things learned from a podcast, season one.

-being a “producer" is better than being an “editor."  because producing means just emailing people and expecting them to show up.

-99 percent of the time people are very gracious with their time and showing up.

-1 percent of the time people claim they will be there and then just never get back to you. and then keep pushing it back every week until finally it just isn’t worth it.

-3 drink maximum before recording isn’t smart.

-some people like listening to drunks talk about films. probably for the wrong reason and to laugh at us, but hey.

-sometimes you say something dumb. like calling wordplay a great documentary.

-sometimes you can scream “GODDARD" and it will stop a conversation.

-i want to make “the noel murray stop-clock" into merchandise. someone please send me noel murray’s photo attached to a stopwatch.

-we had three or four failed concepts for on-going segments: “vadim rizov reads film ads," facebook friending david hudson, people thinking vadim and i are gay, and trying to get armond white on the show.

-actually, people do think we’re gay. we’re not. unless you are willing to pay us a few hundred thousand dollars. even then, don’t expect a lot.

-and we do want armond on.

-grassroots tavern really doesn’t give a shit about us recording in there, but the only time they cared was ep. 2 when vadim kept screaming something about werner herzog or something. i don’t remember.

-they play the same goddamn songs every time: acoustic psycho killer, sex machine, money and something off sea change. it’s errie. you can hear it in the background too on a few episodes.

-sometimes, people stand behind one of us and point at our recorder. then they mime to their friends “OMGWTF?" and they’re all, “IDUNNOLOL."  these people are normally fucking retarded. and are fuckers.

-writing down things never works.

-my “podcast voice" is scarily broadcast friendly. i equate this to my old days at msnbc fetching coffee and having chris matthews come to eat my french fries.

-no one ever arrives on time. mainly me or vadim.

-ok, vadim never gets there on time. except for two occasions.

-my favorite guest remains preston miller ("jones") because preston went to the n+1 “TAKE BACK THE INTERNET" party and proved it was awkward, stuffy and that new media people are way too pretentious.

-Vadim and I have a dream list of guests. This includes but is not limited to: Armond White, Ed Koch, Joe Swanburg, A.O. Scott,Nathan Lee,  Lisa “Motherfucking" Schwarzbaum, Noel Murray and more. Maybe Dr. VanNostrand if he survived post-Pioneer Theater

-I also want to bring on Travers, Gene Shalit and The Lyons (both father and son.) And force them to justify their lives. Travers must do so in awkward attempts at multimedia (although his editoiral control is amazing); Shalit must make puns so incredible that I stab myself in the ears; the Lyons must do what they’ve always done and be carried by Alison Bailes in conversation.

-I sort of want Keith Gessen on because I am 99 percent sure he would not want to talk about Jean-Claude Van Damme movies. But I would.

-be nice.

-three drink maximum until you finish recording, or else you’ll say a lot of things about not being afraid of people because you are sure you can take them in a fight.

-the first episode cut out a lot of that.

-seriously.

sunday part 2.

and after a half hour of howard fineman giving his thoughts on colin powell meeting with both mccain and obama—then telling each of them what he told the other, but swears he’ll back obama—i’ve had enough.

time to watch the soup.

it is sunday morning

this means i begin the day with chris matthews, meet the press and bruce mclaughlin.

although it does mean constantly flipping back and forth between cbs.

one may ask, why does one watch these shows when i can clearly wait for the huffpo round-up? i’ll tell you: because this is like crack. listening to old white men argue about what is right for the country and then shouting at my tv.

also because the chris matthews laugh is a drinking game begging to happen.

and chris matthews likes to show clips of Anchorman to showcase why american reporters are lazy. randomly. and then dan rather talks about how he “overslept," came in to work and reread the same story twice on the teleprompter.

ah. sunday morning.

a motivational story pt 2.

karinalongworth:

johnlichman:

once upon a time, there was a boy named john. john would routinely do dumb and inappropriate things while he was out. john is also a fan of buying horribly cheap liquor and mixing it with soda pop.

this way, john assumed he could still drink and not afford any of those pricier brands which were way overpriced.

unfortunately, john knew the difference between a $5 bottle of bourbon and a $40 glass of scotch.

one night, john went out with a evil high school friend of his. the evil high school friend kept feeding john what he assured him were whiskey and cokes. they were clear. they were what normal people call “vodka sodas.”

because they were made with vodka. and a splash of soda.

john hates vodka.

john wound up losing his sense of self, his body and where he was. when he woke up, john was sucking face with a large asian woman in the back of some irish bar on second aveue.

john rushed back to his dorm, for he was a lowly college student at the time. stumbling and fumbling his way to the room, he began undressing in the hallway. he felt sick and dirty. confused and utterly smashed. his roommate found him at the same time and said,

“john, are you ok?”

john grunted and made motions to open the door before bad things happened.

john stumbled inside and did bad things to the toilet.

he then fell onto his bed, partially clothed like some sad love-child of chris farley and bukowski. burping and groaning.

“do you need something?”

john grunted. he grabbed a trash can near his bed and proceeded to do more bad things. he then fell over and said three words.

“snapple and paper towels.”

and then passed out.

the next morning, john awoke to find a roll of paper towels next to him and a cran-icea tea snapple! he was still groggy, so it took a few moments before he realized the kind thing his roommate had done. of course, the roommate actually took john’s wallet and bought snapple, paper towels and a few more things for himself. but the thought was still there.

and so, whenever john would feel ill the next day or like he was going to have a bad night, he would always ask someone to bring him snapple and paper towels.

that said, for the love of christ, someone send me snapple and paper towels. me get snapple. international bar gets the paper towels. sigh.

This is, in a small way, towards the end, a review of my birthday party. i think it went well!

it went very well.

that said, i made out with no large asian women at the birthday party. i did talk to jeremiah kipp before vomiting onto a door.

emily gould has nothing on film writer/blogger shin-digs.

p.s. it was an awesome birthday. aside from me vomiting onto a door.

p.p.s. east village bar owners: if i vomit on your door, this is a sign of good luck. believe me. for i am the post-human jesus of bars.

Source: http://johnlichman.tumblr.com/post/4199774...

a motivational story

once upon a time, there was a boy named john. john would routinely do dumb and inappropriate things while he was out. john is also a fan of buying horribly cheap liquor and mixing it with soda pop.

this way, john assumed he could still drink and not afford any of those pricier brands which were way overpriced.

unfortunately, john knew the difference between a $5 bottle of bourbon and a $40 glass of scotch.

one night, john went out with a evil high school friend of his. the evil high school friend kept feeding john what he assured him were whiskey and cokes. they were clear. they were what normal people call “vodka sodas."

because they were made with vodka. and a splash of soda.

john hates vodka.

john wound up losing his sense of self, his body and where he was. when he woke up, john was sucking face with a large asian woman in the back of some irish bar on second aveue.

john rushed back to his dorm, for he was a lowly college student at the time. stumbling and fumbling his way to the room, he began undressing in the hallway. he felt sick and dirty. confused and utterly smashed. his roommate found him at the same time and said,

"john, are you ok?"

john grunted and made motions to open the door before bad things happened.

john stumbled inside and did bad things to the toilet.

he then fell onto his bed, partially clothed like some sad love-child of chris farley and bukowski. burping and groaning.

"do you need something?"

john grunted. he grabbed a trash can near his bed and proceeded to do more bad things. he then fell over and said three words.

"snapple and paper towels."

and then passed out.

the next morning, john awoke to find a roll of paper towels next to him and a cran-icea tea snapple! he was still groggy, so it took a few moments before he realized the kind thing his roommate had done. of course, the roommate actually took john’s wallet and bought snapple, paper towels and a few more things for himself. but the thought was still there.

and so, whenever john would feel ill the next day or like he was going to have a bad night, he would always ask someone to bring him snapple and paper towels.

that said, for the love of christ, someone send me snapple and paper towels. me get snapple. international bar gets the paper towels. sigh.