busblog

even during the run up to the election

he even spoke into the camera and said hey russia

and winked

he is under investigation

his former national security advisor had to be resigned/fired because of the russians

no one believes he could have won without them

and what about that pee tape?

then we find out that after the extra long G20 meeting

they had a super secret special meeting

with just trump, putin and a translator

the perfect time for the two to scheme

hand over the nuclear codes

and give our sworn enemy all the secrets that could fit in trumps weird little head

they said obama would be dangerous. they said hillary would be dangerous. whats more dangerous than this dude working without any help up against two russians

alone

while clearly owing the russians a favor.

what have we done

those hills never stood a chance

it never rains enough

its always so sunny

rays from around the universe come to santa barbara all year round

a sunshine convention

everyones got name tags

they get a little too drunk right around last call

then the magnifying glasses come out

and before you know it those light green and yellow hills

poof.

i used to want to put irrigation up in the malibu mountains but

everyone says sometimes aint nothing you can do except let nature do its thing

let all the conventioneers sing

let their voices flitter up to where they came from

let their badges curl up

and wither into the never.

forever.

so many of your favorite people were there.

special guests included Peter from Kanpai

and current LAist editor Julia Wick

it was so great to see everyone and catch up and hug and drink and eat and omg the party just flew by

but no one wants to hear about how much we all love each other

after everyone left, amber and i realized that we had way too much food

as we both have to maintain our bikini bods.

so i said, lets put some of these in bags and drive down to the tiny intersection park in Los Feliz on Hollywood where the homeless have set up tents.

somehow i ended up with a garbage bag full of about 20 cans of Bud Light.

i said, before we give anyone any food, i need to get this out of my house, lets just do this run first.

so we put it in my trunk and headed to the spot.

but Alas, no one was there!?

so we drove down Hollywood Blvd looking for tents that have popped up in and around our fair city over these last few years.

i know i know, a lot of these downtrodden men and women are alcoholics and you really shouldnt be giving them garbage bags full of cold beer in the middle of the night light some deranged santa and his long legged blond Ms Claus

but Bud Light is basically bubbly beer-ish water

right before we got to the Fonda we saw these two black dudes next to a tent just past the Museum of Death

i stopped and said, you fellas want some cold beer?

they both stood straight up and ran over to the car. i popped the trunk, they dug in, said thanks and we were gone.

WE FELT SO GOOD

so we got back home. amber found 6-7 brown grocery store bags. in each of them we put beer in bottles, hot dog buns(!), candy, more candy, pretzels, chips, water and magazines because i have way too many magazines.

drove back to the brothers but they were busy inside the tent drinking

turned the corner at pep boys and drove to the 101 underpass and saw a few tents

amber yelled out the window sweetly to this gay guy, would you like some food?

he jumped up and saw the trunk and amber got out and helped him

he took all 7 bags. she helped him go back to the tent

and when she returned she said

someone was shooting up in that tent.

which made me sad i didnt put any cold Cokes in there.

anyways, mission accomplished.

LAist, once again, giving back to the hood.

to me the story of Back in Black is one of the greatest miracles in all of rock

because how do you lose your lovable lead singer in 1979 on the heels of your hottest record to date (Highway to Hell) where you sell out arenas around the world,

audition new singers, find one (relatively unknown Brian Johnson), have him co-write with you and the very next year,

it turns out in 8 weeks during a typhoon in the Islands, you’ve made the greatest hard rock album of all time

the 2nd best selling record in history next to Thriller.

that shouldn’t happen. your 7th album shouldn’t have so many great songs.

Consider The Eagles, who also knew how to write songs and sell records, their 7th album was Long Road Out of Eden.

of course there are exceptions (Floyd, Dylan, Stones) BUT STILL AFTER ALL OF THOSE OLD BON SCOTT ERA RIFFS YOU STILL HAVE ALL THESE NEW ONES IN YOUR BACK POCKET MALCOLM?

but my biggest question is a real one: what the fuck is What Do You Do For Money Honey and Givin The Dog A Bone

and Let ME PUT MY LOVE INTO YOU of all songs

batting 3, 4, 5 on the 2nd best selling album of all times?

Isn’t it super obvious that you begin Back in Black with the title cut,

then that goes into the super obvs pop single of Shook Me, yada yada

you flip over the record and there’s Hells Bells and Shoot to Thrill followed by the filler?

How is it inside-out?

How is this never discussed?

How has Angus never been asked “was there a fuck up at ATCO?”

Because that would be fantastic.

Instead here we are 1,000 years later and I’ve gotta figure out how Shook Me All Night Long ended up being the 7th Song of the 7th Son and

oooooooooooooooooooh

genius

i did have one banana.

been drinking this giant tub of water mixed with solution that “cleans you out”.

which is dumb because everyone knows a bottle of Groovy Grape from GNC does the same damn thing.

im nervous because i havent dranken all 4 liters of it yet and i hope that doesnt get in the way of the colonoscopy but my shits are liquid and yellowy and clear.

my mind is all over the place.

im not hungry, weirdly.

but i feel like im floating.

there are many stages to all of this. super bizarre. i should have demanded a morning appointment, but all they had was 1:30pm

i wonder about the poor. many of them go for a long time without food. that must be the hardest thing in the world.

this isn’t right.

my man ben works at the soup kitchen. met his pretty wife there.

i used to think soup kitchens are dumb, even though i love soup and kitchens and helping people.

i used to think, why dont they just get a giant bucket of soup and let people scoop it out themselves?

but i dont think thats the entire point.

the entire point might be more along the lines of human contact being necessary

eyes meeting eyes. greetings. hi. i hope you like this. i hope your day is better. i hope you know that all of this is just dust in the wind. that ours is something bigger somewhere else.

that you are me and we are all together.

i think thats the entire point.

theyre gonna put a thing up my butt tomorrow.

a thing with a camera on it.

to make sure they can see what they need to see i cant have any food in there.

so i cannot eat food today.

i have gone through a variety of emotions.

ive wanted to fight, cry, scream, now im chill for some reason.

weird because i should be half way through a meeting right now, but my meeting was bumped.

so im waiting for my meeting to be allowed to take place.

all i wanna do is go home and cry.

a nice Jewish girl who i work with pointed at my apple juice and said,

“you’re having a party right now. once a year we don’t get to eat OR drink anything.”

that made me feel better.

she said they also think spiritual things when theyre fasting.

like they are supposed to think about all the bad things they’ve done that year.

i was all, ive done a lot more than can be handled in a day.

the other day though i did something good.

at the xbi we call it: saved a cat from a tree.

this cat was in a tree that was on fire.

afterwards i thought i could just play it off but i had to see a doctor to remove a bullet from my side.

so i went and ate steak to get some of that meat back.

its been a week of losing blood, giving blood, eating bloody meat.

and now eating nothing and being forced to be patient.

tomorrow theyre gonna put that camera in me and i hope they dont see anything bad.

im the only bad thing.

it was Dudamel conducting a few Russian numbers you know so well, and the most famous black ballerina in the world, Misty Copeland

it was all Amber’s idea and since i usually call the shots in life, we made her request come true.

weird thing about ballets at the Bowl: they start pretty much on time, complete with an introductory performance of the National Anthem (?) immediately followed by the rock.

there was a huge lineup at the gate so we walked allllll the way over to the back side which was smart, but after picking up some food we were a tad late getting to our seats and because the Bowl is fancy, they dont let you sit down until the movement has moved on. when we got to our row we excused ourselves and made it to where we were supposed to sit and there was lady there. older. she had lots of picnic baskets. she seemed surprised that we wanted to sit in our seats.

it was very uncomfortable because now the movement was going again.

“they should have come on time,” said one lady behind us with all the judgement she could muster.

the older lady in our seat holding her wine glass was really confused, how would she get through the row with all of her stuff. LORD HELP YOU SIT ON A BENCH FOR 90 MINUTES WITHOUT ALL THE FOOD AND DRINK IN THE WORLD.

when she eventually got moving i heard, “look what they are doing to the poor woman!”

ive been to hundreds of rock shows. ive never heard such hate from another concert-goer as these classical fans.

finally she left. we sat frozen trying to be good people. and before we knew it it was time for the intermission. at first we thought it was just a quick break because the show had started like 20 minutes before, but no, we were in store for a half hour intermission.

whatever, ate Hollywood Bowl sushi, drank a Mexicoke and noticed the older lady was still wandering around looking for a home. poor dear.

the girls next to us were there for this handsome ballet dude. they cheered for him so hard. cute. but most of the place was there for Misty. lots more people of color in the seats than i expected. great to see. also way more kids there than i thought would be there.

music was great. i love great musicians. dancing was meh. ballet is dead.

afterwards we cruised along hollywood blvd.

and never once did we talk about how the xbi made me go to urgent care because they forgot they had put a tiny explosive in my side and forgot to get it removed.

today i have to have a liquid diet because tomorrow i am having my colon scoped. joy.

tony. i am rich. i am beautiful. i have a house that is shaped like a boat and my girlfriends come over and we frolic and drink wine and wear floppy hats.

but when my husband comes home i wonder, LIKE ALL THE TIME, do i really deserve this life? and it haunts me. 

ive spent thousands in therapy. but i come to you. what can i do?

signed,

unworthy

dear floppy hat woman,

for a long time i was in your shoes. and they hurt. you wear crazy high heels.

but you also have shoes that dont fit you. they are for someone else.

your house, your man, and your inflatables, though, are for you.

how do i know? because you have the key, the ring, and when you jump in your pool you are not arrested.

it is yours. own it. fucking pee in the pool for all i care.

your life is yours. but i will be honest here. i know that no matter what you do, no matter who your shrink is, no matter how much you give to charity or how often you drown your anxiety with pills and booze, you will never be truly satisfied because of this:

you know as well as i do that this isn’t the final exam. you and i both know that the empty spot in your heart has nothing to do with sex drugs band girls money.

and unlike what yr shrink says it has nothing to do with your mommy or daddy. they may have contributed to that annoying voice in your head but Clowntime is Over, Elvis. you’re a big girl now. shake it off.

the only person you should care about is Jesus.

how is that scoreboard in Heaven gonna read out when you’re done with these little games on Earth that have to do with carpet samples and hiding cords into dry wall? will Jesus accept you into Paradise City?

and why should He?

pouring out soup to homeless on Skid Row isn’t the answer either, although it’s a good step in the right direction.

but ask yourself, how are you with those around you? are you a real friend, are you a good wife? are you a good kid. are you helping like REALLY helping your hood? or are you selfish? it’s not really What Would Jesus Do, but what would Jesus want You to do.

He wouldn’t want you to be a fucking dipshit brat thats for sure.

But bigger than that: he would want you to be Wonderful.

so be Wonderful.

every day.

take a break on Sunday.

but get back to it during the week.

you know how to be wonderful to everyone.

why on Earth would you hold that back.

ps dont pee in the pool.

little known fact: theres very little that can scare me

EXCEPT GHOST STORIES

as a born again Christian, I don’t believe in ghosts

but the stories freak me out.

suddenly i wondered what the hell am i doing at a movie called Ghost Story?

what if it’s super scary.

what if the hot babe sitting next to me loses all respect for me if i shriek?

how did i end up here?

it was cool in the theater, which was refreshing. i dont have AC in my APT

she had a short tight dress on. i put my hand on her leg, smooth from a recent shave

smoother still thanks to lotion.

girls are magic.

the movie was weird.

outside some store

all these autograph hounds all around him with posters of his movies

and glossy pictures.

where do these people come from?

how do they know he’s gonna be there?

where do they buy all those Sharpies?

and Mel just turned 91 last week. still out there giving the people what they want. if i only had a Young Frankenstein stein I would have been out there too begging him to sign it for me.

but alas, i was driving around rodeo trying to get a nibble.

even a short ride would be good on a hot day.

anything.

floated over to westwood. got a ping at one of those wilshire skyscraper condos.

in walks an old man and his youngish wife.

we are going to the Grill on the Alley

first he tells me to turn down the jazz and then questions why im avoiding wilshire.

just take it all the way!

anything you say.

around the hilton theres a traffic jam. he still directs me.

i try to change the subject.

so what’s good over at the Grill?

he tells me everythings good and the service is excellent.

he mentions liver.

i go, omg i love liver. do they serve it with onions or bacon?

he says, they serve it with onions And bacon.

i say i dont want to drop you off. you both must stay and drive with me. you for the directions and your wife for her beautiful perfume.

she smiles.

he says, i cannot afford that perfume.

when they get out he slides me a five dollar bill.

liver friends.