You can catch more flies with a net than you can with cliches.

Either consciously or unconciously I negelected to set my alarm last night. I honestly believe it was my subconscious trying to protect me from the freak show nightmare that my workplace has regressed into. Needless to say I slept in by about 45 minutes, and I arrived at work 45 minues after my normal time.

Did not even have time to toast my bagel when someone that has a languorous pit viper for a personality made a snitty comment about it. Bear in mind it was well well before 7:00 am and my bagel was yet to be toasted. I gave Ms. Snit a glare that I hope conveyed that it was none of her holy beeswax when I come into the office. I actually hope it conveyed a little more than that, but when you a wearing a Bernard Willhelm renaissance inspired blouse (yes blouse is really the only word that describes it) there is only so much contempt you can convincingly convey. The limits of style.

And the crazy train conitnues to barrel down the hill towards pertwackedville in many many other ways. For instance, if you are going to be a taddle-tale that is of course your business, but I would suggest that you not run a taddlin' to the Culligan Man. Cuz, the last time I checked it was not in his ambit of authority to reprimand attorneys or anyone else for that matter. I could be mistaken on this point, but it has been so long since I have been mistaken about anything I really couldn't say.

After the initial bumps of this morning I am attempting to smooth things over with A Night At The Red Door. And it is working famously. You can download it here, and I strongly encourage you to do so. Frack that! Do what I say right this instant or suffer the horrible horrible consequences!

Kisses.

Something is moving.

And this would be the Randolph Apartments on 13th Avenue. This apartment was managed by a woman I called Big Mama and her flock of 3 heroin addict sons I semi-affectionately referred to as Cleatus Cleatus & Cleatus. I lived in this apartment for approximately 2 months before I was persuaded to break my lease. I am convinced this act probably saved my life.

In movie news Star Trek XI is apparently a reality. According to Variety, the movie will be produced and directed by the man (J.J. something) who had the cosmic misfortune of working with Tom Likes Cock Cruise on MI3.

The news is not all good. First, the movie is a prequel and therefore sucks by design. Second, according to startrek.com the movie takes place after Enterprise and before the original series (TOS for all my mutual geeks) and focuses on the first meeting of Kirk and Spock. Therefore, the movie is essentially about a topic that interests absolutely no one and involves characters that interest absolutely no one. And by no one I am not including people who like the original series simply because there is no evidence that those fuck wits are actually real people.

Thanatology is my word of the day, and in case I did not make myself clear, Star Trek The Original Series sucks in so many ways it would be pointless to enumerate them. And unless you are six kinds of obtuse you realize I am less than overjoyed at the news of this new Star Trek movie. I hope this movie bankrupts Paramount and makes Tom Likes Cock Cruise erupt into flames and run into oncoming traffic. I really don't give a flying eff about the fortunes of Paramount, but if TLCC could seriously die a painful death that would be the most. And of course I am going to go see this suck fest of a travesty, but I really needed to vent. Now I need a fruit plate.

There is a time and place for acting interesting.

There was a man at the bus stop this morning. He said he was working in this neighborhood before I even came to this country. I was thinking of asking him where on earth he thinks I came from, but then I thought better of it. Then once we were on the bus he overheard my conversation with the busdriver, and he mumbled some comment about how good my English was. Now I know I was born in "The Valley", but I never once considered it a different country. I was about to comment on his accent. I mean how someone manages to live in Los Angeles for 30 plus years and still manage to sound like they're in Alabama is way way beyond me, but a lot of people manage it. The gentlemen got off at the next stop so I did not have to endure much of his irrelevant racist discourse.

Racial tensions have always been high in Los Angeles, but I think that maybe the recent immigration/migrant worker protests have intensified already existing feelings. Now I certainly have views on the subject, but I would never presume that anyone would be interested in listening to them. And I would never question someone's lineage on a bus at 5:30 in the morning. I can't think of a more inappropriate forum. I can't help but think I may have brought this whole ugly episode on myself. You see, lacking a tazer or the ability to spew vomit on command I have taken to mumbling something in German every time a spanger1. asks me for money or a cigarette.

Now back to the issue of appropriate forums. The other day at work, 3 carbies (and yes one of them was the darkness) were discussing this very issue in the office kitchen. Now putting aside what I have already said about boring people needlessly, at that moment I could think of nothing more unattractive than engaging in low brow water cooler policy analysis while holding a breakfast bagel. Unseemly.

On a lighter and altogether nicer note, I have downloaded some delightful DJ sets from by bud DJJW from this special little spot. If you get a chance do check it out. I dare say you will find it as good or even better than the Pet Shop Boys in helping chase the demons away. Polysemia is my word of the day. ___________________________________________________________________ 1. Spare-changer, but I am sure you knew that.

OH SWEET JESUS !

So I am a little bored at work. The top picture is of Derek in his chonies shaking hands with a cock-face. The second picture is Derek and A Rod at it again, and the third picture is doctored, badly, but not by me.

It only looks that way from a distance.

There would be little point in discussing the prostitutes. Needless to say they were out on the prowl and given my choice of outfit there was no need to act gayer than tarnation. Some things are just effortless. The need for projectile vomitting was evident, however, when a wobbly raspy voiced crack urchin asked me if I had an extra cigarette. I did my part in helping to hasten his demise, but as I was rummaging through my bolsa for my American Spirits, part of me really really wanted to find a tazer.

Very little of interest overall, however, I do have many activities planned for this week. Last night was somewhat of a letdown. I received a package in the mail, and when I opened it up the shirt that was clearly represented as Hussein Chalayan was in fact Comme des Garcons. Like I need another Comme des Garcons shirt. Now I have to find this place called UPS if I want to rectify the situation. Mercy and sakes.

Safe at work, and all I can say is there are some fracked up mother frackers here. It tires me to even acknowledge it let alone discuss it. I am sure they are decent people, but sometimes I can't help but wonder how they have managed this long without being beaten to death with one of their own limbs. Speaking of that, I watched Saw last night, and despite some obvious inconsistencies it was generally creepy. Which I think was the point. Fear of Drowning by British Sea Power is the song I can't get out of my head today and nom des guerre is my word of the day.

Crying In Your Face.

Monday morning and I am having a great time listening to the new AFX Chosen Lords on my uber headphones. Just to give you some info that you may already have or conversely don't care about, Chosen Lords is a compilation of some of the 10 12" of the Analord series previously available only on vinyl and distributed through many outlets including forcedexposure.com. As you may have guessed, the song Crying In Your Face is my personal favorite.

As for forcedexpsosure.com, it is an amazing resource to find the hard to find. Whether post-digital, electro acoustic, or simply avant-guard for the sake of being scarce, it never hurts to check out forcedexposure.com.

Over the weekend I finsihed reading The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things by J.T. Leroy, and I am now reading Jean Genet's The Thief's Journal. It is nice not being embarassed by what I am reading. Which is not to say that THIDAAT's lacks merit, but given the controversy that I was totally unaware of when I started to read the book, I am glad to put it behind me. And I have no desire to read anything else by whoever wrote this book. It just wasn't that interesting. Even if it were true it wouldn't be interesting.

Hope everyone had a great weekend. Lothario is my word of the day. Oh and by the way, being mildly eccentric is fine, even endearing, but being so motherfucking out of your mind that merely being next to you makes someone feel chills is another thing altogether.

You haven't got that much !

I was wandering around the web and I found this little picture. Yes I lived in this apartment as well. On the 5th floor. I have many fond memories of this apartment, but perhaps the fondest of all was moving out. Rat trap it was. I should have taken the hint on the day I was slated to move in I couldn't because the manager was nowhere to be found because she was at a 711 memorial or something cuz like she had friends there. Right. My perceived insensitivity to her pretend loss was duly noted for the remainder of my stay.

I am casually searching for pictures of all my former apartments, however, it may be difficult since there are no pictures of the Normandy Arms in existence.

Back at work. Same building, same floor, and amazingly the same questions, in a slightly different format, from the same carbies1. This time I didn't even pretend to be interested. I just calmly walked to the elevator and went downstairs for a cheese plate. There are some injuries that only cheese and fruit can soothe.

Last night I watched Dead Ringer with Bette Davis and some other people. I really enjoyed it. I have to say I am really getting into some of these older movies, and I am close to thinking that they may not be an entirely inferior form of entertainment.

This Sunday marks the birthday of two of my best friends. They were both born on April 23. BMD & MPF is what I should call them. They are both attorneys, both happily married, they both have this unusual affinty for rather small dogs, and the similarities actually go on and on, however, they have never once met each other. But like I always say, actually as I always quote: "Keep yer friends close and yer subwoofer closer."
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1. I think it safe to refer to carbon based lifeforms as carbies from this point forward. If there are any objections please fuck off.

I never said I needed advice.

The alarm clock was so loud this morning I ran away from it. As soon as my head cleared I decided to turn off the alarm, but when I realized Roxanne was blaring I felt like running away again. My cat had a look on his face that convinced me he was going to eat my soul. And that my sacrifice would nourish him for a long long time.

And while we're on the subject of the consumption of ones soul. Approximately one hour later I walk into the office, unlocked all the doors and let in all the carbon based counterparts. I not so much as took one sip of my coffee when I was surrounded on all sides by two people. There were questions, assertions, more questions. At that moment I am sure I was staring at these people with a look of wonder as to how anyone could possibly think I know or care about anything that was being said.

Almost by accident, and completely involuntarily I started answering questions. That's how it always starts. As I am listening to myself I can't help but think that I actually sound like I know what I am talking about. I panic. Then I remember that I am just making all of this shit up, and a calm washes over me. The point is, I am normally not ready to run out of the office screaming after only 5 minutes.

Yesterday the four hour teleconference on negotitating aquisition agreements rendered me somewhat weary, and grasping for meaning in my life. I needed to get out of there. Luckily the MOCA gift shop is across the street. A brief visit, and a small spritz of the new Comme des Garcons energized me. More than anything, spending time with the useless freak-fucks that work there, and suddenly my work seemed tolerable-ish. Probably just a case of mid-week misanthropy. Salvo is my word of the day in case you were wondering.

I thought you were going to work on being ironic.

Well obviously I did not make myself clear. This morning I was at work. You will remember about the building with the floors. I was in the middle of a very important and highly sensitive online transaction when I was confronted once again by the darkness. The darkness has learned that he will not address me directly, however, it would seem that he has no compunction whatsoever about addressing people in my immediate vicinity. The Pet Shop Boys were nowhere to be found. I felt cold. Chilled to my very core. And for the brief moment when his vacant evil bovine eyes met mine I was struck with an epiphany.

Wouldn't it be the most, if I could train myself to projectile vomit on command. It would certainly get me out of all sorts of awkard moments, and do wonders for my figure at the same time. I could just imagine the next time I am walking down Sunset and some prostitute asks me for a cigarette. Oh, and those nasty c*nts at Sephora. When I get home I am going to check one of the community college catalogs that litter my lobby, and see what I can do about this. Self improvement is the new Puggle.

Meanwhile, the powers that be have me working on an even more meaningless task. This means I should get a lot done today in the way of maintainting a thin visage of productivity. I will be attending a teleconference on negotiating aquisition agreements, a couple crossword puzzles pasted gingerly onto an official lookingish document, and perhaps beating my high score at solitaire. Sui generis is my word of the day. Don't ask.

I'm sure I formulated a plan

I was fooling around on Craigslist and I found this picture. I used to live here. This is my old place on Boylston. Some of you may remember The Viceroy. The window on the left is quite possibly the largest walk in closet I have ever seen.

The ad on craigslist gives some useful information about the apartment, but it fails to mention that it is across the street from a halfway house. I have no idea what a halfway house is all I know is that Whitney Houston got kicked out of one. If it is my old unit, then I should say that I locked myself out once and I had to kick the door open. Some of the door frame came loose, and the door never really closed the same way again. I got my entire security deposit back though.

I am listening to Broken Social Scene, and largesse is my word of the day. Look it up I don't have the time.
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Note: The picture I was referring to has been taken down from craigslist, and has been taken down from my blog.

Bette Davis took the fat girl to the carwash.

God I love weekends. This weekend I treated myself to a Bette Davis movie. Now, Voyager was the title of the movie, and I can't imagine a gayer way to spend Easter. I also on again off again watched The Passion of the Christ and all I can say is that midway through the movie I could honestly say "Yeah Mel I get it".

The violence in the movie ceased to be believable early on, but the violence was more of a metaphor or commentary if you will. A critique/condemnation of the type of ultra-violence present in movies dealing with material that in Mel's humble opinion is of far less importance than the whatever the fuck went in on this movie. "Yeah Mel, I get it".

All in all the movie had about 30 seconds of sustained emotional resonance, and that of course revolved around Mary who was horribly miscast. Where was Quentin Crisp? The movie is a fascinating examination of the point in history where humanity actually started to revert back to the stone age. I think they only call it the dark ages to make the Renaissance seem more important. I also wondered that when Jesus said "Forgive Them Father blah blah blah" if he honsetly was prescient and referring to something like the crusades or maybe the inquisition or the whole Christianizing the Western hemisphere, or if it was all about being up on that cross. Part of me hopes it's the former, but most of me knows better. And it is also entirely possible that this movie was just a little too "deep" for my small pagan mind.

Anyway, I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer because honestly, as low as the Passion of the Whatever was it was nowhere near as low as my caserole. I have vowed never to cook again. On a positive note I have discovered that just the right amount of Yves Saint Laurent perfume deters people from sitting next to me on the bus. But I'm sure we all had some breakthroughs this weekend.

What does it mean to thumb your nose at somebody?

Ok I know I made a vow not to buy anything else due to the impending fiasco of packing up and moving all my stuff up the coast, but given my day on Wednesday (You will remember my staring into the face of the darkness, the darkness remember) I really felt I needed to take my mind off of things with a nice graphic t-shirt. Nothing says my problems are not as important as yours like a graphic t-shirt.

Additionally, I am being recruited for another project. Same building different floor, and despite the substantial cut in pay I am seriously considering it because as I have already described my work environment here has become insufferable. Although the Pet Shop Boys are doing all they can to help.

I am really just 100% ready for the LA show to be over. As this blog may evidence I have recently been gripped by mild panic attacks at the thought that I may be turning into a vacuous celebrity obsessed drone.

Before I moved back to Los Angeles I had no idea who Nick, Jessica and Nicole were. Paris Hilton was just some bitch on a very expensive and funny t-shirt. Now I watch Newlyweds, read the defamer and the superficial, and I actually have cable. I read In Touch magazine and I encourage others to do the same. I can't believe I am actually saying this, but I think I may be perilously close to becoming cosmically uninteresting.

I honestly don't think there is anything wrong with being a vacuous celebrity obsessed drone. But you have to admit it is a lot more fun looking down on people when you are not actually one of them. The view is always better when you're perched upon a high-horse I always say.

Enough about me. Derek has posted a new entry in his journal. If any of you are interested I have left the link below.

Until Monday.

"Stay gorgeous, and for God's sake stay at home."

http://derekjeter.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/players/jeter_derek/about/journal.jsp

I thought there was someone underneath me.

I never really believed that Derek was a bottom until I saw this ad for mlb.tv. What can I say. I am a little crushed, but as the borg say I will adapt.

It seems as though my blog is becoming a gallery of Derek pics, but I can assure you that whenever something more interesting comes my way I will be more than happy to share it with you.

Speaking of interesting or possibly shattering, yesterday was a rough day for me. You see I work in a building like many buildings it has floors. I work on one of the floors, and unfortunately I am not alone on this floor. It is populated by other carbon based lifeforms that seemingly go about their business, but invariably their business brushes up into my business. Rarely, as like in never until yesterday, does their business come crashing into my face.

Now I do not want to get into specifics, but what I can tell you is this. Yesterday at around 10:15 am I honest to god stared straight into the darkness. I mean I was looking right into the eyes of the beast. A seething pedantic overweight middle-aged meat eating sweaty pursed lipped beast. My composure was shaken only slightly, but I saw an aspect of humanity that convinces me more than ever that human civilization is doomed.

Meanwhile, I have a refreshed determination to enjoy myself, and a commitment to keep my headphones on the entire time I am at work. I don't care what it does to my hair, my sanity and quite possibly my physical safety are at stake. No one can hurt you when you're with the Pet Shop Boys. No one can hurt you when you're with the Pet Shop Boys. No one can hurt you when you're with the Pet Shop Boys. No one can hurt you when you're with the Pet Shop Boys.

It was really only a 10 second conversation.

Well today I have an axe to grind. Yesterday I was down with a really bad cold, although it may have been alergies, the point is that I took enough cold medicine to cause slight aphasia. The good kind not the bad kind. I am back on my feet today and I am super slo mo pissed.

I effing hate True Religion jeans. Trendy lame cheap ass wares. I was slipping on a pair of True Religion jeans today, and as I was trying to slide my bus fare into the right back pocket1 I noticed the seam had come undone. About 1 and a half inches of seam undone. I checked the left and the same thing was starting to happen. Chintzy trashy despicable no-nothing rags they is.

Now before anyone makes any wise comments about the depth and breadth of my "foundation" I would just like to point out two things. First, these are not tight jeans. I wear these tragic victim threads because they are comfortable. They slide nicely over my posterior and although I may be deluding myself here I believe they make my trunk look a little more twinkish sized. Second, even though I have had these jeans for just over a year, I have many jeans that I have owned over a year (like Levi's) that do not evince such a want of quality.

Now I myself have many jeans that I like more than these, but when I think of all the hard working mos that had to beg and plead and blow their sugar daddies for a pair of these jeans it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I know don't say it. That being said I think I will leave you with a few parting thoughts that I have no basis for whatsoever.

1. True Religion Jeans endorses and practices animal testing. And by animal testing I mean they incinerate puppies and kittens. The resulting viscera constitutes the "Joey Wash".
2. By purchasing True Religion Jeans you are supporting terrorism or as some may say tarrism.
3. True Religion is endorsed by Jessica Simpson, quite possibly the dumbest bipedal organism known to exist or ever known to have existed.2
4. True Religion Jeans Incorporated is responsible for the death of Ghandi and John Lennon. It's causality really.
5. When you wear True Religion Jeans it makes the rest of your outfit cry.

TA!!!
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1. I always place my bus fare in the back right pocket. It is just one of my more interesting quirks.
2. Sadly, my caveat may not cover this claim. There is abundant empirical evidence to suggest that Ms. Simpson is in fact dumber than car wax. That being said, the claim that she is the dumbest biped is actually quite generous.

It isn't better than you're used to.

Drats !!!

That is what Derek is thinking right at this moment. This is from Saturday night and he had already hit a home run and stole a base. I noticed that during this series Derek had a persistent cough. I know how he feels. Anaheim makes me sick too.

This weekend I redefined laze. I managed to go to Amoeba and buy some new music. Islands', Return To The Sea and Nathan Fake's Drowning In A Sea Of Love.

Islands is a couple people from The Unicorns. Very nice record. If you like The Unicorns you will probably like this. If you hate The Unicorns you will probably hate this. There is a nice hidden track at the end, and for the love of God one of the songs is called Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby. Very topical.

The jury is still out on Nathan Fake. I am going to try it on my headphones and see if that helps. I am not as initially rapturous over it like most people. I certainly do not think it is worth the 21 dollar purchase price.

While shopping for Islands I noticed a band called The Idaho Falls. I thought this was interesting given where I grew up. I guess they are an LA band, but the founding member is from Idaho Falls. As one very sharp music critic/litigator told me it is something called Americana Rock.

Last night I made a vegetarian cassoulet. I don't know what all the fuss is about. The hard part about cassoulet is preparing the meat. Once you take that out of the picture it is a breeze. The flavors were robust, the texture a little dry, but all in all not bad for my first time. I have some ideas for the next one I make.

Everyone should be on notice that I am going to the post office today. I hate hate hate hate hate the post office.

Toodles

Some people just want to take out the old guitar.

Double boo!!

The Yankees are in town playing the Angels, and I think I have made it clear how feel about Anaheim. I would still like to go, but I can't get tickets on the Angel's site, and the craigslist "community" (God I hate that word) just seems like a hassle. But I am determined to enjoy my weekend nonetheless. With 3 Yankees games on TV I don't see how my weekend can go wrong.

Double boo!!!

Mels has gone off to Nebraska or somewhere insane. Gone until Wednesday she is. I am glad she is going because she was really looking forward to this. I know some one/people in Nebraska read this occasionally so here is an official holla to the tertiary peeps.

Also if you have not picked up this weeks In Touch magazine I strongly encourage you to do so. I think page 15 is well worth the $1.99 sticker price.

Toodles All.

I Feel Fractured.

Not the best start of the season for my boys in pinstripes, but I love them win or lose.

Last night I was not able to watch my Yankees lose, but I did have some new treats from Netflix. Darby O'Gill and the Little People. There is only one word to describe this movie. Magical. As my brother can attest to, ever since I was little this has been one of my favorite movies. I remember watching it for the first time when I was like six or seven. I hadn't seen it in years, and it was as good as the first time I had seen it. The DVD bonus features were nice with an interview with Sean Connery and footage from the premeire in Dublin. There is even a promotional spot with Walt Disney, but that is just too weired and effed up to get into. God he was a freak. If anyone can provide me with evidence that Walt Disney and L. Ron Hubbard were in fact not the same person I would like to see it.

Second movie. Good Night And Good Luck. Only two words can be used to describe this movie. Good Night. Seriously, pop a valium. I was not sure if this was intended to be a mood piece, but if it were Mr. Clooney should check himself because the last time I checked he was indeed not Gus Van Sant. What was the deal with the singing lady. Was there some meaning there. The movie tackled some interesting issues in fundamentally uninteresting ways.1 After watching the movie I was left feeling very little, and I do not think it was merely the Vodka. No fear, intrigue, paranoia. Nothing. The treatment was prosaic and stolid. That being said, I do think Mr. Clooney is dreamy-ish and a lot more interesting than the usual Hollywood toast like the crisis of personality that is Mr. and Mrs. Pitt. However, I can not shake the feeling that this movie was reaching for something that was simply beyond the material. It is one of those movies I would recommend but never watch again. If that makes any sense.
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1. By uninteresting I of course am referring to, among other things, cinema generally. Do not let people lie to you, it is not, has never been, and will never be an artform.

Still Raining.

I don't really have anything important to say today. I just really enjoyed this picture of Derek. Not a good day for the Yankees they lost 4-3 last night, but I'm sure they tried their best.

And yes, it is still raining in LA. This is just silly.

And This Is What The Devil Does.

Opening day for the Yankees and a 15-3 win over Oakland. I couldn't stay up for the whole game, but since it was 12-2 when I called it a night I had a pretty good idea of how things would turn out.

I tuned in during the second inning just in time to see A-Rod's Grand Slam. Good for him. I was also happy to see Johnny Damon all spruced up and looking well you know. Although someone failed to tell him that Derek always shakes the hand of players first when congratulations are in order. He will get the hang of it I'm sure.

I missed the first inning because I was watching the Sopranos and Big Love. If you haven't watched Big Love you are missing a really good show. There is a lot of inside jargon that may throw you if you are not familiar with the LDS people. When I get a minute I am going to compile a companion and post it up here.

And the day has finally arrived... Morrissey's new album is in stores today. Ringleader Of The Tormentors. Stylusmagazine gave it a solid B+. Pitchforkmedia gave it an 8.0, and the foreign press is clammoring not that any of that means anything. It is a real treat especially if, like me, you are a fan of the the Moz's vocal prowess. His voice sounds amazing on all of these songs, and the album is a little harsher and less Adult Contemporaryish than YATQ, but has a few nice torch songs. The single You Have Killed Me is worth picking up if for anything to listen to Morrissey's cover of the New York Dolls' Human Being. I think I am going to listen to it now.

Toodles All...

Bow down to the swoosh.

Well this weekend I did something I vowed I would never do. I bought a pair of Nikes. I know I said I would stop buying things in anticipation of my move, but they were small enough that I thought it wouldn't hurt. They are an intersting shoe, and I am still getting used to them. They are not the Jumpman Jeters I have my heart set on, but they were half the price and a little more practical given my current wardrobe. I didn't stop there. I also bought a new pair of Yves Saint Laurent chonies. A little extravagant possibly, but I think that special someone might appreciate them. All in all a bust as far as shopping goes, but nothing really reached out and grabbed me.

My trip to IKEA was uneventful. I bought a pink showecurtain because my bathroom has pink tile, and I wasn't really thinking because since there is a window in my shower the bathroom is now bathed in a pink glow. This coupled with the black and white photographs of fetching nude males above the toilet, and I think I may have achieved possibly the gayest bathroom in Hollywood. Which is no small feat.

Clearly I was on a roll yesterday because I started my day at 8:00 am thinking it was 7:00 am. I went to the Grocery store, walked through the Thai Town New Year's Eve Celebration, went to Starbucks, tried to convince some guy that he had not seen me on TV, went back home unloaded my groceries, drove to IKEA, got out in a miraculous 20 minutes, drove back to Hollywood to a record store next door to Ye Rustic Inn, don't bother, went to Amoeba where they had the CD I have been looking all over for at a price of 21 dollars. God bless the independent mega-plex hell that is Ameoba, and if all that weren't enough I thought I would slip into the homo-depot on Sunset to pick up a new vacuum. The rooftop parking of the homo-depot offers stunning views of the Hollywood Hills, the Hollywood sign, and downtown LA.

Tonite I am going to watch the Yankees for the first time this season, and I am looking forward to that. Early season games are always the best because coming back from hiatus all the players seem to fill out their uniforms a lot better. If you catch my meaning, and I'm sure you do. Enjoy your first month of April.