it makes me a little nervous because i really don’t want to do it. shes got gorgeous eyes, juicy lips, dynamite body. booming system up top, in the back. boop, bop, bang. has a little latin flava to her with a perfect ass. white teeth. brains. fast car. a convertible. a good job. money. but shes the wrong astrological sign.

i know i know i know what youre going to say. youre going to call me gay. well, thats not very nice, because she has gay friends and they love her.

in my mind we’ve tried to make it work, and it didnt work. i dont remember the fights we would get in, but there were lots of them. way more than i had with ashley and im done dating her too. fights begat fights. happiness begat fights. maybe we were both too sensitive. im accepting some responsibility too, here. it take two to slam dance.

so she emailed me the other day and asked if i wanted to have drinks tonight and i said yes. how can you say no.

chris tricked me into a five year relationship with exactly that line a while back, but see, chris was the right sign for me.

sometimes i judge people like tom cruise and billy joel and rod stewart and mick jagger and i think how can those guys get rid of their terrific girlfriends and wives?

but living 108 years, going on 109, i have learned that not every hot chick who’s tons of fun and sexy and smart and creative and all the good things matches up with losers like me.

so im terribly afraid that tonight will end up in either another fight, or a wild romp that will lead to confusion, or just confusion or just fighting or something.

i dont see how it can be good.

but i am usually wrong about affairs of the heart.

and i am constantly pleasantly suprised by humanity and twists of fate or the grace of God, whichever you prefer. especially when the happy ending can result in a warm smile from a hot girl.

this is the toughest trial in my trivial life today. that, and finding a blank tape for Survivor tonight.

what would you like to see in upcoming posts of the busblog?

these people knew the answers. i didn’t say anything. they didn’t say anything. coffee was poured. there was a knock at the door, a limp nervous knock. someone found a black magic marker, dug a used envelope out of the small waste basket and scribbled DO NOT FUCKING DISTURB, opened the door and when the young man who had been knocking began explaining what he wanted, the older man said hold this and handed him the envelope and said stand right there, and slammed the door.

la vista, we like your work, we like your work ethic but you’re losing a step on pursuits, and you’ve become more reckless than we feel comfortable. the gray haired man said.

your vest, agent, is part of your uniform. we have invested in you and we like to protect our investments, another gray haired man said.

i respected both of these men. they were mans men. they fought in war. hand to hand. joined the agency before it was trendy. fought crime for the right reasons. did it all by the book. they were the conscious and the backbone of the renegade xbi. they didn’t take shit from wildcard young agents like me. but i could see that they really did like me, so i wasn’t afraid i would be fired, which was good because i had my eye on a dispatcher i had never noticed before.

we’re going to re-assign you to chopper one. you’re going to learn how to fly a black copter. you will be our eye in the sky. you will be an important part of our work.

it also meant i would have to turn over my gun.

most agents considered this demasculinzation. i didn’t. chop lil sonny off and i’d feel demasculinized, but a gun? you can have it.

chopper one was the best flying vehicle in the agency. it was fast, stealth and completely silent. it was a marvel of engineering and tax dollars. the navy had originally designed it but scrapped it. the xbi tweaked it and made it theres.

we’re counting on you to make this a smooth transition, they said.

i handed them my gun.

they handed me a bag of money and the keys to chopper one.

k-i-s-s-i-n-g. she wishes. listening to the new nirvana song. their songs depress me, but that one depresses me for all new reasons.

the wind shoved the leaves around a little and brittany tapped my knee quickly and said happy things sweetie, teeth grinding, mild perspiration forming as a light coat on the surface of her skin.

talk about love. sweet love. love between two people on a starry night in the valley on the hood of a car in the parking lot of a super k after a softball game.

i said i love you brittany because you’re not ashamed to give it up to papa roach.

she laughed.

her eyes were dilating.

she said, i love you because you turned me on to that las ketchup video.

across the street a white ford taurus backed out of a driveway. an american flag hung next to the mailbox of the yellow ranch style home. it was a pretty good neighborhood. hardly anyone was out.

real love though tony, lets talk about real love. not music. magic love. lovey dove love. the kind dreams are made of.

the kind that would get me to eat onions right now or listen to dave matthews?

without warning, the sprinklers kicked in atop the front lawn next door, startling the starlet.

a coyote howled of thirst in the canyon.

a neighbor slammed his bedroom window shut.

yes, she said, onion love. dmb love. lovey luv, she said into my ear softly and nibbled there like she had nibbled on an ear a few times in her day.

the wind blew some of the sprinkler water high into the tree where we were and we decided that we should climb back down and get into her car.

but the tree was fun. and now the limbs were slippery and the grass was wet.

lets stay in this tree forever she said and i said fine and we held hands and looked through the branches at the moon.

the whooshing had mellowed and the coyote had been silenced and everything was nice as the tree swayed gently in the night.

then a bedroom window became unlatched and it slid up and an accusing voice yelled, “and get the fuck out of my tree!”

startling the superfreaks.

“now!”

and the window was slammed and we jumped into the wet grass and the flight seemed long and slow and wonderful.

even though it was fleeting

like love, true love, on such a winters day.

every now and then because she doesnt get mtv so last night we were watching FM Nation which is one of mtvs new shows and it was pretty horrible but we stayed glued cuz, well, there aint that much else on tv.

i’d like to hold hands with her but it never feels that comfortable. sometimes she puts her head on my shoulder or on my lap but that doesnt really do it either. sometimes it does but not all the time.

we’ll order chinese or fix something on the george foreman grill or what have you and drink wine and maybe kiss goodnight which is what we did last night and she told me that i could have anything i wanted at any time. i told her she was drunk. she said no. that i was listening to the devil part of my brain too much, the part that i had told her about the part that says youre not good enough, that youre too this or not enough that.

i said i want to have a cheerleader girl who i will feel comfortable holding hands with.

she said no you dont.

i said of course i do, doesnt everyone.

shes got pretty good esp that i can pick up from time to time what have you and she just esped that for some reason i feel good about our relationship and so does whoever makes sure that these things happen. theres a reason for everything and theres a reason that certain things feel right and other things dont.

she said, who do you think of when you write your poems.

i told her i dont write poems any more.

she said, fine, who do you think of when you write on the internet.

i esped you.

she smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

it’s not a game. it’s totally cool. i have a landlady who’s 91 who lives in the upstairs corner apartment and sees all the people who come in and out of my apartment and sometimes she will call me right when my night is done. sometimes she can see me walk someone out and skip back and sometimes she can see me not walk someone out but stand in the doorway. and sometimes she can see me walk someone out and not come back for a little while and then float back.

she’ll say its none of her business but… then she’ll ask me who i like the best. and i tell her i like the ones who treat me the best the best.

she says, you mean the ones who cook for you? i say no. she says, you mean the ones who kiss you, i say no.

91 and you dont know what being treated nicely means?

she says she hadnt been treated very nice for much of her life.

then she says that im the nicest person shes ever met and that makes me feel pretty crappy cuz im not all that nice to her other than taking her calls now and then.

cheerleader girl called me up today at the office. too many people called me here today.

she said i liked your blog today.

i said how come?

she said cuz when i looked at it i could see you. you were out there.

then she said if anyone ever treats you bad, walk away and dont ever let them back and that goes for me too.

and then she said something that made me laugh and then she was gone and i was alone at my desk that wont be mine in a few more days and i thought about what i was going to have for dinner.

Just plug me in just like I was eddie harris

You’re eating crazy cheese like you’d think i’m from paris

You know I get fly you know I get high

You know that i’m gone and i’m a tell you all why

So tell me who are you dissing maybe i’m missing

The reason that i’m smiling or wilding so listen

In my head I just want to take ’em down

Imagination set loose and i’m gonna shake ’em down

Let it flow like a mud slide

When I get on I like to ride and glide

I’ve got depth of perception in my text y’all

I get props at my mention ’cause I vex y’all

So what’cha want

You’re so funny with the money that you flaunt

Where’d you get your information from

You think that you can front when revelation comes

You can’t front on that

Well they call me mike d. the ever loving man

I’m like spoonie g., i’m the metropolitician

You scream and you holler about my chevy impala

But the sweat is getting wet around the ring around your collar

But like a dream i’m flowing without no stopping

Sweeter than a cherry pie with ready whip topping

Goin’ from mic to mic kickin’ it wall to wall

I’ll be calling out you people like a casting call

It’s wack when you’re jacked in the back of a ride

With your know with your flow when you’re out getting by

Believe me what you see is what you get

And you see me coming off as you can bet

I think i’m losing my mind this time

This time i’m losing my mind

You can’t front on that

But little do you know about something that I talk about

I’m tired of driving it’s due time that I walk about

But in the meantime, i’m wise to the demise

I’ve got eyes in the back of my head so I realize

Well i’m dr. spock i’m here to rock y’all

I want you off the wall if you’re playing this wall

So what’cha want

Y’all suckers write me checks and then they bounce

So I reach into my pocket for the fresh amount

See i’m the long leaner

Victor the cleaner

I’m the illest motherfucker from here to gardena

I’m as cool as a cucumber in a bowl of green jalapeno hot sauce

You’ve got the rhyme and reason but no cause

So if you’re hot to trot you think you’re slicker than grease

I’ve got news for you crews you’ll be sucking like a leech

You can’t front on that

So what’cha want

i don’t know why. i don’t return her calls. i don’t hang out with her when she goes to catalina or when she gets spanked on the strip. still she’s nice and today on her blog of meeshness she makes a list and wonders what i would like for my birthday. so here’s my list.

1. i want to make out with thirty six girls. why thirty six? because 109 seems unattainable.

2. i want one of the girls to be britney murphy right after she doses my madras.

3. i would like chocolate creme pie.

4. i would like george w. bush to admit that so far he’s fucked up royally.

5. i would like kitty bukakke’s book.

6. i would like all the children of the world to go to bed with food in their bellies.

7. i would like the cubs to offer their available managerial position to either dusty or lou.

8. i would like to kiss a girl with a tongue pierce.

9. i would like to feel a fake boob.

10. the foo fighters are playing at the wiltern. i wouldn’t mind seeing them.

11. i would prefer to see tsar, my favorite band, but i think they’re booked at the .

12. i would like the people who i sent my proposal to to at least tell me that it’s an interesting idea.

13. i would like to get a job where i can blog professionally.

14. i would like everyone who reads my blog on my birthday to either say something nice in a specially designed post, or flow me $2.

15. i would like to teach the world to sing.

16. i would like to eat chicken and ribs with my best friend chris who i adore.

17. i would like to get the next day off of work.

18. i would like to get to see all of my friends who i love very much and get a baseball autographed by them.

19. i would like to see all the prisoners in the california corrections system for non-violent drug related crimes to be set free if they promise not to not hurt anyone ever again.

20. i would like no one to die of AIDS on my birthday.

21. i would like everyone to understand the words that are coming out of my mouth the way that i intend them to be heard.

22. i would like my mom to sing happy birthday on my answering machine like she does every year.

23. i would like britney murphy to sing happy birthday to me as she crawls around my hard wood floors.

24. i would like the entire Internet to link to my page and not for anna but because i rock so damn hard.

25. i would like flagrant to mail me an autographed self portrait suitable for framing.

26. i would like moxie to let me drive her porsche around the block, if you know what i mean.

27. i would like someone to buy me something off my wishlist. why? because if i was a cam girl you would.

28. i would like 36 cam girls to link me on their pages. why 36? because 109 is insane.

29. i would like for bill clinton to shake my hand and call me a stud.

30. i would like for al sharpton to not run for president.

31. i would like to have a fish taco in isla vista… off the flat belly of meesh.

32. i would like to drink so much i puke.

33. i would like to hold britney murphy’s hair as she pukes.

34. i would like for Tsar to come out with a special EP where they cover that Smells Like Teen Spirit / Bootylicious mix of nirvana and destiny’s child and list me as executive producer even though i didn’t do shit.

35. i would like all the fly bitches to know my name.

36. i would like everyone who does not already own it, to order Tsar’s cd on my birthday because they really do kick ass, and that would mean a lot more to me than world peace or 36 hummers or me getting a bamboo rice warmer.

and if i could only get one of these things, i would just like to have you, whoever you are, to just be a loyal reader and satisfied with my nonsensenesses.

ive loved her since “Beetlejuice.” who doesn’t love the dark sad goth girls who pout and write poetry and wait for death?

i don’t care who she has gone to bed with, i don’t care what rock bands she’s ruined, i don’t care how many yawner films she’s made, i don’t care if she stole the entire saks fifth avenue, but i am a little saddened that she shops there. i always thought she was a bit more hip.

but i do care that she seems to have the worst advisors around her.

first of all, what the fuck is happening that we are still mired in this court case? i have yet to see any film footage of her putting things into a bag and walking off.

but i do see a bag in her hand this morning as she is walking in the courtroom, and i know the jury isn’t there, but if i was her lawyer i would tell winona that i never want to see a bag or purse or anything larger than my phone number in her hand until after the case is over.

are there no brothas on her defense team?

Black people know about going into a store and having all eyes on you as you shop. what you do is you keep your hands where everyone can see them, you carry a basket, you don’t ever reach in your pockets unless you are about to pull out your wallet and you do not go anywhere with a huge bag unless you want people to assume that you’re putting things in it.

ashley has her good and bad points and i love how affectionate she can be but she loves to hug me while we’re grocery shopping and i have to keep reminding her that if i was suspicious of anyone it would be of two people hugging in the cereal aisle. couldn’t be an easier way to slip something down the back of someone’s loose trousers than during a warm embrace.

we all are hoping that winona is innocent. and right now i think most people think she didn’t do it. but there is that shadow of a doubt that is looming right next to her and what she needs to do is lose that huge fucking bag and never be seen with one again until this case is dismissed.

she doesnt need a purse in court. if she wants to carry a little compact, put it in a blazer pocket right next to the lipstick. let the lawyers carry everything else in their briefcase even though they should be the ones accused of theft since they’re obviously keeping this trial going so that they stay in the public eye and keep racking up billable hours.

so since you’re paying them, honey, have them lug your shit around.

thank you very much, that will be twelve thousand dollars.

all the girlies want to be with him. not only is he handsome, but he plays that guitar so well, and he has those big arms, and dresses so great, and talks so cool.

but the one thing that he has brought to us is the afro wig.

so kind of him.

when my fro finally goes, just watch me bust with the kravitz wig and stand back cuz the ladies will bum rush and make a terrible scene.

i sorta wish old lenny was here right now, i would ask him not about fashion or wigs or guitar playing, but women.

i would ask him how could it be that one day you could make sweet love to a girl so intense and spectacular that the neighbors could very easily think that the girl is being murdered, and then the next day she gets on her computer and writes about some other guy, and then the day after that she writes about that other guy again, and not about you.

i would ask him if he thought that it meant what you thought it meant, that she should just spend the next little while with who she is obviously pre-occupied with.

i would ask him if he thought it might just be better if she fucked off.

i wonder how many times lenny could be dissed in such a way until he just stopped returning the girl’s calls, changed the locks, and got on with living the life that he should be pursing: chasing girls who liked him the best.

im sure he would tell me that it doesn’t matter how good you took care of a girl, or what you did to her physically, repeatedly, magically, or what sorts of things you bought her, or made for her, or even the things that you didn’t do so that she would feel better about herself, that some girls are just completely clueless and need a gigantic smack across the face (figuratively, psychos) and maybe a year of complete silence.

or maybe ten years.

i bet lenny would write a bad song about it and sell it to a car company and then go have a drink with slash at the rainbow and play ms. pacman.

the park used to be called Weeghman Park, named after the owner who bought the team in 1913 and moved them to clark and addison after the cubs played for 23 years at West Side Grounds. in 1920 the Wrigley chewing gum family bought the team and renamed the field Cubs Park.

in 1932 both Weeghman and cubs owner William Wrigley passed away. the park had been named Wrigley Field since ’27 and the Cubs were a very competitive team in those days.

the only problem was that Babe Ruth was also playing in 1932 for the new york yankees. in ’31 he hit a cool .373 with 46 homers, and in ’32 he slipped a little, averaging only .341 with 41 homers and 120 ribbies. it would be his last monster season. in ’33 he would barely hit .300, in ’34 he dropped to .288 and in ’35 he would be booted off the bombers unceremoniously after completely changing the face of baseball.

but despite all the records as a hitter, and all the amazing stats as a pitcher (23 wins in 1916 and 24 wins in 1917), the most impressive feat of all has to be his called home run in the fifth inning of the third game of the 1932 world series against the chicago cubs at wrigley field off Charlie Root.

wrigley field wasnt the generous hitters park that you’d think back then. in ’32, their best slugger Johnny Moore only belted 13 homers which led the team. Root had only given up 10 homers the entire season.

a career 200 game winner, Root was wearing #12 on his back for one of the first times in his career. the Cubs in ’32 were the last team to adopt numbers on their uniforms. some would say it was because of the influence of newly hired Bill Veeck who would eventually put ivy on the outfield walls.

in the first inning of the game 33 year old #12 found himself with two men on and big fat #3 up. #3 knocked one over waveland for a three run dinger..

in the fifth inning with the score tied at 4, the fans booed ruth so hard that even the cubs bench joined in and witnesses say that the ruckus made it hard for the bambino to be heard as he shouted to the home team’s bench at the friendly confines.

some say he was informing the cubs that he was about to do something that barry bonds should do if he finally wants us to respect him.

some say babe ruth took two called strikes and then told the cubs that he was going to hit a home run to deep center field right there in the third game of the world series.

on the very next pitch babe ruth hit a homer in extremely deep center field right there in the third game of the world series.

some say Ruth hit the scoreboard in centerfield where he had just pointed, but it’s not true, Veeck wouldnt create the famous scoreboard until five years later, in 1937.

but it is true that cubs fans spit on ruth and his wife the night before his famous called shot as they entered their hotel. which should be a lesson to all of us.

don’t mess with a show off in front of his true love right before he has a good chance to show off.

too bad barry bonds isnt a show off when it matters.

too bad barry bonds doesnt have any respect for baseball history and what went down 70 years ago.

too bad barry bonds doesnt have what it takes to point to those ridiculous exploding mountains of turd in left center of Edison Field in anaheim.

too bad barry bonds would probably get anxious and pull it foul.

Root, nicknamed Chinski because he liked to throw at batters’ heads, said that the Babe never pointed to center or he would have thrown the next pitch at Ruth’s head. ruth said that root had turned around while he called the shot and never saw the dis in the making.