tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35543812007-10-19T12:34:50.029-07:00fame and fortunecmccownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger760125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-32473134751487388992007-09-20T08:16:00.001-07:002007-09-20T08:16:38.286-07:00http://bitterwaiter.typepad.comcmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1154998823600964342006-08-07T17:59:00.000-07:002007-07-17T13:35:56.402-07:00Byecmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1152672570982652352006-07-11T19:39:00.000-07:002006-07-11T19:49:30.996-07:00Dunaway dearest I've heard time and time again that Faye Dunaway is one crazy bitch. So, as a purveyor of Hollywood gossip, I was thrilled to get my ears on an actual voicemail message left by Miss Dunaway herself. Apparently, an interview conducted with her former husband Terry O'Neill displeased Faye immensely because of its mentions of Mommie Dearest and the fact that Dunaway was fired cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1152227411880700932006-07-06T16:07:00.000-07:002006-07-06T16:10:11.896-07:00Situation: comedy My brief hiatus was the result of mom's visit, which will be detailed shortly for your enjoyment. But first, I must warn you: the hiatus isn't over. As many of you have kindly pointed out, I have a knack for writing. And in an effort to get my name around town, I'm working overtime on my screenplay (a searing comedy sure to leave sets wet all over the world). Thus the blog cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1151596692485826422006-06-29T08:56:00.000-07:002006-06-29T08:58:12.500-07:00Vacation in LA You'll have to pardon my absence over the next few days. Mom and her friend get in town today and I'll happily be playing tour guide. We'll hit all the hot spots. Malibu, La Jolla, Santa Barbara. The Arclight. I'll also be get getting free groceries, gasoline and new tennis shoes. And some excellent dinners at my favorite restaurants. So consider me officially on cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1151474064961417822006-06-27T22:52:00.000-07:002006-06-27T22:54:24.973-07:00Irony, irony, better than macaroni Out of every possible server at my restaurant, *I* have been chosen as the new server trainer. I will teach classes (for $25/hour) to all new servers. They will follow me and observe restaurant etiquette and decorum. I will be a model employee. The irony is not lost on me.cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1151426566374072792006-06-27T09:02:00.000-07:002006-06-27T09:42:46.503-07:00Warning: another bitchfest about the woes of being a waiter As I've said before, Monday nights at the restaurant are particularly trying because of the genius 30% discount given to all customers on everything on the menu (Meanwhile, servers still enjoy a degrading 25% discount -- yes, let me say it again, the CUSTOMERS get a better discount than the servers on Mondays). Until two weeks ago, cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1151104790447777332006-06-23T16:00:00.000-07:002006-06-26T12:56:37.363-07:00Bad to the bone, part 3 I might not know music and my appreciation of television is limited, but I know movies. I've loved and hated movies, been haunted and inspired by movies. I've walked out of movies, and I've seen movies twice in a row. I moved to this city to realize a dream that was born on the silver screen. That said, I can appreciate a good-bad movie. I can even see where the goodcmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1150915237871846882006-06-21T11:17:00.000-07:002006-06-21T11:40:37.983-07:00Bad to the bone, part 2 A bad TV show isn't easy to define. With few exceptions, very few shows are bad from start to finish. And unlike song and film, critics rarely inundate society with "best of" lists. That said, my pop culture taste buds are developed enough to know which shows challenge and nurture, and which are the emotional and intellectual equivalent of a Krispy Kreme. So let thecmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1150825094463392142006-06-20T09:52:00.000-07:002006-06-20T10:38:15.113-07:00Bad to the bone, part 1 In a week-long celebration of all that is wrong with pop culture, I present to you my five favorites in the following categories: Worst Song, Worst TV Show and Worst Movie. Now when I say "Worst...," I'm not talking about something that I personally view as awful. On the contrary, these pop culture nuggets that critics and society in general have written off have found cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1150786659751202552006-06-19T23:54:00.000-07:002006-06-19T23:57:39.763-07:00Please don't read this mom In four years of blogging, I've never shared the details of my sex life. I've always viewed such posts as trite, sophomoric and trying. And I'm not going to start tonight, even though I was just called the wrong name whilst enjoying intercourse. "Ohhhh Jason," she said. Whatever. At least I got laid.cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1150309504790759432006-06-14T11:19:00.000-07:002006-06-14T12:02:00.863-07:00Recap: a day of debauchery Yesterday's day-long birthday celebration was such a big event in Los Angeles that even Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins) joined in the fun. But our story begins several hours before, as a group of friends gathered pool side to drink, work on tans, and trash talk. (NOTE: Christie does not actually smoke or endorse the use of cigarettes. She was merely practicing for cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1150183477408046942006-06-13T00:23:00.000-07:002006-06-13T10:27:44.283-07:00Chase at 27 Today, like every other day, I like to wake up early. I complain about my job, but it's actually a lot of fun. I still like to watch cartoons. Donuts are my favorite indulgence. In a clear no contest, my family is still the most important thing in my life. Pizza and Mexican food are my favorites. The margarita is my favorite cocktail. By now I've lived in three cities. I've cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149836216048771852006-06-08T23:43:00.000-07:002006-06-08T23:56:56.063-07:00Coming soon to your televisions and magazines The bittersweet thing about the acting business is that just when you're at your worst and things seem so bleak, something unexpectedly great happens. After sending out dozens of submissions to agents (all referrals with one exception), I'd managed to attract only two meetings, both with two of LA's better talent agencies. Yesterday I met with the cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149629955575204162006-06-06T14:25:00.000-07:002006-06-06T14:39:15.586-07:00Karma's a bitch, and so am I Mondays at the restaurant are not a pretty sight. On the deadest restaurant night of the week, we offer all food at 30% off (which is better than the employee discount -- don't get me started on the fact that customers have a better discount than employees). You can imagine the type of clientele this attracts. From the Appalachians to the gutters of Compton, cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149545171047510212006-06-05T14:48:00.000-07:002006-06-05T15:09:20.593-07:00The four-year itch My blog is now four years and two days old. I wish I had some nostalgic words or a self-congratulatory proclamation, but I'm afraid you've found caught me at my almost melancholy. I try (try) to keep the tone of this blog upbeat (or at least entertainingly sardonic), but on this day, exactly eight days before my next birthday, I'm not feeling it. For two years I've been cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149181247908075352006-06-01T09:49:00.000-07:002006-06-01T10:01:25.633-07:00Such depth at such a young age Torn from the pages of my mercifully brief & recently unearthed journal, June 1, 1996: "Has it really only been 10 years since I finished Kindergarten? I'm so scare [sic] to be growing up so quickly. Marni and Jay are getting married soon, I'll bet I never see them again. I look at them and want to stay 16 forever. I can't imagine life being fun at 26 if cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149057085737095282006-05-30T23:15:00.000-07:002006-05-30T23:39:30.576-07:00And one more thing... I've got bad news for you Jennifer Aniston fans. The Break-Up is one of the worst movies you will ever see. Worse than Rumor Has It. I guess my sweet J-An might want to head back to TV land for her next paycheck. In a less than coherent manner, Chase presents You'll rarely hear me moan on and on about what ails me. I have no tolerance for hypochondriacs. But after 26cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1149003596761918262006-05-30T08:33:00.000-07:002006-05-30T08:39:56.783-07:00Red lobster I am pale for a reason. After countless years of trying to get a tan (and succeeding), I've joined an industry where age is everything. So in an effort to perpetually remain 23ish, I gave up the sun about a year ago. Unfortunately, I had an itch for a tan during the three-day weekend, and decided to catch a base tan on Sunday. I covered my face in SPF 45 like a smart boy would.cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1148570859209331222006-05-25T08:21:00.000-07:002006-05-25T08:46:07.003-07:00Loving Lost - SPOILERS It began with the surprising sounds of Mama Cass and ended with an unexpected phone call. Its death toll included three women, one of whom has a surprising connection to the cause of a plane crash. It answered questions and posed newer, greater quandries. It was the entire second season of Lost, and it was brilliant from start to finish. My thoughts on the finale? cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1148463991401067692006-05-24T02:42:00.000-07:002006-05-24T03:00:14.966-07:00Go fuck yourself, David Carradine Tonight I had the displeasure of waiting on David Carradine (Bill in Kill Bill). The man is a cheap, pompous, crass, egotistical son-of-a-bitch. When I asked him what kind of dressing he wanted on his salad, he looked at me with a look of disgust and said, "Dressing? I don't give a fuck which dressing, just pick one." OOOOOH, DAVID CARRADINE LET ME PICK HIS cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1148412457362325642006-05-23T12:25:00.000-07:002006-05-23T12:34:36.880-07:00Madonna, you've gone too far I've always respected Madonna not so much for her talent but because I thought she was a saavy business woman and a damned good performer. And though I've gradually transformed into a liberal, I cannot fathom why she would choose to perform her dreary song "Live To Tell" in the manner pictured at right. I don't mind a healthy satire of Christianity. I'm all for cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1148264116923064282006-05-21T19:02:00.000-07:002006-05-22T14:21:33.033-07:00Life on Mars When it comes to TV, I've never had a problem confessing my guilty pleasures. In junior high I was an unfortunately vocal Brady Bunch fan, which came on the heels of my devotion to Rags to Riches. So when I tell you that Veronica Mars is my new favorite TV show, I'm torn between calling it a guilty pleasure and simply enjoying it because it's brilliant, addictive cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1147886267459140652006-05-17T09:50:00.000-07:002006-05-17T16:12:25.866-07:00The ABCs of song Thanks to an e-mail from Molly: MY FAVORITE SONG BEGINNING WITH...IS...(minus "X" and "Z"): A "Amie," Pure Prairie League B "Black Hole Sun," Soundgarden C "Carry On/Questions," Crosby Stills Nash & Young D "Don't Dream It's Over," Crowded House E "Eclipse," Pink Floyd F "For Pete's Sake," The Monkees G "Get It On (Bang a Gong)," T. Rex H "How Soon Is Now," The Smiths cmccownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3554381.post-1147724261193694282006-05-15T12:59:00.000-07:002006-05-15T13:17:41.256-07:00Dude, where's your girlfriend? Ever since middle school (aka "junior high") I've had many close female friends. Many of them have had boyfriends. And many of them have had jealous boyfriends. Once the requisite jealous boyfriend gets over the fact that I'm not gay, not putting the moves on his woman, and not trying to break them up, he's still usually left with residual insecurities over my cmccownnoreply@blogger.com