i started to get really sad.

sad for lots of little reasons.

i focused on that sadness and thought of letters that i would write to people, and things that id say.

and i got home and i was still sad which is incredibly rare for me. when i was younger i could get a little depressed for an hour or two but hardly ever nowadays.

then i sat on my couch and i could feel myself getting better.

and then anna kournikova came over out of the blue on her scooter.

she parked it outside my white picket fence and ran to my door and knocked on it.

she said, my scooter’s running, i just had a little bit of marijuana on me and i wanted to give it to you because im about to go on a plane.

i said first of all im straight edge, i cant smoke this.

she said ah quit being a wuss, and another thing, youre not straight edge!

then i said, where are you flying to anyway?

she said, im flying to san diego to throw out the first pitch at the padre game on friday.

and then she lit the joint and inhaled, pulled my head towards hers and blew it into my mouth

completely against my will, your honor.

and then she ran to her idling scooter and scooted off.

and wouldnt you know it, but i feel like a zillion times better.

so yes, i think they should legalize that shit cuz it’s amazing.

and now im going to drink with karisa

in hollywood.

the city of everything

a crazy man’s cioppino.

and now you know why i dont blog when im sad.

today

i hate tuesdays. i hate wednesdays. i hate mondays. im screwed. tuesdays we have our weekly meetings. typically they tell us how much chopper one has cost the agency and i have to defend it by saying how much money it has brought in. but not everything is that clear cut.

if someone says theres something going down in the lbc and we need chopper one for cover and if we dont get anything out of it then am i to blame? every meeting i want to say, its a black helicopter, it cant be seen on radar. the surveillance and intimidation and backup are priceless. but i cant because then everyones feelings will get hurt and people will start fighting and when we start fighting at work the guns get pulled and sometimes so do the triggers.

needless to say id much rather be flying around than being in a meeting. theres money to be made outside. i know we need our meetings but they could be done during lunch on fridays and it wouldnt bite into moneymaking time and people would chill the fuck out.

hot as fuck this morning. i got off the subway at wilshire and western and there were i swear 40 kids lined up for tonights morrissey show. most the kids had chairs or stools or sleeping bags or something. theyd been out there on the filthy sidewalk since last night. these are kids too young to ever have seen morrissey sing with the smiths. blows my mind. and its hot. and the scum of the earth walk around that corner sparechanging like a bitch.

in the three years that ive been commuting past wilshire and western ive never seen anyone sleep out over night for a show there until today.

the marquee said morrissey five nights sold out.

i love morrissey because he goes against everything. he’s gay but he pretends hes “asexual”. he doesnt have any hit singles out, he doesnt have any hot videos out, he split ways with the perfect guitar player and he insults his fans (“You’re The One For Me, Fatty”) and he can sell out anywhere he wants.

proof that holding true to your true self and image blows doors over selling out to whatevers hip at the moment.

i dont see him doing duet records or unplugged records or full soundtracks or even reunion tours. fucker just keeps on keeping on.

i love him and i dont even know what his new record is called.

five sold out nights at the wiltern and i dont think anyone knows what his new record is called.

does he have a new record?

hot as fuck and last night at eleven they had team coverage to tell me that at 91 degrees there were records broken. and if tivo was smart they would allow me to constantly send feedback to the broadcasters via my thumbs up and thumbs down buttons cuz i woulda mashed that red thumbs down button for a good five minutes before i went over to hbo to see the sopranos that i missed on sunday, which kicked my ass. thankfully. wonderfully. thoroughly. beautifully.

but the best news this morning was that howard stern got his ratings for march and he was up in new york chicago and la. but in san diego where he was dropped by clear channel, the station’s morning numbers plummeted from a 20 to a 0.6 in the prime demo of 18-34.

house.hardys + phillustrations + buggy doo + sean bonner

cuz my carpal was bothering me and i didnt want the tempation of my computer. she lives next to a golf course in hollywood so this morning the freshly cut grass totally smelled like springtime.

i woke up earlier than i would have liked on account of the unfamiliar surroundings namely the barely there thin white curtains that dont keep the light out and dont keep the golfers’ eyes away from her cheerleader sillouhette as she stretches toplessly right before jumping on me.

shes cute but has a worse memory than i and forgot that i had a fresh stab wound on my back and nailed it pretty good causing me to yelp which of course caused one of the old geezers right outside our open window to miss-hit his tee shot.

so we laid there and she played with the random gray curleyques in my chest and she told me that i would make the best dad cuz i dont yell and im patient and im loving.

i started laughing and i said baby i dont yell cuz we dont live together. i dont yell cuz i barely see you and when i do its all uh uh uh and then zzzzzzzzzz, and as for being a dad if i was someones dad id advise them to be a suckup faker phoney and buy gay clothes and do your hair right and drive a beamer and the world will be your oyster.

she took my hand and placed it on her perfectly tanned ass which earlier i had searched hi and low to find a blemish – and had to hunt for quite a long time until i realized the only fault was my hand – and she said tony you dont do any of those things and the worlds your oyster and i said your ass my dear is not the world even though we both treat it as such.

it was so peaceful that all we could hear was a metal driver pinging a golfball and the gurgling sounds of the mr cofee in the kitchen.

isnt it nice to wake up like this she whispered

hinting ever so slightly to the idea that rising to the sophmoric jokes and xxx audio clips of mr howard stern, as i have done for years now, is somehow jarring and disturbing, and definately not the best sounds to hear first thing.

a long-standing minor battle that we often find ourselves in, and one reason why clippergirl and i dont sleep over at each others houses very much.

but alas, due to the carpal and howard being on vacation this week to celebrate passover i found myself in the feminine world of quiet elegance.

which of course called for a dutch oven

which oddly ms clippergirl had never experienced before

and when she accidentally squeezed my wound a second time i actually did scream and then paddled her as she squrimed in glee.

a morning mr ryan seacrest has never had

with a woman.

wil wheaton live tonight at 8pm + jay v + stereogum

That Sounds Exactly Like A Delusional
Self-Important Gossipy Blog Entry

by T.J. Simers, LA Times

April 27, 2005

We’ve now gone full circle in the Dodger clubhouse, from grumps such as Kevin Brown and Gary Sheffield, to fun-loving good guys such as Shawn Green, Paul Lo Duca, Adrian Beltre and Steve Finley, back to a bunch of grouchy mopes.

Hey, I’ve tried talking to Mr. Chuckles on several occasions, but let me tell you, for pure enjoyment I’d rather spend a day — make it Super Bowl Sunday — shopping with the wife than trying to make small talk with Jeff Kent.

Until Tuesday I had never seen J.D. Drew in the clubhouse. The guy is obviously a loner who goes into hiding before every game — hiding, I presume, from Mr. Chuckles.

“I’m watching TV,” Drew insisted, and I know if I had Milton Bradley on my team, sooner or later I’d be looking for Dr. Phil’s advice too.

There’s no question Derek Lowe is a chatty guy as long as you don’t mind listening to him talk about the Red Sox and Yankees all the time. You can just imagine the frightened look on Jeff Weaver’s face every time Lowe brings up the Yankees, or for that matter, the satisfied look on the Boston Parking Lot Attendant’s face every time Lowe mentions the Red Sox. At least Lowe knows who signs his checks, but I’d like to see the look on Lowe’s face when he tries to cash them.

Just a little joke, of course, although you won’t find any of these mopes laughing, which brings me to the return of Green.

If you spent any time following the Dodgers recently, you know Green is one of the nicest athletes to ever play here. He never took himself too seriously, which already separates him from Mr. Chuckles, and although he went hot and terribly cold at times, his second-half play last year helped put the team in the playoffs.

A few seasons ago Green was struggling, so I sat him down to talk hitting — Green playfully going along with the gag, and responding a few days later with two homers against Milwaukee. Two days after that he had four home runs, a double and a single in the same game to set a major league record for total bases.

Last season I walked the Choking Dogs all the way to the finish line, Green & Co. jokingly going along with it. Had the guys signed on earlier, of course, they might have won a World Series — you know, like the Los Angeles Angels.

“I hate to break it to you,” Mr. Chuckles said the other day, “but you have no impact on what goes on around here.”

He’ll learn, of course, but in the meantime I thought I’d teach Mr. Chuckles a lesson.

I told Green before Tuesday night’s game that I had traded Jeromy Burnitz to the Bagger in our fantasy league to acquire Green.

I then asked Green to hit a home run for me against the Dodgers. I even took him out to the field and pointed to where I’d like to see the ball land — just draw an imaginary line from home plate over Kent’s head and into the seats.

Green came to bat in the second inning, and hit a home run over Kent’s head into the seats in right field. When he got back to the dugout, Green looked up to the press box, and while laughing, gave me a thumbs up.

I waved. I just hope it didn’t distract Mr. Chuckles.

(Funny thing, but Green’s team won by one run too.)

zulieka only gets cuter as she gets more pregnant + penguin mafia + alert me when glenn mentions delay