mad at the time.)

The universe was finding new and intricate ways to fuck me and everyone else involved in this show. Even Arnold Schwarzenegger got into the act and stole a giant box of cookies from me. (If you really need to know this story, check out my post on All Bitched Up about it.)

Oh, and did I mention that one of our crew guys up and died two days before the shoot? Because that happened, too. And we all kind of envied him.

It was--for a while--the most heinous experience of my career. (Until I worked on an even more piss-poor pile of poo once referred to as a "Big Bunch of Who Cares," which overtook the record as The Worst Show In The History of Everything sometime in 2005.)

Anyway, the WorSt Awards proved brutal, and I almost didn't survive them. I've done all I can over the years to wash away the emotional scars... mostly with booze at the WorSt Awards after-parties (of which I attended several after my tenure with them was finished. After all, who am I to turn down free booze and hot stuntmen?)

Whoever left these production binders emptied them out pretty good, leaving only the menu for Jerry's Deli inside of one...

...and this "TALENT" sign on the other:


The saddest part about all this: I'm still rattled to the core by the sight of that Taurus Logo. And also, I'm pretty sure I know the dude who left these NeighborGoodies... and I'm pretty sure he also worked with me on the "Big Bunch of Who Cares."

If I make it to sixty years in television, it'll be a miracle... And I'm pretty sure no one will be celebrating my body of work. And if they do, I pray to God they forget about the Big Bunch of Who Cares.

Not the Brightest Bulb. . .

I found this lovely ceramic girl on the NeighborGoodies Table:


This graduation gift was likely meant for some daughter or granddaughter as she graduated from college--a token from a proud family for a job well done. After graduation, our hero--just as wide-eyed as her Hallmark purchased counterpart--packed up her worldly belongings and drove cross country to the Hollywood Hills to start Living the Dream!

As she unpacked, she immediately purged this useless item, which she clearly brought along only to avoid offending anyone by throwing it out locally. To her defense, what else are you supposed to do with an object like this once it is given? Display it with pride? Maybe... but for how long? How many people in their 30's or 40's still have a graduation reminders hanging around? Unless you're a doctor and your diploma is displayed in your office, the number is staggeringly low.

It seems like there's an entire industry out there which specializes in manufacturing things that no one anywhere could ever really need under any circumstances. Items such as ceramic graduates, things that say "Over The Hill," and, of course, anything made of wicker... like this bulbless lamp:

Nothing drives me quite as crazy as wicker. I never understood the appeal of it, but apparently someone, somewhere likes it, since it's been around since ancient Egypt. Maybe my intense dislike of it stems from when I was a child and my parents would make me go with them to "The Wicker Store." That's not its official name, but all they sold was wicker, and that's how my parents referred to it... And still do to this day. Apparently, their love affair with light-weight, uncomfortable furniture still hasn't waned 20 years later.

I remember being a little kid, sitting on the rough, woven furniture while my parents strolled the aisles of The Wicker Store Not only was I insanely bored, but I was also in severe pain as my 10 year old bony ass fell asleep while I whined, begged and pleaded for my parents to come to their senses and buy me some goddamned ice cream from the store across the street. By the time they were done, I could not feel lower body due to the Wicker Effect™, and I feared I would be crippled for life.

But people do love their wicker, as evidenced by the Wickerpedia: The Wicker Encyclopedia--a whole website dedicated to wicker and wicker culture. But apparently, college graduates are too smart for that. Or maybe her lamp was just broken. Lord knows they don't make wicker like they used to.

Oh wait. Yes they do.

Mayfair-well

The closest grocery store to my Luxurious Apartment in the Hollywood Hills happens to be the last Mayfair Market in the entire city. Once a popular and proud brand (Even The Brady's shopped there!) the Mayfair is now slowly being converted into a Gelson's.

The changes have been vast within the walls of the Mayfair as it preps for the rebranding. Gone are the standard grocery store conveyor belts at the checkout lanes. They've been replaced with tiny, boring, unmoving counters which force you to carry your products up until the customer in front of you is finished. You then hand your items over to the cashier, who removes them from your basket or cart, scans them and places them on the post-cashier conveyor belt.

The only real reason I can fathom for this change to the grocery store status quo is to add extra minutes to your time in front of the candy rack. The removal of the initial conveyor belt leaves you standing there for an extra 2-3 minutes per transaction with nothing to do, giving you more time to familiarize yourself with all the new Mentos products and candy bars displayed by the registers. Why else would you mess with a system that has worked since grocery stores were invented?

They also cut the space between you and the cashier in half, so you are right up in their grill, and they up in yours.

Suffice it to say, I hate the changes. And apparently, one of the NeighborGooders does as well, judging by this piece of clothing:

This chef's coat with the Gelson's logo emblazoned on the sleeve provides one of two theories: First, the NeighborGooder worked at the Mayfair and, when presented with his new Gelson's uniform, rightly took it home and promptly discarded it. Or more likely, one of the local NeighborGooders was fed up with the way his or her grocery store was being revamped, so they snapped, killed the butcher, assumed his identity, ground his body into hamburger patties then placed their victim's uniform on the NeighborGoodies table.

If for some reason you need to read more of my crankiness about this grocery store, head on over to All Bitched Up--a bitterly hilarious new complaint-driven blog that I contribute to. There, you'll be able to read about my run-in with a surly cashier at the market over the weekend.

Meanwhile, if I were you, I'd stick to the chicken at the Mayfair.

All Washed Up! (Or: Beach Blanket Found-o!)

NeighborGoodies is proud to give you pretty much everything you'll need for a day of Summer Fun! First up is this portable Radio/CD Player--in a lovely shade of NeighborGoodies Table Blue!

It's perfect for the beach or any BBQ's you might be having this summer... except that the lid to the CD player doesn't actually close, so you are likely to get a laser in your eye if you try to operate it. On the bright side, you can use it to heat up your hamburger or hot dog buns, or even provide your guests with digital-quality LASIK surgery while they enjoy your homemade potato salad!

As you know, you'll need to wait a half hour after eating before you go in the water. After all, you don't want to get a cramp and drown! But what will you and your friends do until then?

Why not play a water-based game of cards, such as Go-Fish...
. . .using these playing cards that someone inexplicably spent over ten dollars on.

Of course, after a long day of burning meat and corneas, you might just want to curl up with a good book while your fellow beach-goers swim and/or recuperate from surgery. And who doesn't like to soak up the sun while reading a good, relaxing, light-hearted summer romp?

And finally, no trip to the beach can be complete without a pair of sand-filled sneakers. Luckily, these have been graciously pre-sanded and left on the NeighborGoodies table for all to use:

These size 9 Nikes, full of sand, pebbles and, most likely, fungus were enough to gross out even the Sassy Russian Maintenance Man who works in the apartment building to ensure that our Lives continue to be Luxurious here in the Hollywood Hills. Just after I snapped this photo, I heard him coming toward the laundry room, so I pretended to be looking for my keys. (After all, secrecy is of the utmost importance here at NeighborGoodies--we wouldn't want anyone in the building finding out about this little project, for fear that its integrity could be compromised!)

Anyway, when he saw the sneakers, the Sassy Russian Maintenance Man just groaned: "Used pair of shoes! Come ON! Why?!" I wanted to tell him my theories: That it could have been a neighbor whose day at the beach was mired in tragedy--perhaps by a shark attack or a jellyfish bite--so he purged everything about that day by from his life. Or the shoes could have been the spoils in a bitter and extremely sad game of strip poker. Or maybe--just maybe--someone's girlfriend decided to throw out the most disgusting pair of sneakers ever, and left them on the NeighborGoodies table so that the odor wouldn't eat through their trashcan. Either way, there's not enough Febreze or Gold Bond medicated foot powder to ever make these shoes wearable again, so the Russian Maintenance Man disposed of them properly. Then his hands fell off.