Lord grant me the serenity.

---"Oh Bitch, Jeffrey is gonna cut you....."


I really don't even know where to start. How about here. For the past 3 days I have been attempting to intercept a package from Fedex. You may remember I came into work early yesterday in order to be home when Fedex arrived. Turns out they came early and gave the package to my super. Something I requested on the first day. Two heated conversations with Fedex representatives earlier in the day had left me weak and developing a rash. Once my super knocked on the door and gave me my package from Barney's I was relieved that I was going to be able to put the whole business behind me.

I opened the package and they had only sent me half of my order. And the one shirt they did send me was in the wrong size. Pitiful. I called Barney's and miraculously got a real live human being on the third ring. Diane was dim, but good spirited about the whole affair, and told me it would do little good to return the shirt to the Beverly Hills store because they ran out out of the Rag & Bone shirts quite a while ago, they had received numerous complaints regarding canceled order, and were yet to update their web-site. To this date thewebsite states the shirts are available in all sizes. They even sent me a confirming email summarizing my entire order without omissions or errors. Since I ordered the shirts they have been marked down. WTF? If it wasn't available to send to me then how in God's name could they have marked it down.

I was fuming. In a wage. I had to take a walk. And I did, and I was still in a wage. I really enjoy buying things online. I derive a great deal of pleasure from it. After a long boring 10 hours at the office I love to come home to a package waiting at my door, or better yet have my delightful super knock on my door and be holding a package for me. It is a small pleasure I have come to rely on. Barney's has taken something I love and turned it into something tawdry cheap and altogether unpleasant. Three cheers for Barney's!!!

1. Barney's! Frack You! Nothing But Low Rent WASPS And Wanna-Be Bougies Shop At You Anyway.

2. Barney's! You A Brand Killer! By The Time You Get Around To Carrying A Line That's Even Worth An Internet Order All The Sane People Have Moved On!

3. Barney's! Stop Sending Me Your Fracking Catalog. All I Wanted Was A Goddamn Mother Effing Rag & Bone T-Shirt For My Brother! What The Hell Have I Done To Deserve This!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well if Amazon is true to their word (and they usually are) the new Pet Shop Boys will be waiting for me when I get home, and I can conclude this dark chapter in my life and start a brand new Barney's free existence.

Brief literary Update

I completed Yukio Mishima's The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea, and I found it thoroughly enchanting and brutal. Wonderful writer, I am sure a great deal is lost in the English translation, but still. I plan to start his tetralogy as soon as I have finished reading Suddenly Last Summer. I guess Mishima committed ritual suicide after finishing the tetralogy. Drama.

Well I still owe a searing email to Barney's and I still have to find my bubba a birthday present, and I actually think I have work to do. There are just so many hours in the day.

//JRB:jb

n'importe quoi

You know somewhere along the way I seem to have missed the simple joys of ironing your own clothes. Admittedly that joy would be enhanced if it were not 85 degrees out, but nonetheless, there is a simple satisfaction in a job well done, as well as caring for your own garments. Not that Armenians don't try their best, but one thing I've learned about Armenians (living in Little Armenia for the last year) is that their best is rarely good enough. And this may sound bougie, but at some point, and I can't be sure when, I simply found it easier to pay other people to do things that I was more than capable of doing myself. Like carrying around my medication. Sure I can do it for myself, but I am almost completely recovered from my sickness, and it seems silly to have someone follow me around with an aspirin bottle. I have a drawer. I think I will keep the aspirin bottle there. The clarity of vision when you stop taking Robitussin is extreme.

And no more Tylenol PM. Which is also a good thing. My precious Milo decided that 3:00 A.M. would make an enchanting time for cuddles. 3:00 A.M. is allegedly the witching hour. It is the hour that demons walk the earth in search of bodies to possess. Being aware of this as well as a 20 pound cat on my head, I opened the window to see if any demons wanted to come inside and cuddle with Milo and I. They declined our invitation. Boo. Many of you know my Milo. He is my pride and joy. My own. My precious. My bucket of furry love if you will. And I have just found the most adorable playmate for Milo. Unlike other playmates that prove a little too fragile and timid I think this one will do nicely. Click here to see what I hope will soon be Milo and my new companion.

It's called a Serval, and I want one. I want to name her Nefertiti. First I have to check with the Fish and Game Board to see if I need a license which I most likely won't, and then it is a $500 deposit, and naturally she has to be declawed and spayed, and I cover the shipping costs, but Neffy is something I am very excited about. I heard Michael Douglas owned a Serval, but had to get rid of her because she proved to feisty. That's just precious. I'm confident I'm more capable than Mr. Douglas as a companion. Those of you that know what a pill Milo can be will attest to that fact.

I have to be back home at 5:30 to intercept the Fedex bozo who seems incapable of leaving my buba's birthday pressie with my building manager. So I came into the office early this morning. The pimps and hos were rollin Sunset. And as I was standing there listening to "Biggy" blaring out of an Escalade I thought to myself: If you really own (and by own I mean you purchased with actual money) that Escalade, then why are you trolling for $60 dollar hookers? The dude in the late model El Dorado was far more convincing. The dude in the Escalade prolly smokes purps and calls it The Chronic. Just silly.

My mojo is 20/20 this morning. Both my bus-driver and my barista are way into my shiz. The barista is a maybe, the bus-driver would take a lot of Whiskey. Snaps for me. I haven't said snaps for anybody in 8 years so you know I am feeling better.

My level of disappointment is sincere.

If there is one thing you do in the next 36 hours it should be to vote. Vote for the All-Star Game. I do not have to tell many of you that last year a miscarriage of taste resulted in Derek not even playing in the all-star game. I am pretty sure that is the injustice that is causing my present illness. These things can lie dormant for months if not years.

Already the vultures are circling. Some Seattle PI writer called the Mariner Housewife is already denouncing many voters as "voting for Derek simply because they can not think of anyone else." I'm sorry Ms. Housefrau, but some of us vote for Derek because he is our favorite player and has an ass like there is no tomorrow. Not to mention he is a very good player. He is eighth in the league in hits, and manages his position at short-stop with alarming precision. All of those "studies" that claim Derek is a liability as a short-stop have a deeply flawed methodology. Namely, they evaluate balls that are hit in his "zone" As such they do not assume players that play outside of their zone. As such the "studies" in no way reflect the players actual fielding percentages, and are as meaningless as the people that write them and the people that believe them. Transformation into gay baseball geek complete.

So Mariner housewife whoever the frack you are you had better hope that we never meet because I am moving to your neighborhood, and I am bringing a heaping spoonful of DJ love with me.1. Curtains!!

I got a nice pair of Reeboks, and that guy who I thought was like the hottest thing ever is a total Monet. And I am looking for an assistant to carry around my cold medicine. It is getting a little unwieldy.
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1. I forgot to mention that I am not moving to Seattle until the end of July. Sorry for any confusion.

Rock Me Amadeus

Unfortunately my attempts to beat the summer heat had the incidental effect of giving me a cold. I do not get sick often, but when I am seized by the icy hand of infirmity I am convinced each and every time that I am in fact dying. Despite my impending demise the medication I am liberally ingesting allows me to complete my important time sensitive exacting work.

The man at the bus stop kept speaking to me. Something about quarters, skid row, social security. At first I did the Paris Hilton thing and pretended to talk on my cellphone. In French. Then he said something about my cell phone, then finally I just had to tell him that I did not understand a single thing coming out of his mouth.

Regardless, I was in no way shape or form in any kind of mood for the inept Starcock carbie that despite her most sincere efforts could not manage to get my order right. It took all the strength and patience in my frail withering frame not to turn into one of the seething disagreeable Coopies I so disdain.

Last night I watched New York Doll, the documentary about the New York Dolls. It was exceptional. Very sad and informative, and I think anybody who is even remotely interested in pop music, and why and how pop music looks and sounds the way it does today can take a lot away from this movie.

And by pop music I am including R&B, Rap, Grunge, Folk, Metal, Hip Hop, Blip-Hop, Rock including the low-fi, emo, shoe-gaze, punk, garage, indie, twee, noise, post-punk, math, not so much the prog, but the kraut, thrash, noise, synth, mod, art, new wave, no wave and basically anything where image, style, and format is as important as the music which includes a great deal of music that is being produced today. So much easier to just say pop and get it over with. I actually gave this a lot of thought last night, and it made more sense with the Tylenol PM. I think the delineating point was when a band or artist turns itself into, or inadvertently becomes a commodity, then it becomes pop. The rub of course is that by becoming a commodity you relinquish a great deal of free will, but that may be illusory in the first place, however, it is the stylized paralysis that makes pop artists such attractive and tragic figures.

Anyway. Watch New York Doll if for no other reason to witness perhaps the only known connection between Morrissey and "The Book Of Mormon People"

Do you know what tomorrow is?

There are a few things you should know about me. One. I do not like blazers with frayed edges. I call them frazers. And I don't care which Urban Outfitters you bought it at it just spells all kinds of tragic to me. Two. Pointy clown shoes. No. Not even on Halloween. And finally three. This morning my bus drove by what I think may be the hottest guy I have ever seen in real life.

Today is Derek's birthday. He turns 32 today, and by 32 of course I mean 32 flavors of cute.

October Sky is a magical romp of a movie. I could not really get into Curb Your Enthusiasm. I think maybe I should start from the beginning. I watched a great deal of Voyager this weekend including one of my favorite episodes Course Oblivion. In a previous episode the crew of Voyager lent their genetic codes to a bio-mimetic species so that it might develop sentience. In this episode the same bio-mimetic lifeforms have grown to mimic the crew of Voyager completely. Aboard a duplicated ship they resume a course toward the alpha quadrant the whole time believing they are the original crew. That is until their enhanced warp drive causes serious cellular degradation. Everything on board begins to deteriorate including the ship. They are faced with the option of continuing toward Earth or returning to the Class Y planet of their origins. Returning to the Class Y (demon) planet in all likelihood would reverse the degradation. However, by the time Captain Janeway decides to cut her losses and return to the demon planet it is too late. Realizing they may never reach their destination, Janeway resolves to deploy a beacon containing the logs of the crew stating that this crew does not deserve to be forgotten. It is at about this moment that I lose it and start to cry. Anyway the beacon won't work because the systems on Voyager are too badly degraded. The ship and it's valiant crew disintegrate moments before their distress signal is answered by the original Voyager. Not knowing that they have responded to a distress call by the bio-mimetic life-forms they had assisted months earlier, the captain on the original Voyager makes a note in the log that all hands of the doomed ship have been lost. Stirring.

And unlike many shows, Voyager tackles the existential oeuvre with ease. So when people ask me if I am a "Trekkie" I proudly say "Hell Yah!" Why? What do you like to watch? Is it 24? Do you also like playing with your bellybutton? I like pizza and balloons!!!

Some douche face called me at like 8 in the mother effing morning on Saturday, and although I am enjoying my new "I smell sex and candy" ringtone it is not the kind of thing I like to hear at 8 in the mother effing morning. Please make a note of that. If you ever call me at 8 in the mother effing morning I will have you ejected into space.

Oh What Word Heavens Me.

I am rockin a new purse today and I am sure we are going to have a very happy relationship. It is more of a tote than a purse really, but in any language it sounds like a long awaited love affair.

I just got off hold with Southwest Airlines. It was nothing really important. I wanted to email, but they said they do not accept emails, and they have a wondrously pithy explanation as to why all coming down to something to do with customer service. Anyway. I called and I had two options. I could speak with a refund representative or a rapid rewards representative. Press 1 or 2. My question had nothing to do with either refunds or rapid rewards, but if I had to pick I would say my question falls more in line with refunds. All I really wanted was a little information on their business model. I wanted to know how they could across the board charge 40 - 80% more for flights than every other airline, and still 1.) Remain in business and 2.) Manage to maintain the impression that they are some kind of bargain priced airline. It is just the kind of something that really piques my interest on a Friday morning.

I understand that Los Angeles is somewhat of a backwater, and that I am forced to pay a premium for all flights coming in and out of LA, but the prices Southwest has the nerve to charge just seem to smack of highway buggery. Like I really give a fig. I have a new tote !!!

And besides, carbon based lifeforms are incredibly impressionable creatures. The only thing you really need to do to convince most people something is true is to just say it. The tone one uses is far more important than what is being said, and in the case of Dubya, the degree to which you mispronounce something is far more persuasive than what you intend to say. So I think I am going to take a page from Southwest's book and take advantage of humans and their desire to be dominated.

My birthday is coming up and I have compiled a list of things I would like. Each item below is a link and you may click on the item to see what I am talking about, and purchase it. You can simply make a note in the comments section when you have purchased one of the items to avoid duplicate gifts. Do it anonymously cause I want to be surprised, and you hardly want to be known as the prat that bought me the cheapest thing. I am really making this far far too easy for you.

1.) My new dogs, size 11 1/2 if you please.
2.) S&M inspired key ring (in orange).
3.) The fall classic.
4.) An homage to my astrological sign in medium.
5.) A 30 gigbyte buddy for my macbook

Well that is all I can think of at the moment, but I will update the list as appropriate. Now I will make you a promise. I promise not to buy any of these items before August 5th. On August 5th I will either have every item on the list or I will give serious thought to reevaluating the nature of our association.

Kisses.

// JRB:j

Saints Preserve Us.

This morning I was getting dressed when I discovered the unfortunateness that my dry cleaners had ruined one of my shirts. The fabric was such that when exposed to a hot iron the fabric would fuse. This occurred in the sleeve. When I put my arm in my sleeve it ripped through the fused fabric causing a tear. If that makes any sense. The label is Age. Not easy to find even in Los Angeles. So this weekend I am going to buy an iron and I will press all of my shirts myself. Until I move to Seattle where I have a delightful Korean family that presses my shirts, and does fantastic alterations. Bad way to start the day, but miraculously it did not really get me down. With the bad hair did, ruined shirt, and cream chesseless bagel it has been a wholely negative customer service week for me. I always over-tip.

Was able to watch my Yanks last night. Derek was hit in his left knee by a wild pitch Tuesday, and the rumor was that he was not going to play, but he was there and he scored an RBI single in the seventh.

On a separate note, this is the third time she has been hit by a pitch in as many weeks. That girl has mastered all aspects of the game of baseball and easily surpasses her peers in everything including cuteness. The only thing she hasn't learned is the ability to duck out of the way of a wild ass pitch. And it is beginning to piss me off. I think she should practice. She should have mo huck nerf balls at her, and all she has to do is duck. Baseball is after all a game of reflexes.

Watched an A&E program called Intervention last night. My high school debate partner apparently had a bout with meth addiction and for a while was homeless. So declasse. It was a surreal experience to be sure. The wierdest thing was that he was wearing his CTR1. ring the whole time. Given all of the treatment centers in Los Angeles, and his family and friends choosing a treatment center someplace insane like Minnesota I have a suspicion that his treatment includes trying to cure his homo bug as well. My research has not revealed anything solid, however, I am sure I will lose interest before I come anywhere near the truth of the matter.

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1. CTR means Chose The Right. It's a mormon thing and as such doesn't warrant discussion.

Foxy is as foxy does.

Just when I think nothing interesting ever happens in Los Angeles Netflix up and sends me Aeon Flux. Aeon Flux is all sorts of better than National Treasure. But short of that nothing interesting has happened in like 48 hours. I heard coming up the elevator that one of Saddam Hussein's attorneys was assassinated, but that is merely eye brow raising and it didn't really happen to me. The lady at Starcocks forgot to give me Cream Cheese with my bagel. I am torn between Nike Dunks and Nike DJ2s or whether it is socially responsible to buy Nikes at all although I have already bought one pair so I guess the opponents of gay marriage are right it is a slippery slope. It is so hazy in Los Angeles that my normally fantastic view is in fact the Union Bank of California framed by gray sky. And you are not going to believe this, but one of my co-workers brought in the first season of 24 for another one of my co-workers. I asked him why he would do something like that, and he said because it was a good show. I told him he could not be more mistaken.

Oh how does 24 suck wicked bad let me count the ways:

1. I am not a huge fan of the story arc. Once studios discovered that they could supplant quality writing and acting with mindless suspense the story arc became all too common, and the makers of 24 thought it would be 2 kinds of clever to tweak this formula by doing it in real time.

2. The story itself is built upon unspoken assumptions that many viewers may not agree with. Namely that ridiculously far fetched scenarios in some way justify brutal para-military operations. That statism solves. The utilitarianism should inform human conduct. That hegemony is morally defensible. That bad acting is forgivable.1.

3. There is nothing in the way of character development. The only thing one knows about the characters is that which is necessary to drive the mindless plot. No reason is given why you should care about any of the characters unless of course you subscribe to one or all of the above referenced unspoken assumptions.

4. The story just gets stupider and stupider with each passing hour. Although I stand by my initial critique proper, the premise could in fact work if the story got progressively more interesting. But it doesn't. Creating a desire to know what happens next is not the same thing as interesting, and it is in no way provocative.

5. The show is in no way provocative. It is certainly not thought provoking. On the contrary, the writers rely on the fact that you adopt one or all of the above referenced assumptions in order to care about the characters. If the show were thought provoking it would destroy any semblance of interest.

6. The show is too popular to be any good. And this is perhaps the only empirically verifiable critique. Anything with widespread popularity must necessarily appeal to the lowest common denominator or in the alternative possess enough independent elements that appeal to the lowest common denominator. This is tricky because there are many things in pop culture that are of high quality, but when push comes to shove I am confident that I could distinguish those things from the shit bag story-line that is every season of 24. Besides, there is no getting around the fact that it just gets stupider and stupider.

7. Oh yes, I am indeed a hater.

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1. Some shows like Battlestar Galactica rely on many of the same assumptions (except for bad acting being forgivable). However, where BSG takes a pause to reflect, to examine the consequences of those assumptions, 24 just continues onward aboard the non-stop trainride of dumb.

Let your imagination run wild.

I've been trying to write a caption for this picture for the last 15 minutes, and I just can't. I just can't. Someone help me out here.

Die Sorge geht uber den Fluss

Sometimes it is best to leave baseball up to the professionals, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't take your shirt off. Feel free.

I spent yesterday evening inside wondering why people like the show Deadwood. It is aptly named. I mean nothing whatsoever happens in the show. I believe last night some people made election speeches. Some plans may have been made, but probably not, and someone got hit in the hand with a hammer. The last 3 innings of the Yankees game was a lot more interesting even if they did lose. Le sob.

Yesterday I, quite by accident, got whiff of a news story. North Korea it would seem has prepared and fueled a ballistic missile that can potentially be launched against the United States. As a resident of the West Coast I can't tell you how comforting this news is. Remember the Nineteen Haties. The threat of catastrophic oblivion was a daily reality, and American's reacted by spend spend spending themselves into a recession. Happy days may be here again.

Anyway, Coupled with our over-extended and aged military, our recent ultimatums to Iran, our commitment to forward deployment generally, and our president's inability to spell Korea I am simply at a loss for words. Can't you tell.

SDI is a myth. It is a boon-doggle to secure government contracts for private contractors. Under no circumstances could we actually intercept a ballistic missile prior to its reaching apogee. After it reaches apogee the mathematical variables are simply too numerous. Or at least that is what the scientists say in the countless scientific sounding journals I have read.

In the meantime all we can hope is that tarrism, even the imaginary kind, truly is the greatest threat to humankind.

Luckily for us I have just stumbled upon a cache, I mean the mother-load, of Derek pics. So for the foreseeable future readers of this blog will have ample diversion and will have no need to become involved with the tawdry happenings of the outside world.

Infects the joyousness of our lives it does.

I never promised you a pussycat.

Derek has no patience for this crap. And I really can't blame him. Here I was worried about how and where I was going to begin my day/blog, and all of a what for I upload a picture of Derek and low and behold instant clarity.

I think we left off with pet peeves. My third worst pet peeve is something I like to call Management Speak. You have all heard it. Anyone who has spoken to anyone in human resources, or god forbid if you actually paid to get an MBA then you paid far too much to learn to speak the language and incidentally you received nothing else of value.

Phrases like "goal oriented", "work-through", "white paper", "results oriented" clutter the minds of office workers that have very little else on their minds. I remember one day I really let this attorney have it. Spent $200 for a CLE1 I did, and the entire hour was filled with this kind of gibberish. At the end of the lecture I asked her about her pet terms and her cool hip lingo. I asked her what she honestly thought these phrases meant. Her answers were as couched in vagueness as I imagine her sex life is. Meaningless blather for meaningless people.

Speaking of administrative nightmares I went to Amoeba Records on Saturday. All I wanted was the new Pet Shop Boys CD and did they have it? Fuck No. Why bother with the new Pet Shop Boys when there is something called Be Your Own Pet. I bought Be Your Own Pet. Maybe someday I will discuss the merits of BYOP (get it), but it honestly isn't that important to me. I fucking can't stand the Ross Dress For Less of record stores that is Amoeba, but luckily since I have just completed my collection of Star Trek Voyager DVDs I will never ever have to enter their dark halls, or be subjected to their draconian bag check policy again. Success my Lord !!!

You may be wondering about the totally to the wall mad frack Derek pictures that appear on the top of my blog. There is nothing mad frack about it. You simply don't get it. It's my thing and you should get your own thing. Me me me.

The game yesterday was a little, well, it is hard to say. Quiche Loraine is what I ate during the game, and my Derek showed a great deal of hustle. Batting a single, stealing second, then stealing third, and then left holding his wang at the top of the first. He later batted a double, stole third, and scored a run on a sacrifice fly.

I know all of the players try hard and are really good in their own right, but that is just an expression. It's not really true. When you watch a bunch of players on the field along side Derek you are struck as to how none of them have a single Watt burning upstairs. Derek puts them all to shame. Wait. Melky Cabrerra is one hell of a fielder, and more importantly he is very very attractive. A worthy addition to the Yankee line-up. And ARod is just precious. Jonny Damon is useless, but precious. Bernie is dreamy. Robinson Cano is two kinds of sexy. Alright I love all of them except Randy Johnson. He is free to leave at anytime. I'll get the check.

After something called a walk-off homer in the bottom of the ninth left me screaming at my television I decided to get my hair did. Worst hair did ever. After work I am going back to the Salon and I am not going to leave until two people are crying and someone calls the police.

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1. CLE is really stupid, It's an acronym for Continuing Legal Education. Just typing those words made me too bored to explain.

I found a world so new.

Well I am in the office this morning so it is a rare Saturday blog. I am hoping they will eventually turn on the air conditioning because that is the only reason I am here. Los Angeles is burning.

The woman sitting next to me on the bus was nursing a Vodka Cranberry the whole way in. She was holding her spiked bottle of Ocean Spray as one might hold a child. Just picture it kids.

I am a little new to this Saturday blog, but one thing I wanted to do was to catalog all of my pet peeves. At first I did not think I had any, but then I thought about it and I actually have quite a few. There is no possible way to get through all of them today, but it's a good place to start.

Perhaps my biggest pet peeve is people who walk slow and are incapable of walking in a straight line. Since they are slow they are in my way and since they can not navigate a straight course it is very hard for me to go around them. Another instance where a stun gun would come in handy.

Second pet peeve: People who do not know how to use an ATM, yet insist on doing all of their banking on one. Generally while I am waiting to use it. They should be stoned.

There's more. Oh yes there is more, but I think there may actually be work for me to do. Gotta scoot. Have a great weekend.

If I forgot then how was I suppose to know.

Well I am probably going to get a ton of grief for this, but as Jeri Blank would say: "I've got something to say." Just imagine me pushing stuff off my desk for effect.

I was a little too shaken up about this yesterday to really get into it, but I think I have now had time to cool off and bring order to the murderous rage.

Yesterday morning I was getting dressed. A somewhat boring thing to discuss in and of itself, but I assure you what happened to me is truly mind-boggling. The Burberry drawers I bought last month had a hole in one of the seams. Right in one of the seams! I was blown away. I mean I buy a lot of drawers and very rarely do they start to disintegrate after one month. And when I say rarely what I mean to say is never in all my life.

I was mortified. Not only for myself, but for my friend RAB Jr. for whom I had also purchased a pair. I have emailed him to inquire as to whether he has had any similar incidents, but I am yet to hear back.

So the point:

Fashion functions at it's lowest when it becomes a status symbol. When something is reduced to a status symbol then it simply morphs into the nebulous class conscious culture inhabited by Lulus and Burbots. Any garment no matter how unremarkable becomes desirable simply because it has a logo on it. Consequently, any knock off with the same logo becomes desirable.

I read a lot about the knock off wars. Fendi is now suing Walmart for selling knock-off purses in Sam's Club. France is threatening to invade Hong Kong if it does not cease and desist from it's efforts to flood the market with fake Louis, blah, blah, blah. I take a very smug attitude toward all of this. I mean what do you expect? You market this cheap crap that is only important (in the eyes of an imbecilic lulu) because of a logo, and you get upset when some enterprising thing decides to copy you. No. I won't have it. If you don't like being copied try making something that isn't so easy to copy. And the existence, the widespread distribution1. of the knock-offs proves how unremarkable this crap is. That and the fact that Jessica Simpson lugs the shit around.

So I have digressed a bit. The Burberry check has become one of those symbols.2. One day I was sneered at by some weho gaysian. All I was trying to do was fight my way to the Pet Shop Boys section in Amoeba and I said excuse me. Sneered at! And why? Was it because he was wearing a frumpy polo with a checked-out collar. Perhaps. And I thought to myself. Oh hell no you cunty bitch. Take your recycled hagitude, your cheap ass factory outlet clothes, your 3 used Cher Cds, and your Triple Venti Non-Fat Caramel latte and get fucked!

Ooh, made me so mad.

So anyway you can imagine how I felt when I was staring at the hole in my drawers yesterday morning.

If Burberry doesn't make drawers that accommodate a bohunk fanny then they should put a Goddamn sign on their fucking door because the only thing their shit is good for is keeping the drips off my nicer clothes.

Good day sir!!!

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1. To illustrate the widespread distribution of knock-offs go to 99 cent store and pick yourself up a Burberry-ish umbrella. You will be the envy of every Burbot you come across. Some members of the upper echelon of the Burbot caste may snicker because they can tell the difference, but keep quiet because the jokes on them.
2. The Pringle Griffin is quickly becoming the new check. Griffin like garments can already be picked up at Target.

And you thought it was a game of chance.

The morning began and I was lying in bed totally convinced that I had no obligations or responsibilities whatsoever. You can imagine my surprise when I realized it was Thursday. So I pulled myself together. Grabbed a train and sidled into work where I have no obligations or responsibilities whatsoever.

People are slowly shuffling into work. There was a work party last night. At Casey'. That be an Irish bar. Tons of fried food and straight people, but you know what I always say about straight people. Where there's fried food... Anyway click here here and here for some photos of the event. I apologize if the photographer seems slightly demented, but I honestly had no control over that. I'm rockin Gucci1. and Hermes in the pictures. I have no idea what everyone else is wearing.

The Yankees were playing when I first entered the bar. Fortunately we had reserved a room where there was no television and no Yankees. When I say fortunately I am being sarcastic. Sarcasm. The lowest form of humor to be sure, but if the shoe fits take it off and throw it at someone.

There was a heated debate as to whether one of the women in the bar was a famed something. I can't really put it into words. Click here to see what I mean. The woman at the end of that link is actually an attorney, actually works for the same company as me, actually claims to be 25, and was actually wearing clothes last night.

Whilst at the party one of my co-workers became convinced that ordering white wine makes you gay. Not much in the way of a litmus test. I always preferred the cock in mouth test, but if you have a system and it works use it. My boss even got in on the white wine gay or straight discussion and just as I was about to think it was Christmas I became bored. I seriously have the attention span of a savant when I am drinking. The walk home was probably fine, but I can't say that I remember.

Literary update: finished Monkey Wrench Gang and it was pretty good. Can't say much else about it. I am now reading Flight From The Enchanter by Iris Murdoch. There are few authors I have read more than once. Iris Murdoch, Thomas Pynchon, Brett Easton Ellis, Kurt Vonnegut, Neil Stephenson. Ok maybe there are quite a few authors, the point is I refuse to believe that J.K. Rowling and Tolkein count. Neither does Frank Herbert.

I'm going to listen to Blur.

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1. Tom Ford Gucci not the new crap.

I can see where this is going.

I had a fun idea. I was going to try to dress like a Mormon today. But let me tell you why.

The elevator fills me with a terror most people only experience once. Shooting up 480 feet in a junk metal casket. Shaking and swaying to the tune of grinding alloys. Your ears pop around zero g, and the elevator network flashing images of fashion shows and accuvu is no comfort. It is at this moment that you convince yourself that you are going to die in shuddering fear. And it will be with a bang. But then the door opens and everything is peachy. That is unless you have seen pictures of an elevator slicing someone in half. Which I have. Quite by accident. So the terror continues until you cross the threshold, and then the only thing you have to worry about is your job.

The infantile latinas on the subway reeked. They reeked like someone who buys their hair product at the supermarket. Reeked of poorly masked poverty eager to bring seven malnourished children into the world. Where the fuck was my knife? I tried to push one of them down the stairs. All I managed to do was knock her to ground. I apologized. I am so clumsy. Are you sure you still want to read this Scott? I must really be in a mood.

Last night I watched Whatever Happened To Baby Jane, and all I can say is that you never realize how insipid and irrelevant Joan Crawford really is until you put her next to Bettie Davis. The movie was great ! A freaky trip. Maybe a little too long. It was in black and white but it worked. Noirish is what I think they call it.

A sweaty overeating Coopie1. deliberately shoved in front of the line at Starbucks. I ducked down to grab an Ethos water and he just shoved in to order his, are you ready for this, Venti decaf. He shoved in front of me to order decaf! I called him a dick, and he couldn't even look at me because I think that someone of his carriage could obviously smell that I had homicide on my mind. Someone had almost lost the use of their limbs for using Prell and this fuck nut thought he was going to get out of here alive. Well he did. Make it out alive I mean. Mercy is a virtue after all.

Work party tonight at an Irish Pub! Can you feel the energy?

I am really tickled with this new Morrissey song Ganglord. It doesn't come out in the states until June 27, but click here for a live bootleg. This is the best line of the song:

They say to protect and to serve, but what they really mean is get yourself back to the ghetto. The ghetto. Get yourself back to the ghetto oh a oh a oh oh oh oh!!!

Brilliant !!

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1. From now on everyone who even looks like they work at PriceWaterhouseCoopers will be referred to as a Coopie. Of course they usually lug around their self identifying messenger bags. Stuffed to capacity with fig newtons. Like their bellies.

You worked so hard and no one noticed.

The couple next to me on the subway would not shut up about their meth addiction. Tiresome. I am fairly confident the woman was not wearing any chonies. She kept scratching at her thigh. Her pale wonder bread saggy thigh. Withered thigh. It may not be necessary to teach myself to projectile vomit.

I am not sure what I said about my new gig yesterday, but it is not nearly as bad as I was thinking it was going to be. The one downside is that I have to wait to come into work at 7:30. I have to travel with all the common people on the bus. Nothing at all like the flashy prostitutes I am used to at 5:30. Scott, seriously you should not be reading this. It is not for you.

I actually have to stand in line for my coffee. Fight the urge to scream at the fat condescending accountants from Price Waterhouse. And when I finally do get my coffee I am stared at. Stared at, by of all people accountants, because I happened to get my coffee before them. Children.

I think I also forgot to mention that in my futile efforts to boost consumer confidence, or at least the appearance of consumer confidence, I purchased a fetching bathing ape shirt. Faboo. I am fighting the urge on a few more impulse items, but they are written on a post-it, and that post-it is on my desk. It is not going anywhere, and I am weak.

Tomorrow is another office party and all the principals will be there. The Darkness, The Pit-Viper, Maybe Chex Mix Raider. Of course most of the principals do not work up here on the 40th floor. I understand that is the source of some resentment, but I was doing my hair when all that went down.

I am listening to The Wrens and I am enjoying it a lot more than I remember. I am wearing a buttery delish Charvet shirt. The thread count honest to God makes Prada feel like a burlap sack. The firm will not give us potable water. I'm not kidding. Someone came down yesterday and told us it was a "policy". I think I may develop a policy of filling out expense forms for cases of Voss. We'll see.

The suite on the 40th is ginormous and only 8 people are working here. It seems silly, but eventually I think they are going to move more people up here from the firm. Perhaps summer associates, perhaps partners, perhaps trained gorillas for all I know, but by that time I will be working in my virtual real cyber store, selling only a single bottle of water, perhaps a distressed t shirt, telling all of my customers that they should leave without making a scene.

You were told how it was going to end.

Well I am up on the 40th floor, and it looks like it may not be as bad as I thought. At least for the time being I have access to the internet, and am able to communicate with the outside world. How long this freedom will last remains to be seen. Scott, If you are reading this stop snooping1.

My weekend was a whirlwind of activity. Went to Palm Springs with the parents and stayed at a Hilton which independently gives the name a bad reputation. Paris has nothing on the accommodations of these trashy domiciles.

Shopping shopping and more shopping. Bought some cute shoes for my new gig on the 40th. Absolutely adorable Dior bracelet. Paper Denim and Cloth T-Shirt, Adriano Goldschmeid Shirt, two new flip flops, and for the love of Christ Khaikis for my new gig. A precious Harajuku Lovers top for my niece, and I won't even get into IKEA. I think I was nervous about my new job. I was just lashing out over the recession. Consumer confidence is merely a mental construct with very little impact on the space time continuum.

Went to Newport Beach and the place has just exploded since the TV show. Saw a pelican and momentarily thought about bringing him home for Milo. Fought with traffic and a bunch of drunk frat boys. Ate some wonderful food, and enjoyed all the tourists at the Farmers Market yesterday. Had a lovely visit to Uhaul, and I finally enjoyed a part of a Yankees game, and I got to see my Derek at bat. In case any of you are wondering about the picture above I feel it reasonably approximates my feelings about riding the bus with all the 8:00 am hoi poloi.
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1. Scott is a coworker who now has my computer after it was moved to the 40th floor. I wiped the hard drive, but I left my history so he now has access to my blog.

The more people say the less sense they make.

Now before I am shuttled away to the 40th floor of hell I thought I would leave you with one very important thought. Well it may actually be 3 thoughts, but I believe they all fall into the general category of not enjoyable.

Yesterday was a low impact day at work. Those days are about to come to a screeching halt. Anyway, I had to read some news articles on the Gay Marriage Amendment, and let me tell you I am thinking it is just silly. People get worked up over it, and basically it is a non-issue. What it is is a hedge issue during an election year with no real-world impact. It is an academic discussion.

Senator McCain says he opposes it because it is antithetical to the core philosophy of the GOP. Protecting State Rights. Well it is always about him and his party isn't it. Now he did not come up with this on his own. People like me had to plant that little seed in the minds of Republicans; that their party was on a war-path against federalism, and the party that trumpets small government was in fact advocating federal regulation of everything from gay marriage, medicinal-marijuana, stem cell research, abortion, and high school mis-education.

That clever little whipper snapper Dick Cheney clued into this issue during the 2004 presidential debates, but he was quickly shut down by the GOP brass who acknowledge, quite rightly, that once you start discussing federalism you can actually hear the disconnect in the minds of the American people.

Now everyone is up in arms about the Gay Marriage Amendment, and they are talking about a lot of things, but none of them touch on the real issue. Or at least the issue that strikes me as the most incongruous.

The Constitution is an enunciation and an enumeration of our rights and protections. It is not, and is in no way designed to be, an instrument for limiting rights. It has never been used in such a manner, and shall never be. The Constitution in fact begins with the Bill of Rights. You see where I am heading with this.

Now someone might say the amendment is designed to protect the institution of marriage, but that someone would be stupid. Any right or protection enumerated in the Constitution must have a referent back to the individual. The right to bear arms refers to the individual right not the right in the abstract. The right to due process speaks to the protection of the individual, and so on and so on.

Even procedural amendments that speak to the election of Vice Presidents and the like do not function to limit rights. Now someone in the cabinet is aware of this, but is also aware of how this issue inflames individuals and sees it as a hedge issue that will disappear shortly after November Seventh. Am I a Polyana? Who knows.

I am not a constitutional scholar, and I do not claim to be, but I have read the thing, and I know what it entails to get an amendment passed, and it is monstrous. Approved by 2/3 of the Federal Legislature, and ratified by 3/4 of the State legislatures, or vice versa I am a little off on which is which. Anyway Really really really really hard. And I don't think anyone with a bean even suggests that the current administration has enough political capital to press this issue. I would be surprised if there was even a draft of this so called amendment.

And like has recently happened with Senator McCain and his newfound discovery of Federalism along side sliced cheese and road signs, sometime well well after the election it will dawn on McCain and others in the GOP: "Oh Yeah, we can't use the Constitution of the United States of America to foreclose individual rights. The idea is just silly."

And for the sake of argument say it does happen. Would homosexuals seeking to get married then be considered persecuted individuals vis a vis countries that do allow same sex marriage, and thus qualify for Asylum under the jurisdiction of said country. Specious speculation I know, but in terms of academic discussion it illustrates a point. At what point is it safe to stop calling America the land of the free and the home of the gay. I am not the one to answer the question, but what I can say is that the government can restrict our rights in a lot of ways, but the Constitution is so so way so not the way to do it. And everyone with a brain that is advocating this knows as much, and they are just trying to upset you. So don't let them.

Here is a link to Jon Stewart's discussion of this issue with Bill Bennett. Far far more entertaining than my ramblings.

Now some of you have expressed concern over my impending absence from the blogiverse. All I can say at this point is that I don't know. There may still be time for daily entries, perhaps only weekly or bi-weekly. But this lag will only continue until the first week of July when I will have completed my relocation, have rested my weary paws, and readied myself to unload venom on another unsuspecting Metropolis. In the meantime, please remember: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the only normal people are the ones you don't know very well.

Hugs and Kisses.

I'm not surprised you don't understand.

Someone has already spoken to me at work! Made me engage in conversation they did. I don't know what I have to wear, or how I have to comport myself to make these clueless fuck-tards understand that I am in no way shape or form interested in anything about them. I want to be left alone. If I did anything more to alienate myself I would be speaking in tongues to a shoe box named Murray.

Good news is that Derek may be playing in tonight's game, bad news is that my parents are coming into town. There will be no baseball so long as there is something somewhere that my mother may potentially want to buy. The trick. Getting her into YvesSaintLaurent and have her think of me.

I have some sad news. Tomorrow may be my last blog entry for a while.

It would seem that my competence has outstripped my ambition, and that I was duped into accepting an assignment upstairs. While upstairs I will be working in quite literally a glass menagerie with a bunch of partners. Yes you read that correctly. So no more endless hours on the internet, no more 2 hour lunches, no more Diana Ross caressing my ears. No more of the everything I have come to expect and take for granted during the past year.

Needles to say, today and tomorrow are going to be a frenzy of activity. All online purchases must be made, all bids on ebay finalized, all on-line bill paying must be done. All emails to distant friends must be made. I will be incommunicattttttttttto (yeah I held down the "t" on purpose) until I emerge safely in Seattle a very very broken individual.

Some bum called me white trash when I refused to give him a cigarette. I thought about beating him to death with the sack of cat litter I was holding, but then I thought of my cat. And his litter box. I love my cat.

I was never interested in listening to you.

Well I really didn't need to sleep on it, but I did anyway, and I can safely say that X-Men Last Stand is my least favorite of all the X-Men movies. Someone had the bright idea to kill off Patrick Stewart not even halfway into the movie. Since he was only in half the movie I felt I was entitled to half of my money back. I'm not spoiling anything b/c we all knew he was going to die in the film, and that by itself made me almost not want to see it, but I had 3 Margaritas and I had thought I had built up my courage, but no. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

I have been doing some research and it would seem that the ptahh'1 responsible for poor Derek's misery is one Rodrigo Lopez. Click here if you would like to review his ESPN scorecard. 6.75 ERA. Now that is something to write home about. It may go something like this:

Dear Mommy,

As you probably know I am still wetting the bed, and I am afraid that my teammates are begining to suspect the herpes. All the other players make fun of me because my penis is so small, and although my ERA shouldn't even entitle me to a position in the line-up, coach keeps putting me in anyway. He is a lunatic, and quite obviously out of his mind. I have developed a new strategy of chucking fast-balls at players whose records and salaries far exceed my own. Why just last week I beaned DJ in the thumb, and they don't know when he will be able to play again. I know it is not sportmanlike, but I am a bed wetting psychopath that cries himself to sleep every night. I am without a doubt a steaming pile of shit that misses his mommy very very much.

Love and Kisses,

Roddy


I am presently in negotiations with my cable company to see if I will be reimbursed for all the games Derek does not play in. They have not returned my email at this time, but I think I made my point fairly clear.

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1. It goes without saying that "ptahh'" is possibly the worst insult in the Klingon language. But maybe some of you watch 24 or something.

It is not by any stretch of the imagination a fine line between tolerating one's flaws and pretending they don't exist.

Arrived at the office this morning and I was locked out. Typical. I was never locked out when I had the key. But I'm not complaining. I just slunk down to the courtyard and breathed in some of the marine layer. The pit viper has already addressed me directly. It was awkward. Fortunately, her command of the English language is such that I really don't have to do much to give the appearance that I am hanging in there.

My face is dry and peeling from my weekend in the sun. L'Occitane's Cream Ultra Riche Visage is a life saver. If anyone asks I will simply scream in their face, then tell them that I lost a fight with a thermal coil, and it is quite rude to even ask. The only person who would be rude enough to ask is the Chex Mix Raider1. None of this would have happened if I had my Zinka. I have looked all over the place for Zinka, and it looks like I am just going to have to order it off their website2.

I am listening to the new Boards of Canada EP. Comparisons to In A Beautiful Place In The Country abound, but I simply don't think you can compare them. I for one would be happy if BOC released EPs for the rest of their careers. Then there may not be a 4 year gap between releases, and frankly I rarely have the time to absorb an entire BOC album. Which is a shame. This is a BOC release for people with a lot of shiz tado. Highlight of the album would have to be Anticon's Odd Nosdom's 9 plus minute remix of Dayvan Cowboy. Utterly unlike the original recording. It may as well be a new song, and it closes the EP nicely.

Herbet's Scale is gooey gooey good. I say gooey because some of the sounds on the album are simply gooey. Gooey in that if I were on a dancefloor the motions I would make would simply be gooey. Just does something to the knees it does. The political commentary is a little out off place for a record like this, but it is a breath of fresh air from a genre that to me smacks of pathological hedonism. Not that there is a single thing wrong with that.

Derek was out of yesterday's game. Can't even grip a baseball. If you look at the picture above you can see his paw is bandaged. I know how he feels. Sometimes after a furious day wielding a mouse I get searing pains in my tendons. And that's when someone isn't hucking fastballs at my thumb. The Yanks still laid down the pain on the RedSux in the form of a 13-5 rout thanks to the expert pitching and pulchritude of The Moose. Regardless, Derek is prolly gonna be out for the series, and I officially don't give a shit about baseball for the next few days.
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1. Chex Mix Raider is a hobbit like carbon based co-worker who after one week on the job helped himself to my Chex Mix. He is also someone who has never paid me back for the Dodger's tickets I fronted him. Poor people are unreliable among other things.

2. I am determined to bring Zinka back in a way way. It comes in pink and flesh and well just a rainbow of colors. You'll see.

What you said is exactly what you meant to say.

You have got to be effing kidding me!!!

I leave the world of baseball for two days. Two days!! To spend some time with my friends in Long Beach, and some nut sack douche face bashes my Derek in his already mending thumb with a wild ass pitch. It is a good thing I did not see it happen because everyone. I mean everyone programmed into my phone would have heard about it. I am still shaking as I read the reports, and I know I shouldn't, but I probably will watch the footage later today. After I gather my nerves. Hit in the very sore thumb that has been bothering him for a week. I suspect, nay I know foul play is involved. I might find that pun humorous if I weren't so flaming faggoty fuming. That's the triple F-bomb. For those of you who don't know it hasn't reared it's dangerous head since January 16, 2004.

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!!!!!!

I have new music to write about, but I haven't had the chance to really absorb it. While my Derek was being stoned to within an inch of his life by some roided out muscle-cock, the weekend proceeded unaware. Too much time in the sun aboard something called the Ocean Oasis. It is an inflatable water craft. Ate dinner at that adorable Lebanese restaurant again. Had beers at an Irish bar called Maddox. I know how typical. Had a lovely moonlight conversation with a couple who the next morning turned out to be (gasp) Christians. I fell asleep with a man and a woman. Went to bed on the left side of the bed and woke up on the right. I don't even want to know how that happened. Had a monstrous brunch at a place called Charley Browns established 1965 where the man charged with making my omelet did not understand the concepts of vegetarian and tichinosis. JEC wanted to dine and dash I insisted on paying.

What the fuck am I doing? I'm sure no one is reading this. Anyone with an ounce of decency is probably too upset about the news of Derek to absorb language. If you have indulged my selfish insensitivity please click here to send Derek a get well note. I would do it myself, but I am simply engorged with enmity for the bloodsport of baseball. I am sure I would just say something to upset him.

Famous for being on time.

So sad...

I gave my notice to my apartment manager and my landlord. Earlier this weekend I rented a uhaul truck. Because of my cat's disposition I have delayed any overt "packing" around the flat, but it is only a matter of time. I am in delicate negotiations with an associate to assist me with my drive up the coast, and to top it all off there is a slight possibility that I will be working two jobs next week. So much to do so little time.

The memories... And all of this makes me wonder whether Boyz 2 Men, or at a minimum the Jewish guy that wrote their songs, were in fact right. Perhaps it is hard to say goodbye to yesterday. The mugging, the prostitutes, the random agro guy on the subway, the endless discussions of tapas and small plates establishments each one slightly better or considerably worse than the last, talk of gyms, and spinners, abs, and don't forget the pecs, and where ever can you find the best sushi decisions decisions, skull caps in August, cowboy boots in spring, the latest and perhaps greatest private sale at James Perse, trainers and jumpsuits, gridlock and the endless dirge of helicopters competing with The Cocteau Twins, vomit on the bus, disembodied cockroaches on the sidewalk, apocalyptic tattoos stretched across the glistening backs of the Echo Park Rats, gas leaks diverting your train, the relentless heat and sun quietly and assuredly draining all evidence of youth from your skin, creatins, and their retro car counterparts, have you seen the latest revisions of the script? No I am positive I emailed it to Susan, and the immigrant boys who know very little English, but know enough to scream "faggot" every time you leave your home wearing flip-flops and a midrif. I'm getting choked up.

Just try to ignore them.

So Band of Horses are not the prettiest girls on the block. Actually in this picture he looks like someone I could be persuaded to drop kick. Shane MacGowan and Vincent Gallo joined at the hip. But what they lack in appearances and style they make up for with incomprehensible lyricism, bad elocution and infectious vocals. Nuff said. I'm not one of those people that actually thinks indie bands are deep. No no God no. They either sound good or they don't and these ugly ducklings sound good. Even if they look like cat shit. Richard James looks like cat shit, but is a genius. Conversely, Nick Lachey is dream dream dreamy, but is no mother effing genius. I've probably made my point.

Watched King Kong last night. I think a better name for the movie would have been Adventures in Giant Land. Catchy huh? Everything is just so much more giant. Including the hairy Gollum. The giant insects gave me the willies, scared my cat. Actually I think I may have scared my cat. But after that part, we cuddled, and I cried. Animals are just intrinsically capable of doing so much more for us then we are for them.

Derek was out of yesterday's game, and cock face of an announcer didn't say why. I am still waiting to hear official word. Some kind of injury. The Yanks did remarkably well considering half of their vaunted and much talked about payroll are on the DL.

Yesterday I received an email from my Bar Association. Apparently I can attend a single all-day class in August and magically become admitted to practice law in the State of Oregon. After roughly 2 second of deliberation I decided against it. The reasons being aren't worth addressing. Suffice to say, being admitted in one state (the best state) is plenty for me.

To recap:

1. Band of Horses, unsightly but good.
2. King Kong, scary and sad, but with a bad name.
3. Derek, Injured but still cute.
4. Yankees, Disabled but still rockin.
5. State of Oregon, Tempting but demented.