i was flown to the white house the other night to play scrabble.

well, i lost.

and part of my agreement was that i would make a pro-war photo essay for the president.

i tried to explain to them that even though i agreed with them, that i was, indeed, a creative genius, i wasnt a magician. and i couldnt bust with a kickass photo essay on a topic that i didnt agree with.

i tried to tell them that even though i lost the scrabble tournament fair and square, that didnt mean that the commisioned photo essay would be any good.

they didnt want to hear my excuses, so i was allowed into a very nice room that had a big flat screen monitor and an incredibly powerful computer.

i paced around the room for a few minutes and then asked for a few bottles of mickey’s beer, several shots of jagermeister, and a nerf hoop and a nerf basketball.

the creative process is a mysterious animal, i whispered as i collected my things.

i downloaded some jay-z

and before i knew it, i had started my photo essay for the president.

before i was done i heard a knock at the door.

i didnt recognize the person but they asked to see my work. i told them i wasnt finished. they waved me away from the computer, clicked through, and assured me that yes, indeed, i was finished, and i could fly back home to hollywood.

later i got a very angry phone call that ended with, you will never play scrabble at the white house again!

win some lose some i suppose, anyhow, this is photo essay that was rejected the other night. i promise i’ll do better next time.

bounce wit me

i know i talk shit about you, but you know im just giving you a hard time.

a thousand people arrested today for protesting this so-called war? God bless you.

you laid in the streets, you stopped traffic, you kicked over newspaper stands, painted your faces, held high clever signs, and put the hitler moustashe on pictures of our president.

you are america, and i love you.

i woke up this morning and laid in bed and turned the dial and all there is on the radio these days are right wing white men who barf out the same old crap.

one guy called in and said he was in the costco in the valley yesterday. he said that when it was announced on the PA in costco that the war had broke out lots of people booed.

the radio guy said that those were bad americans.

no, adolf, those people were good americans.

bad americans keep their mouths shut. bad americans let their presidents break the law, bypass the constitution, the un, and common sense for their own agendas.

good americans raise their fists next to the two-gallon mayonaise and excersize their freedom of speech.

bad americans send teens to a desert to kill at will.

frisco you epitomized today what makes this nation great and i will never forget you for it.

i dont care that your streets smell of piss, i dont care how much it costs to cross the golden gate bridge, i dont care that most of my friends couldnt afford to live there any more.

i care that on any given day you are the most enlightened city on the globe, and today you validated what everyone already knew.

thank you.

and thank you for letting the cubs have dusty baker.

protest pics + sf gate pix + sf vomit-in

Thank you for shopping with Outpost.com. As a safeguard to protect the security of your account information, we request that you fax, or email, a copy of a Driver’s License, Passport, or National ID card (Cedula de Identidad). You may fax it to Fax: 860-927-8605 or email a scan to review@outpost.com .

Fax: 860-927-8605

to protest the war, im not going to put up with any more bullshit nonsense from the archaiac minds of Fry’s Electronics, who held the hands of my favorite online source for electronics and gang raped her while sullying her good name with idiocy like what we are forced to read above.

in all of my days, i have never had to scan my fucking credit card and then send it to a merchant.

nor have i ever been asked to FAX a copy of my passport!

FAX?

fuck you, fry’s electronics. we are talking about a $399 digital camera. specifically one i should have had in my hot little hands early this morning.

dont send me an email with the sole word “Review” as the sender. do you have any idea how much email i get a day? and do you have any clue how much of it is worthless spam?

no, of course you dont, because FAX is still in your limited vocabulary.

fry’s i hope all of your stores burn down in the middle of the night and your fire insurance has lapsed.

you give a bad name to ultra low priced shady gray market electronics sales.

you undercut your commisioned salespeople from a web site that they cant price match and then you demand that the customer sends proof that they are who they say they are. who the fuck are you?

name me one other successful, legitamite ecommerce site that asks for a passport for a $400 purchase?

im going to go to bel air cameras in westwood.

im going to buy the tiny little trendy camera that everyone else buys and takes great pictures with. i will buy the warrantee and the extra memory and the carry case and lens filters and anything else that they want to sell me.

i am a consumer and i wanted what i wanted and gave you all my info and you dropped the ball by asking for more in a ridiculous way.

FAX?

i know you are related to Ticketmaster in some way and when i find out how i will tell the world.

you are evil and i hope you come down with a terrible flu and you cant sleep at night.

i hope your children wont stop fighting while you try to read.

i hope your dog barks at the shadows in the alley.

i hope your fax machines catch fire and 60 minutes does twenty minutes on your ass.

you make circuit city seem like a pool party at hefs house.

i hope you get stuck in traffic.

fan checks + funny commercial + mc browns pix of last night

to protest the war i drank like crazy last night.

took my first shower in days, karisa picked me up in her hummer, and we off roaded it west to beverly hills to suck down free booze in the bacardi room of le meridian thanks to the la press club which is hereby my favorite club.

like several other women that i met last night, karisa isnt crazy about rum. but it was the bacardi room, they had lots of varieties, but it was all rum.

luckilly i had snuck in a flask of jd and kept her glass filled.

even though rum is my pleasure, i began by asking the bartender for a recommendation. he took a minute and then poured me a generous shot of vanila rum over ice and then topped off the short glass with ginger ale, finalized it by squeezing in a slice of lime and poking in a glow in the dark straw.

delicious.

the slight aftertaste of vanilla splashes at you like a wave of satisfaction.

but the only way to truly judge a good rum is to drink it straight, especially when its being poured free in a clockwork orange lounge of intellectuals and party crashers, where the theme, strangely, was orange, replete with tall vases filled with circus peanuts, sparkling cavair bowls of orange m&ms, and short but mascaraed carrottop, so the choice became obvious to choose a double of the orange rum.

which of course tasted like cough medicine.

ninety nine cent store cough medicine.

but i drank it all. im a good guest. and i even tipped the bartender each round. we all did.

karisa and i split up and said hi to all the nice people. some we knew, like mc brown who told us about his loft being featured in the ultra hip magazine dwell, moxie who modeled a pair of the best fitting suede pants ive ever seen on such a skinny girl.

at this point i must digress. please forgive me.

single men of los angeles.

moxie is very very hot. she has a great apartment. she drives a porsche. remember when we discussed the sexiness of black glasses on pretty girls? moxies were square and thick. with her skin being so pale the entire effect is incredibly glamorous. photos cannot capture any of this.

she was just one of the beautiful and interesting local single women drinking and laughing at this event. and they all dressed so good.

it’s always troublesome to decide what to wear when attending a club event at a five star hotel in beverly hills famous for being the very one where in nineteen ninety four courtney love was allegedly shooting up in when she heard the news that there was a body of a young man found in her seattle home.

karisa chose to wear a tight red rock n roll shirt with small lettering made even more difficult due to her long hair. but if you stared long enough, you’d get it.

she and i play the funnest games.

after all the drinking she busted with the old favorite look at me look at me.

she knows how i feel about lip gloss and while she drove us to the formosa she slow mo applied several layers and told me every detail about it.

it feels sooooo good tony.

its called cotton candy.

we were gonna eat with all our friends but suddenly we wanted chinese, immediately.

spicy mongolian beef, not so spicy kung pow chicken, and pork fried rice with a mischeivous amount of nutmeg! and pineapple cubes.

we indulged, washed down with an apple martini for her, and a shot of plain olde bacardi for me.

to bacardi, we toasted in the dark booth of the very back of the formosa while watching one after another of hollywoods elite stand in line for the valet to retrieve their bad ass rides from the night.

moxie