today is my sister’s 23rd birthday.

trust me when i tell you that it’s not easy being my little sister.

throughout the years i did things like chase her around with knives, i threw her keys on the roof of the house, i vandalized her posters and magazines, i may have killed one of her dogs, hid a variety of things, listened in on a few conversations of her talking to her friends to find out if they had crushes on me, and continually lobbied to my mother that she was being far too generous with her. normal brother stuff.

but the worst thing i did was get born. and worse, i did it a year before she did.

i steamrolled through elementary school, junior high, and high school like a tornado. every teacher, student, and principal knew my name and either totally hated my ass or fell in love. and because we didn’t look very much alike, people would constantly say, “you’re tony’s sister?”

what little kid wants to be known as somebody’s sister? especially when she was an angel and i was far from that. look at that body language!

angie and i could not be more different. i was super good at sports and terrible at getting good grades, my sister was an honor roll student and a cheerleader. because of that there were a lot of clashes within the pierce household, and when my mom got a stereo the common war zone was the living room and the soundtrack was ac/dc’s back in black, which angie got for a gift and which i instantly purloined and cranked as loudly as possible every day for many years while she practiced her flute.

if there was a career in how to torture your sister i would be a zillionaire. i believe there were incidents of locking her into basements, closets, neighbors houses, cop cars. i remember certain moments where fellas would come over to court her and i told them they were at the wrong house. and of course there were the firefights.

and yet my sister stuck by me. probably because i never narced on her during some of the many stealth parties that she threw when my mom was out of town. and i was always there to protect her in the shadows of school, like any brother. not that she needed my protection, there was very little that anyone could have done to torture her that she didn’t experience in the safety of her own home.

years later my sister met the man of her dreams. and the funny thing was, i liked him right away. dave is mild mannered, smart, patient and still calls my mom mrs. pierce. thats respect. they bought a huge house. filled it with all the animals that angie loves, comfy couches, pretty much everything that she had in the barbie dreamhouse that i turned x-rated and then lit on fire but now it was full-sized and wonderful.

so what has my sister done lately? no offense to my friends with kids, but she and dave brought to the world the cutest little girl in the world. kyla joanne, named after my mom.

then they had the most mellow little boy ever, tyler, after the singer of aerosmith.

then they moved out of the dreamhouse and bought a bigger one.

when they visited me in hollywood, kyla was sick but never cried. it was amazing. i dont know what they put in her bottle but all that little girl ever did was look at you and smile and point at you and hold your finger and laugh. if she closed her eyes and started to get irritated, my sister and my brother in law knew exactly what to do. it was crazy. full on esp. they should write a book.

and it appears that that know-how has only been finetuned with tyler, or babybrother as everyone calls him.

so heres to my sister, bears fan, bulls fan, cubs fan, def lepard fan. her first concert, with me, was the jackson five, but then i think her second one was rick springfield at great america. if i was a good brother and ever called her, id know.

happy 23rd angie. i love you so very much. i love that you call mom “mother”, i love that you still live in the silly suburb that we grew up in. i love that you are your own person and nothing like me and a much better soul. i love that you let me steal your “back in black” back in the day at Christmas and never bothered me to ask to return it.

and i love that you are my sister.

my sister was in the paper yesterday + she has the coolest house in barrington + shes a realtor

three years ago

today on the busblog i was still trying to break up with a young blonde girl

no doubt is in town so you’d think ashley would be happy but shes not happy unless im with her.

and sometimes i look in the mirror and when i do i dont see anyone who you’d be depressed not to be around.

ashley loves attention and normally i dont mind letting our favorite twenty year old princess steal my eyes away from you, beloved computer screen, but this weekend i had to work on some projects and root on the bears and the raiders, who both won, and clean my apartment, and fight crime, and be stinky, and not shave, and read the good book, and read some bad books, and water the plants, and, you know, be a dude.

im 109 years old and i have never had to tell a girl i needed my space, but this weekend i did. it felt weird. not as weird as telling this one supermodel that i didnt care if we didnt have sex because i cherished our friendship so much, but weird nevertheless.

men are not programmed to say no to good lovin from hot young girls who like to fulfill fantasies, but my plants had the right answer.

they said, tony, if you watered us every day, we would die. we love the water, but it would drown us.

the flowers said, and some of us only bloom when we think we’re going to die, the day to day look of many flowering plants do not include the beautiful colors that we know them for being.

the flowers dont know english too well, please excuse them.

still, i got the point.

but ashley didnt.

she called crying and sobbing and left the saddest messages on my phone. please dont leave any more sad messages on my phone, dear angels of the moonlight.

im a stubbly olde man who walks with a cane who has carpal tunnel and types with a pencil scotched taped to the center of my reading glasses.

my hips are about to go out, my breath is foul, my words are foul, my ways are foul, i lie in my blog, and worst of all, i dont respect the president of the united states of america. i think he’s gross.

surely there must be a handsome young man in orange county who could take care of the daisy princess in ways that she deserves.

but strangely there isnt.

and shes not the only one.

i work with some of the hottest women in showbusiness. educated, intelligent, totally together, gorgeous young women who definately know how to please a man, i am sure, and yet they go out into the wild and come back empty-handed and unsatisfied.

and i think about all of the supercool single men who i would fix them up with, and i think, i dont know any supercool single men to fix them up with.

i mean i do, but these women are looking for different types of men.

perfect ones.

im a good job, two inches, and a vette away from being perfect, but ashley doesnt care. she also doesnt care that im old enough to be her dirty neighbor across the street. she loves me for who i am and tells me all the nice things i want to hear but the only thing i can tell her in return is youre far too good for me. go to the skatepark with a big pizza and a mini skirt.

she only says i dont want to go to any skate park, i want you!

and i want her too, america. of course i do.

but i also want to save the world first. and i want to do the right thing. and i want to figure out how im supposed to have thanksgiving with a vegitarian poolside in orange county and not consider myself a sellout.

these are the biggest dillemas i have this week.

dont ever let me bitch about shit.

two years ago yesterday tsar played their whole album in order + gwen pics by jenny b + stag blog

eighties movies have pretty much taught me everything

i needed to know about life.

what i learned from the Karate Kid is you never know what you’re learning.

wax on, wax off may have been a brilliant scheme from Mr. Miyagi to get Daniel-san to clean up around his home and wax his car,

but in reality he was teaching the young ralph macchio, who was nothing more than a second-rate teen heartthob at the time, how to be a first-rate teen heartthrob.

often times i have found myself either editing the closed captions of mindless television, or putting together worthless excel spreadsheets as busywork, to writing reports for a supervisor who’d never read them,

and i said to myself, waxon waxoff tonysan, you are learning something that you dont even know youre learning.

youre building muscles and skills from this repitition that will help you in the future, so just do it,

theres a sensai at work whose training you oh-so subtlely.

and sometimes i think i was right.

pat morida, mr miyagi, and also arnold in happy days, passed away today, he was 73.

metafilter, as always was right on the story and printed this funny exchange from the classic film –

Daniel: Hey, what kind of belt do you have?

Miyagi: Canvas. JC Penny. Three ninety-eight. You like? [laughs]

Daniel: No, I meant…

Miyagi: Daniel-san… karate here. [he taps his head]
Miyagi: Karate here. [he taps his heart]
Miyagi: Karate never here [points to his belt]
Miyagi: Understand?

suburbia 75 + hainsworth + oceanaria + undercover in japan

happy day after thanksgiving

to all my american friends and non-american friends who i hope had a nice day yesterday anyway.

i sat on my sisters overstuffed overly comfortable couch and watched their incredible high def plasma screen and let all that food digest and we viewed a bootleg copy of the last star wars on dvd and we played with the babies and i drank many Old Styles and i wanted to write on this here blog but sometimes the spirits whisper to take a break driver eight.

i did read a lot of what the blogosphere had to write and most of it was nice, even some criticism that i received on another blog that complained that the busblog was turning into a marketing tool for my book and for buzznet and i can see where that person could think that, but its not the case.

a personal blog, like this, is a reflection of ones personal life. for the first time i am able to actually write about my work. you have no idea how liberating that is for me.

even though my specific job at E! was a nightmare, i loved pretty much everyone who i worked for, but pretty much from day one i was nervous of getting fired, so not only did i dare not write about my job but i wrote about everything but. in retrospect thats a bummer because i did some very cool things there and met stars and enjoyed some relationships that i will never forget, but i could not give my bosses an excuse to let me go because my assignment with the xbi was essential that i work at a tv network.

similiarily as this blog got more popular and people kept trying to figure out the secret to its success, i didnt want anyone to think that because of my relationship with the entertainment industry that that was the reason that it was allegedly written well or popular, because it wasnt. i was never a writer at E! i never worked at their website. and no one from there helped knock this thing out. in fact every chance my bosses could, theyd discourage me from writing this during my government mandaded 15 minute breaks.

perhaps it was in spite of those bad jobs and unsupportive bosses that the earlier years of the busblog were more creative, but i didnt want anyone to get the wrong idea that it was because i was an entertainment network employee that the busblog was what it was.

i was also criticised this week for not writing about Sex as much as i used to – for turning my back on Sex Saturday, a busblog invention.

first of all, i dont remember writing that many sex saturdays. and talk about marketing, the only reason i even started that was because my hits drop off massively on saturdays and i wanted to give people a reason to log on.

but secondly after dating a lovely young lady this summer she put a terrible hex on me after we broke up and not only has my carnal desires been hindered almost completely but my ability to write about the fairer sex has also been cripled.

my mojo, as they say, has been stolen.

but i think i know how to get it back, so stay tuned.

finally, yes i am writing a little bit about my novella Stiff a tad on this blog. im sorry if it has turned off some of you, but i am serious when i tell you how proud i am with it. so many people write on their blogs or send me emails or comment as to how great of a writer i am. thats sweet, but i certainly dont think im a great writer, however i think that Stiff is the best thing ive ever written, or will write.

it is the best stories compiled to make one real novella. and in the end of it are all the best poems that ive ever written, and my best newpaper opinoin column from the famed daily nexus.

i have absolutely no trust in the well of creativity or in my ability to spin a yarn and so when i saw that i could compile Stiff the way that i did, with the poems and the cool covers, i went for it and released it early so there wouldnt be the Christmas rush that happened when i released How To Blog two years ago today.

so what would you do when you made the best thing youve ever made, and will probably ever make? you’d talk about it a little bit and tell those people who have yet to get it that if they like the busblog and the adventure tales and the sexy stuff and the wildness, then they really should send an email and make an offer cuz the shit is bananas b-a-n-a-n-a-s.

and in summary, Buzznet is a dream job come true, and im a lucky man and tomorrow i get to meet Chicago Buzznetters and Bloggers and for a man with as little self-esteem as i have, shaking hands with my readers and seeing their smiling faces and taking pictures with them does a lot of good for my soul.

so yes virginia im gonna write about that shit too. its not marketing, its not advertising, its not hype for the purpose to sell more widgets, its a documentation of the things that are happening in my life. dave navarro wrote about rockstar inxs and camp freddy and making out with carmen electra, tony pierce writes about buzznet and stiff and meeting canadian teenagers who want to go back to the hotel.

not everything is gonna be sexy on this blog. im not prince. im a dopey undercover superhero who flies a dumb helicopter and steals from crooks.

and right now im in my hometown where i spent kindegarten through highschool.

and tomorrow im going to see wrigley field and some people who you probably read.

i cant be all things for all people, so i will just be the dumbest ass i can be, because in the end i write this blog for me, for those very dark days. because in those moments its nice to go back in the archives and say, out out cruel demons look at what the Lord gave me that day.

and today he woke me up with the sounds of my three year old neice playing peek a boo with my year old nephew.

and with the dirtiest email from a college girl in winnepeg.

oh canada, please move to hollywood.

zulieka + the pants + cy-bervixen + etienne is backienne