Ordinary Girl


She never changes her mind

Loves him cuz he’s so fine

Though she never tells him so

she loves him, oh.

Sometimes she feels so sad,

Other times feels twice as bad,

But when the tears are in her eyes…

she never cries.

Ordinary Girl,

I know, you’re different

But I do believe it’s love

Ordinary Girl

Wish I were different

But I’m a stranger in the world.

Ordinary Girl.

And when the night won’t last,

Her mind moves much too fast.

And she nearly crashed her car,

when she broke a star.

Ordinary Girl.

I know, you’re different.

But I do believe it’s love.

Ordinary Girl.

Wish I, were different.

But I’m a stranger in the world.

Ordinary Girl.


She waits for him to call.

But then she feels so small.

Though she never tells him so,

she loves him,


photo by wKen who reviewed last night’s tsar show at the capitol garage, which sounds like it was a bummer on many levels, still ken gives a thumbs up to the band. (this, sir, is what i believe the slow song was.)

moxie picked me up right on time

porsche revving in my circular driveway beeping at the security gate.

i walked down to the drive and she was cleaning out the back seat area of her targa. our pal marc weisbott was in the passenger seat jetlagged but looking like a million. he was dressed up as a weary canadian and obviously spent a lot of time and money on his costume. i shook his hand, always impressed by a journalist who got paychecks from the likes of the village voice.

moxie (pictured) floored it and left a nice skidmark on the brick driveway and sped through the iron gates.

took sunset east hugged a tight right at alvarado and in no time we were being valeted at casa de marc brown, a 17 story 50s office building that had been converted to artists lofts. the mc has always lived large and im talking plate glass windows super high ceilings, exposed walls, track lighting. minimalism at its finest.

upon arrival we saw transvestites dressed as men, women dressed as ghouls, quite a few dot com casualties, wizards, even a very large man dressed like anna nicole smith with pill bottles in her hair instead of curlers. it was awesome.

i was invited to mix a drink for a lovely lass and i fixed one up for her and made a spiced rum and coke for myself.

happy halloween, captain morgan.

happy halloween, jack from the white stripes.

me and marc go back. how far back? way back.

he was the man who first showed me the world wide web. he also turned me onto some of my favorite bands like the muffs and monster magnet. if you look at his cd collection you will go home and look at yours and want to punch it for being so lame. same goes for his clothes. same goes for his life. very few men have made me jealous with their lifestyles but marc brown tops my short list.

because he’s a great host, marc (not pictured) invited us to follow anna nicole downstairs one flight where she lives. turns out she lives with another man and together, in real life, they are interior designers, and it was totally amazing what these gentlemen have done with their 1,600 foot rectangle. it was like night and gay. buddah head statues, faux marble floors, luxurious furniture and window dressings. recessed lighting.

it was hard to chose which we liked better, the german influenced grays blacks and whites of the mc’s pad or the browns and greens and whites of the fellas downstairs. we went back upstairs to marc’s pad and i felt more at home there. i felt like i could rollerskate up there like in “betty blue” which, i believe, is one of the fine aspects of having a loft. why turn a loft into an apartment when it’s perfect just being a loft?

the views were breathtaking. long, sweeping panoramas of downtown la, complete with the police helicopters shining their floodlights upon the ruffians near staples center. it looked straight out of terminator. i was mesmerized.

so marc brought us upstairs to the roof where the wizards had congregated to smoke.

even on a roof moxie attracts attention. of all the beauty of hollywood and koreatown and downtown all eyes were on the nancy sinatra outfit of madison and one courageous wizard trekked across the roof to offer us a puff or two of his “cigarette”. moxie blushed and refused the generous offer. i followed her lead. hugs, not drugs, harry pothead. pounded my rum and threw the cup off the roof at the crackheads in the park twenty flights below.

marc had a dj on the wheels of steel who busted out the slow jams and even threw in a little Toto that brought back memories of halloweens of the past.

when i got home i found a message on my machine from my mom who said that she was remembering when my sister and i were little kids and she would help paint our faces and make costumes and she wondered if i remembered any of those nights and of course i do.

who could forget.

strangely none of the kids from my neighborhood came around for the mini tootsie rolls that i had waiting for them.

perhaps my home was decorated too scary for them.

maybe it was the creepy church next door.

maybe life is super different these days than they were when i was a boy when you could knock on any door in the neighborhood and get a treat.

oh well, sometimes change is good. if moxie and weisblog and i drove 20 minutes west instead of 20 minutes east we would have seen Pink sing for free on santa monica blvd.

i think our party was way better.

and because i was buzzing so hard and my arms had had the night off before i laid myself to rest, i whipped up a quickie little photo essay for your costumed posteriors that goes a little something like this hit it.

and for those of you into politics, may i suggest: daily instigator

theres a few girls that i go out with that i never write about.

i do that because theyre famous celebrities and their girlfriends would be pissed if they knew they were slumming with the likes of me.

one of them really likes mannish guys, the type that i can be sometimes but i am rarely on dates.

in real life i have a stubbly beard and a beer belly and a messy apartment and i have sports on all the time.

but on dates im well shaven, the maid picks up after me, i laugh at all her jokes, i keep my distance, i bring roses and wine, i pull out the chair, and kiss the back of her hand. all the things we gentlemen were trained to do in boarding schools in switzerland. n’est pas?

this one particlur model i have gone out with a number of times and shes never really seen the man inside that i am who is a brute and a cheat and a bum and a fucker. i can be mean and dirty and masculine (in a good way) and animal and every time im with her i think i would like to show her that part of me but all that comes out is this very polite quiet shy happy person because im very happy whenever im with her and its murphys law cuz her best friend tells me that she hates wimpy dorks like that.

one of the best moments in last week’s anna nicole show was when anna was meeting up with a matchmaker who was asking the texas playmate what sort of man she was looking for.

225 lb. anna said, “someone who’s arms i can jump into and he can make me feel small, like a little girl.”

and i thought, shaq is taken, baby.

and ive heard this request from the opposite sex before and the only person who i know i have made felt that way is ashley.

and i wondered if that meant that i should just give in and have what i have and take the princess in front of me who loves me and wants me but who im really wrong for – and try to make it work out – or if i should just keeping on moving dont stop like soul II soul.

sergi fedorov wouldnt even think these thoughts anna k whispered my way, he would just take whats in front of him and take whats behind him and take whats next to him and take. hes a man but thats what i got sick of, she told me in morse code tapped on my palm as we held hands in the back of a limo on the way from the airport early this morning.

and i fucking hated his stuble, she tapped and kissed my silky smooth cheek.


the train has turned into the nappytime express lately.

everyone’s asleep. everyone either has their head down in their chest or their head back and mouth open or their head over to the side resting against the graffitied plastic window pane.

no one is pretty. least of all me. tall skinny girl isn’t there. the good morning good morning oh im so happy you’re with me this morning conductor isn’t around any more. the super professional olde man conductor isn’t around much.

the subway is sad in the mornings nowadays like a pumpkin patch on november first with all the cold scarred gourds fresh with morning dew that looks like tears.

it’s okay fallen scarecrow with stolen straw hat. it’s okay indian corn half gnawed by rats.

it’s okay wig store and halloween superstore where everything is now fifty percent off.

theres a warehouse in tustin where you’ll be reunited with all your holiday friends and the rats wont have their way with you, just little mice and dust and loneliness.

santa is coming and all of last years leftovers will be dusted off and released to fill the aisles of drug stores and main streets next week since theres only fifty four more shopping days left till the celebration of our savoirs birth.

me, i spent halloween with moxie and marc weisblog who flew down from canada to party with ken and laura layne for tonights day of the dead fiesta. but last night we partied with mc brown in his badass echo park loft.

we’lll talk more about that later.

right now lets just tell the left over snack size candies that it’s okay.

its okay candy corn and brown and orange felt stained with applesauce at jo-anne fabrics.

it’s okay glow in the dark skeleton marked down to $1.99 made of incredible plastic that allows it to stick right on your window.

it’s okay plastic jackolanter empty of treats with broken handle.

it’s okay fake blood hardened cuz it was opened.

it’s okay.