A Rainy Day in Burbank.

Part of me is terrified that Barack Obama will not win a general election against John McCain. I am neither obsessed with Barack Obama, his policies, nor his general cowardice in ever actually saying anything (that may ignite the antipathy of the bitter vote). But I feel that if he is not elected president, it is because we live in a country of ignorance and racism, a hard fact my generation has not had to reconcile. Unless of course he cannot win because he is elite, which, last time I checked, is a pretty good thing to be.

 

It is a rainy day in Burbank. I can’t wait to watch Recount on HBO and catch up on the history of the last time we reached deep to the bottom of the barrel and found a man idiotic enough to never be considered elite at anything.  

Hillary Clinton & Mel Gibson

I recently wrote a song for a Twinpop duo. They’re twins. It was a perfect introduction to the world of writing pop music. I coined the phrase “default to thug.” When in doubt, shout ebonically. The song is about love, at least I think it is. There are only twenty words, repeated for the better part of three and a half minutes.

 

I don’t know if I like Barack Obama because I’m young, or he’s black. The third option, a pure hatred of Hill, has only come about recently. I can’t remember the last time a family fell from my good graces as fast as the Clinton’s have. Hell, I even listened to Bill read his ridiculous memoir. All 12,000 pages of it. Actually, I do remember the last time I turned on someone so quickly: Mel Gibson.

 

Unlike Tom Cruise, who I loathe but continue to enjoy his body of work, I cannot bring myself to watch Mel in a movie anymore. Even Braveheart. My new least favorite Times columnist, “Billy” Kristol, mentioned “culturally conservative” voters as having problems voting for Barack Obama. My next post will be as many euphemisms for “racist idiots” I can think of. Ethnically restricting. I am accepting submissions.

Sorry for the extended absence. It shouldn’t happen again. 

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.

 

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.