Productination

When I heard that Jonathan Coulton was performing tonight at The Echoplex, I didn’t think much of it. Jonathan Coulton is the Ben Folds of geek rock. It is my opinion that he tries a little too hard to be clever. Certainly, I am in the minority of my friends when I voice this opinion.

When I realized Wil Wheaton would be in the audience, my interest in the event suddenly skyrocketed. Apparently, this was a combination JoCo concert and John Hodgeman book tour type hybrid event?

After much internal debate, I fell back on my guiding principle of living a storyworthy life. If nothing else, I’d get a blog post out of this.

Plus, you know, nerd chicks.

Upon my arrival, I noticed that there was no one sitting at the ticket desk to take my money. I pushed open the door and just walked in. Amazing! I immediately took the $15 I would have spent on my ticket and bought $18 worth of beer.

Dang beer, why you gotta be so expensive in venue?

The first time I was at the Echoplex, an experimental “noise rock” band was playing, and everyone was numbly lumbering around the dance floor. The sight of everyone seated, while a chubby man in a suit and an unusually sharply dressed JoCo bantered on stage, was quite a strange scene to behold.

Beers in hand, I settled by a spot near stage left. I was feeling pretty good, and found myself actually enjoying both Coulton and Hodgeman. It was when Wil Wheaton took the mic that I lost it, though. Of course, he was just another audience member, asking Hodgeman a question during the Q&A, but even so, I got giddy knowing he was sitting a few, scant feet in front of me.

Being an alcoholic lightweight, I was afraid that I’d say something really stupid to him. Perhaps against better judgment, I wrote him a fan letter on a page from my moleskine. In it, I gushed, fanboy like, but I also wrote sincerely about how he played a big part in my desire to pursue a writing career, and how I really appreciated his positive outlook on life.

“We are all the products of our choices,” and “Don’t be afraid to suck,” are two gems that, while I’ve heard them elsewhere, stuck with me when Wil uttered them because of their simple elegance.

After singing along with “Re: Your Brains,” I caught Wil checking his Blackberry. Already, another fan had lined up next to me. I gently put my hand on Wil’s shoulder. Completely solid in himself, he would not be interrupted (presumably tweeting), and he turned around when he was good and ready.

Slightly tipsy, I said, “Wil, I’m a huge fan.” “Thank you!” he said. “I wrote this for you,” I said, handing him the letter and running away.

“Ok? Thanks!” he said, slightly surprised and laughing.

I was so happy and nervous I completely forgot about the nerd chicks.

I was feeling a mixture of cold, loneliness, hunger, and sadness.

I was in the perfect mindset to enjoy the bowl of ramen in front of me.

Don’t let the skinny façade fool you, I am an emotional eater, and one of the foods that provides the most comfort for me is noodles in soup. There is just something very satisfying in the act of eating a hearty bowl of noodles in flavorful broth. I dunno if it’s science or nothin’, but it helps me clear my mind.

When I was younger, I had much greater access to good noodles of many different cultures. They were readily available to me, and I took advantage. When I moved to Los Angeles, I had to start the search anew; finding good food was a challenging and exciting adventure again.

I began my search for noodles by looking into Vietnamese restaurants in the area. According to the internet, there were no good Vietnamese restaurants near where I lived. My taste buds verified that indeed, one had to go as far as the valley, or that other valley, to get anything decent.

I then leveled the barrel of my sawed-off culinary shotgun at the ramen shops. Certainly, with Los Angeles’s successful Japanese population, there had to be some good ramen in this town. I eventually found a couple gems, including one place that I’d be ready to give the crown of best ramen in LA.

Sure, it was a little expensive for comfort food ($11 for essentially noodles, broth, pork, rice, and salmon roe) but it is alwaysworth it. From the moment I sat down and first inhaled the steam from my broth, to the time I looked at the bottom of my empty bowls, I didn’t look up.

I left transformed, feeling enriched and uplifted.

HAY GUISE. Thanks for checking out my newest and greatest blog. It’s going to be awesome.

I spent a lot of time thinking about what my first post is going to be about. I was attached to the idea that it had to be epic/legendary.

In the end, I decided that I was overthinking it and thus, just started writing.

You are reading the results.

It’s been a while since last I kept a blog, and I’m about ready to kick this bitch back in. And so, without further ado, I give you:
K Deezy Is All Up Ins (part I)