Monday, July 24, 2006

"It's so hot...milk was a bad choice."

Isn't the workplace supposed to be a safe haven from the ungodly heat of july in The Valley? Why is it 87 in my office right now?

It's like a chili dog outside.

If they don't get the air cranked up, by 4 pm today it's going to be like the steam drawer they keep the hot dogs in at the movie theaters.

VEGAS!!!! (And other fun times from Chirag and Kristen's visit)

Great to see Chirag again. Just like the old days!

These are the people below us that were looking up Heather's skirt all night which she smartly parlayed into free shots for all of us. The woman in the blue would flash us moments after this photo was taken.


It was the highlight of the trip and we came this close to not going.

The beauty of the Voo Doo Lounge is the incredible view...and the Go-Go dancers.


Old college buddies.


In a limo heading downtown...

A little bonfire action. The fire got bigger.

This can be seen every day and yet I hadn't seen it in about a year. Shameful.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

"New shit has come to light..."

I am proud to announce the end of secrecy on this blog! I have disabled comments from non-registered users so as to shed the light of day on those commenters who prefer to lurk in the shadows. Since Blogger membership is completely free, there's no reason they can't join up and take some responsibility like the rest of us. Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous, show yourself!

Monday, July 10, 2006

What a weekend

HUGE weekend. Action-packed!

Friday night -- karoake at Acapulco where I rocked Kharma Chameleon (w/Nicole), Can't Fight This Feeling, and The Gambler (w/Nicole and Jim) ... proceeded to Dimple's, aka the worst bar in America, where a loaded Jim began telling everyone we were all on the new sitcom, "Happy Hour." Who should go up on stage to sing Piano Man, but oneDennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding. Jim, of course, asked the waitress to bring Mr. Belding over to meet us since we have this new show...just as I was about to get up before it got any worse, here he came, the man himself. At this point, I felt reeeeeeally reeeeeeally bad. As it turns out, whether he bought Jim's story or not, he was very gracious and a good sport. Kudos, Mr. Belding.

Pancakes a la Bob's Big Boy.

Saturday -- Dodgers vs. Giants in a high-octane slugfest. Cold beer, grilled Dodger Dogs (a more tasty version of the original), and, of course, what's a Dodger game without a fight in the stands?

Saturday night -- fine folks came over to look at some european vacation photos and watch the best of triumph the insult comic dog. I inadvertantly gorged myself on cheese and crackers.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! -- World Cup Final that I almost ruined do to bad navigating of the DVR...still got to see the heinous head butt and the bullshit penalty kicks. Someone on the radio noted that this is the equivalent of watching an NBA Finals game go two overtimes only to be settled on a best-of-five freethrow shooting contest. Lame.

Sunday Night -- Pearl Jam at the Forum! AHHHHHHH!!! I have never called myself a Pearl Jam fan, but I'll be damned if this wasn't one of the greatest rock shows I have ever seen. They played for about 27 hours straight. The "encores" lasted as long as the main part of the show. Tim Robbins came out and sang an acoustic anti-Bush song with Eddie. I wondered how this show, which took no time in calling Dick Cheney the "world's biggest asshole," would have played in a Red state. Not that I really cared. The show culminated with the last two songs being played to a fully lit (no stage lighting) house which was really cool. Felt kind of like a daytime show at a fair or something. They really left it all out there on the stage, I tell ya. And the crowd was the best crowd I have ever seen at a concert, hands down. Just awesome. All around, a kick-ass, feel-it-in-your-bones, blow-the-roof-off kind of show.

Of course, when I tried to discuss this with a certain friend of mine this morning (let's call him Mike), I was reminded that there are two kinds of music fans, those that welcome new fans of their favorite band and those that have some sort of snotty possessive thing with their band. When trying to share in the experience of the awesome show, which I knew Mike had gone to as well, I was promptly reminded that I was NOT a Pearl Jam fan and that several times I had said something negative upon hearing them played in his car. Weeeeell, pardon the fuck out of me. I guess I have no right to change my mind about something. I guess only the true, lifelong fans of the band have a right to enjoy their concerts. I'm really against this kind of fanship. They treat it like you're jumping on the bandwagon of their favorite sports team right after they win a championship or something. Come on, this is music. Shouldn't we be encouraged to try things new bands or bands that we don't normally listen to anway? Is there something wrong with a great show making a fan out of somebody? I guess there is to Fan B, the music equivalent of a Star Wars Nerd.

Today -- Peterson returned from her vacation and brought me a couple gifts to show her appreciation for my covering for her whilst she was away, a customary practice in our office. The first gift was an inflatable Superman punching bag, the kind with the weight at the bottom that pop back up after you hit them. I love it, but the smell of plastic was so strong that it was giving me a headache and, thus, Superman has had to be moved out into the hall. Her second gift? It is a magnet set of different cat breeds...and their assholes. That's right, the five individual magnets are artists renderings of various cats as seen from behind, all with their balloon knots prominently featured. I want it to be funny, but it's too disturbing.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Illiterate Airborne Terrorists

--So I am enjoying a beautiful July 3rd at Zuma beach. I am laying on my stomach reading "This Side of Paradise" and snacking on red seedless grapes. Suddenly, mid-sentence, a huge glob of brown mucas-like paste is slapped upon my pages, splashing onto my arm. A seagull shat on my fucking book. I picture that little son of a bitch circling overhead looking down on me and, like Jeff Daniels in "The Squid in the Whale," smuggly scoffing at my book as "early Fitzgerald." Snobby little shit.

--Is the 4th of July really the 4th of July if you don't see a single firework?