The Long Weekend.

I apologize for the extended weekend; I had a special lady friend in town. I think I was a rather good host, even if my only indicator is complete exhaustion after four days of not working. We dined, we danced, and enjoyed a weekend of merriment all around. There was a sunset in Malibu, drinks and basketball in Venice, and even a lunch in Los Feliz (pronounced Las Filas) followed by an hour in Griffith Park (thank you Phoebe, JT, and Barbara). Good times all around.

I mentioned in a previous post that I enjoyed the John Adams HBO series. Unbeknownst to me, however, I had not actually seen the final episode. Really good stuff, especially the 20 minute letter reading montage between Adams and his no-longer-estranged-friend Jefferson. I will mention again, at the risk of completely repeating myself, that I am not a serious enough man to have lived in those times. They didn’t even have TV.

 

My love for a certain male democratic presidential candidate is dwindling. He can’t even be interesting on the Daily Show. Even Jimmy Carter sounded like a badass on the Daily Show. In today’s NYT, Billy Kristol takes it upon himself, as the giver of credit due, to mention how that female candidate is being mistreated by the news media. I don’t know what exactly, but something about this creeps me out. The democratic party should be able to get a half-blind lemur elected president, if only there was one around.

 

If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say.

I’ve been wallowing for a day. Bank of America, apparently unaware I have a special lady friend coming into town this weekend, has decided to put a big-brotherly hold on my money, until well after the aforementioned special lady friend departs. The game this weekend is called: “LA in Under $140.” It should be interesting. And before you suggest the Getty is free, parking is $50.

I’m not sure I even have any recourse. But I’m going to yell at someone at the bank anyway, even if only to make myself feel a bit better. A producer friend just finished mixing a new Class Project song, so I will post it here. It’s called Misery’s Company…

Misery\’s Company

Feel free to right-click the link, and download the mp3, otherwise, it’ll just play out of your browser. 

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. 

Stimulus or Bailout?

Although I do owe each a phone call, I’d like to thank my mother and grandmother for approving MY economic stimulus plan. In the current political climate, I don’t think anyone can blame a young brother for thinking he deserves a solid handout, paid for by nothing but what said brother perceives to be inherent charm and good will. I also look forward to the $600 from Uncle Sammy for which I have not even been required to be charming (I’m not pleased with the ultimate sentence of this paragraph).

 

And why are we in need of economic stimulus, you may be asking? Well, the downturn in the economy has really messed with my real estate investments. And I’ve been eating a lot. And I haven’t received what might be called a legitimate paycheck since before I graduated from college (June 07).

 

In four profound days, I have become an expert at eating while driving. Pizza, hamburgers, chicken, you name it, I can eat it while piloting the sketchy white van. In case anyone is keeping score, pizza is by far the favorite choice.

…and the Case of the Needle-Nose Pliers.

Sorry for the late post. Judging by the emails I received, at least two people were upset. Again, sorry.

 

I came to work this morning and found the IKEA project from hell waiting for me. There were hex wrenches, washers, and screws of various lengths, just waiting to connect A to B through C and on top of D/E/F. After three hours of hex wrenching and cursing, I discovered the set to be short exactly one washer. I pretended not to notice, as my hand was bleeding from the crushing in the needle nose pliers. It is never a good sign when you need outside tools to complete a project supposedly contained entirely in-box.

 

Before I bash work on the Interweb, I should remind myself of the Delta flight attendant who lost her job for blogging about Delta, and including some (no-so-racy) photos of her on planes, in uniform. Oh we, the poor oppressed bloggers.

 

I’m starting to realize I don’t have much to say in this space. I suppose if I had a job that offered anything close to inspiration, things may be different, but alas, a reader will have to settle for musings such as this one:

 

People in LA are really attractive. This is obvious, but it really adds to the character of a place when uncomfortably attractive people are in front of every building smoking cigarettes. Your average cigarette smoker in Tucson is simply not that attractive, and usually hanging out at bus stops.

 

Speaking of social anthropology, is cigarette smoking directly linked to bus riding? Look closely at people waiting for the bus; an abnormally high percentage smoke cigarettes.

Do What You Gotta Do.

Writing from work. Apparently we have a slow day, which may be the undoing of me. See, in a job such as this one, constant action is required to create the illusion of some sort of worthwhile enterprise. My father would say that anything they pay you for is called work; he was also a representative of a generation who had reached drinking age by end of WWII. Sitting and doing nothing, even for $10/hr, begins to seem depressing. 

 

I seem to have developed some sort of thunderous cough, which yesterday was nothing more than a gentle hack. There is nothing like driving a sketchy white van on the 101, coughing every 22 seconds. As I write this, and listen to the conversations of “management” in the next room, I begin to see this business as something of a ship without a captain. More on this later, as details become more clear. As long as I can maintain the firing of at least 4 brain synapses, I should be alright.

 

This should be watched and enjoyed. It is a succinct history of the Pennsylvania primary from last night’s Colbert Report.

 

 

Drive Me Crazy.

An odd mid-workday post. I have been placed on the insurance at Capital Audio Rental, which means I can apply my significant driving talents to our delivery schedule. I was a little saddened to read Mr. Kristol’s piece this morning about Barack Obama in the NYT. I’m all about free speech and whatnot, but not when it comes to bashing people I personally like.

Whiggin’ Out.

Just Finished watching John Adams on HBO. Really good stuff. I like how Howard Zinn and the rest of the revisionists allow us to embrace how truly filthy the past was. Just grimy on every sense of the word. Cutting off legs with hacksaws in the middle of the ocean, putting out cigars on the floor of the White House, not even to mention the so-called inoculation against whatever plague afflicted the daughter. That was just gross.

It was sad to watch the deterioration of the personal relationships of all those elevated men. Especially between Jefferson and Adams, where Jefferson is the younger, wilder, possibly gay brother. For those who may have missed it, Jefferson was some kind of a dandy, following in the French influenced steps of good ol’ Benny Franklin. And don’t even get me started about that Hamilton guy.

I hope Bush and Cheney are still friends after this whole eight year mess. I wonder if Aaron Burr still would have shot Alexander Hamilton in the Youtube Era. Speaking of Aaron Burr, he founded the bank that is today Chase.

 The thing I really find interesting about all those years that happened before I came, is that shit seemed real serious. Have you ever seen a picture of Teddy Roosevelt? He was supposedly quite the boisterous fellow, but he pretty much just looks pissed all the time. I don’t think I would have done well in the time before childish dreams were indulged. With all due respect to agriculture, I’m glad my family has moved off the farm and embraced urban opportunity. Although, Macomb is lovely this time of year. 

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.