besides the obvious.

first being that it was shown on my television within minutes of being taken.

like it’s a trophy.

like “we finally got em”

like you did something hard or something.

i’ll tell you when you can feel proud, if thats what youre trying to feel.

feel proud when youre able to prove he fondled that young boy.

cant dust his lil’n

far as i know you dont have any video or eye witnesses.

all youre going to end up with is his word against his word

no proof

no evidence

unlike molestation of a female, what on earth could you retrieve from a scientific examination of a young boy weeks after the alleged assault?

and if one or two or a thousand kids come forward and say that that pretty young chinese woman in the picture did to them, it isnt evidence that he touched that kid that night at the neverland ranch.

pardon me from distancing myself from the hysterical, but nobody should be sent to jail for something as unforgivable as sexual abuse of a child solely on an accusation.

smile when you have some evidence, gentlemen, and give a man time to take his escalade to his jet before you lift high the mugshot to the slobbering press as if it was the ear of the most mighty bull.

what is the rush?

michael jackson didnt do anything to you.

and as unbelievable as you might think that it could be, but he might not have done anything to anyone else either.

you show your cards when you sneer at a press conference

you out yourself when you make sure that the press can get a picture of the handcuffed king of pop

and if you believe in karma, you fuck yourself when you break land speed records to release what is probably the most embarrassing and unflattering photograph anyone could ever wind up taken.

humiliation does not become you.

innocent until proven guilty might just be the core of what makes america the greatest country in the world which would make you rotten to the core if you deny a man that right.

freaky as the fucker may be.

my most favorite county is in the public eye

dont make me go up there and remind you what santa barabara is supposed to be

which is class.

espns pardon the interruption was on fire today.

as was my girl flagrant, which if nick denton is serious, should hire as his travel blogger.

me, i’m holding out for the fleshbot blogger auditons

but then there are days like these, when you’re waiting on the bus, filming trees, when i say oh shucks this guy really IS tuned in to something bigger than the projection of his ego. i like you on street corners…

Anonymouse

yeah, i get fucked up comments sometimes too. people have no sense. people dont know how to say things in a nice and polite way.

i wonder why they have to be that way and then i think its maybe cuz theyre bummed out that i bash their political party, or their favorite talk show host, or their favorite blogger named drudge.

or maybe they just weren’t raised right.

for example, how is smacking me going to do anything but get you ten smacks back? how is it going to teach me a lesson about my alleged ego?

i hate anonymous comment-leavers cuz theyre gutless, and gutless people shouldnt be listened to because theyre probably lying.

people who are telling the truth, ESPECIALLY in a blog, or in the comments of the blog, have nothing to fear.

liars need to worry.

and people who think that they can run around and smack people seriously need to worry.

let me tell you a few things about my ego, busbloggers. i have none.

i have zero self-esteem.

dont take that the wrong way, its not a woe-is-me zero self esteem, its a “im not good enough to make it to the next level, but i can kick your ass” thing.

it’s twisted.

one reason i like blogger so much is because i get to use it to write better, to practice.

i think i would be a great arts and entertainment section editor. i was a great editor. i love bringing people together and thinking up story ideas and touching up stories and managing the process.

as a writer i think im a not-boring blogger, but i think im way too punkrock for the mass media, and thats fine with me. it would be great if somewhere in journalism there might be a little sliver that i could fit into, but if not then cool.

but i have no ego. i think im ok.

i am shocked when people say otherwise and im supershocked when i see all the hits that i get.

ive said this before.

i’ll probably say it again.

meanwhile, if any of you have anything to say, use your name, link your email or web page, and if you feel like smacking me while im waiting for a bus, if i was you, id think twice, cuz i might be xbi after all.

raymi + xeni + blamb

guest-write a post on the busblog.

usually i say no. for kitty bukkake i say yes. always

Hi Tony, thanks for having me over.

I bought gray-blue corduroys and picked up takeout special from Hard Times Pizza, and here, in the new pants, I’m trying to eat dinner at my desk in my emptyish apartment, alone, with a cold.

I don’t even want pizza, but I couldn’t stomach lunch. Don’t feel like running either. Hard Times.

A crap year for my family, 2003.

So much, my superstitious mother won’t say goodbye at the end of a phone conversation. Only buona sera. She has been calling every night to see whether I’ve recovered yet, from this and that. Tonight I picked up as I came through the door, having just driven home through Griffith Park while the DWP was testing the light festival. I sobbed the distance.

Sorry but I did.

She asked what was wrong. “Same as yesterday Ma, but with holiday anxiety.” I have presents I can’t give. Things could be good but they aren’t.

I have an art career I would envy if it weren’t my own, but I still can’t get out of bed until twenty minutes before I have to be at my job. When I am sad I can either eat or sleep but not both. This time I sleep.

I wish I could talk to my Dad too, for some unconditional love, male perspective. There’s a fantasy. He’ll be 60 next week. I will call him. I will hold my breath for the duration. If I could just call Garrison Keillor, or Harrison Ford instead. Or Dr. Phil or Ellen. I don’t know.

Here’s a reality show: Suicide Island. Seven contestants, each on an island, alone.

Last one to kill himself dies.

Rusty told me I would not have survived the year if it had come four years ago. There’s my Thanksgiving toast. No, I’ll say I found a ten-dollar bill on the street last week, because that’s also true. And my life got bigger this year. I am grateful for that and the ten bucks.

I just went to Amoeba and spent more money, I had to get out of the house, in my pants, it’s not retail therapy, I haven’t done that in years. Got some Peaches, got some Wilco, some Elliott Smith, Kings of Convenience, Paula Kelley, got X’s Los Angeles reissued with bonus tracks.

Have I told you I have the greatest friends? Nope, still Kitty. Tony has them too. Mine are on grief detail. They are better than Dr. Phil.

“You can’t make a dog behave like a chicken no matter how much corn you feed it.” Right? We are what we are and that’s all. But I like dogs and chickens.

And corn.

Corny corn, like silver linings and hope and the magic of affection and endurance.

Love just don’t quit, so hard to see from where we sit.

Buona sera,

Kitty.

dear america, dear raymi, dear world, dear mom, dear paul westerberg, dear angus young, dear safe sex, dear giselle, dear flagrant, dear chick on the bus who offered me a puff of weed, dear inventors of wifi, dear glamour girl who’s going to come over here and fuck my brains out,

please help me.

everything is so fubar right now that i dont even know which way is up.

how is it that michael jackson is wanted as of press time, and rush limbaugh who is accused of being a primary player in a huge drug ring and who today is being accused of money-laundering isnt wanted?

how is it that larry king gets to be on tv every night and today had dr. phil of all people parade out all the ghouls of television-past including a droopy-chested liza minelli for his 70th birthday, and yet nobody is interested in getting twin peaks back on the air.

im tired.

im tired of this grind and anti feels it too and karisa feels it and i could seriously use a new weezer album.

they dont have to tour if they dont wanna.

just an ep if thats all you got.

its eleven pm and im out.

if the girl calls me again at two a.m. im going to have to refuse those long legs.

thats how tired i am of all of this.

fuck the o.c.

fuck the d.a.

fuck the e.i.b.

im reading the kurt kobain book that my bro ken is loaning me and you know what

some nights like this i really wish i was

alive.

anti + jaime + the cosby sweater

i hate to say it, but i think youre fucked.

i saw the press conference today of the santa barbara sheriffs, and the 60 deputies that they sent to your home in riot gear to storm your gates. i saw their smiles as they explained how the law has changed since 10 years ago, the last time you were accused of abusing a kid.

i made a note when they explained why they didnt come after you on halloween instead of when they did, yesterday, the day your latest greatest hits cd came out. they said they were busy ruining the halloweens of “50,000” partiers in Isla Vista.

apparently drunkards from uc san diego are more dangerous to santa barbara county than a reclusive alleged child molester if you read between the lines of the sb sheriff.

this accusation, soon-to-be arrest, and hoo-ha has gotten everyone who i work with to instantly deem you guilty.

just cuz youre freaky lookin

just cuz you were accused before

and just cuz you live a somewhat bizzare life.

obviously you have issues. but we all do. i blog like an addict. im obsessed with the fine music of rock group tsar. i ride a bus. but that doesnt mean that im a smooth criminal, no matter how many times i might be accused in the future.

just cuz youre a nut, doesnt make you a sicko, jacko.

so i will reserve judgement until the trial is completed.

and i will shake my head at officers of the law who smile over and over during press conferences about alleged child molestation.

call me crazy, but i think it is still entirely possible that multi-millionaires could be targets to fraudulent claims, and if i was a bad guy, and i wanted to ruin you and/or get money from you, the easiest way i could imagine is to bring up the kid stuff.

it does suck that you built this ranch that kids of all ages would love to visit. and it totally sucks that you love kids and everyone freaks out when youre near them. and it super totally sucks that any time theres a young boy near you everyone starts whispering.

and as a free man, innocent of any charges, you should be allowed to hang out with whoever you want to, especially if their parents said it was cool.

but as we say over and over on the busblog, life isnt fair. its not fair that you dance so good, or sing so well. its not fair that you sold all those gazillions of records. its not fair that you were thrust into the public eye at such a young age and it wrecked your childhood. it isnt fair that your dad whipped you and did who knows what to you.

its not fair that you got to date brooke shields and tatum o’neal and lisa marie presley.

its not fair that you should probably ixnay on having the kids overay, mj.

but it is probably a good idea.

for some people handling success is harder than getting it. for some people handling their private lives is tougher than handling their public one.

i wish you had been given better advice in relation to who your houseguests were.

and i really hope that what those smiling cops are saying isnt true.

cuz i think you rule.

love,

tony

michael jackson number ones + madpony + betsy

inventor of the internet, world ski jump champion, and the man who gave nirvana a chance and thus broke them on college radio.

born on a dinghy off the seattle sound, marc was swallowed by a whale and expelled off the sandy beaches of santa barbara where he befriended a volleyball and named him grungy

he lived on campus point beach for several years until the isla vista foot patrol discovered that he didnt have a permit for his bonfire, and after failing to pay his citation, arrested him and the judge sent him to ucsb for four years of hard time.

with good behavior he did five.

while in college he was the music director of the radio station. this was the magical time of the late 80s when hip hop, rock, metal, punk, and pop melded and bore a new music “grunge” a term mc brown bestowed on the joyful noise that was best represented from his hometown label, sub pop, in honor of his volleyball friend.

his popularity spread througout the campus and in 1990 he ran for associated student president, with help from his pals at the daily nexus, where he had become a media darling, occasionally writing music columns and opinion pieces, he won in a landslide. but always the pranksters, the nexus reported that he had only garnered 69 votes, a curious number but symbolic since it was the number on the LA Raiders football jersey that he was often caught ripping off his svelt frame and twirling above his head while dancing atop a picnic table at the local pizzeria, pizza marc’s, which many believed he owned.

and then he adopted a rap persona, mc brown and released the cult classic “mc brown goes to college” which was followed up with the smash hit “mc brown goes to night school”. the green 7″ singles were huge along the central coast, and peru.

since then marc has traveled the world, dated models, rock stars, and homeless women. he has started his own web design company with such clients as paramount pictures, rupaul, and most recently triumph the insult comic dog. who says affirmitive action doesnt work?

his macarthur park loft is so badass that hipster mag Dwell featured the inside of his pad and if you look closely in the first portion of Kill Bill you will see his garage as pretending to be the hospital garage where Uma finds the Pussy Machine.

founder, president, and inventor of Buzznet, the latest in blog technology that allows people to share pictures that theyve either taken from their digital cams or phone cams, marc continues to influence and feed off the ever-changing world of the internet like it aint no thing.

we are lucky to have marc brown in our collective lives.

which is why, when Thor Garcia finished his first book of short stories, he dedicated it to today’s birthday boy.

and why when you read this website and blog, you will see homages and praise doled out freely and lustingly in his general direction.

please join me in celebrating in mc browns birthday by either visiting his frequently updated blog, creating a buzznet account, pouring a gold bottle of boones farm on the ground like you just dont care.

wwmbd + marc at an art opening + the mc is a great photographer

my first audio post

powered by audblog

so my man noah wrote me and asked me why i dont use Audblog. and hes a very nice guy who has been reading the busblog for a while. and lo and behold he has something to do with Audblog.

so today i gave it a shot and let me tell you about my experience.

it was super easy.

it took me maybe 5 minutes total to sign up, make my post, and get it up there.

the first post is free and you can get 12 more posts a month for $3 a month.

people spend more than that on dumbass ring tones for their cell phones.

at this point im not exactly sure why i would use this feature on the busblog, but im brainstorming and maybe you, the sage readers, can help me.

so far im thinking that if i meet a famous person and i have my mobile phone i can dial the number and have them say hi to all of you.

im also thinking that maybe if karisa or anna or miss montreal wants to say a few words for the kids then i could hook that shit up.

and then of course i could take my phone to a tsar show and let you all hear a few minutes of what heaven sounds like.

and then, obviously, i could put my phone in someones bed room when they least expect it…

or outside my window when my neighbors are fighting.

or on the bus when theres a bus-evangelist.

or at the laker game when theyre introducing number 8, at small guard, kooooooobeeeeeee bryyyyyyant.

or at a hootenanny when someones playing Good Deal of Love.

or something

if only i could forward my answering messages to this i would be totally stoked, cuz i get some funny ones.

noah glass + riley dog + tom dog

walked to my subway station, took the elevator down, stood and waited and was shocked at how few people were down there with me.

didnt see the creepy guy who sometimes has a morning beer wrapped in a little brown paper bag, didnt see any of the armenian men who frown at me with their unibrows, didnt see any kids running late for school, didnt see any guys dressed up in their security man uniforms.

shit, barely saw anyone.

got onboard. it was free today. supposed to be free all week. but there wasnt any signage. you’d think that would be something that they would put on their little message board. WELCOME BACK: FREE RIDES ALL WEEK. but no.

pretty empty in the subway to wilshire + vermont. charlie brown’s teacher got on the PA and said something about wilshire + western trains. not sure what she said. so i used the escalator and got to wilshire + vermont to catch a bus.

hardly anyone was walking around. looked like a sunday.

the message screen below the Rapid sign said next bus in 10 minutes. it hardly ever says anything longer than 2 minutes. but apparently some of the bus drivers didnt have enough days off.

10 minutes later two Rapid busses showed up at the same time. they both opened up both of their doors and people crammed in. about 8 of us watched the madness and didnt get on. we waited.

the sign said the next bus was coming in 3 minutes. meanwhile no local busses arrived.

its nice in LA today. sunny. warm. a tad crisp but not really. i didnt mind waiting. i hadnt waited for a bus in a month. its good to wait.

as the sun warmed my blogger hoodie i saw a guy who held his hand up in a semi-ball. i thought that i was a creep for bitching about anything in life when i could easily be a guy with a deformity like that.

i took a picture of a tree. my life isnt so bad.

got on the bus. it was nearly empty. went to the back like i did in high school. sat by the window. at the next stop it filled up and a woman with an eye patch sat next to me.

all was well again.

photo by mc brown who also posted a nice gallery of tsar pix from last night and charlies bach party

you do what you should do all the time, saints,

be polite.

hi work.

lots of ways you can find out if your work is on your web site.

easiest way, of course, are IP addresses.

they’ll tell you when, who, and for how long.

i dont care if my work reads my blog, i just wish they would believe that nothing in here is true. but no one does.

other than that i have no problem with my job, despite what lies i might write on here.

half way through my little talking-to by some of my superiors this morning, i was about to tell them the truth, i was about to say, dude, if i didnt complain about something, people would think im living this fucking perfect life and they woudnt be able to relate to me, so i lie about having a crappy job that doesnt appreciate me.

it’s storytelling.

but then they started saying some odd things.

so i didnt say anything.

i kept pretending that i didnt like my job.

which has been so good to me.

you should see my desk, my huge window, my huge computer monitor, bagels on thursdays.

they send all these pretty girls by just to be nice to me.

even the dudes come by and say nice things.

they got the IT department to cruise through from time to time and hook me up, and the facilities department keeps the place perfectly temperaturized

even the janitors address me by name

and you should see the guy who wears the vest outside the garage

he always says good bye to me.

i got friends in the media center, in research, in rights & clearances, legal, sales

lord knows the eReps got my back.

and i got theirs.

what makes me so curious though is, when the cubs were in the playoffs i got a little distracted, and im not as smart as you might think, so i have to concentrate super hard.

so when the cubs were in the playoffs, i made a few mistakes and got in trouble.

cuz at the xbi you cant really make any mistakes.

especially if your me.

cuz you know why

cuz nobody wants me at the xbi

you dont either.

any time i write anything about it, you all pretty much say, fuck the xbi.

and sometimes i want to say it too, and today i felt like george bush and iraq

i wanted to give up and go home, but it would have been for the wrong reason

and id be driven out by the wrong people.

over the last few years, any anxiety that i would ever have about romantic relationships have disappeared. they have all been wonderful, loving, perfect.

sure there have been some ups and downs. but mostly ups and hardly ever anything devastating.

but during that same amount of time i have struggled, friends, with my relationship with my employers and it troubles me worse than anything ive ever experienced with a woman.

unlike my love affairs, at work i give everything.

and i definitely work harder at the xbi and at my last job, than i do on this blog or my site.

and both places, just when you thought someone was going to say, you know what man, nice work. and great job doing it under pressure. just when you thought that was coming, something very odd was said.

like youre fired.

they didnt say that today but they also didnt say hey nice work under pressure as the shit was going down as you learned new dance moves for foreign songs.

the receptionists took me outside for an american spirit though.

nice girls.

but you know i dont smoke.

and that nothing in here is true.

i couldnt imagine a better job for me. im in the middle of everything. im busy constantly. im loved, and very well taken care of.

i come in early, and i leave late. i tell jokes, and smile, and work hard at hard work.

theyve done everything that they can do to get me out of chopper one and writing for the company newsletter, but i dont want to. no matter how dangerous fighting the crime that i fight is, and no matter how thankless it can be, it’s the job that ive been given, and im not going to leave it until i leave a total champ.

before the xbi there was no busblog.

and dont forget it.

alecia made a new photo essay + ben’s daily + bastard family