School Days.

I saw a school bus entering the 170 freeway this morning, and it made me wonder. Having grown in quaint Tucson, I often envy, sometimes pity, the youth who were/are fortunate/unfortunate enough to grow up in a ridiculous metropolis. I drive past Hollywood High, on the corner of Highland and Sunset, and save for the transvestite prostitutes wandering about, it seems like a real, cool place to go to school. Granted gang activity is on the rise, but eh, we’re at war. 

 

Chase? This Isn’t Manhattan.

In lieu of a real blog post today, I am going to use my lunch hour to go to Bank of America and open an account. Apparently, California has not discovered Chase, and that saddens me. I really like the blue atm card that Chase offers. It is a pleasing sight when the wallet is opened (although there is not often much money attached to said blue atm card). Anyway, I’m going to the bank.

 

 

4/20

I labored a bit in deciding whether or not to write about weed. Something about my general censor (about the only self-censoring I do) not allowing me to talk about marijuana in public/on the Internet. I decided I could write whatever I want, as long as I make no direct reference to actually being a pot-smoker myself.

 

4/20, the day some celebrate as the international celebration of the counter-culture, which has become synonymous with pot, was a fine day of BBQ and celebration. I write this not to irk my mother, but rather to call attention to the global celebration of a day historic for Columbine and Hitler.

 

I attended three BBQs, a Passover family dinner, and another party, all because it was 4/20. Now I’m not supporting any illegal drug habits, but anything that gets my apathetic generation together on a Sunday afternoon cannot be a bad thing. Sure, some may have chosen to imbibe in the cannabis, but really it was just a great day to chill. I want more fake holidays celebrating dubious things. 

Self-Deprecation.

So we got chewed out yesterday. After getting off to a bad start for the day, things continued to spiral downward. Scott and I were sat down for a talk. It was condescending. The problem with monkey labor is that if you do screw up, you probably deserve the kind of lecture we got. I felt like I was sitting in Peg Nickerson’s office watching her chain smoke and tell me how much smarter than me she is/was. Oh, to be in sixth grade again. 

 

Problems solved and no jobs lost, although, as it turns out, there is a moderate expectation that we show up on time. I always thought the appointed hour was more of a suggestion, a framework like that of Middle East peace, to be followed loosely, if at all, in probably achieving nothing. Lesson learned.

 

The whole situation, not to bemoan this too much, reminded me of my innagural call to Talk of the Nation on NPR. Bill Simmons, a hero of mine from ESPN, was discussing the NCAA tournament, and I felt I had something pertinent to share. I am the first caller on the archive and I was awkward and nervous. I’m not even sure I understand what I said. Just disappointing all around. I hope Neil Cohen will take my call again. I might be blacklisted.

I’m glad to hear my family’s beloved patriarch is Wii’ing until his heart is content . The image alone is enough to make me happy for days. I look forward to the Rosenberg Olympiad 2009, in which boxing will not be included. 

The Brotherhood of the Sketchy White Van.

There is a certain sense of camaraderie felt between men forced to drive around in sketchy white vans all day long. We drive the kind of van favored by serial killers and kidnappers the world over. Take for instance Gary Hilton, the guy who killed the hiker in Appalachia some time back. It surprises me not that he drove a sketchy white (Astro) van. I found this itemized list of stuff found in his car, and number 163 I find particularly disturbing.

 

Our day got really long yesterday. Christina Milian, a songstress of questionable talent, was having serious trouble with a rented G5. So we sat around the studio for a few hours, watching a real tech guy work, and drinking water. Overtime is a beautiful thing. We have to work early today, so we need to get going. Sepulveda, 101, 134, Burbank. Not too much traffic when you work at 10/11 AM. 

J-O-B.

The Knitting Factory show was pretty incredible. It is not often that bands like us/ourselves get to play in front of a large, like-minded audience. Does one have to play an instrument to be in a band? Are we a group? A duo?

 

The first day of work yielded exactly what I had anticipated. We dropped some stuff off, we picked some stuff up, and we drank a lot of coffee. I helped set up the boss’ Mail client on his new Macbook, and I think today I write copy for some promotion in May. My skills precede me, I guess.

 

Our coolest stop yesterday was at Henson Studios, a labyrinth of creepy buildings where the Muppets are plotting their eventual takeover of the Judeo-Christian world. I was told my predecessor in this job had angered the management of the Record Plant so much, they our company is no longer allowed in the back studios. The man who came before me, it turns out, had an insatiable appetite for green room food.  Luckily I don’t really eat all that much.

 

I don’t really know how to frame it, but Maureen Dowd’s Macbeth piece is fantastic and wry and whatnot.

Bussin’

After a dry run to Burbank yesterday, I woke this morning ready to embark on a cross-county transfer laden autobus adventure to Venice (I anguished for at least fifteen seconds whilst omitting all commas from the previous independent clause. Say it aloud. Its got rhythm). I had an interview in Burbank with Capitol Audio Rental, but more importantly, I dusted off the old Argentine bus riding chops. I was about 75% for the day. I got on and off well, and inserted my coins without incident, but I completely stopped paying attention after forty-five minutes, missed my stop, and had to walk back a quarter mile. Lesson learned. And I got the job.

 

I’ll be working with Scott, roommate and Jay’s older brother. We’ll be delivering and picking-up rented studio equipment to/from LA recording studios. It’s musical manual labor, and I think it’s beautiful.

 

The buses turned out to be not much an adventure. I fretted at points, but the trip went perfectly and I was early (according to the estimate of the Metro trip planner. A new favorite). More noticeable was the fraternity, or, sorority, among the regular riders. In ninety minutes I saw three women show pictures to three other women. It was really endearing, and somewhat ridiculous, as everyone appeared to be getting off work and still had the energy to chat with friends. I read for a while, but then I was just nervous about getting lost. And I didn’t want the regulars to judge me a newbie.

 

Going to see a show tonight at Safari Sam’s on Sunset. Suicide Holiday is the name of a friend’s band. A break from suicide is never a bad thing.

Class Project’s Hollywood debut… 

LAw & Order

I began writing the inevitable introduction of/to a new blog/BLOG. For the third time, I faced the prepositional and capitalizationalist quandaries above.  I made a few changes this time. Got away from Blogspot and Google. Moved to WordPress and paid money; which is cool, because now we’re going multimedia. See, wanting to be a rapper, this is my new favorite tool of media onslaught. Or something like that. Actually, I’m just really confident my grandmother will read this, and I want her to think I’m doing big things. Either way, I’ll be adding music as we make it and some videos by Jay. 


I also decided my nifty sifting of the internet/Internet, thorough yet not so deep as to alienate the average surfer, should be shared. Tidbits like the Gilligan’s Island lady getting busted with weed. The moral of the story is to not allow hitchhikers to smoke unknown substances in your car. This is a valuable lesson. 


Jay, his older brother Scott, and I, live on N. Sepulveda Blvd., a quaint little road spanning 42.8 miles from North of the San Fernando Valley to Long Beach. According to that Guinness Book, it is the longest municipal street in the world. We live between Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys.


I have been enjoying TNT’s 6-hours of Law & Order per day. I do, however, take the 2-hour stretch of Charmed as a personal affront. Criminal Intent, S.V.U., hell I’ll even watch the obscure period post-Briscoe when Green was partnered up with that classic mafia guy from the Elmore Leonard movies. Don’t get me wrong; neither Ray Barboni from Get Shorty, nor Mr. Big from Sex in the City can rekindle the flames fanned during the Orbachian Era. 


Jay and I got tickets to the Pacific Life Pac-10 Tournament this evening. We will be watching our lowly Cats in the play-in game against a lowlier Oregon State. I’m excited for my first Staples Center experience; see how underachievement looks under the bright lights of Los Angeles.