So I stare back at my iPhone.

The whistle sounds again—very fast and loud, like someone's trying to get my attention.   I turn again, and see nothing.  So I decide to ignore it. Until the thought occurs to me that it's some Amber alert whistling for help from the back of a van.  This is why they call it an Amber alert -- her name is Amber and she's trying to alert me!  I scan the parking lot for a creepy van (redundant), but the lot is empty. 

Maybe it's someone whistling at me? Maybe this is going to be the drunken story I tell at parties about how we met. He's obviously intimidated by my beauty so he won't show his face. I fix my hair just in case, and return to my iPhone to wait.  

For a moment I think it might be that show "What Would You Do?"  Maybe they've run out of ideas and they're just doing annoying whistling scenarios now.  "We wanted to know what it would take to get someone to stop texting in a fast food restaurant..." I really doubt it -- that pitch alone made my eyelids heavy.

A long 60 seconds go by before the whistle sounds again. This time I turn super fast, but when I see no one, it is clear that I'm being punked.  Now I know it's a couple kids whistling to get my attention and then diving out of view.  There's literally no one else around the cashier but me.

Armed with this new realization, I decide to play it cool.  I inch closer to the window, still pretending to look at my iPhone, but straining to see through the window.  With cat-like grace I casually pretend to stretch.  Just a few more inches and I can see over the window sill and into the eyes of my tormenters, and I will give them such a look. I really should have been a spy.  But even slowly twisting with cat-like grace, I see no one.  And OUCH -- my back just gave out.  I grab my lower back in pain, untwist with dog-like grace, and reconsider spy as career choice.

This time, just to make me crazy, the whistling terrorists let an agonizing 3 minutes go by with no whistle, and by then I am just thinking "oh, they are good... I may have met my match.  In the game of... whatever the hell this is..."

After a few more moments of silence, my order is finally called. I do a final scan around the dining room, walk up to the counter, grab my bag and DOH!  The whistle again—loud and sharp.

Seriously???

Now I'm fuming. But I realize I'm going to drive right by them when I leave the parking lot so I walk quicky to the car. As I slowly drive by their hiding spot, I see nothing.   I look left, then right, behind a bush... beside the dumpster... nothing.

In 10 minutes I went from saving a kidnapped girl, to meeting my soulmate, to being on TV, to being tormented by ruffians, and now I'm just slinking home exhausted by the gamut of emotions.  AND I've somehow thrown my back out.

CUT TO: Tonight, I'm back in line again at the scene of the Pollo Loco crime. And after a few minutes, from directly behind me, a loud, sharp, invisible whistle rings out.

I march to the counter like a crazy person and yell "WHAT IS THAT WHISTLING?  DO YOU HEAR IT?? DO YOU HEAR THAT WHISTLING??"

The cashier shrugged. "Yeah, sorry—the alarm makes that chirping sound whenever someone exits through the back door.  We don't know how to turn it off..."

Look I'm of a certain age, and I don't know if I have somehow become more sensitive to noise or if I'm just becoming awful, but I am definitely becoming the "Hey you kids get off my lawn!" guy.

It started when I moved to LA a few months ago.  In Oakland I lived in a luxurious and extremely soundproof condo. Living back in the middle of Hollywood, I feel like a monk in a frat house on Saturday night.

The apartment complex next to mine has a wall of balconies that looks directly down onto my duplex, and it's filled with drunk club kids who are doing so much coke and meth that their speaking voices at 4am sound like a conversation between two deaf jackhammer operators in a wind tunnel. I've literally been up at 5am shooting video of them like a crazy person, so that I can later attach it to my email complaint to the building manager.

The upstairs neighbors sleeping directly above me have such loud and intense sex complete with moaning and "oh my gods" that I feel like I need to wear a condom to bed.

The helicopter paparazzi that station themselves directly above my building at 2am to try and catch Lindsay Lohan stumbling out of a nearby club are so loud I literally cannot hear a conversation I'm having in my own home. There's rarely conversation in my home anyway because it's just me and my dog, but if he were ever to try and speak to me I would not be able to hear him.  Maybe I've already missed his first attempts? A few weeks ago at 3AM I fired off emails to about five executives at the FAA demanding that new regulations for helicopters in LA be made into law.  I had several voicemail messages the next day from various government officials which I chose to ignore because in the light of the morning I seem to remember blurting out "You're the fucking FAA for Christ sake!" in what may not have been the most reasonable set of emails.

And yesterday, I walked out into my backyard jaw agape to discover that the neighbor directly behind my bedroom window had suddenly decided to take up DRUMMING.  He was banging out some rock anthem that was so off beat it could literally have been Helen Keller playing, and for a moment I thought I might be on Candid Camera.  I wanted to go buy a megaphone just so I could blast back at him with "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME WITH THE DRUMS. NONE OF YOUR FRIENDS WANT TO HEAR YOUR SHITTY NEW BAND. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH YOUR LIFE?"  But I refrained, because I'm all about restraint.

So I hope I've painted a clear picture of the grumpy old man that's telling the story that happened to me tonight.

I was working in my room when the music started.  It was muffled at first, but very loud, and I finally figured out some asshole was blasting Foreigner's "I wanna know what love is."  I actually love Foreigner, but not if it's blasting off the balconies of those god damn club kids.   So under the guise of taking out the garbage I walked out to my driveway to glare at them, but their balconies were dark. I came back inside and realized it must be that god damn drummer.  Jesus Christ -- here comes Journey's "Open Arms." It's a great song, but not at this hour. I walked into the back yard, but the newbie drummer was sitting quietly on his couch, reading a book.   The sound was echoing off both buildings that faced my house, and was apparently coming from a few doors down the street. 

Next up: "Hot Blooded."  Seriously? We're back to Foreigner?  In 2011?  This is giving ME a fever of a hundred and three.

Well if I'm going to call the police I needed to refer to an address for this raucous eighties party, so I went out to the sidewalk in my bare feet and began my grumpy old man walk down the street. I was probably clenching my fists and muttering to myself about "in my day."  I was also pissed off that I forgot my iPhone so I couldn't take a video of the offending house for the police call, and I would have to remember the address.  The more I walked towards the blaring sound, the more distant it seemed to get, and I actually had to cross the street and walk down a second block towards Hollywood Blvd.  Could it be coming from one of the Hollywood clubs?

I couldn't tell. But the more I walked, the more it sounded like live music.... maybe it was a cover band?

Suddenly I stopped.  Standing barefoot on the street in the middle of Hollywood with fists clenched and listening to a muffled "Don't stop believin" I had a bad feeling.  I turned quietly around, walked back to my home, sat at my computer, and Googled "Journey Los Angeles."

And there it was. Journey with Foreigner at the Hollywood Bowl. Tuesday, Oct. 11, 7:00pm. 

The asshole blasting Foreigner down the street was actually Foreigner.  

Tickets were $286/each.  

And unbelievably, my next thought was "OMG what an amazing concert!!  How did I miss this? Journey with Arnel Pineda on lead vocals?  Shut the fuck up!"

As I sighed and sat back in my chair, the anger about the noise having been replaced with the anger of having missed such a great concert, a different kind of noise began ringing out overhead. It sounded like pots and pans and gunfire.

Stupid joyful fireworks finale to the best concert ever. God dammit.

So OK, Universe -- you win.  Maybe I haven't given Hollywood a chance. Maybe the steady clang of urban living is just an audible reminder that there IS a lot of living going on here. And maybe it's just the living I need to be doing.

So I've decided I'm too young to get this hot blooded over a little noise.  Tomorrow, I'm giving Hollywood another chance.  

I'm buying some earplugs, wearing a condom to bed, and giving it another chance.

Don't_Stop_Believing_(Arnel_Pineda).mp3

(download)

Click here to download:

Don't_Stop_Believing_(Arnel_Pineda).mp3 (7.13 MB)

People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. 
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. 
If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. 
If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. 
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. 
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. 
For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway. (Mother Teresa)

Dear Twilight fans, 
Please realize that because vampires are dead and have no blood pumping through them, they can never get an erection. Enjoy fantasizing about that. 
Sincerely, 
Logic

Dear Noah, 
We could have sworn you said the ark wasn’t leaving till 5. 
Sincerely, 
Unicorns 

Dear Icebergs,
Sorry to hear about the global warming. Karma’s a Bitch.
Sincerely,
The Titanic

Dear America,
You produced Miley Cyrus. Bieber is your punishment.
Sincerely,
Canada

Dear Yahoo,
I’ve never heard anyone say, "I don’t know, let’s Yahoo! It..." Just saying...
Sincerely,
Google

Dear 2010,
So I hear the best rapper is white and the president is black? WTF happened?!
Sincerely,
1985

Dear girls who have been dumped,
There are plenty of fish in the sea... Just kidding! They’re all dead. 
Sincerely, 
BP

Dear Skin-Colored Band Aids,
Please make one for every skin color.
Sincerely,
Black people

Dear Scissors, 
I feel your pain......no one wants to run with me either. 
Sincerely, 
Sarah Palin

Dear Customers,
Yes, we ARE making fun of you in Vietnamese.
Sincerely,
Nail Salon Ladies

Dear White People,
Don’t you just hate immigrants?
Sincerely,
Native Americans

Dear iPhone,
Please stop spell checking all of my rude words into nice words. You piece of shut.
Sincerely,
Every iPhone User

Dear Trash,
At least you get picked up...
Sincerely,
The Girls of Jersey Shore

[These are from an email making its way around the internet. Thanks Kelley!] 

Via @yehudaberg

Have you heard the one about the man who is late for an important business meeting, and in his desperation to find a parking spot, he promises God half his commission in return for a space.
 
Suddenly a car pulls out in front of him and he looks up and says, “Never mind, I got one.”
 
Be aware of the constant messengers, messages, and moments of opportunity opening up for you.

Jerry Brown lives in my hood and a few months ago Romeo greeted him in an outdoor patio where he regularly has coffee with his wife. He was nice, petting Romeo and telling me about how he used to have Golden Retrievers and when they died.

Side note: for some reason, anyone I pass on the street who has ever had a Golden--and I mean ANYONE--insists on first asking me his age, then telling me how old THEIR Golden was when he died. Apparently they want to ensure that I know my dog will definitely die one day and the clock is ticking. It's just a bizarre and extremely inappropriate thing that everyone does, and Jerry was no exception.

Anyway, I just saw Jerry again across the street from my house, and Romeo ran onto the patio to greet him like they were long lost friends. I love that Romeo is the great social equalizer.

I think Jerry knows I support him but I had just seen Whitman's latest ad and when I saw him I literally had to bite my lip to not blurt out "Uh oh... hide your wallet..." because at the time I thought that would have been so freakin hilarious.

Upon reflection, I'm glad I kept quiet. I was on my third glass of wine.

Oh well - petting my dog may be the equivalent of kissing babies during an election, but I like that Jerry's so accessible AND he's a dog person.

Meg Whitman on the other hand, is a whore.

Don't forget to vote!  Click here to register by Oct. 15.

How could seedless watermelon kill you? Well if it fell off a building and landed on your head. (sensationalistic headline courtesy of the Tim Ferriss School of Blogging).

However, I just did my second side-by-side taste comparison of seedless vs. seeded watermelon and there's no comparison: seeded wins hands down. It's significantly sweeter and just more delicious and watermelony. Besides, seedless anything is a freakish frankenfruit that no one should be eating. Do we really need to eat any food faster? From now on, buy seeded watermelons, take your time, spit out the seeds, and enjoy watermelon the way it was meant to be eaten. It's a good life lesson.

Put together this compilation of video clips for potential travel blogger gigs.

Just found this video I made on my last day at the Cocktail World Cup in New Zealand in 07. As I was packing to leave a week in Queenstown, I also began to realize that I am completely delusional. Does everyone pack like this? Or is it just me?

I met this guy online and he seemed cool and we'd even hooked up once before a few months ago, and it seemed about time to try another date. So we're all set and he's literally on the way over, and I get out of the shower to find an email from him on my iPhone.

"Oh and before I come over there's something you should know... It's nothing nasty, painful, or dirty..."

I was kind of disappointed that it wasn't going to be nasty, painful, or dirty, but his announcement ended up being just a little too clean for me.

Like kids' birthday party clean.

"I have a balloon fetish. Yeah... I know that must sound totally strange and weird but I find the act very powerful and masculine. These are just the regular round shaped ones you get at the party supply. All that I ask you to do is just blow up a couple. You game?"

I love that he pointed out that it's "just the round shaped ones," lest I thought he wanted me to blow up a clown balloon and twist it into a giraffe or something.

Because THAT would be weird...

Sadly, I wasn't game. And I did take a moment to think it through, because I've actually done a lot crazier things for sex, but when I walked through the scene in my mind, I just couldn't get through it without laughing. I have this panel of friends who are always sitting in my head (Derek, Alex, Laura), and when I have plans that the panel in my mind laughs at, I usually don't go through with them. This is why I don't do karaoke or have piercings or date anyone under 25 (any more).

I guess I'm pretty traditional. Like talking dirty during sex -- I'm sorry, but it's ridiculous. I just want to say "What are you doing? Are you being a character? Are you acting out a little scene while we're having sex? How is that not weird?" But then you don't want to kill their game so you have to sort of half-heartedly answer back with some kind of "Why yes... Yes I do like that..." without sounding sarcastic or patronizing -- which is hard enough for me in the first place.

Why couldn't he be into something hot like wearing scrubs or a cowboy hat or a uniform? Even if it were throwing darts or jumping rope or spinning like a top, I probably could have suffered through it. But slowly blowing up a balloon was just too inherently whimsical to take seriously.

I was also positive that I was being punk'd and my friends just wanted a videotape of me blowing up a balloon to get laid so they could post it on YouTube. So I called off the date and sent my circus friend on his way.

Really, God? These are the dating options you're going to throw at me?  

Day 43 of my juice fast/feast for http://www.spatravelguy.com. How mineral broth has helped  me. 

Day 36 of my juice fast/feast for http://www.spatravelguy.com. My relationship to food has changed.

Day 30 of my juice fast/feast for Spa Travel Guy. Down 25 lbs + results of my blood tests - cholesterol, blood pressure, Vit. D, etc.

Another great week -- feeling better and better!

What a difference a week makes!

I'm excited to finally launch SpaTravelGuy.com in the next month or, as it will be the first spa lifestyle magazine for men, and I'll finally be able to pull together all my spa travel and reviews into one place.   To prepare for the dive into spa and wellness living, I've been doing a lot of research into raw and organic foods, including an amazing weeklong stay at Living Light, a raw vegan chef training institute in Fort Bragg, CA (I'll post a video of that trip later).   The raw food lifestyle has been amazing, as I've found so many great raw/vegan restos in and around Oakland, and I've also learned to make a huge assortment of raw soups, salads, wraps, nori rolls, pates, nut milks and cheeses, green smoothies, desserts, etc.  It's REALLY not about eating lots of carrots and salads -- you can eat an amazing assortment of gourmet raw foods if you just know how to do it. 

Another big component of the raw food lifestyle is juice cleansing, with many proponents taking on 30-90 day juice fasts (or juice feasts, a protocol outlined at juicefeasting.com which includes drinking 2-3x more juice than you would on a juice fast).  A juice fast/feast/cleanse is a common way to detox and transition to a raw food lifestyle.

Now I love bacon cheeseburgers and ostrich tacos and dirty martinis too much to ever go raw completely, but I've definitely learned that raw and whole food can cure or balance almost any disease you can throw at it, including obesity, diabetes, and cancer.  Destination spas are basically places that use whole food, exercise, and bodywork to facilitate the body's own transformation back to health.  So before I launch the site, I thought I'd walk the talk and do my own juice fast of at least 30 days to prepare.

I'll do a weekly video blog and talk about my own results - here's the first one:

Calvin Klein X Underwear...  It's almost like they're going after the gay market now...

Just brilliant.  My kind of humor.

Now that Whitney's back on crack, her replacement surfaces -- an awesome Taiwanese BOY.

There are thousands of fun children's tantrum videos to watch on YouTube, but I liked this one.  Dude, he's just not that into you.

Tina Fey guest hosted SNL this week, so Palin is back.

Just amazing, creative video.

Today was another day of being slammed with work.   And by work, I mean waiting at home for my delivery of Lou Malnati's Chicago style pizza, all the way from Chicago.  The pizzas, a gift from a friend, were making their way to me in all their dry iced deliciousness for most of the day, and since waiting for my pizza arrival was my primary task for the day, I spent most of the day staring out the window.  It actually looked a lot like every other day. To give you an idea of how I looked, I found this YouTube video of a cat who was also waiting for his Lou Malnati's pizza delivery.

When the UPS guy finally rang the doorbell at 4:30, Romeo started barking violently and racing towards the door, and I got so excited trying to outrun the dog that I tripped over him, spilled my iced coffee and immediately slipped on it, slamming my head into the door.  I opened the door squinting, bent at the knee, and dripping with iced coffee, but when i saw that box, I could only smile. 

Believe it or not, I do try to listen to the Universe.  

To those little signs the Universe whispers to us, that supposedly tell us whether we're on the right path or not.  The problem is, I think we only see the signs we want to see.  If I were really listening to the Universe, I might have a different experience standing there covered in iced coffee, staring at my pizza while bleeding from the forehead.  

If your zeal for deep-dish pizza gave you a head wound, maybe you'd question whether you were perhaps too excited about it. A disproportionate response, if you will. Well I'm sorry -- maybe I see the world through rose-colored glasses, or maybe it was the blood dripping into my eyes, but I could see nothing in this situation but a box of heaven at my door. And a few stars flickering in my peripheral vision.

I had to thaw the pizza for an agonizing two hours before cooking it, so I put it on the counter and called my friend Rachel to catch up while staring intently at the pizza and thinking thawing thoughts.  After a few minutes of staring at the pizza, the belt I was wearing suddenly burst open and broke.  And to prove I'm not making this up, I took a picture.

Let's recap: while staring at two pizzas I just had shipped across the country in dry ice, the force of my own stomach against my forged metal buckle was so intense it broke the belt holding my pants up. Would I see this as a sign that maybe I shouldn't be bulk-shipping pizza across the country at this time?  Not at all.

I do heed other signs. A while later while shopping at Trader Joe's, the Universe gave me a sign to buy this specific wine to drink with my pizza. So I did.

And just minutes after that the Universe sent me a creepy pedophile shopping in ridiculous short shorts as a sign that I needed to take a picture of him for my blog. So I did. 

As I shopped for groceries and more pedophile photo opps, I had to struggle to keep my pants up since I was no longer wearing a belt.  And by the time I got to my car, with a bag in each hand and fumbling for the keys, my pants simply dropped to the ground.  Now this was a sign I noticed.  If I was so thin now that my pants wouldn't even stay up, then clearly I could afford to go home and eat my pizza.  So I did.  

And that crust was so buttery it tasted like a cheese and pepperoni croissant.  

I guess we're free to interpret the signs in whatever way we see fit.  If you're standing in a parking lot holding your groceries in your arms with your pants around your ankles, it may very well be a sign that the Universe simply has a sense of humor.  

Just as the fact that I wasn't wearing underwear was a sign that it was laundry day.

And to the Mexican family in the car next to me, it was a sign to lock the doors and shield the children's eyes from the fat naked gringo.

I still believe we only see what we want to see, even though that particular family might not agree.

And for me, today was proof that an unexamined life is not only worth living, it's also delicious.