busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Sunday, March 31, 2002
  2. Friday, March 29, 2002

    Ditch lives in Mass 

    not LA and says that if he lived in LA and not Mass he would definately be at the Hellacopters show on Saturday at the Troubador, and when I see a band bust with the flying Vs I say say no more.

    health report: no dizzy spells, no nausea, a little bit of a runny gnose, a tiny bit of a cough, but only because i didnt have a good night’s sleep, and cuz im old, and cuz life isnt fair. and cuz my place is cold and dusty and in need of a clean and i cant even do that tonight because chris has invited me to go out with her and her friends tonight and see Panic Room after pf changs.

    how could i have only worked 5 days in the last 2 weeks and i still feel like i have no time to myself? im such a brat.

    the dizzy spells i had yesterday may have been due to the fact that i took two innocent looking pills from the workplace first aid cabinet generically labeled “multi-symptom cold pills” that had twice the shit in them that i was taking at home! and i was only taking one pill at home! no wonder my brain was hanging upside down.

    sara cracks me up nearly every day, i dont think i can stress this enough. although i am a bit concerned for my old roommate dan that sara has a new beau. but you now frisco, anything goes there. he probably introduced them.

    yesterday i was outbid on ebay for 16 bukowski books by $1. i hate to think these thoughts, but under such circumstances, i usually think it was the seller who cheated because he didnt want to unload them for just $61. i hate that. i am wishing bad thoughts their way if they did that to me. very bad thoughts. like i hope it rains after they wash their car.

    i touched up an illustration of Mo Vaughn last night on my baseball blog – the kids leave comments on that blog, thankfully. cough hint cough!

  3. ashley seems to think that im hiding her 

    i like the fact that she wants attention and credit and adoration and fame and celebrity and love and fan mail and phone calls and pizza and mentions in a blog that matters not. but im not hiding her.

    everyone knows tons about ashley and knows that i call her every day and knows that we get to hang out a lot together, and now that no doubt is in town there would be no doubt that shed be in town, and now that theyre on their way to vegas, she’ll be on the road east to make the shows.

    the person that should be complaining the most is Jesus.

    i havent spread the word in so long and here it is Good Friday and this is what i’ll say about it.

    read a few chapters of the Good Book this weekend.

    it might surprise you.

    for example, on this day, Good Friday, lots of interesting things happened. one writer says that there was an earthquake, one guy talks about one of the bad guys putting a straw down Jesus’s mouth and poured vinegar down his throat while he suffered on the cross. one guy talks about Jesus’s brothers and family showing up.

    for some reason these details never really get talked about in the movies or on tv or in church even, and i wont give you my opinions on them, i would way prefer it if you formed your own. to me spirituality is the most personal part of a person’s life and its ok to talk about these things, but today i’d rather just suggest that you crack open the book and spend a few minutes, or, gasp, even an hour reading some of the new testament and read for yourself a little bit of matthew mark luke or john. i promise you there will be something in there instantly that you will be surprised to read.

    theres no way i shoulda gone to work yesterday, i had this very strange dizzy spell where i thought i was gonna fall down in the hallway and i dont know how i made it through the day but i did, somehow, and now im back at my desk again and im feeling much better, thank you.

    and thank you to everyone who is stoking the kitty fund and the snoop fund. i promise you. this blog will not evolve into a charity drive each and every day. i’ll only talk about the kitty for a few more days. latest news: if things couldnt get pathetic enough, the kitty had to go to the doctor and came home with one of those sad tubes around its neck because the paw is infected and will probably have to be amputated, costing karisa even more cash. but they did learn this very important lesson that i would like to share with you, if i may.

    apparently there is pet insurance that people can buy. i dont know what it’s called, if you do, just say so in the Comments section (at the end of this post) but it cost about $7-$10 a month and you have like a $100 deductable – i dont know how it works really, i was just surprised to hear that you could have pet insurance.

    Happy Good Friday, gentle readers, i think the world of you.

  4. Thursday, March 28, 2002

    who doesn’t love jodie foster? 

    i love her. i love her so much that i think i had my first crush on a girl named Ilka because Ilka looked like Jodie.

    Both tomboys with long hair and cool dispositions, the moment that I met Ilka I fell for her and was shocked at the startling resemblence to Jodie.

    Ilka, however, lived near Rich Van Doren, a cute blonde kid who had it all, including the best girl in town as his neighbor.

    Isn’t that always the case? How unfair.

    Rich and I were friends so all of us played soccer together in the courtyard and this was 6th grade and I had just discovered swear words and I thought that saying them would make me seem older and wiser, so whenever I could I would reel off one four-letter word after another.

    I don’t think this impressed Ilka.

    I also cheated at soccer.

    I camped out right next to the oppossing goalie and waited for the long pass so i could tap it in and score. Little did any of us know, but this was off-sides and not at all fair. But all’s fair in love and suburban soccer, right?

    No, not really.

    I was so amazed by Ilka that before I would go to sleep I would imagine her getting hit by a school bus right near our tennis courts. In my dream I would be walking next to her before the accident and after it I would give her mouth-to-mouth recessitation and save her life, which, of course, would not only allow me to sorta make out with her, but I would become her instant hero.

    Fortunately my dreams don’t come true, and Ilka remained healthy to this very day.

    As a matter of fact, after a little Googling, just last year, I did a search for my grade school crush and believe it or not, but I tracked her down.

    Ilka, I was amazed to discover, is not only a doctor, but a vetrinarian, a horse doctor, living in the countryside.

    We’ve emailed each other several times, and even though we’ve exchanged phone numbers, neither of us have gathered enough courage to actually call each other.

    Even though we both said how great it would have been if I had told her in 6th grade about my crush on her.

    Let that be a lesson to you, kids. Always tell the hot chick you dig her.

    Or forever deal with the fact that it will be the Rich Van Dorens of the world will get to hold her hand on the hay ride at the fair, and not you.

    Mad shoutouts to George who stoked the Snoop Fund $10 – you are quite a Soul Brother, thank you. And to AS who flowed the Bad Kitty a buck, thank you, amigo, it’s much appreciated.

  5. Wednesday, March 27, 2002

    when i was a kid 

    there was no one sexier than Bo Derek. i dont think there was any arguement about it. I was too young to get into the movies to see “10” but somehow i got my hands on the “Playboy” that she was in, and i remember seeing the Barbara Walters interview of John Derek, who was much older than Bo and who had been married to Linda Evans and he had this very casual air about him, quite carefree, and I remember wanting to be like him very badly.

    But like most average boys, and most people, I would imagine, I identified much more with the bumbling, diminutive, day-dreamer that Dudley Moore portrayed in “10.”

    I don’t know why obituaries attract my attention so much, although I remember Mike Royko saying that the way that he started in journalism was by writing obits during the graveyard shift with the Sun-Times, and if i were an aspiring journalist, I would have no problem tackling that first rung of writing. It seems easy.

    Dudley Moore, the 5′ 2″ comedian and musican, died in his home in New Jersey yesterday due to pneumonia which was caused by complication of the rare disease called progressive supranuclear palsy, his spokesperson said.

    Born in 1935 just outside of London with a club foot that stunted his growth, Moore studied music at Oxford where he met Peter Cook, a comedic actor, whom he would make several movies with.

    Appearing in over 40 films and tv roles, Moore made his breakthrough in 1978 as Stanley Tibbets in the Goldie Hawn/Chevy Chase comedy, “Foul Play“. That led to starring roles in “10″ (1979), Wholly Moses (1980), and his biggest hit, “Arthur” in 1981.

    Moore is survived with four ex-wives and one son, Patrick, whom he fathered with actress Tuesday Weld.

    The Bad Kitty fund has reached $24, thanks so much to Noah, Emily, Chris, Lynda, and RG!

  6. Tuesday, March 26, 2002

    touch me, im sick 

    ive got the dial tuned into LA’s classic rock station and i pity the fools who dont embrace some of the guilty pleasures on the airwaves like Two for Tuesdays, like look here, they just went from AC/DC to the Doors comeoncomeoncomeon touch me, babe.

    what was that promise that you made?

    in the mornings i like to poke my head outside this cave and watch the flies buzzing around the grounds. and then that will be the last of daylight that i’ll get since then i retreat to my shack behind the guest house and wack away at the typer writing to you and you, and yes, even you.

    hello! hello! hello!

    i want to

    i need my baby, oh.

    i am so easily pleased. one of the benefits about the web and websites and blogs and what have you are the interesting people that happen to stumble across these words.

    all of the visitors to this site are cool, espcially RW who gave $7 to the bad kitty fund, and Emily who was the first contributer to the worthy cause, but one of the coolest chaps is named Eric who lives in Ohio.

    Eric is one of the Tres Producers who tells me that his daughter thinks im cool, which is fantastic, but what is extraordinary is his circle of friends and acquaintences in the Cleveland area. As you know, Cleveland is the home of the rock ‘n roll hall of fame. And Blogspot is down, so I can’t get to Eric’s page right now to find out his relation to Bob Gruen, rock photographer, but Eric was saying something about him today or yesterday and after clicking a few links, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

    True, I’m heavilly medicated right now, battling this bug, but it turns out that Bob is responsible for some of the most classic photographs in all of rock.

    We live in a golden era, friends. Rock and roll started less than 50 years ago, which means some the framers of the genre are still around and making a joyful noise.

    Bob was lucky enough to document Zepellin, the Who, and Dylan, but I think that his best work was in and around CBGB, the little Bowery club that helped launch the likes of the Ramones, Blondie, the Talking Heads, and the New York Dolls.

    Not to missed are his galleries of pics starring the Sex Pistiols, the Clash, and the Stones.

    Long live rock.

    Death to this cold.

  7. Monday, March 25, 2002

    god am i sick 

    and im gonna go off for about twenty minutes so please pardon me, normally i write to you, today im writing to my cold.

    fuck you, cold. how dare you.

    bitch ass, how dare you get inside me when i was drinking and smoking at the tsar show on pico, doing shots with jeanine, drinking beers with my friends, listening to the newest teenage anthems of days gone by, the foundations of fuck you, cold i bet you came from a dirty shot glass of the eskimo kiss that girl gave me at the lesbo party when i wasnt looking or was it the plastic cup with the wine or the towel that i dried my hands with.

    or did you come in through the dust.

    milton had satan slide through the mist and slither into the mouth of the deceiver in eden and you kept me up all night trying to get down my throat but by now you know that only dr. pepper, fried chicken and young girls get to take that route. fuck you virus or allergy or luckilly for me i had a little fair warning and i bombarded you with echinacia or however the hell you spell it wont be the death of me i will be the death of you and houseflies only have days to die and you only have hours.

    dont you know i have mountains to move with my mustard seed of faith?

    feed a fever fuck you, cold. my back is recovered from the residue of pisces hold on to my tonsils while i will fuck you to pieces.

    my couch has pillows and blankets and the space heater is going and you’re gonna be going because i am the most filthy pig i can be when i wanna and you dont want that. i will drink water and eat generic tortilla strips dry i will not heave you cuz i’ll die i will imagine you smaller and smaller and smaller still, you are the target and im liscened to thrill. how did i know to get the Tussin from the 99 cent store that tastes like motor oil cut with evian, i will torture you with tom cruise movies cuz if you like me so much you’ll hate him so much. nice try with the phlem, sissy, shorten your hem.

    i have had jerry mcguire on tape for years and years and years and i love that this guy has all the best music in his movies but jay moher or however you spell it is only slightly less ridiculuous than everybody’s favorite scientologist and im rhyming because even colds hate poems, you never see people sneezing in the sole row of poetry because even germs have standards even at borders.

    you will die in the night.

    sleep tight, sleep tight.

    i sweat when i write. and im sweating you out. youre surrounded you single-celled organism there is nothing healthy or worthwile except for my smile and you will not take that.

    so take that.

  8. karisa has a bad kitty 

    she also has a good kitty. bad kitty and good kitty are pretty crazy cats and the other day bad kitty was playing outside and got hit by a hit-and-run hollywood motorist and nearly killed the little fella.

    anyone who knows me knows im not a big fan of cats. im allergic to most of them, i think they’re too smart for their own good, and they like to piss where i like to sleep.

    but this little kitten/cat racked up a mighty steep bill for karisa. who knew that xrays for a little cat, and shots, and this sweet morphine patch and all the rest could total up to over $500? plus they have to go back and fork over another $700 in a few weeks to repair the three fractures in bad kitty’s bum leg. (the pink thing is its cast).

    all the time people write in and say, “what can we do for you, tony?” and all i say is keep reading my stuff and being my friend.

    however, if you want to throw a few bucks toward the bad kitty recovery fund, it’ll probably assure you a place in Heaven.

    and who knows, maybe karisa will do a little photo essay for the site as a show of thanks.

    me, im going back to bed. i dont know what i caught last night, but it’s whipping my ass.

  9. Sunday, March 24, 2002

    due to experimental chemical testing 

    early on in my fbi career, i don’t dream any more.

    i know people say, “you dream, we all dream, you just dont remember it.” but i assure you, i dont dream, and i would remember them. my memory is horrible but i remember my dreams in vivid detail.

    and dont get me wrong, im not mad at the bureau, i volunteered for the testing knowing full well that the dreamstate could be removed, and that was fine with me. i hate dreams. i consider them dirty lies thrust upon my sensitive soul at my most vulnerable.

    if i have a good dream and i wake up, im bummed that it wasnt real. if i have a bad dream and i wake up, im bummed that my rest was interrupted by horror. my life is interesting enough and i’d rather make up my own lies, thank you.

    because of this condition, i sleep incredibly soundly, i require no naps, and i only need a few hours and im good.

    the fbi considers it a disorder, i consider it a superpower.

    maybe it was the shots at the tsar show last night, but i had a dream last night and it made me really happy and now that i am about to describe it, perhaps you will see the ridiculous nature of these nocturnal transmissions.

    i was playing first base at the houston astrodome, which is fucked because they dont play pro baseball there any more, and im a shortstop.

    barry bonds blasted a single right past me, the right fielder threw it into me, bonds made it back to the bag safely, i faked my throw to the pitcher, bonds moved his foot off the bag, i tagged his thigh and the umpire signaled “safe.”

    i stomped my foot and said, “must the runner be on the bag, or does barry bonds have some buffer zone around the bag that no one else has?”

    and the umpire aggreed with me signaled “out” and i jumped in the air, ran off the field (since it was, apparently, the third out), rolled the ball towards the mound and received high-fives from my teammates.

    all i wanted to do on the bench was talk about how great it was to dupe bonds but my teammates seemed preoccupied with the fact that now we were on a power play as the field had turned to a hockey rink very smoothly, and with no objections from anyone. myself included.

    dreams.

    as stupid as it was, i woke up so happy. im happy still. i cant stand barry bonds. im in 12 fantasy baseball leagues. this morning this one guy picked him as the 11th pick. i laughed.

    the academy awards is happening about 3 miles away from me. it’s a beautiful day here in hollywood, and a perfect time to do laundry followed by Zankou chicken – which Amy first took me to.

    speaking of friends, i have the best and it was so good to see so many of them last night. much better than any award show, or chicken, or tagging out barry bonds, if youre scoring at home.

    and if you’re scoring at home, use protection.

  10. Saturday, March 23, 2002

    tsar is playing a secret show 

    at The Joint tonight at 11:59pm. Hells Belles is playing at the Knitting Factory.

    I’m recovering from a night with Karisa. We went to a party at Rabbit‘s neighbor’s house where way more of the chicks liked chicks and candles lit the whole place. Even though all of the girls were beautiful (and excellent dancers) me and karisa were way more impressed with the Trader Joe veggie dip and the bottles of wine and rum in the kitchen.

    For those of you who have tried to keep up with her, you’ll know why I’ve had to spend much of today replenshing myself with fluids.

    RG has stoked me now three days in a row for the Snoop Fund, thanks bro.

    Apparently Tsar will be showcasing a boatload of new tunes.

    Apparently I will be sleeping on Sunday all day.