she typed to me from her bathtub

i dont remember anything thanks to the xbi but i was trying to recall her typewritten love note from somewhere.

dear tony pierce

i am writing to you from my tub.

she was beautiful of course. they all are.

we had just opened up a video store a few blocks away from the biggest counterfeiter in all los angeles. the fbi had no luck and we told them if they let us try something for a week, we would provide proof that he passed paper if we could keep half of the paper.

for educational purposes.

we had a soft opening for the neighbors last friday night. there was champagne. free movie coupons. won tons.

then we had a grand opening with balloons on saturday, starring a few a-list celebs who owed us.

and then we opened our doors for reals this week and nobody came.

i told everyone we needed to call the place sixty nine anytime and rent the dvds for 69 cents. but somewhere in the middle of the sting, the idiots wanted to turn a profit on the place, lest we’d seem suspicious.

lest?

so today i leaned against the spotless, brand new slate table top waiting for someone to ring the tinkley bells as they came through the front door and i thought of her.

well its the middle of the afternoon and im feeling a warm buzz from the glass of wine ive just polished off.

i still love you

i tried to remind them that the object was to sign everyone up in the neighborhood, collecting everyones drivers license numbers, names, addresses, socials, credit card numbers, emergency contacts, birthdays, and childrens names and eventually build enough community in the mini market video store that the big fish would think hes in a small pond and make a mistake that would cost him everything.

disney titles in the front, video games on the sides, new flicks in the back, porn behind the curtain, and baseball cards under glass.

our man, we had learned, loved to collect baseball cards.

indeed, i have taken billions of sad pictures of myself and several billion superCLOSEups ofn my piano.

nevertheless… wgere us nt whisky when i need it.

i thought about my new bride but i also thought about her. i knew this would happen. my mind has to be racing at all times. i have to be on on on on thinking making fucking talking rocking stalking mocking remembering and i was remembering that she drew a picture of a man with sunglasses and his hands in his pockets and i remembered one of the pictures that she enclosed and i remember thanking blogger for making it all happen

when the front door tingalinged and there he was taking off his sunglasses and stopping dead in his tracks in front of the little case that held the steve garvey dodger cards from the seventies surrounded by davey lopes cards ron cey cards dusty baker don sutton and manny mota cards.

the bill russell cards had been stolen

for some reason.

we were the only video store that didnt have any videos playing on televisions. i was listening to nevermind, a cd that i hadnt listened to since september eleventh because for some reason grunge sounded perfect that dark twisted gloomy confusing fucked up day.

But the point is, not that i am a whiney baby,

tada

and he put down a handful of garvey cey and lopes cards, asked about our membership and i told him that if he signed up this week that he’d get his first ten rentals free.

and he plucked a pen out of the innocent enough looking dixie cup of brand new cheap bic disposable blue pens

peeled a New Membership form from the pad

and proceeded to write down everything that we needed to know about him. the only thing we were lacking. next to his license plate number, was which part of his wifes ass she likes to get slapped.

his mothers maiden name was la vista. i thought. interesting.

teresa clicked a few photos of the vin number of his black hummer since he liked to keep the dealers plates on it.

xoxoexohexooooh,

[ signature ]

i made an imprint of his credit card, had him sign it, wrote “not to exceed $250”, gave him back the credit card and drivers license, and laminated the membership card while he smiled pretty at teresa when she pushed the front door open and walked into the store tingalingalingating

pretending to be a customer

high heels short dress unconvincing smile

and fake tits

like all her girlfriends

Maybe if i dont get anything turned back on i’ll become Very proficent in typing and taking pictures and drawing

in the dark. love you.

and i handed him two coupons entitling him to 50% off any purchase over $50

but he wasnt listening

he was checking my partner out

just like

we hoped.

tiffany + oliver willis + not safe for work picture of john gashcroft

which means it’s time for the easter + angus young dealie

i waited until tonight to see it. i dont know why. now im watching it again.

i dont know why i do a lot of things. i dont know why i write to you every night. i dont know why i dont write to the la times every night. i dont know why dumb little highschool bullshit things bother me. i dont know why huge gigantic xbi life and death shit doesnt bother me.

i dont know why i dont beat off as much as i used to. i dont know why i dont drink hardly at all. i dont know why i play fantasy sports fiendishly. i dont know why i dont get off my lazy ass and change the world like all the angels and saints beg me to. i dont know why i dont fuck this one girl more often. i dont know why i dont read the bible every day. i dont know why i dont work out. i dont know why i dont eat right.

i dont know why i dont cook more or read more or pray more or rock more or sleep more or walk more or talk more or lick more or love more or date more or wait less or dream less or rhyme more or fuck whores.

and i still havent asked if my camera could be fixed.

i dont know why i havent done a full court push on lick begging the ladies of the web to write more drugs and rock stories and a tad less sex stuff. i dont know why i havent sent a resume to anyone other than karisa in more than three years. i dont know why i dont give a shit but i dont. i dont give a shit. i should but i dont. and im glad the guy who made the sopranos happen gave a shit and didnt let the telephone ring and ring when odds are theres a blonde nba cheerleader on the other end who’s not naturally blonde shes eurasian and eurplaythin and eurtooyoung and eurtoohot.

the sopranos kicked my ass and if i wasnt so fucking lazy i would tell kool aid that they should sell their blue flavor in bottles that look like windex. kids especially boy kids would love to freak out their teachers and sisters and moms and there would be some dumbshits who would say oh right now do you want to be responsible for kids squirting windex in their mouths and kool aid would say escuse me we want them to squirt kool aid into their mouths thats why we put it in the bottle.

and if they were smart they’d fortify that shit with vitamins and minerals and trick kids into being actually more healthy, but they wont cuz theyre scared of the dumbshits, some of whom are moms, and lord knows moms are never wrong. if a kid wants to squirt windex in his mouth there wasnt anything stopping them from doing it over the last 40 years. what youre inspiring them to do, once again, is squirt super fortified kool aid into their mouths because this shit is for kids who arent entirely full of shit and retarded.

and once that explodes, the good people who make karisas favorite candy, nerds, need to start pouring that stuff into boxes that look like rat poison. not that i know that rat poison looks like baby blue and white broken up peices of nerds, but it does, and if you sold it in boxes that looked like rat poison i bet you right now that a kid would love nothing more than to finish his sandwich at lunch, wait for his teacher to pass by, crack open that box that looks like rat poison, scoop up a healthy serving, eat it and wash it down with a few squirts of koolaidex

and then fake pass out.

and all those motherfuckers can hate on me and steal from me and wish i was someone else but im me and i suck the worthless cock of no one, b, no one.

madpony + chokey chicken + sk smiff

i earn it, and then i spend it. usually i spend a little less than i earn.

as ive gotten older there have been fewer and fewer things that i have wanted to buy. which is good because things have gone up in price pretty fast.

the first concert i paid for was ac/dc’s back in black tour in ’83. it cost $12 and i was in the 14th row, on the floor.

if you wanted to sit in the 14th row of the madonna concert that’s going to happen at the forum this summer, it will cost $300. anywhere on the floor will cost $300. if you want to sit in the loge, the section that encircles the floor, it will also cost you $300. the only way not to pay $300 to see madonna in concert this summer in LA is to sit in the upper level, the concourse, and that will set you back a measly $75.

minus ticketmaster fees.

if i wanted to sit in the 14th row, and i could get that ticket through ticketmaster, the only way to get a ticket there, it would cost $22 in ticketmaster fees, plus the $300 price.

it makes me not want to go to many concerts.

which saves me money to wine and dine young ladies at my hollywood bachelor pad. where its cheap.

i have a feeling though that if i had more money i would probably do different things. and maybe some of those things would be better than the things i do now. for example, i would probably visit hawaii if i had more money. i would probably drive a car if i had more money. i would probably give better gifts if i had more money.

nothing life-altering. which is why i dont sweat it much. cuz id also pay more taxes. and waste far too much of my precious life in traffic.

however.

advertisers should pay me to hype their shit.

why me?

cuz i reach a thousand people a day and those people reach hundreds of thousands of people a day.

plus, i hype shit in far more interesting ways than anyone else.

for the next week i will hype the miss usa pagaent. a television show that noone ever talks about.

this week i will do it for free because this blog, unlike most blogs that get 1,000+ hits a day, does not accept traditional advertising banners and strips.

i do this because i dont think al gore invented the internet to provide a new place for commercials to get run.

i dont believe that just because someone has some money that they should get to uglify, pollute, and add noise to a blank canvas that could be providing art wisdom and poetry unblemished.

van gogh most certainly would have allowed surveillence cam ads on the vase of his sunflowers series if they had handed over the francs, and thank god he was never offered it.

and thank god im not vincent van and thank god this aint the sunflowers because someday i will rent out space on this mofo, but i promise you that it will look like it belongs,

and if it’s for a destructive lying weasly corrupt and violent cause like the republican national committe who would have otherwise never found a way to my readers via this blog, the ad(s) will equal a car.

and then you will know that indeed nothing

nothing at all

in this bad boy

is true.

my beautiful wife + mad mathias has a sweet new design + kool keith is down with the sickness

inspiration

koch records

when william hung sings “theres a time for everyone” from “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” from his new cd, Inspiration, he sings a mouthful. on many levels.

yes its awful karoake. yes its funny. but weirdly it is inspirational in a way much deeper than how the special olympics inspires.

this is a guy who can barely speak english let alone sing it. and he doesnt stop at covering the Eagles and Ricky Martin, but he then busts with the spanish in “Bailamos” and it’s funny and terrible and wonderful and laughable and uplifting!

fuck lance armstrong, william hung is your great american hero.

im listening to it here at work and people are repulsed.

“i love how they insterted the mating calls of a warthog.”

“this is disgusting.”

“how can you listen to that?”

“dont you see that people are laughing AT him?”

it doesnt matter. i can listen to him sing “Shake Your Bon Bon” all day.

hung proves that its not the song, its the singer. i was never interested in this tune before william decided to cover it.

“it’s amazing what you can throw together in an hour.”

“please turn that down, tony.”

“ok, im leaving. tell me when youre done with that.”

my only criticism with this record is the choice of the village people classic YMCA which he sings with help from some of his fans. it makes you think this is a joke. its not a joke. its people loving the william hung inside of each of us and owning it.

only someone with true talent can sing this poorly and get away with it.

im not sure what that talent is, but theres something there.

this music, as retarded as it is, is going to live forever.

i cant explain why.

i dont want to find out why.

theres no reason why, but its true.

we love this man.

nike seriously needs to incorporate hung’s “I Believe I Can Fly” with slow-motion clips of nba stars missing dunks.

and you seriously need to embrace this phenom.

before its too late and he sells out.

kitty bukkake + melting dolls + steph

i have it. i love it. you should get it too.

as far as i remember. he believes in aliens, and free love, and country music to save the world, but i never recall him saying that oswald didnt act alone.

but he is desperately trying to get me to believe that courtney killed her golden goose with that shotgun blast.

Layne: Nah. Totally different writing … by a different hand.

me: same hand, same writing. it’s even lefty.

Layne: That heroin dose would’ve put him out way quicker than some serious Anesthesiologist dose before open-heart surgery. I don’t think you have to be a Conspiracy Freak to realize the “real” part of that note was a “I’m retiring from rock ‘n roll” note, not a suicide note.

me: you and i have both done heavy amounts of smack. i mean beer. and if we got hit by a truck and they peeled us open they would all say, “that fucker shot up more, i mean drank more beer than should kill a billygoat.” so fuck those “doctors” who 100 years ago were putting leeches on people to see if they were witches. and who still cant cure a common cold.

Layne: (Everything after his signature is obviously bogus. How many times do you sign your name to a note and then write a bunch of nonsense in giant retard font??)

me: how many times have you added a thought to something? all the time. and hello, but wasnt it mr. kurt cobain who wrote in journals all his life? didnt they publish some of those journals? didnt he add thoughts to a page all the time? ive written in huge fonts under the influence. its not that unsual. and its called genius, not retarded.

Layne: (Hadn’t Kurdt been in LA, holed up and painting, for six-odd months before this went down? The dude loved the indie world in ways I’ll never totally understand, but it was his world and he did not enjoy the designer-dress McMansion world Ms. Love brought to the mix with his money.)

me: i thought he was in LA going through rehab. they call that “painting” nowadays? now who is the revisionist? and secondly kurt loved designer dresses. almost as much as you do.

Layne: If I died tonight — even if it looked (on the slim surface) like a suicide — my wife would be the first suspect. The spouse is *always* the primary suspect. (I was a police & courts reporter for several years, ‘though anybody can learn this from a Court TV session.) And if there is money and / or a child involved, the spouse is generally the Only Suspect. C. Love made tens of millions off Kurt’s death, and she got to keep their child. (Although the drug addict psycho finally lost the child to Cobain’s family this year.)

me: Laura is an angel, how dare you! but back to Courtney, first she was white. white women always get to keep the kids. also Kurdt would have earned her way more than tens of millions. just co-writing Hole records alone she might have earned $100 million. no need to kill the golden goose. kurt was too much a pussy to get rid of courtney. he wasnt going anywhere. plus he was a poppa. thus the suicide. just like half his family did. just like he swore to us that he wasnt going to do.

Layne: Forget the motives of the site-makers — people always come up with conspiracy theories when the dead person is famous — and just take a look. And ask yourself if anything here sounds odd. Who took Kurt’s credit card and kept trying to charge it until he was found dead?

me: it’s a crime to take your spouse’s credit card? if you ask me thats the best part of getting married. next to having someone to yell at, of course.

Layne: Why did Courtney shut off his credit card?

me: cuz he was using his credit card for drugs like whitney?

Layne: Why couldn’t Courtney take the trouble to go to Seattle to find her “missing” husband?

me: i believe she was promoting the Hole record. which was quite good.

Layne: Why did the police wait a month to check the gun for prints? Why couldn’t they find Kurt’s prints?

me: because Courtney had paid them off? what are you implying? cuz cops are lazy. ask oj. ask the strokes. ask r. kelly.

Layne: Why was Courtney at an Arizona spa fucking that Smashing Pumpkins guy three weeks after Kurt’s death, while she fed stories to the press about how she was grieving at home?

me: cuz he was hot, cuz shes a ho, cuz she was sad, cuz he was going to help her write her her best single ever, cuz he’s a ho, cuz courtney if you havent noticed is what we call impulsive. and lives through this. and because the press is precisely who you should lie to, constantly.

Layne: Why did Courtney hire electricians to do work on the greenhouse right after Kurt “killed himself” in that structure?

me: who did you expect her to call, Trading Spaces?

Layne: Why did she later claim (to Rolling Stone) that there was a “real” suicide note left under her pillow in the Seattle house, even though the house had been searched?

me: she told everyone that, including the cops. the cops read it. it was personal. it probably said stuff that we wouldnt want to read like, “im killing myself because deep down theres a woman inside of me struggling to get out which is why i married a man and why i wrote better songs for you than i wrote for my own band.” in which case, THANK YOU COURTNEY!

Layne: Why did she greet the 10-year anniversary of Kurt’s death with a frenzy of planted news stories about her — topless on Letterman, maybe arrested, always making sure any Kurt publicity helps her worthless PR campaign?

me: because courtney love first and formost is a punk rocker. then she is a saleswoman. then she is an earner. she had a record to huck. her first true solo one. and it sucks. so radio play alone isnt enough. what would have been truly suspicious would have been if she just sat around and not done a thing with her music career. then i would believe she killed her man for the money.

pinch the tail + how appalling + flagrant + blog bandit

whenever i go over there i put magic marker on his hair to make it look more like it is now. she thinks hes dreamy. i call him unfrozen caveman and she throws things at me. i mean it in nice ways. she knows. i think she likes throwing things at me.

the subway just hung out at the vermont sunset station today for five minutes for no apparent reason. just enough time for him to miss the transfer train going to wilshire western. as mayor of la i promise that i will insist that the subway drivers have to radio each other when the get to a transfer station so that when the good citizens of this town who are helping out cut down on traffic congestion and smog and helping the enviornment wont have to see the train leave the station just as theyre running down the stairs.

hey bro we’re running a little late

how come

cuz i hung out at the vermont sunset station for no good reason.

ok, when will you be here?

20 seconds.

ok, i’ll wait for your slow ass.

coo.

what i want to be is the mayor of isla vista. what i want is to be anywhere than here. what i want is to be one of those guys who drives one of those flatbed trucks that has a huge billboard on it that says drink cherry pepsi.

i could do that job.

what i want to do is be in connecticut tonight as the womens basketball team wins another title for uconn and report to you how theyre burning down their campus.

if i had any job in the world it would be to drive around and report the news of america to you.

yesterday i woulda been in cincy for the cubs opener and i woulda driven all night to make it to uconn for the game today.

then id double back and make it to wrigley for the cubs home opener.

nobody could do that job the way i could.

not drudge cuz hes a sellout towelboy, not wil wheaton cuz he cant whrite, and not those fuckers who gave the la times all those pulitzers. if the times was that good they wouldnt need a staff of a thousand to cold call los angelinos each day 5 times a day to beg them to subscribe.

i let them call me.

i was hoping bunnie metrosexual was going to be at the tsar show. i was hoping splink was going to be at the tsar show. i was hoping lots of people were going to be there but they werent and you know what, it was still fun.

but i still want to travel the country and write about it to you.

mist + aaron’s baseball blog + sk smith

lets start with how i did everything wrong today. i shouldnt have even gone to work.

it was opening day. all my childhood i begged and faught with my mother to get this day off. now that im an adult and i could have very simply called in “sick” i didnt because im loyal and a great employee even when i get paid chicken feed. but the man upstairs, i know that he cares, he helped the cubbies win. and now we only have 161 more wins until i can feel totally comfortable.

i shouldnta gone into work because i was distracted by the game. i have a hard time concentrating at my job and watching the cubs on tv. my job is super hard. i need to focus at all times.

i was also distracted by the anniversary of kurts death. i wanted to write something really great and powerful and insightful and killer because i have an unusual relationship to nirvana since i was on college radio when bleach came out, i was the arts and entertainment editor when nevermind came out, i played “teen spirit” on the radio before it was even released, i saw their last concert in LA, and i lived with two total nirvana nuts who played the records non stop for weeks after he died. not only was i paying attention to popular music during the time of grunge, my eyes and ears were wide open as was my heart and i was writing it all down. if there was a target market i was it, if they were selling kool-aid i was drinking it and telling all my friends to swim in it with me.

and of course i was distracted by tsar headlining the most important show of their careers.

most people dont know, but daylight savings time was supposed to happen next week, but when the powers that be found out that tsar was playing today they told everyone that today was the day to turn the clocks forward so that tsar would take the stage earlier.

hollywood crowds do not dance, they dont clap, they dont cheer and you rarely get encores. and some would say you dont fill a club up on wilshire blvd just east of fairfax on passover night, but tsar did and people danced and clapped and cheered and tsar would have gotten an encore, but they had nothing left to prove after their unrelenting and blistering set of mostly new tunes from their upcoming cd, band girls money.

excited on many levels, happy, sad, twisted, fucked in so many ways, i paid real money to eat a salad for lunch, i began drinking immediately after work had ended, i ended up eating 7 tums throughout the day, and i wound up dropping and shattering my sole digital camera in the mens room of marie calendars, karma for shitting in the handicapped stall.

i took four dumps today.

here it is 1am. i have no idea how to feel about anything. im pissed at all the fucking idiots who talked shit about my hero in metafilter, im stoked that tsar really could fill the barn called the el rey but im pissed that the crowd didnt react the way they should have which was with awe and joy, instead they just stood and stared with their jaws dropped.

im furious with gravity for taking my truly true love, my canon s45 which has an extended good guys warranty but i seriously doubt dropping it on a cement floor is covered, but as soon as it broke i thought of kurt and i thought of passover and i was all symbolic about first born male sons dying and i loved that camera like a son and i learned it fast and loved it easily.

im grateful for the famous editor who said he read my xbi story of last week when we got shot at in koreatown who said that i shouldnt bother with being a reporter or columnist that i should just focus on being what he called a writer because he suggested that editors would only ruin what good thing i have and i thought to myself that i love editors and i need editing and some of my best friends arent gay, theyre editors. but he meant it completely complimentary and i took it the same, he was saying i was good, and as often as i hear that in the comments and from the friends, it never sticks for more than a millisecond.

and im super pissed at the jagoff who deleted the fantasy league today that i joined sunday and drafted perfectly despite getting the last pick in the 12 team draft.

but the best part of the night was watching this one kid wearing a tsar shirt standing right underneath jeff singing along to all the words of all the songs from a record that hasnt even come out yet. and i know there were industry people in the house because you could see the stains in the carpet as they slithered to the free drinks, and if any of them wants to prove that they belong, they will do something about this tiny little miracle and help make it not just my favorite band, but the planet’s.

im grateful to gravity because this is the first tsar show where i actually watched completley undistracted while holding a bottle of beer amazed at how sparkling rock can be.

and i love that my ears are still ringing.

luminous dreams + five live links + melting dolls