Who put the O in Crack Ho?

Standing at the bus stop this morning, I noticed a prostitute standing on an adjacent corner. Now I am not one to generalize or make assumptions. Just because someone looks like a crack ho, and walks like a crack ho does not necessarily mean that they are in fact a crack ho.

So I was minding my own business, when I hear a screaming voice that I shit you not could actually kill small puppies. The prostitute wanted a cigarette. I said I had one, and she stood there like she honestly wanted me to walk across the street and give her one. Once she realized what the score was (I can't believe I just wrote that) she walked toward me. As she was coming toward me I got out a cigarette for her, and handed it do her.

"Thanks Baby." she said. And it was at this moment with the shaking hands and the clenching jaws that I realized, quite sadly, that I was in fact correct and that she was in fact a crack ho. I mean a crack ho ho ho. Like the let it snow let it snow let it snow crack ho.

Ah well, what are you gonna do. Who am I to judge. I voted for Nader.

This weekend I am off to the desert, and then off to the Burbank IKEA so when I get back on Monday I am sure I will have tales to tell. Tales of Joshua Trees and Bjorland.

P.S. I have not given a literary update recently, and there is a reason for that. It is not because I have stopped reading. On the contrary. Last week I finished Ask The Dust by John Fante, and I quite literally would have asked the dust because I imagine it would have been a sight more interesting then that yawn. Ordinarily I don't say bring a book while I am reading a book so I will not. Instead see the movie. Still boring, but at least it has Colin Farrell's ass. Delightful. Right now I am reading The Ear Of The Other by Jacques Derrida and I will not get into it because I am quite certain a great deal of it is going over my head. But I am learning a bunch of new words. So after I read through once and master all the new words, I am going to read it a second time. It's like re-reading Gravity's Rainbow to catch all the parts you didn't know you slept through the first time.

It's A Rainy Day In LA.

Yeah, it really does rain a lot in LA. Once a week for the last 5 months really. I am lonely at work. No one else is here. They are stuck in traffic because when it rains in LA the drivers are paralyzed by fear and dumbness.

Go out and buy the new Morrissey CD. Unless you are in LA in which case you had better bury yourself under some newspapers and wait out the torrential drizzle. It comes out on April 4 which coincides with the DVD release of Bareback Mountain. I also believe The Chronicles of Narnia comes out as well. I am not really interested in the movie, but I simply adore Tilda Swinton, and I can't wait to hear her say "Would you like some Turkish Delight?". If you haven't seen Tilda Swinton in Orlando, then I regretfully must inform you that you have been living a shadow of a life, a false life if you will.

Back to the rain. The thing I like most about the rain is that it tends to wash the prostitutes away. Ordinarily when I am waiting for my bus, the prostitutes are in full force, and I nearly sprain something acting as gay as tarnation. Not this rainy morning. I had the bus stop all to myself.

My new favorite activity is exciting Morrissey fans by posting anonymously on message boards. Morrissey fans are so excitable, and a great many of them are cosmically stupid. I eventually had to stop because I realized I was probably picking on somebody who is either 16 and never had a blowjob, or 40 and lives with his parents and never had a blowjob. In either case, it is a lot like kicking sand in the face of some down syndrome kid.

Musical Moments

So the new CD that came in the mail for me is Sebastien Roux's Songs. It is not as immediately accesible as the work he did on e.a.d.g.b.e. it definitely has a certain charm. It is experimental, and when placed in the CD player it is nice to eat dinner to, but it is definitely better on the headphones. A good deal of the music borders on the inaudible, and as many of you know this gets me really excited. It is not for everybody, but it is definitely for me.

My weekend consisted of rearanging my apartment to the sounds of the aforementioned music, having my car towed away. I no longer drive a Peugeot, did you know? Went to Sushi at Shazzam.1 Jonnie Walker Black, Star Trek Voyager, 99 cent store, getting my hair did, paying final parking ticket, purchasing hetero porn for hetero friend, Spoke with parents, spoke with Dan, Contemplating an afteshave to purchase, Simpsons is still cool, 24 is still lame.
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1. It's not really called Shazzam, but it should be.

We Both Go Down Together.

Basketball is perhaps the stupidest game in the world. I believe I agree with Noam Chomsky in that sports, generally, train people in irrational attitudes towards submission to authority, and group cohesion behind authority figures. "Jingoism" is the word I believe he uses.

If people are trained by their schools and communities to get behind a banner, and scream and froth, and pound their chests, then when the time comes to, say, invade a country, the entire populace has already been trained in a cohesive group response. Go Cougs! Cal State Volleyball Rocks Your Ass Upside Down and Sideways!!!! Yeah!!! USA USA USA USA!!!!, and my own personal favorite "America! Fuck Yeah!"

Well, as most of you know, Gonz lost last night to UCLA. Apparently they lost while I was in the bathroom washing my face. First things first is what Dan likes to say. Gonz blows a kagillion point lead, but at least my face is clean.

One thing you gotta give to UCLA. They sure know how to beat up diabetics.

A Certain Romance...

Well I was going to spend today’s blog explaining to all of you why I think Louis Vuitton is the new Birkenstock, but fate seemed to have different plans for me.

Mels and I went to the Arctic Monkeys’ show last night and it was lame as fuck fuck.

It started out so well. We began with drinks at the Factory. We were lucky enough to get a table. Service was remarkable. My server talked me out of the Seasonal, but gave me a sample just to show me what I was missing. Half our meal was comped. Just lovely.

Arrived at the show, and it was a sea of Ben Sherman, Track Jackets, and True Religion. Common just common. We moored ourselves onto one of the ample sofas on the rooftop patio. Enjoyed a few drinks during the opening band. Sad mix of The Cure and Buzzcocks. Just common. After the opening act, the sea of true religion consumed us, and for a while we were quite convinced that we might drown. A glimmer, a hint of hope came, when we both saw Randy on the Rocks out of the corner of our eyes, and I have to say that may have been the highlight.

We took our places at the foot of the balcony stairs, and we could have not been more pleased. We stood there for around 20 minutes. As soon as the introductory rap music started (who the fuck do these kids think they are, and where the fuck do they think they are? Two guesses, and it aint Lankenshire) some unsavory character came down and told us we had to move.

“Move where?” Mels asked
“Como tele vous?” I asked
“YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!!!” He screamed
It was a nightmare. Ironically, almost all of the Arctic Monkeys’ songs are about this very thing. We slunk back up the stairs. We found some seats on the balcony amongst a swath of deserted seats. Well well behind the velvet rope I might add. We sat for 30 seconds max when another unsavory bouncer came up behind us, and told us the seats were reserved.

I glanced at the hundred or so empty seats, and asked. “Reserved for whom? Pray tell?”
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET UP?”
Mels face was shocked and sullen.
The man said something else. A fierce volley of saliva sprayed my face.
“Alright alright, say it don’t spray it dude.”

We got up, went to the patio, and watched most of the show from the bar on a projector screen. That sentence ends with a preposition, but don’t worry I don’t care. The bartender tried to convince us that there was plenty of space on the balcony, and we in turn tried to convince him that this venue was 8 kinds of lame.

We finished our drinks and went down onto the main floor and tried to convince any track suited yokel that would listen that what they were experiencing may in fact be the fifth level of hell.

“What you are standing in. No it isn’t urine. That be the river Styx that be.”

Mels and I enjoyed half a cigarette on the upstairs terrace where, believe it or not, we were told once again to leave. No smoking. I glanced at the empty terrace and asked the bouncer if he honestly thought anyone would mind. He was de fuckin lovely so he eventually got our utmost cooperation.

We closed the night with a slow dance to A Certain Romance, and called it a night we should really do more often.

And that is as they say that.

Henry Fonda Theater. Sucks in ways I have so ineloquently described.
Arctic Monkeys are I don’t know what the fuck they are.
Hollywood is apparently Cleveland in a glitzy disguise.

On a totally different and altogether disquieting note, the office pool I am a part of is a total nightmare. As you know my team name is mrsjeter. Well some hateful prat decided it would be just oh so clever to change his team name to YANKEES SUCK!!!! (emphasis not added). Cruel and hateful. Cruel and hateful.

u can't have what i have. it's that simple.

Well there were no pictures of Derek this morning. Which is probably just as well. I am still trying to figure out how I am going to explain to Getty Images that I, not them, own all images of Derek in perpetuity. Blake, John, Melissa, think about that and get back to me.

I am wearing my brand new Loomstate jeans, and I must say I am defininitely enjoying them. More online tat coming my way includes a pair of Le Coq Sportif trainers, a Burro football jersey, and the new Sebastian Roux CD. I have designed a pair of dunks, but I am going to hold off on ordering them until I see the LQSs.

In fact I am going to try to avoid bringing any new objects into my life for a while (no I am not turning into a smelly Budhist). My apartment in Seattle will be ready on July 1, and I had a mild panic attack last night when I looked around my apartment and pondered the notion of packing up all of my stuff and moving. No new stuff!!!!

There, I said it. The day is fast approaching when I will be leaving the land of sunshine, for the polar (almost literally) opposite land of Mods and Saabs. Much to the chagrin of my dozens of friends in L.A., but to the delight of both of my friends in Seattle, I am going to give the Emerald City one more shot.

Really, it is for the best. Milo will have a yard to play in, and squirels to slaughter, and more importantly I will have someone to cook for me.

I have unwisely entered my office betting pool. Something which I think may be illeagal. I have Gonz defeating Udub in the final round. I think my ten dollars may be as good as lost. And yes, my handle for yahoo sports is in fact mrsjeter.

Baseball is amazing, basketball is tired. Black is not the new black, and denim is the new cargopant. Argyle was last year, fair aisle is next year, and the boy in my office sporting the pony's would have impressed me 9 months ago. But that's just my opinion. Which is more important than yours.

P.S. I am listening to Iron & Wine right now. Could someone tell me why they suck so motherfucking bad!!!!

Oh Hell No!!!

1.


The good people of Anaheim, milk fed Honda driving dip shits that they are, thought it would be a good idea to boo my Derek at last night's World Classic game against Korea. Take a good look at those pictures. He is devastated and I am shaking with rage. Now I had no problem with Anaheim before, and I chose a live and let live approach to that place. I treated it as a vessel. A vessel that contained Disneyland and strip malls. But now, now I have nothing but vitriol for the denizens of that city which in fact is not Los Angeles, which in fact couldn't even name their sorry ass baseball team without referencing Los Angeles.

You say Anaheim, I say fat ass.
You say Angels, I say inbred track home living crack whore.
You say O.C., I say nouveau riche, prozac popping, trader joe shopping hoi poloi. Common just common.

I feel better now.
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1. And no, Derek is not crying, like me he is allergic to rudeness.

Isn't that just precious

What can I say. This is the mother-effing cutest picture I have seen in a long long time. A Rod's face is just priceless. If you don't dream about being in the middle of all that, then your soul has been eaten by a big giant lesbian. And of course you have my condolences.

LEGAL UPDATE!!!

I promise there will not be many of these...

Walmart, the store we all know and love, and thanks to Paris Hilton we all know in fact does not sell any walls, is advancing every specious legal theory known to humankind against the man who is printing the "I (heart) WALocaust t-shirts (Don't bother I have already tried to buy 30).

I believe they are going to advance a dilution claim, a far easier claim than infringement. Now most of my learned companions I have read admit that WALmart doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of prevailing, but their moral outrage is a plenty with change. The fury arises over "comparing a retail chain to the third reich". Now I am quoting that because I know enough history not to make such a blunder.1

(Debate geek moment omitted)

Now, obviously I am far too interesting to pretend to care about trademark law, but what really tickles me is how WALmart's crackerjack legal team are availing themselves to such a nubile infant of a legal principle as trademark dilution in order to stifle free expression, and more importantly, a pretty damn funny t-shirt. They have no shame. And apparently not much in the way of legal education either.

"A sacrificial offering consumed in flames"

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1. What constitutes the first, second, and third reich is a fascinating subject in and of itself, however, the subtelties and the issues involved are sufficiently complicated to render a claim such as "third reich = holocaust" a little clumsy. It certainly ignores the role the Vichy government and other governments played in carrying out the holocaust. I do believe moral indignation requires a fair degree of precision. And I don't think I am going to budge on that point. And when IP lawyers express moral indignation (on any subject really) I kinda tune out.

Ringleader of the bloggers

Well I just pre-ordered the new Morrissey album from Amazon and now I have it to listen to in my digital locker. I just listened to it. Sit down Mary.

Astounding. I can not even begin to understand the people who are saying that this album is a grower. Admittedly, it starts off weak with Dear God Please Help Me as the only showstopper, but from In The Future When All's Well onward the album is relentless. It demands to be listened to. I almost smacked a co-worker hovering over my desk. The vocal work is extraordinary, and the backing music is actually interesting (something even I rarely say about a Moz record). This album is far more interesting than YATQ or Vauxhaul even Your Arsenal. All good albums in their own right, but this, THIS, is remarkable.

In other news...

I bought tickets for all three Yankees/Mariners games at Safeco on August 22,23, and 24th. I think you all know how excited I am about that.

My Connor is going to be on the Season 3 premeire of Stargate Atlantis (Date TBD). The Season 2 finale is this friday before the Galactica finale, so you all know where I will be this Friday.

Next Wednesday Mels and I are going to see the Arctic Monkeys play at the Henry Fonda theater. I am going to try and make her take a picture for my blog. I am begining to feel this blog is only about the written word. I guess I am too scared of copyright infringement.
Toodles..

Keeping your back turned

I just saw the fakest Prada bag I have ever seen in my mother-effing life. Yeah I know that sentence is redundant, but this really warrants it. Now normally I smell knock-off before I even bother with visual confirmation, but even I rarely spot an ape from 30 feet away. Let me go over some of the tell-tale signs with you.

1. Prada has not come out with anything cute in like 5 years 1. This bag was not the greatest, but it just didn't make me convulse the way genuine bougie trinkets do. And it had this weird triangly thing on it. Weird triangly things only belong on things that are completely unfortunate. There are no exceptions, caveats or codicils save one see below.
2. If you're not willing to have your pants properly tailored, you are probably not willing to spring for an expugly bag. Unquote.
3. If you're ass is honestly the size of a Volkswagon Passat, then all things being equal, you would want to have that junk sucked out before splurging on something that is going to make the rest of your outfit pointless.

I've said my peace.
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1. One exception are those cute little tricks, and the car shoes (NOT NOT NOT NOT THE ONES WITH THE RED STRIPE!) Concessions can also be made for a basic Prada tie provided it does not have a metal triangle on it (they really made those I shit you not.), a basic black cosmetic bag coz lets face it those things last a lifetime, and everything else I own which was purchased before Prada become the new suck.

Music Update

Hello...

Well after a brief hiatus I thought it may be nice to let you know what I am filling my brain with.

Destroyer - Destroyer's Rubies - Although not as immediately happenin as Streethawk A Seduction, this is an album I am definitely not dissapointed with. The writers at Stylus and Pitchfork have already given ample evidence with their respective reviews as to why they will never have friend, so I will say no more on the subject.

Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not - Now who could ask for a more contrived witty title to go with the stupidest band name ever (And I am including Test Icicles in there). I have to admit though, like anonymous sex in a backroom of a bathhouse, this album really grows on you. Now I am not sure if it is the best album in the history of recorded sound, but since I don't make living making pained attempts to sound pretentious that is a subject I don't have to broach.

Stephan Mathieu - On Tape - Yes Yes Yes this little gem finally came in the mail after 6 weeks. It is of the quality I have come to expect from this delightful German. I wonder if he would like to play scrabble with me? Clocking in at just over 30 minutes, this "piece" starts to pay real dividends 15 minuutes in, and from that point on turning the music off is simply not an option. Avant Garde, but not overly challenging. Pretty but not frilly. Gay, but not too "faggy". You hear me?