im depressed

worked hard the last few days on this podcast

and the thing is i know what im in for. im trying to make something out of

not nothing, but im upset that my interviews with relative unknowns are not popular.

i am having intelligent, interesting chats with normal people and

every week im surprised a thunderstorm of traffic doesn’t come racing to it.

for years ive studied this.

for years i was successful at this.

even at the academy when i presented normal people, bright as they were,

to the madding crowds it was met with yawns.

i am so idealistic its gonna kill me.

i want people to see the absolute beauty in these people.

love your neighbor.

today i got super depressed about global warming of all things.

i kept thinking, the worlds gonna end bc people just cant stop voting for republicans

or fucking people who vote for republicans.

both are unhelpful.

but then my brain would say, no no, the world will be fine

the people will die, the world will keep spinning and become healthier

the minute the last human has coughed themselves to death.

that minute.

ive talked to people who are buddhists pretty much.

theyd say just let it be

relieve yourselves of your attachments

who cares if the people die?

we have had plenty of chances to support more AOCs and defeat more GOPs

but this crowd just couldn’t

these fuckers couldnt be bothered with a vaccine for the plague!

so if anything this podcast is what i hope the aliens find

so they know not all of us

were terrible

fucked up and agreed to something i shouldnt have agreed to

this won’t end well.

it’s not enough for some people that you are doing well.

if i had a farm and the corn was growing and the collard greens were coming in and the indica was on point

but the pigs weren’t as fat as they should be

don’t you think we would work on the pigs?

instead the message is, let’s change everything about the farm.

but the farm is good.

i know but it could be better.

yes but the indica is the best indica for miles around. people come from all over the world for this indica. no one is coming for the pigs.

yes and the solution is change the farm.

i don’t think we should change the whole farm.

well all these others are ok with it.

but those people aren’t farmers.

but they’re part of your team.

imagine if the team worked on the pigs.

why wouldn’t they work on the whole farm?

because ughhhhh fine, redo the whole farm who cares any more, north korea is gonna blow us up anyways.

that’s the spirit tony!

are they gonna destroy us, asked the corn?

yep

what about us, asked the greens,

uh huh.

us too, asked the crystallized indica flowers waiting to bud?

no, you i will save. you are my babies.

ive been sick all day

i woke up puking

puked at night too.

its my throat chamber. a little nose too.

if i die give everything to the truest.

give the rest to the ronald mcdonald house.

i drove past them today as i was coming back from the store.

ive lived here for so long and ive never donated anything to them.

hopefully i live long enough to give them some of my fucking kick ass clothes

and video games

id give em my baseball cards but do they even know who those old players are?

i guess thats how you learn.

tonight i watched two episodes of The Young Pope on HBO. so good. i watched it standing up because i kept having to blow my nose.

if i die put my body in a canoe on the lagoon at ucsb and have an archer shoot a flaming arrow at it and let it catch fire.

i used to want my ashes to be spread around wrigley but they have country concerts there now and other bullshit so fuckit.

isla vista lagoon.

flaming arrow

explosions.

let bands play.

kegs

bring yr own cup.

there’s gonna be a day that i die

two years oldand on that day i dont want anyone to take it easy on me just because i died that day.

we have this strange form of “politeness”- an unwritten rule – that says you can’t piss on the grave of the recently departed.

i hate that.

theres only one time when people from all over talk about you and thats the week that you die.

if youve kept it real when talking about someone their whole life, why must that be put on pause simply because youve left this mortal coil?

why must we bullshit each other during the week when we’re all talking about you?

my guess is it’s rooted in some sort of superstition that The Gods are listening and will decide what to do with the dead’s soul based on what they’re overhearing from below.

which is just as stupid as withholding criticism.

if you loved me when i was alive and said so when i was alive, say so when i die.

if you thought i was full of shit when i was alive and said so when i was alive, then lay it on me when i die. trust me, the comments will be up.

and if you kept it all to yourself when i was alive and there is a conversation when i die, honor me in this way: add to the conversation. do not be stifled.

if there is an afterlife and if im lucky enough to make it into Heaven, trust me, I won’t be reading the comments. I will be chasing Marilyn Monroe around a hot fudge hot tub with a giant super soaker.

if there is an afterlife and im unlucky enough to be sent down to Hades, trust me, the Internet connection will blow and i wont be able to read what you say anyways, so go for it.

and if there is no afterlife and my ashes are spread around the bleachers of Wrigley Field, trust me, i won’t know what you wrote.

so go for it.

live your life.

that is the message of the busblog anyways: live. rock. be creative. be interesting. do not be stifled. be free. enjoy all the riches of modern life.

which includes pissing on the graves of those you hated.

or sending a million roses.

me, id prefer Gerbers

and honesty.

life, i have no complaints

deerwhile driving to work yesterday in my german commitment to excellence i saw a sight

i saw a little girl, maybe 4 years old. 5 perhaps?

with a blind persons cane.

behind her was her mom or teacher.

she was learning to walk with the cane next to a school.

it destroyed me.

sweetest cutest littlest girl and all the things she wont see ever.

the ivy of wrigley field, a technicolor sunset

a perfectly turned double play.

i said to myself, you have nothing to complain about ever.

when i passed that scene for some reason i looked back in my rear view mirror.

and when i did i saw the little girl had tripped over an uneven part in the side walk

and she fell into the grass.

her little legs now above her head. cane gone. but right there.

she reached for it but couldnt find it.

and i died again.

got to work. did work. ate lunch. did more work.

afterwards i drove over to century city to pick up rich people and movie agents.

got a ping at the most luxurious condo in LA. rihanna lives there when shes in town.

i picked up three siblings. all very nice. mid 20s. we talked about china where one of them is in grad school.

drove through some residential streets in beverly hills, hitting it off beautifully.

sisters in the back seat, couldn’t have been nicer or prettier.

they eyed me and i eyed them right back.

brother next to me, jovial.

until we saw two orange cones in the middle of the street.

and a teenage boy sitting on his skateboard in the grass

with his hands sorta covering his eyes

in grief. but why?

as we crept closer to the cones we saw why.

a squooshed black cat.

squooshed forever.

his cat.

gone.

but right there.

im on my knees

doc offic

im on hold.

the lady said the urologist only comes in on Tuesdays

TUESDAYS?!?!

i was all THIS IS LA I HAVE GOOD INSURANCE WTF WTF WTF I AM IN EXRUCIATING PAIN

so sge said “so you have hmo and we are your insurance ppl?” n i said YESSSS

so she put me on hold

and now i have to hear this stupid message while i wait.

heres what it should be “youre not gonig to die. we are ging to help you. we love you. we went to school for this. we love you, hod on. we are trying . i know this suks. and then play pink floyd or something nice.
\\

THE PILLS DONT WORK. BUT I CANT HAVE A DRINK. QHY DOES BOOZE REACT SO BADLY WITH PILLS. ALL I WANT IS A SHOT OF RUM AND A KISS

if this kills me this is what i want on my tombstone

<\ busblog>

a sweet girls brother died today

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she’d been crying all day when she finally called me

then she cried more.

he was exactly the type of fellow that you’d expect to go out like this

yet when it happens it’s still a big sad terrible shock.

plans have to be made. people fly out. Sadness everywhere.

she wants to do a paddle out.

It’s a surf thing. You spread their ashes at sea.

at sunset.

I knew there was a reason it’s supposed to be 90 on Wednesday.

bill murray on the last time he ever partied with gilda radner

bill murray and gilda radner on saturday night live

Gilda got married and went away. None of us saw her anymore. There was one good thing: Laraine had a party one night, a great party at her house. And I ended up being the disk jockey. She just had forty-fives, and not that many, so you really had to work the music end of it. There was a collection of like the funniest people in the world at this party. Somehow Sam Kinison sticks in my brain. The whole Monty Python group was there, most of us from the show, a lot of other funny people, and Gilda. Gilda showed up and she’d already had cancer and gone into remission and then had it again, I guess. Anyway she was slim. We hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she started doing, “I’ve got to go,” and she was just going to leave, and I was like, “Going to leave?” It felt like she was going to really leave forever.

So we started carrying her around, in a way that we could only do with her. We carried her up and down the stairs, around the house, repeatedly, for a long time, until I was exhausted. Then Danny did it for a while. Then I did it again. We just kept carrying her; we did it in teams. We kept carrying her around, but like upside down, every which way—over your shoulder and under your arm, carrying her like luggage. And that went on for more than an hour—maybe an hour and a half—just carrying her around and saying, “She’s leaving! This could be it! Now come on, this could be the last time we see her. Gilda’s leaving, and remember that she was very sick—hello?”

We worked all aspects of it, but it started with just, “She’s leaving, I don’t know if you’ve said good-bye to her.” And we said good-bye to the same people ten, twenty times, you know.

And because these people were really funny, every person we’d drag her up to would just do like five minutes on her, with Gilda upside down in this sort of tortured position, which she absolutely loved. She was laughing so hard we could have lost her right then and there.

It was just one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my life. I’ll always remember it. It was the last time I saw her.

 – Live from New York: an Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live

a good man’s brother was murdered this morning

princess di

he was a popular chiropractor who worked in a neighborhood that i often frequent.

beaten to death.

why are we doing this weird little dance down here,

always pretending we’re gonna be here forever.

some jackhole can just enter our little world and blow out our brief candle.

or a car crash happens and we’re no longer princess of earth.

why do we live in the same place, date the same person, do the same things.

this planet is huge, why arent we exploring.

this life is quick, why arent we living.

by we i mean me.

theres so much inside me, theres so much i want to do, theres so much

why am i sitting on it.

is it even still in there

died at 43 of natural causes

andrew breitbart matt welchwoke up early this morning
to finish something i was procrastinating.
and because i spent a good deal of the evening
drinking sake and beers with karisa
i had a special guest in my bed this morning:
a throbbing hangover.
so me and the hangover laid there
looking at the clock say 6am-ish
and i closed my eyes and thought about my mortality.

namely the fact that i was forty-something
with no legal heirs to my kingdom.
my hangover was convincing me
that it was perfectly fine not to reproduce
“way too many people on this rock anyways.”
and i thought about how about half of my smart friends have offspring
and about half of my smart friends do not.
and i thought about those nice women out there who i might consider cursing with my seed
and i thought how much better the rest of their lives would be without such a fate.

but i kept thinking: maybe all the smart friends should just get it together these next few years
and continue to add our DNA to the global slam dance and keep this conga line going
and then i thought wow that is a horrible reason to bring life into this world.
and then my bladder was all, ok moron, lets get out of bed.

i did the thing and turned on my laptop and saw a cohort write that Andrew Breitbart
had died at 43 of natural causes.
many things flooded my still aching head.
some classy, most not.
ok, none classy.
all i know of the gentleman was he didnt seem like a gentleman to me.
he helped blogs and websites that to me didnt need any help.
but for that i am to believe that he was some sort of genius.
he also didnt seem to be a very honorable or fully truthful fellow.

but heres the problem with my smart friends of whom i was thinking about earlier:
they know Everyone.
and there on Twitter several of them were saying things like, if i may summarize:
i didnt always agree with him, but he wasnt the tool people thought he was.
also there on twitter i read various degrees of schadenfreude
which is often distasteful, no matter how biting and clever or hilarious.
but i also read many on the so-called Left giving the man props for a variety of reasons.

and then there were my smart friends again who were truly sad at this person’s passing.

which made me seriously question
my perception of the man
because until this morning i felt very comfortable in discounting his work and ambitions
as predictable, self-centered, non-helpful, polarizing, ridiculous, and bad for blogging

one of the smartest of my smart friends wrote an excellent blog post today about Mr. Breitbart which i highly recommend, if only because he is one of the few people you will read today who knew him who was neither a liberal or a conservative and actually liked him. Impossible, you say? Hardly. Funny how when you actually get to know people you tend to omg appreciate them.

another smart friend just wrote me an email and said, “Yeah, I never talked politics with Andrew or mentioned Hollywood because of that Hulk effect it had on him, the red-eye, spitting-fire thing, but I absolutely loved this man, his vitality, his roaring laugh. He was so much fun to be around, so generous, not a mean bone in his body. He introduced me to many 80s songs, including The The ‘This is the day’. Well, this is an awful day…”

because i love my smart friends i will have to take their word for it. they actually met him, and i only saw him on Bill Maher or on Fox or somehow stumbling into a hotel conference room right before Anthony Weiner was about to admit that yes that was his photos that he had sent to various young ladies.

and even though i never considered Andrew (or anyone, really) an enemy, here is a quote from Proverbs about why it isn’t a great idea to piss on anyone’s grave

“Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth: Lest the Lord see it, and it displease him, and he turn away his wrath from him.”

rest in peace, friend of my friends. whoever you really were.

photo of Andrew Breitbart in Los Feliz by Jackie Danicki, who adored him.