but i do live in LA, four metro stops away from staples center, and what i saw last was spectacular.

it was as unbelievable as the attrocities that we’ve been seeing and hearing about in the middle east.

first of all, tim duncan had no business being able to hit a fadeaway with Shaq big old stinking giant arm in his face with less than five seconds to go in the game.

that shot alone was one of the most clutch shots ive ever seen.

which by the way was preceeded by Kobe’s clutch shot that had put the lakers ahead, which forced Duncan’s heroics.

but with 0.4 seconds left in the game, for Derek Fisher to catch the inbound pass from gary payton turn around and nail that last shot perfectly is mindblowing.

and proof that every player in a Team is valuable and important and needs to be ready to be the hero of the game.

fisher, as you know, was a starter last year but was demoted once the soon-to-be hall of famer payton arrived. fisher spent most of yesterday’s game and most of this season on the bench, only to come off the bench last night to pop the most clutch shot of the season.

the shot that may just turn out to be the difference between the Lakers being world champs instead of the Spurs being world champs because now the series comes back here to Staples and if the Lakers win tomorrow then San Antone is eliminated and no one is tougher in the NBA than the defending champs and their sneaky little frenchman named Tony.

but what i was most blown away by was my neighborhood.

nobody was screaming, nobody’s car horns were sounding, nobody was spilling out into the streets.

the hollywood hills, where i live, were silent.

perhaps a plate of caviar was passed from one debutante to another, but that was it.

this blogger, however screamed twice. once when duncan sank his miracle and once when fisher reminded us that theres a reason why they call this a team sport.

“one lucky shot deserves another,” Shaq told ABC Sports minutes after dreams were crushed deep in the heart of Texas.

and despite this being the season that the Lakers were supposed to get their lift from Malone and Payton, it was Devon George and Derek Fisher who won yesterday’s game, the most important game the Lakers have won this season.

pure magic last night.

the ghosts of mj and magic and bird and all the heroes from long ago were embodied in the least likely Lakers and im sorry Tim Duncan but when you hit 21 points and pull down 22 boards and lose, then your season is over.

bring on the t-wolves!

in other news, i’ve seen many great things on metafilter, but this might be the best

my astrology says go. the weather says go. the green light says go. my ride is about to go.

i dont want to complain on this shit. i dont want to bitch. sometimes its hard not to complain. and i always tell people that they can do whatever they want in their shit but i cant for some reason. im supposed to be someone better. not better better just better different. a curveball when youre expecting a fastball. a fastball when you know its going to be a slowball.

shes hot. theyre all hot. the one that i was at lunch with yesterday the one i was at dinner with today. the one i slept with the other day. hotness in la is like warmness in the weather. its all just varrying degrees. what i should do instead of worrying or in my case thinking about chicks is instead think about the blog. think about lick. do lick. do my page. do my mainpage. blog without editing. think without thinking. just do bitch. just do.

it is the reason that im here. it is the reason im not there. it is the reason for the season and the season is the reason. i dont know why i do the things i do and if there was a reason for blahblahblahdotcom it is first of all to get laid to send out the s-o-s of hereiam hereiam but deeper, the human part of the animal wants more than that so id say the deepr reason behind all this is to discover.

discover what? discover it. to find truth. to find reason. to see how shit works. and who better to experiment on than oneself. who better to judge than you. who better to tweak and experiment with than on someone youve known for the longest.

all i know is i want out. i want to fold on this hand and count my losings. i want two more ameretto sours one to shoot one to sip and i want to tap out and head for the saunas cuz i know i have something better i could be doing with my time and it isnt this. im going to get reamed tomorrow. nobody is going to say you did what you were asked to do, you did it with a smile. nobody is going to say shit was busier than it ever was and not only did you hang in there but you met the challenge with a smile saying bring it on motherfucker. nobody is going to say good job period. theyre going to say okay job BUT… and then nitpick on the little shit till everyone forgets all the good shit that i did for the last 300 days.

i want out. i want out. i want out. i want out. i can say it till im blue but i have to actually do something about it and i think that its days like this when the lakers are on but im at work waiting and waiting that my shit gets pissed and i think that its time to stop thinking and actually do something. but what is there to do. what can be done. where could i go. what could i do. who would have me. what could i do. where. what. theres nothing. my fear says theres nothing but my fear is so out of shape cuz i barely listen to that dumb peice of shit that it probably cant even believe that im inviting it to the party let alone let it have the floor. and as creative as my mind can get i dont see what else there is other than flying around and saving the world.

even though its dumb.

even though im dumb.

a blogger gets a book deal and a film deal + smythe’s world + oliver willis

at the world famous spaceland in silverlake reminding the record heads of their label who are the future and present kings of the school. and it was loud and it was furious and it was punk, and despite the fact that the sold out club cheered for more tsar refused because the damage had been done the butter had hardened the eggs had cooled and the jello was jiggling.

put it in the refrigerator, rock fans. tsar have arrived.

blasting a wall of sound thick and swirly and powerfully the LA quartet moved beautifully between their heavier new numbers and their familiar older tunes reminding their lazy label where they had come from, where they are now, and where they should be.

the crowd were mezmorized. they had arrived at 9pm sharp. they had purchased their super large draft beers. they stood in front of the stage and they got their minds blown as promised.

tsar jumped around and smiled and screamed and shredded and pounded and kicked down the door and sounded more like an tight solid arena rock band in their prime than a poppy-punk outfit from los feliz.

whalen and kern treated their guitars like red headed step children. they abused their tools and created shrieks and hums and squeals like masters.

solomon tried to duck for cover but he couldnt.

coulter laughed and laughed and the old men wet their drawers.

theres not only money to be made off these boys but theres music to be made. beautiful music for ugly undeserving people.

the best song of the night was my favorite off the upcoming disc, “wrong”, which should be the anthem of america as we continue to watch this unjust invasion that bad music has rallied against fm radio.

special guest star of the evening was my long lost pallie, kitty bukkake who shared several beers with me and looked smashing despite her coast to coast commutes.

it was just as much a pleasure to catch up with her as it was to be in the presence of majesty.

1313 silverlake blvd.

one day your kids will drag you there in hopes for seeing the stage where tsar once rocked.

george must go + treacher + souptree