everythings gonna be different next monday. my life is gonna be upside down. everything changes.

the guys upstairs have decided to give me one of the hardest jobs in the agency.

i wont have a television at my desk. i wont have two fifteen minute breaks to write to you.

we’ll be through the looking glass, people.

true will be false, false will be true.

i had a spectacular weekend this weekend. i dont even know where to start. and still, somehow i want to change all of that too. anything like that ever happen to you?

then last night one of my friends called me and told me that he has an extra ticket to see bob dylan on wednesday at the wiltern, but thats my xbi softball night. decisions decisions. floor seats.

what do you do when your dreams come true?

resist them moans the wind.

give in tocks the clocks.

this week im thinking about not doing the easy stuff like sports and politics and current events but just do entertainment.

but i do want to write about the angels getting into the world series, so i might have to have an exception, especially if the giants win today.

f the giants.

had a hard time getting out of the house this morning. not because it’s foggy and gray and sorta cold. but because i couldnt find my wallet. i can never find my wallet.

if someone wants to give me something cool for my birthday, find me a way that i can sos my wallet and keys so that they’ll always find me.

it was in my robe.

cuz i bought pizza last night in honor of columbus day.

i have no focus today.

i dont even know what to say.

i hope everything goes your way.

xoxoxoxo

tony

are going to the world series

speeding through the heavens, spinning at dizzying rates. not saying a thing but sending us a message at one hundred and eighty six thousand miles per second. here i am. here i am. here i am. the opposite of an s-o-s. or is it?

they say the brightest stars shine strongest right before they die. same goes for flowers. same goes for lies.

what do you do when you get everything you want she asked me like i was qualified. what do i have? and she said me. twirling with velvet revolutions like a deadhead during space arms out with perfect body language blonde hair twinkling with the glitter of spilt moondust.

went to the grove to see adam sandlers punch drunk love but it was sold out so we saw igby goes down and were amazed.

best movie ive seen in a really long time she told me as we flew away to a better place, and i agreed.

jeff goldblum stole the show and i love it when people steal the show. claire danes looks like shes been fighting a hundred years war and i couldn’t believe how well ryan phillipe has so many different ways to play an asshole.

black comedy they call a movie like that and its one of the only times where it’s a positive thing to have black as an adjective i told her.

she said what about my black ferrari?

i said what about my free ferrari?

she said what about my first ferrari?

i said what about my spare ferrari?

we didn’t fly to my bungalow or the beach house we just kept going higher and higher until we reached the place where prayers are sorted into the thanks and the wants.

thank you for this incredible girl.

thank you for this amazing life.

please let me pass chemistry.

if you get me out of this shit i promise i’ll never do it again.

and the prayers kept coming in and the demons had to sort them and they wanted to send them to the wrong place but they couldn’t and that pissed them off more and they suffered and we watched and there was popcorn and there was another culkin tearing up the screen.

what do you do when your dreams come true whispered a cherub on a smoke break exhaling a long stream of pleasant dreams.

savor it replied the blue sky.

remember it said the dead.

hanging upside down from heaven blowing bubbles that end up as dew

what do you say when they question your sincerity

tell em nothing in here is true.

i get a lot of email and i write back to pretty much everyone i can. my favorite emails are the ones where people agree with me and tell me that i am a great writer. normally i get these type of emails from dudes, which is ok, but playmates would be better.

strangely, i am very well liked by those at Ivy League schools and by lawyers. now thems demographics.

haven’t quite figured out the attraction yet, but if i ever need to raise a few million in bail money, i don’t think i’ll have a problem.

this week was dominated by correspondences relating to the bob costas / harry caray posts. i did mention SF Giant announcer Jon Miller who i had the chance to listen to for a few years when i was living in frisco, and his pleasant manner struck home with our man Jesse who remembers him from when he was doing the games in Baltimore.

Re: Jon Miller

Hey Tony,

long time listener, first time caller. Thanks for giving the best broadcaster around his due.

As a lifelong Orioles fan, I nearly cried when that schmuck Angelos refused to bring this man back. He loved Baltimore,and Baltimore loved him.

He is funny, he doesn’t over-analyze the game; he does, as you aptly stated “paint the picture.” If given a choice between the return of Mussina or Miller, I would choose Miller; he played every day and would have stayed around much longer.

I watch (usually muted as I read or work) almost every Orioles game that I don’t attend. When Miller was here, I would mute the t.v. and turn up the radio, just like they asked me to do. I was a dutiful soldier, because I knew, if I was, I could hear Him paint the picture, which was a treat.

I miss Miller. The guy that replaced him is very good, but he ain’t no JM. He is Steve Young to Miller’s Joe Montana, to use a Bay area analogy. Young was great, but he was no Montana.

Anyway, thanks for giving Miller his props. And tell your friends in SF to enjoy that treasure, he is in the (not so) early stages of Harry Carey-dom, Jack Buck-dom, Vin Scully and Joe Garagiola-dom…

One other thing, right after the online newspaper, your the next website I eat my lunch to, every day at noon, here on the East Coast. Keep up the good writing.

Jesse

after that i asked Jesse if i could use his email on my site to which he responded thusly:

Tony:

Not only do I get a response, but you want to honor me with the use of my email. With pleasure.

And if you’ll allow me a minute to be a fan…I am (don’t hold it against me) a lawyer on the East Coast and I write for a living.

That said (or typed), I think you are a truly gifted writer. I went into the law so that I could write for a living (a make a decent one at that). And, for the most part, that is what I do. Your writing style is actually inspiring and has had an influence on my own. Your style is so conversational, I can almost hear the discussions.

Your wit is very Thompson-esque (Hunter, that is). Anyway, use my email at will; and stick with what you are doing, you obviously have a huge fan base, and though you may not be getting rich, think of what you contribute to the lives of us bored lawyers eating our lunches every day.

Now there’s some inspiration.

Thanks so much. By the way, congrats on the Angels.

Jesse

feel free to send me sweet messages of appreciation to xxxtonyxxx @ hotmail.com and maybe you’ll be the lucky recipiant of being deemed “email of the week.”

not a hand written autograph, not a hand job, not even a hand out, but we’re denied.

my astrology today says that i will be getting a nice gift that will have a smudge on it. that i should ignore the smudge and appreciate the love.

it makes me wonder what my future will hold. will i (finally) make the laker squad and they spell my name wrong? will christina aguilera (finally) spend the night with me after just using my body, but mumble some other man’s name during a deep sleep? will i (finally) get hired to be a journalist, but find out it’s with the LA Times?

sometimes that smudge is more like the skidmark on the panties of a redhead who flings them at you and lands squarely on your nose.

but isn’t it better to have soiled panties tossed your way, than nothing tossed your way at all?

anna is a funny girl. she called me from the friendly skies last night telling me that shes gonna be in town tonight and she wants to see a movie with me. i told her i could wait to see her.

then today she gives me all the signs of a girl who is trying to squirm out of date.

so is it better to have a date canceled by anna kournikova or not have one at all?

these are the problems that surround my life.

and the fact that power has still yet to be restored to the beach house, which means that my cleaning lady wont be able to run a vacuum over the game room where me and ashley spilled smart food popcorn after an explosive scrabble game where i seven letter triple word scored her ass for a dramatic comeback.

never play high stakes scrabble with a poetry major i whispered later as i slammed the door to the dungeon.

Standing on the waters casting your bread

While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.

Distant ships sailing into the mist,

You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.

Freedom just around the corner for you

But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,

You rise up and say goodbye to no one.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,

Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don’t show one.

Shedding off one more layer of skin,

Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

You’re a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds,

Manipulator of crowds, you’re a dream twister.

You’re going to Sodom and Gomorrah

But what do you care? Ain’t nobody there would want to marry your sister.

Friend to the martyr, a friend to the woman of shame,

You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

Well, the Book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy,

The law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers.

In the smoke of the twilight on a milk-white steed,

Michelangelo indeed could’ve carved out your features.

Resting in the fields, far from the turbulent space,

Half asleep near the stars with a small dog licking your face.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

Well, the rifleman’s stalking the sick and the lame,

Preacherman seeks the same, who’ll get there first is uncertain.

Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks,

Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain,

False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin,

Only a matter of time ’til night comes steppin’ in.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

It’s a shadowy world, skies are slippery gray,

A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet.

He’ll put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat,

Take the motherless children off the street

And place them at the feet of a harlot.

Oh, Jokerman, you know what he wants,

Oh, Jokerman, you don’t show any response.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

y carpal is ridiculous this morning. the xbi has had me at this desk job all week and it does nothing for my recovery, but it looks like theres a light at the end of the tunnel.

but lets not talk about lights since there were none last night at my beach house. but nothing in this is true, so i’ll continue.

ashley called in sick and told me that she would be waiting for me when i came home last night.

i called her from the flower stand to see if she liked baby’s breath with her daisies. the phone just rang and rang. i assumed that she was using her laptop on my land line, so i chose no baby’s breath.

just one of my dozen wrong decisions yesterday.

finally made it to the villa and the house was a little dark. ashley appeared from game room, pool cue in hand, fuzzy slippers, flowing see thru robe, sunset showing off behind her, waves crashing, seagulls… “power’s out,” she told me, kissed me on the cheek, strolled back to the table and sank one in the corner pocket.

i looked at the clear plastic US Mail basket that had arrived the previous afternoon from the post office. i had a vacation hold on my mail when i took my trip two weeks ago. for whatever reason they chose not to give me my mail until i called and alerted them of their error wednesday morning.

i dug into the basket and saw several copies of the Onion, fan mail, my Quick Chop that someone had generously given me from my amazon wishlist, and, hi, a disconnect notice from the DWP.

thank God for cell phones, i dialed up the toll free number. waited a good 15 minutes to talk to a surly man who acted as if it was His electricity that had been shut off.

address please.

1122 Boogie Woogie Ave.

your service has been disconnected due to an overdue balance of $68.12.

you shut me off for not paying sixty eight bucks?

it’s two months late, sir.

im sorry i was in aruba when the bill came, then the post office didn’t give me my mail after my vacation hold should have been lifted…

none of this aroused even a whimper of sympathy from the man on the other end of the phone.

ashley arranged a new rack of balls, broke, sank two and giggled.

perhaps your wife should have called us earlier this morning when the power was disconnected.

that’s not my wife, that’s ashley. shes twenty. she doesn’t have a cell phone.

lots of twenty year old girls have cell phones.

well, she doesn’t. shes broke.

you live on Boogie Woogie Avenue, right on the beach, and your 20 year old girlfriend doesn’t have a cell phone?

what was this fellow’s name again, i wondered.

fine, may i please pay my bill. i will pay. heres my credit card number.

great, it will be an additional $28 to reconnect you. and if you want to use your credit card, that’s an extra $5.75, but we cannot restore your power until tomorrow morning.

apparently paperwork must be filed before 5pm for the “technicians” to flick my switch that evening. it was 5:25. damn flower shop. damn waiting on hold. damn sunset looking terrific. damn ashley kicking my ass at nine ball.

so i paid my money. thought about how the DWP punished the working man. thought about how i would miss “survivor”. wondered if there were batteries in the boom box. wondered if ashley would see the loser me for who i was, a loser. cursed my address, my villa, and the fact that my hollywood bungalow was being fumigated for termites.

so we lit candles. ashley was really cool about it all. she praised me for having so many candles. there was batteries in the boom box. there was food in the fridge that was going to go bad, but we could eat it all before nature did.

she had been reading “white oleander” all day and was half way done with it, and asked me if i wanted to write while she read.

writing longhand is for girls, i sniffed. and chose to dig through my stack of magazines: “W,” “Jane,” “Us Weekly.”

darkness fell. i put in the police, regatta, “walking on the moon”. i thought that would be sexy. turns out ashley hates sting’s voice. put in elvis costello, “all this useless beauty.”

she just wanted to read.

i flew over to burrito stand, came back, went to bed early and realized this is exactly the sort of evening that the native americans must of had back in the day.

set my cell phone alarm to wake me up at six a.m. and fell asleep to the sounds of one fan booing.

and for that i thank him mucho.

TSAR LIVE SHOWS

Thursday, October 31st in Sacramento, CA /// Friday, November 1st in Oakland, CA @ Stork Club. /// Saturday, November 2nd in San Jose, CA @ Plant 51. /// Sunday, November 3rd in San Francisco, CA @ Cafe du Nord. /// Saturday, November 9th in Bakersfield, CA @ Lucky’s Bar & Grill.

makes me think a weekend trip to frisco on the the first of next month might sound like a fun idea. and to see Tsar at that swanky jazz club on market street on sunday might be too irrisistable to pass up.

www.dawnolsen.com is on the air. first she was on blogspot. then she moved over temporarilly to somewhere else. now she has her own domain.

welcome to the big leagues, slugger.

what’s her first order of business? to begin with a few lines about dildoes.

you know why i love dawn?

i love her because it is my fondest wish that many midwest wives are like her. i know its not true, but i can dream cant i?

shes definately the way that i would want my midwestern wife to be like.

and just think, if dawn lived in another part of the world, they’d throw a burka over her head and take away her laptop.

thank you founding fathers for having the foresight to see the possibilites of free speech and equal rights.

true, having the freedom to type about dildoes might not be exactly what they had in mind, but then again it, it might be exactly what they had in mind.

big difference between dawn and bob costas? costas would never have the guts to write about his dildo.

first time emailer “Jason” writes in to say that he agrees with me on costas except he loved what bob said during the sydney olympics closing ceremonies, “every famous Australian is on that stage right now,” costas chortled in his snide lil way.

Jason hits it right on the head. Costas is perfect for warm fuzzy little events of nothingness like the olympics where most moments of sap couldnt possibly be overshadowed with even more sap, or when blocks of time need to be filled with fluff. i would be very satisfied if i only was forced to see costas, ahmad, and peekaboo street bundled in their parkas from the base of a long jumping competition at the winter olympics every four years. but please then never again. better yet, put him on the Today show to ensure that i wouldnt have to be bothered with him.

anna and enrique engaged? over his dead body. i dont even like to think of such blasphemy. it was bad enough when gwen stefani got hitched to that dude from Bush but this would be a slap in the face to all that would be decent in the world. i’ll make a deal with you anna. you cant get engaged to anyone but me unless you win wimbeldon. i will consider your silence an acceptance of this agreement.

and finally today, we all know about my little crush on christina aguilera. we all know that i think it’s perfectly okay for a young woman to express her sensuality and desires in song. but must she wear a crucifix to a press conference held to hype her single “Dirrty”?

i’m gonna sound so old, but here goes: in my day, when madonna wore her crusifix(es) and grinded around singing “Lucky Star” it was in defiance to the Catholic church. it was just as political as it was shocking (to catholic boys like me.) but it really did mean something.

so whats girlfriend thinking sporting her necklace like it aint no thing?

oh if only she would return my calls so we could get to the bottom of this pressing matter.

wouldnt wanna make me cross.

[rimshot]

calling colin powell a house nigger.

he didnt bust with the n-bomb, but he did. belafonte equated the secretary of state to a slave who lived in the master’s house.

“There’s an old saying, in the days of slavery, there were those slaves who lived on the plantation and were those slaves that lived in the house,” Belafonte said in a radio interview on a San Diego talk show. “You got the privilege of living in the house if you served the master … exactly the way the master intended to have you serve him.

“Colin Powell’s committed to come into the house of the master,” Belafonte continued. “When Colin Powell dares to suggest something other than what the master wants to hear, he will be turned back out to pasture.”

typically i don’t like to talk about news or rumor or gossip or troubles surrounding Black people because i like to live with my head in the sand sometimes, and i certainly don’t like to give racists or semi-racists any fodder to stoke their hatred. i also dont bad mouth my boss to outsiders, or my workplace, or the girls who get naked with me. i think life is tough enough without being part of the problem.

but fuckit, Powell and Belafonte are both big boys at the end of their lives, so let’s do this.

firstly, i dont know where belafonte gets off. his middle of the road crooning was hardly gangsta. born in harlem, but bred in jamacia, his version of keeping it real was putting real sugar into his ice tea while on the lido deck of the cruise ship instead of Equal.

and i will say this of Powell. he knew this day would come.

a Black man cannot work for a white republican president and think that one day someone isnt going to shout sellout from across the street. Especially when Blacks have gone nearly 50 years without a strong political leader of color, especially one as popular as Powell who has unprecidented support cross-culturely (read: whites like him too), especially since the majority of Blacks would have loved to have seen Powell run against Bush in the Republican primary and were sorely disappointed when he didnt.

add that to the fact that he, with all his military experience and hype, has not found Osama, secretary powell should not be shocked when he gets tomatoes thrown at the back of his head by a guy known to sing about banana boats.

does General Powell speak up and shut up when Bush tells him he’s talking over his head? doubt it.

but none of it matters. Powell is part of a losing team right now and Blacks do not want this on our record. how easy would it be for those who do not want Blacks in high levels of power to point to Powell and Rice and say, “what did those two do when they were given a chance? not much. one lied about 9/11 and the other couldn’t find osama.”

so my advice to the secretary of state, since he is short, im sure, of unsolicited counseling, is to just find osama and bring him back to america on a platter.

my advice: bet jesse jackson a million bucks that he can’t find osama. my money’s on the reverand.

that i am the inventor of the modern day web based photo essay. those people are probably wrong. even if they aren’t, im happy whenever i see a photo essay and i wonder why Mr. Know It All, a fellow LA blogger, a friend of Meesh, and a talented photographer, did not let me know that he has busted with a pretty sweet photo essay?

it made me wonder how many of you are out there secretly making funny little narratives with accompanying photographs.

my first photo essay was created march 15, 2001. it was the day that i signed the lease of the apartment that i now live in.

due to overwhelmingly huge success (three people emailed me nice letters) it encouraged me to do about two dozen other ones since. the most popular one was “dear kids of afghanistan” which i put together a few weeks after 9/11. it’s still so popular that if you simply type “dear kids” into Google and it’s the number one result.

But that popularity was dwarfed when i put up my only risque photo essay, one about tennis star anna kournikova‘s lawsuit against Penthouse magazine this april. i got several million hits in a matter of days. type “anna kournikova nude” into Google and this is 6th result you will find. god bless anarchy.

i have no problem with the human body. but i have noticed that most people who look at my web site and my blog do so between the hours of 9-5. in fact by far the most popular time that people read what i have to type is at noon eastern time. my belief is that that’s when the people of the west coast turn on their computers at work and join the people around the country in starting their day. and it’s also my belief that they’re not interested in seeing boobies with their breakfast.

of course, i understand i might be completely wrong.

as usual.

anyway i love photo essays and if any of you have one or have seen one, please let me know through the comments section below. if the comments are down, feel free to drop me an email.