Turning Indolence Into Art.

The weather this weekend was as hateful as we anticipated. All I could do was stay indoors, watch baseball and try to stay cool. Saturday's baseball game was marred by an unspeakable rain delay which forced us to order Thai food and watch something called Balls of Fury. Miserable experience. I did catch sight of Boston's pitcher during the game. Sweet little thing was wearing a heart shaped pendant all through the game which I thought was just precious. Too too precious, and too too much. The Yankees didn't "win" the series against Boston, but they weren't "swept" either. Just wait until Derek gets better and that will change everything.

Sunday morning was all about chores and brunch. This unfortunately wasn't until after I endured the Sunday morning political analysis drivel with the likes of George Stephanopoulos and Tim Russert. On Tim Russert their was this dowdy, seething, and scouring school marm that declared right there before God and everyone that "people are sick of all this Bush bashing". I said quite aloud "Really!" because I for one can not get enough of it. Thinking I might be living in a delusion I called a few people to test the waters, and sure enough I couldn't find a single soul that this woman was referring to. These people who are sick of "Bush bashing" don't seem to exist outside the rarefied world of Sunday morning armchair political analysis programming. Perhaps I simply move in other circles.

Compadre and I went to this place called Good on Sunset for brunch. Seemed simple enough. We ordered their mimosa which was quite good, perused their menu which was uninspired despite it's best attempts to be cheeky (They have a dish called The Total Eclipse Hipster Scramble and, no, I did not just make that up). Compadre noticed far too many "No's" on the menu. No substitutions, no potatoes, no this, no that, so Compadre made an administrative decision and chose no us. We handed the clever as can be expected menus back to our server, asked for our check, finished our mimosas, and went elsewhere for brunch. The lengths one must go to in order to find a pleasant meal in Los Angeles is mind boggling. One's better off just hopping on a plane to San Francisco for the afternoon. I suppose you could always cook for yourself, but who has the time, and cooking in this weather is simply not an option.

The trip to Amoeba was ghastly. I could have hitched a ride on a retarded ant and gotten down Sunset faster. Once I was there I was surrounded by all manner of person. The people in the documentary DVD section where I spent most of my time were actually quite cordial and polite. Not at all ape like. But as soon as I ventured in any other section I was simply assaulted by ass hole-ishness. One individual thought it would be appropriate to start up a conversation with me about Sean Young of all people. All I could do was say "I think she was in Dune" and walk away. Compadre found some nice tunes, all I did was snag a copy of The Madness of King George and ran like hell out the door. I did pay for it first though.

A part of me is really into this one size fits all Libertine shirt from Ron Herman. That's Chopin on the front you philistine, and since I'm willing to consider dropping hundreds of dollars on some tee shirt that was made in a rat hole Korea Town studio I'm able to make comments on other people's relative level of sophistication with regard to such matters. Sorry if no one told you, but I'm sure you're no stranger to disappointment. Just as I'm sure Obama wishes he were an actual snob, but alas, still a poseur. I've politely informed his camp that going to law school is not a ticket, gateway or even a welcome mat into belted nobility, but I'm sure my sage like words fell on stupid ears. I'm still ponderously amused by people that think politics actually matter in a dictatorship. Seriously, I just roll myself to sleep laughing. But overpriced tee shirts do tend to keep me up at night so it usually balances out.