asked in the comments if i would once again be highlighting the miss universe pagent?

but of course.

the miss universe pagent and the busblog go back many years and theres nothing that could change that this year.

except for a bee sting

an infection of dmvlite on my beautiful computer

and some bad news from new york city.

all i know is i need to probably be reading the bible more cuz the man upstairs doesnt seem very happy with me for some reason.

could it be the obviously fallen angel who came over last night while i was dreaming, who looked so young in the blue glow of her cellphone, the only illumination in the room

not a blemish on her

not a mark

life had somehow swept around her as if a shield had been her windbreaker

and there she was above me

smiling

grinding

wanting

for not being a victim these things happen

to

me way more than i go out and make them happen.

in fact im not sure the last time i went to a girls house

knocked on the door

got her up to her room

convinced her of this or that

and closed the sale.

i went to work every day for the last four years, barely was sick a day. i did everything those people asked me to do despite the amount, despite the intensity, despite the reason, and i was let go

how is it that im getting now irish accents in my ear, red hair in the morning

a faint spritz of freckles

and buttered toast.

yes the busblog will cover the miss universe pagaent, but its going to be different this time.

one of the things that i learned from bukowski was the ritual of writing.

as much as i didnt like my last job, it provided me with a ritual, a framework, a pattern.

sometimes i would wake up a half hour early and id write

and sometimes i would get to work, read the email, knock out everything, get a bagel from across the street and some orange juice or apple juice and i would see if anything new was in my email box or on my voice mail, id knock that out and id take a 15 minute break to write

what was key about either the morning pre-work entry or the 15-minute break entry was that they both had serious deadlines.

i Had to be finished writing in the morning so i could get to work on time. similarily because i knew my boss wasnt crazy about my blogging, i Knew i had to be done in the requisite time.

all writers need deadlines. the best are the natural ones.

the second time that i would often write would be at lunch. when i worked in closed captioning, that department had a 30 minute lunch, in scheduling i had an hour lunch. when me and danielle were going to lunch every day, guess what, there were no lunch posts.

id write one during my PM 15-minute break. but the funny thing was, it didnt matter if i had a 30 minute lunch or an hour lunch, anything decent that i had to say would usually only take 15 minutes because the bummer about sitting at your desk during lunch is either the phone would ring or someone would stop by your desk or in between bites of burrito you might be dumb enough to check your email and see some fire youd have to put out.

the point is, though, my crazed work schedule totally provided small chunks of time where i could focus on something entirely different than what i was doing during the day, and it provided a climate ideal for writing.

at night at home id do photo essays or longer peices, but they werent much better than the quickie things at lunch.

now that i dont have any deadlines, and because im working on things that i care about, and not things that i have to do, ive noticed a decline in the busblog.

ill do my best to rectify that.

inbetween bouts of being victimized.

offline adventures + call simpleton + koganuts + james mcsweeney

make believe
geffen records

nothing in here is true.

the weezer and tsar camps intersect at one couple. and one day that couple had a party and i was lucky enough to meet and jam with rivers cuomo. in the famous garage of “in the garage.” making my life complete.

we played nirvana songs.

in my 111 years of existence i have had the pleasure of meeting lots of people. as in lots and lots and lots of people.

so many that i probably dont need to meet that many more.

no offense.

and that could be one reason that i hole myself up in my many mansions.

rivers was probably the most shy person ive ever met. and yet still at a crowded party he felt safest in a small practice space jamming out with a bunch of drunk nobodies on broken equipment.

weezer is one of my all time favorite bands and yet im not sure theyve ever come out with a record that i loved immediately. very few records do i love right away.

one day i’ll digitize the radio show i did in college where i played teen spirit the day it came out and i was all yeah that was nirvana but now weve got something so cool, ladies and gentlemen, skin yard!

when the replacements came out with dont tell a soul i felt worse than when i got fired last week. thats what sort of music freak i am. i leave so much out of this blog its insane.

but one great thing about blogging is that we have the chance to change all the rules.

one of the rules is once you write a review you have to stick to it, and if you change your mind you cant change it in less than a week.

well thats a dumb rule.

when i first heard the new weezer cd i was disappointed by how slow many of the songs are, how simple the lyrics were, and how bland everything came across. and i dissed it in this very blog.

what people dont know is i continued to play it every day including today.

there are parts that still make me wince and ive completely removed beverly hills from my ipod and itunes.

but

now that im listening to it for what it is, instead of what i had hoped it would be, what im hearing is a very sensitive man who made a quiet record that has its moments.

its simple. its minimalistic at times. and at others you get the feeling that he might just be bearing his soul.

i play it in the shower, i play it when i walk to the bus, i played it at my doctor’s office, i played it while i walked to the beautiful party that matt and emmanuelle threw for me yesterday.

i got stung by a bee and my face contorted something awful but in the end i recovered and one hot chick drove me home and another was waiting for me

and spent the night with me.

and i was all baby i have the best cd to make out to.

which we did for about ten minutes until i passed out since i drank probably a half a bottle of rum at the party because when i actually do hang out with people i love them. i got to meet sean bonner last night, and rick bruner, noah shachtman who had just written about my hometown cops in wired, and john woo and libya and maureen and jesus and helen from e! showed up, the always entertaining luke ford was in the house, as were many others including lyt lyt rules, mickey kaus of slate, ben sullivan of the redesigned science blog, os and kim, mc brown (pictured), and the hornbillsers starring lil baby bea.

very sweet.

when i woke up at noon i put the new weezer in my boombox and i took a shower that lasted two hours.

i might leave the house today.

a wide variety of remedies for bee stings + fook the people + whitey

today on the busblog

two hot girls called me this weekend to tell me that they had broken up with their dudes. one of the girls, actually, told me that she had broken up with her chick, but that chick actually liked being called a dude. long story.

anyway, my response to both of them was, come on over, let me comfort you.

and both of them, naturally, declined my generous offer.

one of them said that she didn’t want to be just another one of my women. i told her i had no women. she said ha and pointed to exhibit a, the busblog. i reminded her that nothing on the busblog was true. she said she knew half the girls i talked about on the busblog including clippergirl, to which i told her that clippergirl and i really sit around holding hands and doing very little else. to which she asked me if i was inviting her over to hold hands and very little else and i said sure come on over and we’ll play a little game called lets hold hands and see if we can do very little else.

she said she didn’t want to come over and play that game.

i said its cuz you know that you’d lose.

then the lesbian lover called not soon after. she said that she really wanted to be with a man since itd been so long.

i told her that until she found the man that she was looking for i would try to pretend to be one.

she let me know that i was indeed the type of man that she was looking for, but she wasn’t interested at that time, she just had read yesterdays entry where i disclosed that my computer was full of viruses and i could come over to her penthouse and use her computer if i wanted.

i said, i already blogged that night, that i didn’t need a computer, but i did need someone to drink with.

she said, its always about drinking with you, isnt it.

this is the glamorous life of a blogger, friends.

i said, no it isnt always about drinking, its mostly about watching sports. to which she asked me questions about love. about how she should go about finding real love this time. and i said if i knew those answers i wouldn’t be sitting around on a sunday night totally turned on and frustrated about to crack open another bottle of bacardi as my tivo paused the Survivor finale.

she asked me if my house was clean. i said yes.

she asked me if my sheets were clean. i told her that i had just done my laundry while watching the lakers. i told her that not only my sheets were clean but they were warm and downy scented.

she asked me if i loved her. i told her that i loved her perfect body and her brilliant mind.

she asked me if i would do things to her that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

i told her that i would only do to her things that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

she giggled and told me that she’d take a raincheck.

i knew that these girls just wanted me to beg. im too old to beg. plus part of begging demands promises, lies, white lies. i cant lie. biggest thing i wanted yesterday was just to fall asleep with a nice girl next to me.

she added that she thought that i was a little depressed and she wanted to cheer me up. easiest way to cheer up a bachelor, ladies, is to reach down their pants and whisper. crude, yes, but the truth.

truth doesn’t always hurt.

her long fingernails may have hurt a little bit.

got a second raincheck within an hour and unpaused the tivo, heated up some peas and a baked potato and watched tv alone

as the camera panned away

and pulled back

up into the sky

into the dark night

filled with twinkling little stars

and then nothingness.

internet movie script database + blogging la + wil wheaton

fellow project du’ers stereogum posed this question to their readers

I SAW ROCK & ROLL’S ________ AND ITS NAME IS _________.
Posted by stereogum at May 9, 2005 09:03 AM

here were some of the responses:

I saw “rock n’ roll’s” future, and it never even occurred to me, when Blink 182 opened for my band years ago.

Ack!
Posted by: Billy at May 9, 2005 12:14 PM

I saw Rock n’ Roll’s retirement home and its name is VH1.
Posted by: adam at May 9, 2005 12:18 PM

I saw rock ‘n’ roll’s downfall and its name is East London
Posted by: chris at May 9, 2005 12:28 PM

i saw rock & roll’s height of lowest common denominator exploitation and her name is gwen stefani
Posted by: somebody at May 9, 2005 12:32 PM

I saw Rock N’ Roll’s ‘taint, and its name is Fiery Furnaces
Posted by: Jonah at May 9, 2005 12:39 PM

I saw rock & roll’s _aging_flacid_penis_ and its name is _liam_gallager_.
Posted by: matthew at May 9, 2005 01:26 PM

I saw rock and roll’s blistery, puss-filled sex-change scar and it’s name was Christian Rock.
Posted by: drew at May 9, 2005 01:31 PM

I saw Rock & Roll’s birth certificate and its name is actually Rhythm & Blues.
Posted by: Presto at May 9, 2005 02:42 PM

i saw rock n roll’s younger zit popping pain-in-the-ass brother, and it was called linkin park.
Posted by: EasyP at May 9, 2005 02:44 PM

I saw rock n roll’s murderer and its name is clear channel
Posted by: nicky at May 9, 2005 03:04 PM

I saw rock and roll’s saviours from it’s own self-importance and its name was Tenacious D.
Posted by: GaryF at May 9, 2005 03:23 PM

I saw rock & roll’s future and it’s name was censored by the FCC.
Posted by: dee at May 9, 2005 03:24 PM

i saw rock & roll’s little sister and it’s name is smoosh.
Posted by: inchworm at May 9, 2005 03:40 PM

I saw Rock and Roll’s choice of wood stain, and it was Light Walnut.
Posted by: SC at May 9, 2005 03:45 PM

I saw Rock and Roll’s onomatopoeia and it was Air Supply.
Posted by: Topher at May 9, 2005 03:49 PM

I saw rock n’ roll’s bleating, malnourished goat and its name is Pitchfork.
Posted by: Andy at May 9, 2005 04:08 PM

I saw rock n’ rolls future on Friday and it’s name was THE MARS VOLTA
Posted by: mlf at May 9, 2005 04:26 PM

I saw rock & roll’s underwear and it had its name written inside.
Posted by: Tequila Red at May 9, 2005 04:37 PM

I saw rock & roll’s 30-year-long obituary and its name is Rolling Stone magazine.
Posted by: the management at May 9, 2005 04:48 PM

I saw this rock and roll generation’s anwser to Pat Boone and its names are Hillary Duff and Ashlee Simpson and Good Charlotte.
Posted by: Grimmone at May 9, 2005 04:49 PM

I saw rock and roll’s better sounding cousins for free on the internets and they were called Uncle Tupelo and Son Volt.
Posted by: wunderdog at May 9, 2005 04:59 PM

I saw Rock ‘n Roll’s playist on iTunes, and it had a inexplicable emphasis on Dogstar.
Posted by: Topher at May 9, 2005 05:43 PM

i saw rock ‘n roll’s new decaf blend of new order extra-lite and its name is the killers espresso roast
Posted by: marsh at May 9, 2005 07:06 PM

i saw rock ‘n roll’s saviour and it is the internet
Posted by: mat coz at May 9, 2005 09:07 PM

i saw rock and rolls spandex and it’s name was Van Halen….too bad they were the fucking best.
Posted by: The Bird at May 11, 2005 12:27 PM

read the rest + why would shane deny this? + paige + raspil

recently won this years NBA Most Valuable Player award

a distinction that he totally earned despite the suprise that was his impressive season.

nash led the league in assists (861, nearly 200 more than the second place Stephon Marbury),

dropped a not-too-shabby 1165 points in the supercompetitive west,

and was the ringleader of the phoenix team that will probably win it all.

basically he took a lottery team and made them the best club in basketball in the old school showtime laker style while no-looking his way into the playoffs

and once and for all proved that dallas mavericks owner mark cuban really isnt any smarter than any other fantasy hoops gm who trades people to quickly and forgets how important defense is.

although jason terry is doing pretty well for dallas during the playoffs, the mavs could have used nash during the season and he will be the difference during this series versus his old team.

the other day, the bastardly made an excellent point of illustrating how rare its been for white men to achieve the nba mvp award.

dirk, peja, and manu better help nash savor this award because according to the list below, white men getting the nba mvp is getting harder to find than a blog sans ads.

2004 – Kevin Garnett – Brotha
2003 – Tim Duncan – Brotha
2002 – Tim Duncan – Brotha
2001 – Allen Iverson – Brotha
2000 – Shaquille O’Neal – Brotha
1999 – Karl Malone – Brotha
1998 – Michael Jordan – Brotha
1997 – Karl Malone – Brotha
1996 – Michael Jordan – Brotha
1995 – David Robinson – Brotha
1994 – Hakeem Olajuwon – Brotha
1993 – Charles Barkley – Brotha
1992 – Michael Jordan – Brotha
1991 – Michael Jordan – Brotha
1990 – Magic Johnson – Brotha
1989 – Magic Johnson – Brotha
1988 – Michael Jordan – Brotha
1987 – Magic Johnson – Brotha
1986 – Larry Bird – White Man
1985 – Larry Bird – White Man
1984 – Larry Bird – White Man

h/t gorilla mask + kitty bukkake + chelle is back + happy belated bday xiaxue

season finale
5/10/05
cbs

amazing.

last year they had us pulling for charla the dwarf, and this year they had us rooting both for and against survivors rob and amber.

as a proud black man, though, of course i was rooting for my people, who rob last night accurately called “the black couple”

which i agree is all they were until my brotha picked up the golf club(!) and chipped a ball 135 yards onto a green after just a few strokes.

their names are Uchenna and Joyce and because they lost the second to last leg, they had all their money and possessions taken away and these people had to beg for money in airports, and finally yards away from the finish line in order to win one of the most exciting races jerry bruckheimer has ever orchestrated.

it was the second time in a row that the black couple has won the globe trotting made for tv race

not that anyones counting.

rob and amber were excellent competitors, extremely cool under pressure, aware of the fact that they were despised by the other teams, but they just kissed and smiled as they worked every single angle in the one-of-a-kind game where the winning team wins a million dollars.

throughout the race, no matter what continent they were on, either “boston” rob or survivor champ amber brkich would get recognized by a local who would help them with directions or whom would sometimes ride along for long portions of the race.

although it was definately a brilliant move to have rob and amber in the game, and what luck was it to have them in their to root for all the way up until the end when it was impossible to root against uchenna and joyce agu. joyce cut off her long locks during one challenge and uchenna simply would not give up and begged men and women alike for money even when it looked dire. however, if it wasnt for a willing airline pilot who let the couple on the plane for the very last leg of the race, rob and amber would be a million dollars richer.

but the best part about this race was that with the lead with a few yards from the finish line uchenna and joyce realized that they didnt have enough money to pay the cab driver who took them to their final destination, which was in a park next to a luxury hotel.

instead of telling the cabbie “let me get back to you in 2 SECONDS after i win a million dollars” uchenna begged tourists and visitors for $20 each. even $10 will do he pleaded with fat izod wearing company men on vacation in their rental sedans. valueable time melted away as people declined handing over their “extra” money to these crazy bald black people who seemed nice but… had no money for some reason.

the taxi waited as the wife pleaded with her husband to simply cross the finish line but uchenna on principle was firm when he said, my man has to get paid.

i screamed, i laughed, i cried.

when people proudly say that they dont even have televisions, never mind watch reality tv, i pity the fools for missing real human dramas which sometimes… sometimes… show the humanity of the people even in the face of personal gain, even in the face of defeat.

marissa + perfect pear + black feminism dot org + lynne d johnson

today

clipper girl invited me to her house to do laundry last night which usually means that her roommate will cook for us and try to get me naked.

last night was no different.

before i knew it i was full of stirfry and only wearing some blue cloud pajama bottoms. there were coors light bottles half empty on the crystal coffee table and lingerie draped over the plasma screen tv. i didnt even know that the timberwolves game had gone into overtime until too late.

and then before you could say who put that in my drink i was passed out on the overstuffed chenille couch only aware of the giggling and the flash bulbs going off.

this morning i woke up in a far too sunny bedroom with tori amos playing on the imac. why is it that theres never enough blankets on girls’ beds? too many pillows and not enough blankie. she read my mind and esp’ed

must you always complain.

outside the gardeners were already trimming the trees and i thought i was late but she assured me that i wasnt. then i realized that it wasnt the same she who esp’ed me. it was a different she. a taller she. who are these people i thought. why do i have a headache again.

then i realized that while i slept i had had two dreams.

why was i dreaming? the xbi had stopped me from dreaming years ago, but all of a sudden i had begun those nocturnal lies again and it made me pissed off.

i hate dreams so much you have no idea.

you cant run from them, you cant fight them, you cant ignore them. they flash in your head at your most vulnerable state and take over your mind.

so not cool.

so not cool.

they ro-sham-bo’ed for the shower and giggled out of the room apparently compromising to take it together and before i could ask for someone to get me some orange juice i turned to the alarm clock and saw that not only was it earlier than i thought but there was a slice of wheat toast, buttered, with a small bite taken out of it sitting next to a tall glass of apple juice, my favorite.

and yes i dreaded going into the office and yes its true that in two weeks i will be celebrating my third year at the xbi, and yes i am in some ways the luckiest and unluckiest man in the world

but at that moment i had everything i wanted, toast, juice, peace, and quiet.

little did i know that there were imminent plans for me including much louder music, hand restraints, and two chocolate flavored condoms whose aroma was far too strong for such a hungover and sensitive morn.

fil + jaime + rev etienne + xTx

came over to my house last night.

yes, my house.

the one with the smile all over it when she left.

while she was there she hypnotized me with her voice and seduced me with her reverse psychiatry.

she held my hand and esped me through her pulse. it was like morse code in braile.

she pulled my shirt off over my head and led me into the smoking room and asked me to stand on my head for her and i said fine like the zombie i was.

she held my feet and rifled one question after another at me

why does the caged bird sing

what is the sound of one hand clapping

how many girls have you been with

why do some smart people vote for bush

then she asked me why i was going to sue my former company for money when my whole life ive never given a shit about money

i said principle.

she said but you gave up on idealism years ago.

it wasnt yet nightfall but the colors in the sky were all the good oranges and yellows and reds that youd ever wish for in a sunset which was ironic since we were now floating high above sunset blvd although i was still upside down and trying to keep my balance.

she said give to caesar whats caesars

i said but

she said there are many paths that you could have taken that lead you here, now there are many out. you are not a whiner, you are not a victim, you are not a suer. walk out of this darkness

and into the light.

and she kneed me in the nuts and i woke up startled with the phone ringing.

it was a different runway model telling me what a wonderful time she had with me last night and that i shouldnt worry, that everything was going to be fine, and to remember that she wants me. badly.

me, the one who never dreams. who, when caught dreaming damns the wicked spirits for taking advantage of a resting soul during its most vulnerable fooling the mind with lies and ridiculous fantasies.

and i tried to go back to sleep but the mailman knocked and wouldnt stop knocking.

when i opened the door i understood why, it was a barrell containing what appeared to be all of my blog, the busblog, but everything was printed out and red-penned

and graded.

never got good grades and nothings changed.

i stood there in my pajamas, my robe, and my pipe looking at the mailman like thanks for bumming out my morning, he tipped his pith hat and stuffed my neighbor’s boxes with the typical crap.

there was no way i was gonna get that barrell in my house. if it wasnt for the palm tree by the fence i would have just rolled the barrell off the porch and set it on fire.

right as the mailman left my yard he returned with a small manila envelope

on the return address it said

Heaven

inside the envelope were 111 pages. my age. the pages were stapled. there were no red pen markings on or around any of the words. there was a picture of karisa on the first page.

and on that first page was a post-it that said, make this a book and sell it and your dreams will come true.

and if its fake fake, im going to kill that fucking mailman.

just a girl has a new design + dirty fez + dougie gyro + franklin ave

make believe
geffen records

expectations are everything and when pinkerton came out many moons ago pop music turned its back on its most unlikely genius only to rediscover him when it was too late.

nobody ran out to buy the followup to the classic blue album, but after a few months we all realized its glittering wonderfulness and even if rivers doesnt consider it a masterpiece, everyone else does and thats all that matters, right?

apparently not if youre the guy who writes the songs.

make believe is just another in a growing line of the non blue album non pinkerton records by americas favorite nerds that reminds you why people get wedgies.

other than the cheesy single beverly hills, many of the tracks in the new record sound like typical post-pinkerton weezer: rivers singing little timid love songs of longing to girls who would probably do him if he just shut his damn mouth.

rivers has turned into such a fragile little boy that its almost as if he has bought into the clark kent myth forgetting that theres a superhero beneath those glasses.

make believe is so soft it makes the last cure record sound like metallica.

remind me not to let my rock idols take time off to go to harvard.

any classic weezer guitar solos? yes, one. on the ridiculous call-for-help frat anthem “we are all on drugs”.

did rick rubin lose all the good songs in his beard?

no, “hold me” is perfect for the thirteen year old cheerleader in your life who watches too much american idol and “freak me out” is proof that anyone could be the postal service.

weezer and rick rubin have made a record ideal for little girls while turning their backs on the young men of their audience. theres no in the garage, theres no dope nose, hell theres not even a love explosion. did rivers have a migrane when he recorded this?

bring back matt sharp and we can make believe this never happened.

vivian + zulieka + thursday night fever + what pitchfork said