waiting for me to update throughout the day and was curious about some of the things that i was writing about yesterday.

they asked me if i could write “straight”. and the woman who was asking me this, i think was considering me to write for her one day. and i said of course i could write “straight”.

she asked me why i didnt in my blog.

i told her that it was because i was afraid that all the people who read it currently would go away. but then i retracted that and said that its not as much fun for me to write that way.

i explained that it was a lot like pitching in baseball. if you have a guy who can throw a great curveball and a great knuckler and a great split-finger pitch, “junk” as the pundits call it, you really dont need a 90 mph fastball.

to which she argued that if i could master that fastball it would appear to be a 98 mph one in comparison to that “great” sweeping 75 mph curve.

and i agreed with her.

and then there was silence on the phone.

and then i said, so how many pitchers and writers do you know with great “junk” and a great fastball?

and she said none.

and i said thats why im working on my spitter.

man was mumbling on the bus behind me today in spanish. i kept hearing a click after he would say whatever it was that he was saying.

silly me, i thought that he was talking into a tape recorder to capture his insights as we bounced down wilshire blvd.

when i got up to get off the bus i saw that his head was up against the glass, his eyes were closed and all along he had been talking to himself in his sleep and his dentures were clicking.

it was really nice driving karisas mr2 when we drove home last night in the dark and steamy night through the valley.

i shared this with her and she told me that i really need a car and i said i didnt agree with her.

she said, but you could go anywhere you want at any time.

and i said where would i go?

and she said anywhere.

and i said all i want to be is in hollywood or on the wessside.

and she said thats it?

and i said, well, and with you, of course.

and she smiled and a twinkle glimmered in her eye and like a shot we were through the valley and almost home.

jaime leigh + earth-info + brit coal

that you have to look closer and when you do you see youre surrounded.

paris canceled our date tonight which made me happy cuz secretly i wanted to take karisa to see beck. i get nervous around karisa but i get super nervous around paris cuz i dont know her at all. does anyone?

karisa makes me nervous cuz i always want to impress her. theres pretty much nobody who gets me that way anymore, and im getting over it because we’ve been close friends for going on, what, 40 years now? we’ve done tons of ridiculous things that if she still likes me after all that then i guess she always will.

tom waits is on my winamp and the riaa can suck my cock. santa barbara was warm tonight and beck was hot. speculation arose between yours truly and the mass girl as to whether mr. hanson had snorted a few rails of the pure stuff because the first four numbers were performed in a maniacal, decidedly herky jerky teeth grinding manner that isnt at all like his newest offering of easy listening drones.

i dont want to give up on our local genius but the salsa isnt as tangy as it once was but the kids at the county bowl didnt mind, they passed their joints around and dialed up their best friends on their cell phones and held them up to the sweet songs and karisa and i looked up into the night and the stage lights flickered but you know what, i dont go to beck concerts to slowdance which is too bad cuz there were plenty of moments for lots a that.

you may have known that beck fired most of his band after he decided to dive headfirst into the controversial religion that he has admitted to belonging to. me, im still pretty much in the closet about being a Christian, which is probably the most controversial of all religions. and if he had asked me, which he didnt, i would have invited him to hire a band full of satanists, since they always make the best music, instead it looked and sounded like the amish got the vote: they were nice, white, and forgettable. they attempted to keep up with their maestro and jerk around like his previous band but they were a pale imitation lacking of any soul or majesty.

when beck sang about two turntables and a microphone, there was nary one turntable on the stage, let alone two.

that is not to say that the show was without its warmth, and charm, and delight, and amusement. beck loves to dance, he loves to play crazy instruments, he loves to do the robot, he loves to rock the mic. and tonight everyone loved beck right back.

he played a lot of the crappy new stuff and lots of the classic old stuff. he played a cover that was so perfect i wont even reveal it’s title because he is playing friday night in irvine and i wouldnt want to spoil it for you. it was a great song selection, if only the band could play the music.

im hypercritical about beck because he is the new bob dylan and that is a lot of pressure, so what. we all have our crown of thorns to sport, write another Loser, blondie. and ixnay on the gram parsonsay.

we had pit seats. so close you could see the singers eye color (black). so close i could see that he had put his guitar pick in the neck of his guitar to produce a very unique sound when played through a series of pedals ment to produce the feeling of dread and itchiness.

theyve added restrooms underneath the stage in the 74 year old county bowl, parking is still suprisingly simple, and the people are soft and cheery and happy and lucky.

we saw the future of rock n roll tonight, karisa and i, and as soon as he quits fucking around with all the bullshit thats distracting him, he will rise again, regain his throne, and make music that theyd have a harder time playing in elevators.

we drove home down the 101, just 90 minutes and we were back in hollywood where we belonged. halfway down karisa let me take over the controls of her z cuz she was so tired and we had realized that beck had never said goodnight to the crowd, or introduced his band, or thanked the openers, and once again we had to forgive him.

hey buddy, quit your job blowing leaves.

bored housewife + kevynn malone + anti

weird day. weird week. weird everything.

i just got interviewed by my favorite magazine Black Webmaster.

ive been interviewed by them before, but things get f’ed up and i never end up in there. thats cool. i dont do this for fame, i do this for the ladies. but you know that.

the last person who interviewed me from there got fired or killed or quit or something, who knows and then they got someone else to follow up and then someone else, and today a super cool guy called me up and we had our little chat.

i sweat when i write and i sweat when im being interviewed. the literal juices flow, i suppose, its weird and now i wish i had brought another shirt.

he asked all the regular questions except for the ones that i thought he was going to ask me about.

the original article was supposed to be about the dearth of Black bloggers. and so i thought that this article was going to be about Blogger tools that i use. but i guess that wouldnt be much of an article cuz all i pretty much use is Blogger Pro, Dreamweaver, and Photoshop. And then of course YACCS for the comments, and Site Meter for the counter.

first question he asked was if i had a Bio on the blog and i said no so he asked, “so then who is tony pierce?”

stumped me on that one so we moved on.

i told him about the Daily Nexus were all of our friends met, and about the Creative Studies college at UC Isla Vista cuz that one-two punch got me excited about writing and provided me with the chance to write every damn day.

then he asked why i wrote. what motivated me. and i told him that it was nice to get immediate positive feedback, and presents from people pierce, 4845 Fountain Ave. #15, LA, CA 90029 , and donations, and dates with hot babes.

he said, really you do this for the babes?

i said, oh yes.

he asked, and how is that going?

and i said, amazingly well.

then he asked some more hard questions, like what posts im most proud of, and i couldnt think of any. it was tough.

i told him about the Dear Kids of Afghanistan photo essay and the Anna Kournikova photo essay but all i could think of for pure writing was my disses on Bob Costas.

so this is where you come in, generous readers, and this is the perfect time to ask because paris and i are going to santa barbara to see beck play in a few hours.

would you all mind letting me know if there was a story or a post or something like that that you remember being particularilly good, or one that struck you as funny, or touching, etc?

not only would i totally appreciate it, but if i get enough suggestions from you nice people, perhaps i can put together a new book.

holla!

i dont look at that as a bad thing. it’s determination. commitment. passion. desire. intention.

what we talked about isn’t important. nothing is important except that i admire her for sticking to what she wants.

lots of times people stick to what they want but what they want is so dumb.

im not entirely sure that ashleys quest to have me be in her life again is the smartest idea. i cant say im the best friend.

and i want to get with many of her friends. who are all gorgeous.

i want the best for her. i want her to have a normal life. i want her to have a boyfriend her own age. i want her to go to college and become an actress and marry a rock star and write a memoir and maybe then she can say some nice lies about how good i was to her when she was nineteen and twenty and twenty-one.

i tried to be good to her, but i think i was just being selfish.

i can be selfish to a lot of my friends and im sorry about that.

all of you.

my friend amy picked me up at work yesterday and we drove to my house and then to the fabulously old figueroa hotel in downtown LA. it’s the beautiful brick building right across the street from Staples center.

meticulous wrought iron gates, classy pool, outdoor patio, funky art, and lots of international tourists who dont know that in all of LA you really dont want to be staying downtown. but we all make that mistake when we travel to foreign lands, dont we?

it was great to catch up with her as we drove through LA and drank with the intellects.

my friend greg made a short film with me the other day and last night he asked me if i would go see the Hulk with him because his wife is way too smart for such a dumb flick and i gladly said id go with him, especially since its playing at my favorite movie theatre The Vista where they took out every other row of seats. more leg room than even yao ming could use.

my friend os was there and told me about a camping trip. my friend paulo was there with his brother and they took a lot of pictures of my beautiful attorney.

mc brown was in the house and he has a great new web site called Buzznet that i’m sure i will be talking about a lot in the next few weeks and months.

matt and emmanuelle were there looking perfect. infact the best picture that i took last night was of emmanuelle and her sassy short red dress.

welch overheard me calling him a sellout as he drank wine and had a shirt tied in a knot over his cuban button up and he protested that he has been drinking wine his whole life, and i said yes, but when you were keeping it real you drank it from a jug and your hair was as long as a girls.

luke ford was there interviewing our girl amy trying to dig up dirt but amy just lied and lied and you cant get anything out of big time journalists like her, and if you think you have something you dont, all you have is some red herrings. my best advice when interviewing my friends is forget about the so called facts and focus on the feature. zero-in on the atmosphere, the friendships, the love.

viva le rock.

i dont really want to get into it too much cuz then some of this might be true. so lets just say that one day i need to tell you that i have the greatest friends.

im thirsty. ive been drinking. ive been meeting the famous and the nearly famous. ive been hanging in some of hollywoods old school histroy. ive been drinking.

im not going to spell check this mofo or proof read it or anything becuase tonight i was aroujd some of LAs finest writers amd thjeres no way i compare to any of them other than the fact that i have you and i only have some of you.

some of you are just here for the ride adnd thats nice.

i met someone superfamous today at work and he met me and he said nice things to me and i wanted to say nice things to him but i dont lie in real life, just in here, just in the blog.

yesterday i wrote some sad stuff and the day before i did too.

i didnt do it for any other reason than to show a friend that wriuting sad is the easiest thing in the world. oh woah is me. poor moi. isnt life terrible?

a mouse can write about fear better than any man so why compete with rodents? its our job to talk about glorious things. my how time flies.

tomorrow i will be seeing our friend Beck in santa barbara at the county bowl, one of my all time favorite places to see a show.

i think i will be going with bi-coastal socialite paris hilton but only if she behaves and lets me drive.

if i had a normal job i would be able to surprise her and take friday off and get a room at the days inn near the beach and eat seafood and drink wine all night and play strip blackjack and not bang but just be sexy, cuz anyone can bang but how many can truly be sexy. the bone being balanced on the dogs nose, etc.

im drunk but in a good way. like my memory is here but distracted.

did someone call me today. yes, it was ashley. and chris. and jeanine.

three olde girlfriends of totally differnet personality tyupes and one thing in common, dunmb enough to kiss me.

kissmet

plummet

dummb it

fckit

katie + sk smith + leah + jenny

im very confused.

i think most of it stems from the fact that i hate my favorite radio station, kroq 106.7 which plays crap after crap after crap.

and everyone is a ho.

and theres definitely not nearly enough pimpz.

i want a fur coat and a louis vuitton cowboy hat and a cane and a little bling and some game.

i want a gold cadillac that smells like corinthian leather inside that has a disco ball and a stand up coin op version of defender in the back and an eight track and a girl who really likes me, waiting.

i want to go to memphis tennessee and drive my cadillac to elvis’s house and go to his gravestone and say, king, i wasnt into you when i was younger but i am now, and i think youre great, and im sorry about the pills and the way life goes down sometimes.

i want to work at a dairy queen for a little while this summer.

i want to wear a paper hat and grill up braizers and watch people fresh out of swimming pools huddled in their towels dripping and smelling of chlorine do the hot asphalt dance as they wait for their chocolate dipped soft serve to be presented from the walk-up window.

i want a new summer job every week.

i want everything, america.

i want to work at a mental institute like karisa did.

can we talk about karisa for a minute?

k.

yesterday she sent me some pictures of her weekend trip to vegas and she had a rash so she laid out in the sun like professor science and the suntan/burn killed the rash and gave her the most deep dark tropic tan

and in this one picture her eyes are so perfect and those blue eyes surrounded by

maybe we shouldnt talk about karisa

lets talk about pharrell from the neptunes, n*e*r*d, lets talk about everything that guy touches is perfect.

how hes not afraid to go falsetto way too much but it doesnt matter cuz its the right thing to do.

lets talk about how he can just wear any tshirt he wants and its great and how he can be sexy and even dirty but it dont matter.

les talk about anything other than what im going to have to talk about today in real life.

one of the biggest movie stars in the history of the world is gonna be at the office today and im going to be too busy to even poke my head in there.

so last night i was miserable. havent been that miserable in a long time.

i wanted to run home but the black man cant just start running. i wanted to take a cab home but i wanted to spend that money on taking karisa to dinner and drinking and eating away my dumb sorrows.

and i got home and she called me and we talked and everything was better, not completely, but enough.

and then my buddy greg vaine called who had edited a short little movie that we made together and he told me that he wanted to make another dream come true and he had a date in july that he wanted to do it and i wanted to cry when i had gotten home but i dont cry.

then a super hot girl came over and we watched the zep dvd and she had said that she had it at home but she didnt want to watch it alone and how everything that night was working out.

and we toasted with our budweisers

and tonight i will get to hang out with my pal amy who rules.

and i might see layne.

who has been crank calling me.

and still i wonder what all this is about. what it means. what its for.

cuz i thought i knew but now i forgot.

im just ready to rock.

chris howell + jason goldman + anita rowland

he’s lived his whole life. he’s seen things.

he doesnt want to be on the hollywood rock walk

what he wants to do is be across the street at that mexican restaurant.

in the dark.

margueritas melting, wet burrito steaming,

one last dip of the chip into the salsa.

lou reed worries me.

what happens if you write some of the best stuff of all time and sing it perfect and play it perfect and then one day it just all goes away.

when was the last good lou reed song? sweet jane? thirty years ago?

i dont want to go 30 years inbetween sweet janes.

all that stuff worries me.

jimmy page wrote zep one, two, three, four, and the rest and then never wrote another good song again.

how can people write such great music for years and then it all dries up.

not even a drop left.

we listened to johnny cash in palm springs.

some people have never lost it.

bukowski never lost it.

lou reed doesnt want to be at guitar center with his hands in mush surrounded by nobody named andy warhol.

i didnt sing to the cute baby like the gnome girl woulda wanted

but for some little kids i will one day

and some nights theyll get some heavy doses of the velvets.

and one day we’ll be where we should.

missing raymi + treacher + makeout city + nocturnal angel + reason: hit and run

nobody ever gets named right. to ny. to new york. backwards y not. why not.

i don’t live in new york, im not going to new york. i don’t run around as carefree as a butterfly, i barely even get drunk. im as normal and as californian as a midwesterner from dc can be. but when they named me they shouldnta called me tony.

fuck up they should of written on their shoe sole in magic marker and kicked me in the forehead instead of spanking me hello.

people who know about the xbi talk shit about the xbi and some of it is just and some of it i defend well and some of it i cant at all.

today i fucked up big time.

today people got hurt.

we aim at the brain in the xbi.

fbi aims at the leg.

cops aim at the heart.

fbi can aim at the leg and hit it a lot of the time.

xbi don’t mind getting shot back at. plus we’re trying to send a message on the streets. an s-o-s to our world.

don’t fuck with the x

cooperate with the crazy.

listen and speak and do what we say or we will send trains into your homes filled with lumber.

and there’s two guns on the nose of chopper one.

machine guns.

fully automatic machine guns that are supposed to be filled with rubber biscuits but i didn’t check them and while i was on vacation this marine took chopper one up and showed off and used the bullets and not the biscuits and i should have checked but i don’t have any attention to detail.

i don’t cross my ts and dot my eyes.

which is why

im not fbi.

and today we were after gang members. real ones. teenaged ones.

innocent ones really.

innocent because of youth, not actions. actionwise they’re guilty. guilty guilty guilty.

like me.

and i was sending warning biscuits at their heads but i wasn’t lobbing biscuits i was blazing bullets.

they flew straight like lasers and ended careers and widowed and erased things

and started things

sad things

and i pulled up and said what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

and i heard the marine say didn’t you check your weapon

which is what he calls my pal chopper one

even though he knows i hate it called that

and i couldn’t say anything and i wanted to die

the gloom swept me like a bong rip of bad trips

i was blanketed with dread and in my ear i heard forget it… gangmembers… killers… uneducated… a waste.

they were arguing.

but i was to blame. this isn’t what its about. this is so lame.

and ive been wanting to quit the xbi for so long and ive been telling you that but it really is equal parts superhero equal parts thuglife and that’s so not me.

neither is me.

i wanted to cry i wanted to die i wanted to lie.

i wanted to go land it and run home and i got back and i didn’t say bye to anyone and i walked to the bus stop and kept walking and kept walking

got stuck in traffic trying to read

and

quit.