if i dont write something in the morning,

i feel like such a loser.

yesterday sk smith wrote about the value of knocking out 500 words a day.

i could write 500 words standing on my head, i thought, but then she brought up the caveat that writers should actually try to peice together 500 words of quality each day.


karisa and i chatted on the phone last night, something we dont do nearly enough. we dont do anything nearly enough.

on saturday renee and i went to the redondo beach lobster farce, i mean fest. $10 to get in which includes zero lobster.

when you get in there was one sidewalk of street-fair foods (chicken on a stick, thai in a box, clam chowdah in bread bowls, etc). only one place to get lobster and that place had the longest line youve ever seen.

and it cost $17 for a lobster, a half ear of corn, and a styrofoam cup of cole slaw.

i was all, fuck this.

one guy with his hottie on his arm yelled out, I was Rooked!

never one to look a thick serving of chicken on a stick me and my bestest decided that although we too had been rooked we were going to eat our way out of this sticky situation and not only had the undercooked chicken

but shared a nicely hot fresh funnel cake, and took a pathetic lobster sandwhich roll for the ride home.

dick dale was scheduled to play but we couldnt stand hanging out there for very long as it was, indeed, a disaster.

making me realize once and for all that i need to be in charge of Everything.

heres what you do when you have a lobster fest.

fucking fest, people.

they had two of the hugest boiling pots of lobster youve ever seened. put one of those pots on one side of the fest and one on the other. that way the lines go twice as fast and they seem half as short.

call me einstein.

then set up a few more booths to sell the lobster. have one that sells spicy lobster. have one that sells lobster balls. have one that sells fried lobster. have one that sells lobster soup.

but whatever you do, dont just have one place to get lobster and run around calling it a fest.

we were so upset we could barely enjoy the fresh squeezed lemonade and shivver next to the sand.

as we left and people were lined up waiting to hand over their $10 i wanted to say,

it’s a rip,

get used to waiting in lines,

you’re better off just going to the chart house,

but i didn’t because im… polite?

isnt it more polite to inform people that theres bullshit waiting for them around the corner?

later we went food shopping and i got everything that i normally dont get: cooked peeled shrimp, handfulls of beefaroni, french bread that’s doomed to stale in hours, flowers for the crib, C2 cuz now im addicted, mint milanos…

because we blow so much money on so many dumb things in life

no need to skimp at the grocery store where most things are relatively inexpensive in comparison.

when i got hom my 91 year old landlady called me to tell me that someone had been parking in my spot

and i thanked her

and brought her the roses.

574 + yesterday + was + basart’s + birthday!

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