she called me last night before i got to bed. it was noon in russia. she was upset that she had confused myelin’s blogging ecosphere with the truth laid bear’s blogosphere ecosphere. i told her it was cool. she said no, that she was really really sorry and wanted to make it up to me.

i told her that we all make mistakes. i told her to work on her backhand.

she said, but the NZ Bear has got NZ in it and the other guy has NZ in his url.

i said, chill, ruskie. then she started crying. then she told me it might be her pms.

i said i hope it was pms. we had a little close call with a romp that led to a condom being broken.

she said she was sure she wasnt pregnant.

i asked, how can you tell?

she said, if i had a little tony baby in me, i would know right away.

i told her that i was flipping through Redbook and i leaned all these great things about the new IUDs out there. and one you dont have to fuss with for FIVE years.

she asked me to change the subject.

so i told her that i watched the new Real World and it’s my favorite porn series ever.

then she said she loved me.

it was the first time she’d ever said that. other than when we were fighting.

i said, i love ya too.

she said, ya?

then i got a beep on my call waiting. and she said, never mind. i gotta go.

which was great cuz i was sleeeep – eeee.

history as strong as the tradewinds that cool off the tourists as they bake. once known as the alcatraz of the carribian and the home of the largest prison in south america, local legend has it that if you trap one of the adult iguanas you’ll get three wishes if you agree to let it go…

i’ll give you three wishes if you let me go.

no one is imprisoning you.

i know, but you look like a nice fellow.

no, thanks, my life is fine, i said. and went back to reading white oleander. damn good book.

anything you want. do do do. no strings attached.

move along, reptile. im on vacation. no talking to things that dont really talk right now.

i used to be a prisoner on this island. i can talk.

i want the cubs to win the world series. i want president bush to resign. i want tsar to play on my birthday.

first of all, the cubs arent even in the playoffs. secondly, i cannot influence world politics. and thirdly, tsar is in the studio making a new record for your ass. pick three new ones.

lousy lizard.

come on. most people think this is fun.

i would like some more girth in my manhood.

no you dont.

sure i do.

size doesnt matter. ask for something else.

i would like you to leave me alone.

i will after you wish for two more things.

you’re taking a wish away from me?

i’m not taking. im granting. two more now, tony

you know my name?

of course. just cuz im an iguana doesnt mean im a dumb schmoe.

for a magic talking iguana, you’re sorta boring.

come on, dont you want a new job or anything?

ok, yes, i’d like a new job. something creative. where i’m loved by millions and i dont have to carry a gun any more.

great. before christmas you’ll have a new job.

really.

yup.

wow.

yep. now ask for another.

i want a bunch of girls to tell me im a great writer and then kiss me.

what if some of them used to be men?

no, thank you.

what if some of them have little moustashes?

whatever.

what if some of them have little beards

now youre pushing it. what about some pretty girls?

okay tony. your wishes have been granted. now kiss me and they’ll come true.

and i kissed the iguana and he turned into a mermaid and jumped in the sea and swam off into the sunset.

returned to her winning ways today in moscow, putting away Switzerland’s Marie-Gaianah Mikaelian 6-4, 6-3 as easy as knocking back a shot of vodka.

the russian beauty advanced in the Kremlin Cup to rousing applause and bouquets of flowers.

“tennis smennish,” the 21-year-old hearthrob said in her post-match press conference. “all i want to know is what the fuck is Adam Curry doing at #34 in the Truth Laid Bear’s blogosphere, when my sweet lovable tony is lost in the pack at #108!”

the sensuous athlete known for her provacative outfits was complaining about the informal rankings of web blogs put together by N.Z. Bear who lists sites by how many other sites on the list link each other. sources say it’s very complicated.

“it’s not complicated at all!” kournikova complained, dabbing a glistening rivulet of perspiration from her brow with her baby blue Adidas hand towel. “i would like to see this happen. i would like to see all the people on the blogosphere who are not linking the busblog begin linking immediately. im sure tony will return the favor.”

the tennis star reeled off a short list of sites that she said she would like very much to have links to pierce’s site. and with each name she pounded her fist on the table.

“first, i think there should be a link from Uppity Negro, obviously. and Tonecluster!

the star went on, and on and was dragged from the conference shouting. “Compete with Curry!”

hi carpal tunnel in my hands and arms.

how was your vacation?

great, how was yours?

it was cool. even dibilitating illnesses like breaks. i’m glad youre back and writing and working again, though.

i bet.

can i ask you a few questions?

shoot.

what’s up with your Hotmail address?

im not looking at the heytony@hotmail.com one any more, im only looking at the xxxtonyxxx at hotmail one.

too much spam?

i used to drink a shot of rum every time i got a penis enlargement email, my liver is forcing me to quit that game.

ah, okay. now, anna is having a hard time getting Tsar to play for your birthday. i might be able to get some Dylan tickets at the Wiltern, wanna go?

nah, i think i’d rather see Tsar.

i thought you loved Bob Dylan!

i do, but if given the choice, i’d rather see Tsar.

you’re crazy, man. Dylan at the newly renovated Wiltern? Thats gonna be a great gig.

what part of Tsar is my favorite band dont you understand?

why dont you hit up the skinny model chick for some tickets to the Stones at Staples on Halloween?

i love her blog, but i would rather see Tsar. i think she’d rather see them too.

but she’s so connected! i bet she could get you backstage. maybe even meet Mick.

yeah. that would be nice. but i would rather hang out with my friends at Spaceland, and hear the new tunes, and the old tunes of the best band in America. maybe they would wear costumes or something.

like afros?

no, like real costumes. maybe if they all wore dresses like the stones did on that one album where they all looked like ugly women.

Some Girls?

yeah.

i hate to break it to you, tone dog, but i think it’s over for Tsar. you can’t even get their cds at Amazon any more.

f amazon. people should buy cds at independent record stores, not huge online conglomerates.

whatever you say, hippie.

ok, im gonna go finish my danish and get to work now.

great, i’ll be here rooting you on.

thanks, carpal tunnel. who’s gonna win this Angels game tonight?

shit, that’s tonight?

five o’clock.

the angels own the yankees. i say they win by 4.

i’m with you.

au contraire, im with you, senior.

uh huh, yeah. whatever.

just you, anna.

i know, but i cant be there, im sorry.

teenage runaway catholic girl skirted twins, then.

but i got you that last year.

whoops. forgot. how about world peace?

ha ha! not likely, gandhi

ok, then i would like Tsar to play, please.

hmmm. i dont know if i can get that together.

i trust you, i think you can.

people didnt even notice that i didnt play any tennis while you were on vacation with your “family.”

crazy. you’d think that people would pay more attention to things like that.

i guess they’re too caught up in their own lives.

is that why the so-called liberal media lets Bush get away with our economy plummeting, and the terrorists winning, and corporate fraud, and …

look at your comments, tony, people don’t come here to hear you be right about politics.

oh.

they come here for the song lyrics.

no they don’t.

i know. so why do you post them, then?

so you’d know what to sing to me as i fall asleep.

put some beastie boys up there then.

ok. maybe later in the week.

are you glad to be back at work?

im glad to be fighting crime again. sure. it’s nice to feel needed.

i noticed something today that i thought was funny. this is the last month that you’ll be 108 years old, and lookit, youre #108 on the blogging ecosystem.

ok, for my birthday i would like to be a little more popular than that.

thats not so easy. you’ll have to kiss a lot of asses. and write better too.

guess im shit outta luck.

look at the company you’re in with though, kausfiles is sponsored by MSN/Slate, Jarvis created Entertainment Weekly. you havent done squat compared to those guys.

adam curry is #34, anna.

thats fucked up, love.

tell me about it.

i had a nice week with you, tony.

shhhhhhhhh.

i mean, i missed you while you were away, tony

i missed you too anna. i thought about you every day. and every single lonesome night.

Hollywood Records

“Teen Wizards”

Teen wizards on your street,

the grown ups get so high.

They chain their children�s hearts into the sky.

Let�s jam the jukebox, babe,

the fuckers will shine on�.

oh, hi.

and everybody everywhere,

is shooting off their air-to-air.

To release the silent prisoner.

Teen Wizards

of tomorrow,

Rock city

on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

When the sun is burning on and on,

For your will…

Do what you wanna do,

right now

little angels, pretty girls

on and on,

having sex

on the sun.

the air is calling you.

Super, super, Super child�.

Hey yo, superfried.

Got the juice

and don’t ever lose it,

a time to control,

your rotton soul.

Yeah!

Stand up and face the sun.

You ain�t the only one.

No, you ain�t the only one.

Oh,

Teen Wizards of tomorrow,

Rock city

on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

then when the Earth is turning on and on,

to your will.

Yeah!�����..Yeah!

Teen Wizards of tomorrow,

Rock city on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

When the skin is burning in the sun,

The silence will load the gun,

the violence is the future son.

And it�s you,

I feel it�s true

When I see you,

I get shot through!

about the fact that Bush knew and the FBI knew about 9/11 before 9/11, and with enron and global crossings, and martha stewart, and allen greenspan getting knighted by the queen of england despite the fact that the economy lost several trillion dollars under his watch, that Bill O’Reilly would have bigger fish to fry than to get his panites in a bunch over hip hop artists trying to make them ends; but surprise, the rich, white conservative talk show host wants to try to put Snoop Dogg and Ludacris out of work because companies like Pepsi and the Muppets think their brands would benefit from a relationship with the rappers, than, say, with the racist behind the “Factor.”

click over to G. Beato on Soundbitten who defends the d-o double g and ludacris the way o’reilly wish he could have approached it: with intelligence, facts, history and a tad less hysteria.

o’reilly’s rant lost ludacris a gig, and im sure snoop dogg wont be getting a seasame street walk-on spot now that the nervous nellies who jump when the Factor tells them how high have been tounge-lashed, but my question is, wouldnt bill rather have these men employed? guys like him always bitch when they see a Black man getting a welfare check, or caught on “Cops” with his shirt off getting cuffed on his front porch as a pit bull barks and a baby cries. are ratings really worth the fact that perfectly good entertainers are losing gigs because o’reilly would rather walk in the predictable shoes of Pat Buchannan and bitch every time a rapper gets paid by someone other than a white suburban teen?

is it really that outrageous to think that Pepsi would want to seem a little cooler than Coke by hiring Ludacris? or is it more outrageous to think that our government knew full well that Bin Laden did have a history of fucking with planes, and had a hard-on for the world trade center, and liked to target civilian locales, and the fbi got an email from an agent months before the attack which pondered why so many young saudis were learning how to fly airplanes in america.

do the polls work yet in florida, o’reilly? are snoop dogg’s part time acting roles more important to you than the idea of americans going to the polls but not having their votes count? how do you feel about the fact that you can buy a share of stock of Sun Micro for less than $3 a share? dont you think that that is more troubling than a movie starring the muppets?

the priorities of the Factor are mighty transparent. keep the brothers down. defend the right wing no matter how Huge they fuck up. ignore the real financial, political, and cultural disasters. focus on rappers with funny names and lyrics that you’ve never really listened to other than to scan for obscenities.

The O’Reilly Factor: the #1 primetime cable news show. nice. fucking. job. america.

jetting from miami to LAX thinking about how red meat doesn’t agree with me any more. thinking about how i don’t like hugh grant and i really don’t like him when he’s really good in really good movies like “about a boy.” i was doing my best to resist the luxury the rich have become used to. i was trying to keep it real.

the blonde stewardess had a bottle of red in one hand and a bottle of white in the other. i was chewing on a mouthful of spinach salad and buttering my warm sourdough roll and i nodded towards the red.

i wasn’t keeping shit real.

i did have surfer shorts on, an ac/dc tshirt, marilyn manson on the mp3 cd player that my good buddy got me off my wishlist last year. but i was laughing at a film produced by the makers of bridget jones diary and about to dive back into a novel i was totally loving from the oprah book club.

i knew things were really bad when i couldn’t keep my eyes off the clouds.

they were amazing. i wasn’t on drugs. i wasn’t in love. i wasn’t emotional in any way, i was entranced by them. they were like rockstars up there, i couldn’t keep my eyes off of them and i couldn’t believe i was so close to them. i was in the front row, i was backstage, i was on stage.

they were great flying over texas, they were great over new mexico. there weren’t any in palm springs but they were creeping that way and they covered the entire LA basin and as we made our descent they were like snow that had been skied over by thousands of vacationers. they were still. they were stoic. they had stories to tell about their creation. they were going somewhere. they were covering a news story. they were peeking at our lives.

over miami they stole the sun and sifted the rays. in la they were the sunscreen. spf 75. in aruba they simply provided sunshowers, tears from the gods who had no beachtowels.

it made me want to be a pilot. but only on cloudy days.

this is the busblog and i wouldn’t be totally honest if i didn’t reveal that when i changed trains today at wilshire and vermont i took the wrong train for the first time in over a year. i took the train that wasn’t going to take me to work, but take me back home, where the gorgeous twenty year old was snoozing in my bed, hopefully dreaming of nice things instead of allowing the demons to whisper silly lies in her dreams.

i don’t deserve any of the good that comes my way. for the record. i don’t deserve the incredibly delicious wine flavored au jus on my steak or the leather recliner or blonde stewardesses or the island girls, or the vacations, or the attentions, or the friends who pick me up at the airport, or the ones who call me upon arrival, or the raiders kicking ass, or you, or this, or that.

but i will take it and i will appreciate it.

and i will do my best not to lie so much the rest of this year.

i stole an LA Times today from a machine and i don’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

hi! yes, i know that more than america reads this crazy little page but i guess i’m just happy to be in america. the beautiful. the wonderful. the muggy. the uptight. the airport-freaked-out.

this morning i woke up in a tropical paradise, this afternoon i write you from the luxury of a swivel leather chair from the admiral’s club in the american airlines wing of miami international where they dont have any free snacks but they have $3.25 sam adams’s and cute little ibm computers for those of us without laptops.

hi!

have you missed me? doubt it. ive missed you. ive missed writing. ive missed being narcisistic and pondering my bellybutton. ive missed typing and typing and writing and writing and having some closet queen tell me that i misspelled something. ive missed a lot but most of all ive missed you, sweet blog.

i’ve missed you too, tony

everyone told me to have a good time in aruba and for the most part i did. i learned about a lot of things: about our bodies, our selves, about relaxation, and family, about babies and grandparents, aging, death, sex, pinball.

mostly ive learned what i already known, im not someone who can really appreciate a beach side cabana unless its shared with a seniorita who thinks im top of the pops. dont get me wrong, there is something to be said of dark brown skinned sisters who try to outdo themselves to the latest dance crazes and theres something to be said about watercolor worthy sunsets and bottomless margueritas, and there is certainly something to be said about nearly-passed out pot-pushers who lean against a shack and proudly proclaim, “marijuana, hash, exctasy. i am a drug dealer!” as your mother and your sister and your brother in law look away and try to ignore the dreadlocked fellow. but there needs to be said something more about relaxation.

i completely relaxed for about 25 minutes the whole trip.

i read about 50 pages of the highly recommended “white oleander”.

i watched about 5 hours of television, and only fiddled on the internet for about 65 minutes. i drank, i didnt smoke, i lusted, i didnt fornicate. i did all the things that i figured i would do, except one thing: i didnt kiss an aruban girl.

they were all too young.

this happened to me a long time ago in san felipe in mexico in ’98. me and my pals joe and mike roadtripped down there and the only attractive women were married or had children under their arms. in situations like those you lower your requirements and you look at a 16 year old girl and you try to rationalize and then you shake your head and get back with the program.

there were pretty girls on the island, dont get me wrong, but they were on their honeymoons. or they were in high school. or they were trying to compete with their sisters. it was all very confusing.

food also confused me. the older i get the more people want to educate me about what i eat. i dont like this. i dont think i eat all that much and now that my metabolism is sinking i want to lose the small spare tire that i am developing so people are telling me about the Atkins diet where you dont eat carbs. until this trip i didnt really know what carbs were. turns out carbs are my favorite things to eat. i love bread and pasta and all those things and i refuse to give them up. but then i saw the parade of others who didnt want to give this up or that up on the beach… half dressed… walking with their lovers who have never given up anything and it made me curious.

what would i look like if i even tried to look decent?

i also noticed tattoos. most people have terrible tattoos. most people dont know a good tattoo if it bit them on the ankle, which is what a lot of these peices of permanent art looked like: mistakes, accidents, crap stuck on that should be peeled off because its so out of place and so worthless that the guy who burned it on should be forced to rub it off. it made me happy that i had no tattoo.

finally i considered the hair on the backs of men. (shut up.)

applying the manditory suntan oil i discovered the i had hair on my back. not a lot but some. more than i want. more than i expected. at first i was repulsed. hair! on my back! the sin of all sins, ive been told. but the more i saw others the more i realized that pretty much most men with hair on their fronts have hair on their backs. so i chilled out and had another sip of rum. i worked out three times out of six days. i ran a few miles. i didnt eat too crazy. i danced a little. i swam some. but will i shave my back for a hottie? lets hope not.

all in all it was a splendid adventure on a misfortunate rock in the ocean. one of the least beautiful places with one of the more wonderful beaches you’ll ever find.

flying first class the whole way, being stoked with accomidations and extravagances like this “club” that has showers and meeting rooms and kids rooms and computers, is pretty sweet, people. the rich do know how to live. now all i have to find out is why their ATM wont give me $40 so i can get a few more round of drinks.

but no matter. i understand there might be some carbs in my sam adams.

whatev.

its good to be back in the states.

where i belong.

with you.