finally summer has come to los angeles, finally i could open up the french doors in the sitting room and let the cool breeze from the veranda ease into the master bedroom.

woke up at sunrise and soaked in the tub listening to the green album, sampling the new flavor of cap’n crunch (chocolate donuts) and read the new playboy.

strolled down to the subway station, rode it to wilshire vermont and the connecting train wasnt there so i walked the stairs up to the surface to see my newly restored escalator and there it was working right, all happy. strangely all the other escalators were stopped. at the bottom of each escalator there is a latch that has a key hole which i assume can only be opened with a key, but the latches from all the stopped escalators were opened– something seems fishy.

if the mta is trying to save money by intentionally stopping escalators, they should find new ways for revenue, because at 8am, many of the people who are using these escalators are not as fit as me, and im 108 years old.

and i could kick your ass.

shaq kicked some ass last night, and it looks like my predicted sweep will come easier than originally stated. the nets looked like a bunch of ugly girls out there. the lakers looked like a bunch of guys who had just climbed mt. everest and were now snowboarding down the other side.

did i see slava medvedenko getting in on the action last night?

yeah, the nets are history.

i guess the real finals were held in sacto last week.

so i take the bus down wilshire and there seems to be a lot of traffic on wilshire this morning and i wondered why all the cars dont go around the traffic by using side streets but then i remember that people are idiots in the morning which is why Rick Dees has been able to be gainfully employed for the last quarter century.

as we approach the offending traffic clogger, we see that its because there is a convoy of dump trucks in the far right lane. the lane that is supposed to be clear during rush hour traffic hours of 7-9 and 4-6. but someone has greased the palm of a city big wig and the dump trucks cause enough troubles that traffic is damn near stopped for a good two miles on the wilshire corridor just east of koreatown.

its a dump truck parade.

its a dump truck convention.

its a bunch of burley mexican guys in their dump trucks with their radios on listening to that ridiculous banda “music” drinking their coffee wondering which cowboy hat theyre going to wear to the taqueria after work.

already picked out which belt buckle.

hates hates.

nearly as much as soccer fans hate it when someone who does know soccer puts it into its place.

she floods my inbox with pictures and letters and notes and whines and pleas and loves and hates.

she says this cuban embargo of pictures on my blog but none of her is ridiculous and some may agree with her. im still undecided.

ashley went to the beach yesterday and got a little suntan and came home and took pictures of herself for me and sent them and said, tony, if you love me you will put these on your page.

and i said, ashley, a man can love things and not put them on his blog. its just a blog.

she said, tony. i said, ashley. she said, i mean it. i said, i dont care what you mean. she said, please. i said, nope. she said pretty please.

and we went on and on, but im a sucker for pretty pleases.

sara’s dreaming about me again. this time instead of dreaming about getting down my pants shes going deeper. dreaming about my innards.

she says that she remembers me writing about the kidney stones that i passed but didnt get around to linking to any of the tales, which is sad, because i liked this recollection the best. defiance is my favorite trait, which is one reason i like anna and ashley so much.

for those of you who have given up on the Rabbit, thinking that she has escaped the cage or been skinned and fileted, turns out she was just on a long weekend in vegas complaining of hangovers and being overweight. i havent seen her in a while, but it would take more than a few trips through the buffet line for her to pinch an inch.

speaking of the sexiest female blogger, i have been propositioned by many in competition for this title, and i must say the women are playing this game for keeps.

because one of the contestants is my former newspaper editor, and another is married to a fella that i just saw at lunch, and since another is married to a guy who has skyrocketed to the top of the blogodome nearly overnight– and since all of them are married, i voted for Rabbit cuz she was single and probably could use the virtual pat on the ass.

i vote for Presidents with equal logic.

amy sends me this story of interest because she knows the only tshirts i sell through this site are those from tshirthell, cuz they rock (and cuz they flow me $4 a shirt, so buy up, cheapskates):

Online T-Shirt Seller Sues the Osbournes for $15 Million VentureReporter.net Tuesday, June 04, 2002, 10:27 AM ET

An online t-shirt seller has filed a $15 million dollar trademark infringement lawsuit against Ozzy Osbourne, accusing him of swiping a T-shirt slogan for use in the hit MTV show, “The Osbournes.”

The Alley-based T-shirt seller Tshirthell.com has also named Ozzy’s wife Sharon Osbourne, Sony Music and Epic Records as part of the lawsuit.

The suit alleges that the company T-shirt which reads “Fuck My Family, I’m Moving in with the Osbournes!” began selling online on its website back in March. Soon after, the suit alleges, Ozzy Osbourne’s record label, Epic records, purchased $500 worth of the shirts from Tshirthell.com’s website for promotional purposes.

Then two months after the sale, the Osbournes started selling a shirt with “nearly the exact same slogan” as the original Tshirthell.com shirt, according to the lawsuit.

The Osbournes released two versions of their shirt in retail and online stores worldwide, a censored version which reads: “*$@# My Family. I’m Moving in with the…Osbourne Family” and an uncensored version with the same slogan.

The lawsuit seeks to stop the Osbournes from selling their shirt, and have all profits from the offending shirt turned over to Tshirthell.com, besides the $15 million dollars in damages.

More on Tshirthell.com press release announcing the lawsuit.

i might have your share too.

so when one of my favorite readers gets all worked up about his cousin scoring a gooooooooooooooooooooooal in the silliest sport in sports, i figure what the hell, lets throw bro a bone.

im american, through and through.

that means i couldnt give two shits about soccer and i couldnt even give one shit about the world cup.

it’s nice to see people get all excited about their favorite sport, and its nice to see nationalistic pride, which is good for all the puny little places that arent the usa.

but i thought we covered that with the miss universe pageant? no?

anyhow, i like the riots, and the face paintings, and the big flags and the fights in the stands, and how everyone watches tv together and sings songs and drinks beer and stumbles home drunk with paint smeared down their sweaty cheeks with chants still echoing down the alleyways.

but fuck the world cup.

learn how to play baseball if you wanna impress me.

or football, or even basketball.

everyone wants to take on the world champs, and thats who WE are so dont go running around thinking youve done something cuz you beat Brazil or Camaroon.

i mean, come on. lets get serious.

take your little balls and your nets and your flags… and learn how to play baseball, an acutal sport.

most of you know how to play it, so play it. play it with the objective that you want to compete with America in an arena that no one has proven that they can defeat us in.

you cheat when you play us at Little League, thats cool.

in fact its a good start.

anyway, this might be the last world cup post you see here. and now you know why.

but if i do find myself waking up from a drunken stupor and i hear a mob of freaks screaming at the tv, i will root for korea because of my man Noah.

sitting at the subway station waiting for the train, this guy behind me is clipping his finger nails.

if theres one sound i dont like its that one.

perhaps the issue i have with that sound is that when people clip their nails in public, rarely do they tidy up after themselves, so whats left behind is a small pile of — ugh its too sick to even think about.

so i wanted to tell this guy off so i turn around and he looks like he just got out of jail, and i look at his wrist and theres a wristband there that says he DID just get out of jail but you know what, sometimes there is a little bit of courage that just spills out and i look at him and his clippers and the sick little pile at his feet and i gave him such a dirty look.

and the fucker stopped.

later i realized the guy was probably on probation and didnt want to get thrown back in the hole over something so dumb, but he tried to intimidate me and it didnt work.

got on the train and over the PA i heard the pleasant voice of my favorite black conductor who almost sings his greeting, “hello hello what a great day today is going to be…”

i think ive told you about this guy before.

“it’s Tuesday and thats Our Day, so dont forget to treat yourselves like kings and queens.”

its hard not to smile when you ride on this guy’s train.

made me forget about all of my problems.

made me forget that i spent most of the evening trudging through “The Hamptons”

made me forget about my poor Cubs’s record.

“a day like today just makes me want to feel the energy pop from the doors. treat yourselves right today people. wilshire and vermont.”

and for some reason i wanted to see how my old broken down escalator was doing, so instead of switching trains, i got out of the subway and chose to ride the bus down wilshire and before i got to the bus, i saw that the escalator that we all know so well was now fixed.

it only took a year and a half, but it was fixed and it was taking all the kings and queens from the metro station to vermont avenue.

and maybe tonight i’ll go bowling.

my name is tony. i am applying for a writing gig after many years out of college. i could use your help.

i am without any reasonable clip whatsoever, and my bound editions are MIA.

if, by chance, you would even have one article with my name on it that you think would be worthy to show a prospective employer could you please send it to me? i will make a copy of it and send it back to you.

your loviness will be returned upon you sevenfold.

just so that you know that i dont have a big head and thats why i think i could score this gig, here’s three girls fifteen years old who already kick my ass.

lucky for me im cuter.

this chick’s sixteen. he’s seventeen. she’s eighteen. she’s nineteen.

im tony

someone sent me these two links and asked me if i believed after looking at the sites if i still believed that a plane crashed into the pentagon.

and my answer is, thank you for the links, i would much rather think that my dirty government was lying to me than think that a handful of yahoos could knock out a chunk of the pentagon while knocking down the twin towers.

but what would be the motive for the government to blow up one of their own buildings and look like a bunch of girls with their skirts down around their ankles?

maybe planes are made of materials strong enough to carry lots of weight, and light enough to fly, but crappy enough to explode into bits when crashing into a thick ass building at high speeds.

but what the hell do i know, i voted for nader.

but i do know three gay guys trying to make friends with four straight guys in the rain at comiskey park. and ladies, when we say that we dont want to work out or shave or shave our chests or shave our heads or get tanner cuz it’ll make us look gay, that is what we’re talking about. thanks fellas.

and by the way, dont say that the reason to turn all pretty is cuz the girls will fall all over you. its not true. what is true is that all those dudes are getting laid. and the real winner is the one who can do all that while being true to himself.

however, nobody cool hangs out with gay guys in the rain, topless

at comiskey park.

the illuminated donkey called me out and i showed no fear.

Hey California! After tonight’s battle to see which team will be the next to fall to the unstoppable juggernaut that is the Nets, perhaps one of you would care to make a little…wager on the outcome of the finals. You know, like the mayors do. I can put up some local, representative goodies, like black-and-white cookies, saltwater taffy, and culture, while you folks could put up whatever the hell you people have out there (perhaps a nice shipment of El Pollo Loco).

I’m personally rooting for the Lakers, since victory will be that much sweeter against the defending champs, plus I personally can never get enough endless whining about officiating. – ill. donkey, june 2, 2002

to which i replied in his comment box:

i will be happy to overnight delivery you something tastier than El Pollo Loco. Beck immortalized Zankou Chicken in his slow jam “Debra“.

if the lakers somehow lose to the nets, i will overnight two whole Zankou chickens, slow roasted, a nice tub of garlic spread, and a dozen or so pitas.

since all the best parts of jersey have moved away: Springsteen, Martha Stewart, organized crime… you can go find the house that Springsteen grew up in and take a picture, frame it and send it to me.

get ready for another three-peat.

to which the illuminated one wrote back via email:

Mr. Pierce:

I accept your proposed wager. Go Nets! (The latest odds are something like 9-1 in favor of the Lakers, btw, as you may know.)

It should definitely be noted, though, that despite being temporarily tempted away by the California siren song of sunny days and models, Mr. Springsteen did quickly return to the Garden State, to marry himself a lovely Jersey Girl with sweet red hair. I tried the same thing, but instead of LA it was Seattle, and instead of marrying the redhead we broke up after a year.

But anyway.

Congratulations to your sister and family on the new addition. She has great initials.

Kenneth J. Goldstein