“heard your boss hassling you.”

it’s ok.

“doesn’t he know what you do some mornings?”

nope.

“don’t you want to tell him?”

nope.

“why?”

not everyone needs to know.

“but you were only fifteen minutes late.”

it’s cool.

“i like your blog re-design.”

yea, me too. took all night.

“i thought ashley came over last night.”

she did.

“how did you redesign your blog if she was over?”

it wasnt easy.

“i saw you at the gym last night after work.”

i was only there for a little while.

“did you get a load of those french guys?”

i wound up in the sauna with them.

“ive never seen two guys talk so much.”

they were talking like crazy in the sauna.

“what were they saying, you speak french.”

they were talking about french grammar.

“what?”

i think they had discovered that they were both french high school teachers and they were trying to figure out better ways to explain the masculine and feminine french words.

“like what?”

they were driving me crazy, i left after they agreed on le madame president.

“what’s that mean?”

the lady president.

“yeah, like highschoolers are gonna be saying that a lot when they go to france.”

never know.

“why do i always see you watching Regis when i pass your desk in the morning?”

cuz i think hes funny as hell.

“what’s up with Black History Month, it sorta took a stall.”

you know us Blacks, we’re shiftless and lazy.

“no, really.”

sunday i was busy, last night ashley pouted that i was working on the blog and wouldnt let me do a little feature thing.

“oh, whats up with telling everyone where she works, arent you afraid of stalkers?”

no.

“isn’t she?”

no.

“what if some freak seems to think that she’s all into them just cuz shes so friendly?”

if they touch her, they’ll probably get maced or shot in the nuts.

“she packs?”

shes xbi too.

“i thought you met her on the web?”

on the drew barrymore web site?

“yeah.”

nothing on this site is true.

“but some of it…”

nothing on this site is true.

i get two types of letters

when people choose to write in regarding Ashley. I get the judgemental ones crying of cradle robbing and how im disgusting and how it isnt right, normally from women, which i delete immediately cuz they’re hypocrites.

then i get the ones saying im their “hero” and how im “the man” and how im “living the dream” that come from the fellas, which i delete immediately because im so used to deleting the others. afterwards i softly say, “fuck.”

Ashley makes me happy because she pays tons of attention to me and pours love my direction and takes pictures and writes and calls and does everything I would want a girl to do if she wants to show me that she likes me. I know we’re not meant to be together forever, but right now it’s fun and what else are you going to do?

Anyhow, Ashley got a job at Disneyland. The other day was her first day, and as she was talking to me about it I said, “you should make a diary just about all of this stuff.” And she said, “ESP! I already did!”

It just started, so it’s not much, but bookmark it, as I’m sure you will be fascinated by what will eventaully transpire in the Happiest Place on Earth.

yes, changed the look of the blog.

something i wanted to do for a long time and never got around to it.

other than my friends, there are a lot of amazingly weak blogs that get a lot more attention than mine and a lot more hits and i keep thinking that maybe it’s because im not playing on the same field as they are in that i dont use the traditional blogger template(s). oh well. who cares. i do, a tad.

tonight i will work on making the archives look better. be careful with the super old entries – which, of course, blogger chooses to put on the to top – because i was only getting used to this format. still, it’s interesting to see how it all started.

did i like the game last night? no. pats shouldnta even been there. hot chick that i met last night drove me to work this morning and she loves listening to Rush Limbaugh so we were running late and i was forced to listen to his show. and the only thing worse than having the team that you hate winning the Super Bowl, is agreeing with Rush Limbaugh. he, too, it appears, thinks that the Raiders got robbed. Ditto.

saw the game at my lawyer’s spectacular new casa up in the hills of Griffith Park. not only does she have a view of the Hollywood sign, but it’s way bigger in person, than from the cheapseats down in the valley called Hollywood. wonderful friends, good food, nice Sony tv, drinks, bonding. intelligent convo, you know, the usual. makes you wanna hug people and say your prayers a few extra times. im lucky.

Back to the game: Mariah sang beautifully. U2 sang wonderfully. Britney looked good. After the game Mariah called from her suite in the French Quarter and asked if I liked her singing I said, of course. She said that she did too. I said, you know Mariah, I think it took a lot of courage to go do that she said, “thank you.”

I said, Mariah, “Glitter” has sold 2 million copies in 15 weeks and your label dropped you and people think you’re over. She said, “do we have to discuss this?”

I said, “it’s Black History Month, I think it’s a travesty that they’re doing this to you, when over history, there’s been lots of crazy white singers who popped pills, did drugs, and drank and freaked out all over who never got dropped.”

She said, “so you think it’s racism?”

I said, “I don’t know what it is, but let’s go over some of the other big time artists and how many records they sold recently and you tell me if they shoulda got dropped.

Jay-Z had a hit single with “H to the Izzo” off of his “The Blueprint” cd. It’s been out 20 weeks. Only went platinum. One million sold. Regarded as a huge superstar.

Nelly Furtado’s debut album has been on the charts 57 weeks. Over a year. Hyped as the next big thing. Double platinum. Two million sold. Same as you.

Dave Matthews Band “Everyday” is on the radio, commercials, shoved down our throats. Been on the charts 48 weeks. Nearly a year. 3 million sold. “Glitter” will hit 3 million after 48 weeks, bet. DMB is probably the biggest star in all of college radio – whatever that means.

Madonna’s Greatest Hits #2 – songs from the last ten years, has sold one million copiesin 7 weeks. No one is dropping her, well, because she owns the label.

The Backstreet Boys “The Hits” – somehow they came out with a greatest hits album as well just in time for Christmas. Hasn’t even gone gold. Less than .5 million sold. Drop them? Don’t think so. Is one of them crazy drunk? Yes.

J. Lo came out with her record. Good as it was with all those big singles and the videos and the MTV appearences and all that hype It’s been on the charts for 53 weeks. Only 3 million sold. Huh? Yes. Only three million sold. J. Lo was second only to Nicole Kidman as the most successful woman of the year 2001 and she only sold 3 million records.

Which brings us to U2 – huge tour. Lots of singles. Joey Ramone was listening to their record on their death bed. They toured almost all year long. Pay-per-view specials. they have a DVD out of their live concert in Boston from this tour. Fresh off a Grammy win and probably another Grammy – Mariah, they have only sold 3 million records.

Your 2 million records that you sold in the midst of all this hate and bad press shows that not only your fan base is as strong as ever, but maybe stronger than ever.

“Thank you Tony, you’re really a friend.”

Oh don’t thank me, baby. Thank Soundscan and Billboard, cuz in the old days, no one would have admited that they sold any copies of “Glitter”.

“OK, you didnt need to go that far.” she said and lifted her shirt and got some beads.

weekend shout-outs:

first mad props to Amy who not only sent in a Playbill from the Broadway play “Proof” (starring Jennifer Jason Leigh, for Ashley), but included a print version of “The Onion” and a lovely letter written on very tasteful letterhead. It’s good to have an adult in my small circle of friends to look up to and try to pattern myself after – who can also drink me under a table. Thank you, Amy.

next comes Ben. Ben has 1, 2, 3 web sites. All good, all worth your time. Nice work, my friend. Let’s all do Ben a favor and click on #1, even though I like #2 a little more.

finally, thanks to Kim, my extremely competent attorney, who is so good at handling my legal affairs that I don’t even have to show up at court any more, she’s worked it so I just pick up the phone every few months and say, “yes, your honor.” and the checks follow weeks later. let’s hope i sell a big time movie script one day, and kim can represent me and get a nice percent. note to self: don’t forget to write a big time script soon.

Tune in early to see Mariah singing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl on Sunday. She’ll be the one tastefully dressed who’ll give me a secret wink before she gets into it.

You heard it here first: Rams 45 Pats 12

Kitty’s auction is up to $22, girls can just get away with murder, can’t they? Ashley sold her old boots on there a few weeks ago and they went for more than she got them for: Just Because They Were Worn By A Hot Young Chick! Sheesh.

And don’t forget that tonight (or this morning, if you wanna be specific), right after Last Call, it will be 02:02:02 02/02/02. so do something freaky. like, oh i dont know, flow me two bucks so i can get a sweet ride.

the sassy little co-ed

who used to flirt with me in the halls here has started to pout, probably because i have never asked for her number. i gotta say she looks pretty awesome in her sweaters and the way she puts her hair up some times and she doesnt wear much makeup and, well it’s just ashame that she can’t read minds cuz if she could this is what she’d see/hear/read:

very interested, but i hafta clean my pad, improve my career, get a car, deal with the others, work on the biceps, get some new clothes, get some new jokes, and do my Black History Month series on my website, then maybe maybe maybe i would maybe get your phone number, but i dont date the girls that i work with, but if i did, i’d start with you.

ive totally turned femme. it’s really ashame. im cooking, cleaning, getting all weird cuz hot chicks dont want to be my friend. im judging girls by their personality and heart and not by the nastiness in their eyes or the things they promise that they can do when they make their little comments.

this girl started on the neck, right behind the ear and worked her way down and i was thinking, i wish she could work on the heart a little.

i havent watched porn in months, im reading books, im writing poems.

im even thinking that the Rams can cover that paltry spread.

last night this very very kind old white lady with missing front teeth, a palsiated foot, a cane, and the sweetest optimistic mind wanted to talk politics and welfare reform with me as we waited for the train a quarter mile beneath koreatown. she said, “things are tough, especially for young black men.”

i said, “things are getting better, though.”

and she touched my knee and said, “oh i love your idealism. im a hopeless idealist.”

and asked me about myself.

i didnt want to tell her a thing. im so sick of the whole story and who isnt? she was just lonely and wanted to talk to someone.

“im a freelance superhero living in hollywood, working for the xbi where i steal from the crooks and give to the homeless.”

“what’s that, hon?”

“im a student.”

“oh really, at UCLA?”

“uh huh.”

“what are you studying over there?”

“japanese.”

“how fascinating!”

“17th century japanese poetry, is my focus, but, you know.”

“Oh, all I know is hiakus. 5-7-5, right.”

“17th century japanese poetry is largely based in the haiku tradition!” I said, excitedly.

Then a black woman with an glittery hat with american flag designs on it offered to sell me a Feburary bus pass for a reduced cost. I examined it, she told her story about it and I gave her the money.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” the old white woman said afterwards.

“Why not?” i asked.

“You could go to jail. She could have been a cop.”

“She offered it to me, it would have been entrapment.”

“So smart. Why don’t I see a wedding ring on you?”

“The girls I date are even smarter.”

And finally the train arrived.

home | mail | Basho | Black US Athletic Milestones | as per request

train broke down at wilshire and vermont.

the train in front of us. just like last week.

this time i knew better and went upstairs at vermont and beverly and waitied for the bus.

no bus came, so i went back down to the train and waited it out.

Tall Skinny Girl was there. everyone was there. everone was waiting for the train in front of us to get the hell out of the way.

At Wilshire Vermont theres this crazy corner. i’ve told you that its an S curve that makes screechy noises when you go through it. lately theyve been going real slow through it. but for some reason this train guy who keeps breaking down through it isnt going slowly.

fucks up your day when you then have to get off the train a second time and hop a Vermont bus to the Wilshire bus and continue your commute.

makes you want to hiss at the Mexican lady selling tamales from a cooler atop a baby carriage.

my shower has been a dripping mess.

you’d think with 4 bedrooms and 5 1/2 baths, I wouldnt care so much about the shower in the master bath, but i do. it’s my favorite. at first it was a slow drip. then it became a steady stream. the landlord promised to come over and fix it since he pays for the water and he came over two weekends ago and found Ashley there and said, “wow, you’re a lot prettier than I expected.”

he expected me, but was greeted by ashley in a sundress. i look pretty in a sundress too, but lets get back to the story. the story of my shower.

landlord didnt fix the shower that day, he told ashley how wonderful my fireplace was, how it was the best one he’d seen for such an old hollywood villa. she smiled. she’s always smiling.

when i came home we inspected the shower and noticed that the stream had increased. the hot water had created much steam in the sad blue bathroom, so we changed into towels and read the newspaper while smoking cigars and enjoyed our new hippy sauna.

last night i came home and the cheerleaders had all dispersed. as has become my ritual, i poked my head into the bathroom to see the state of the drip. to my surprise i noticed a stray cheerleader enjoying the week-old sauna while smoking a cigar and reading one of my secret notebooks.

“welcome home,” she said.

only in my life would a situation like this be a bad thing.

first of all, i didnt remember her name. secondly, i had a hot date and being carless, she was to pick me up. thirdly, she was smoking my last cigar.

“thank you, red, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” i said and put down my briefcase and unholstered my . 45.

“why are you surprised, i was here this morning when you left.” she said and turned the page in my notebook.

i had been showering at the gym after work and i went to my room to empty out my stinky clothes. when i opened my bedroom door i was more stunned than when i had opened my bathroom door, the room was immaculate.

“i tidied up for you.” she yelled from the folding chair in the shower.

not only were all the clothes, books, magazines, condoms, newspapers, cds, and beer bottles nicely tucked away in all the appropriate places, but the drapes were open, the shelves had been dusted and candles were softly flittering around my suddenly handsome quarters.

it made me want to nap.

the ecstasy the night before made me want to nap, but knowing that i didnt have to clean before my hot date really made me want to climb underneath my electric blanket and take a power nap until i was to be picked up for my mexican fiesta.

so i undressed.

when i turned around i noticed that the cheerleader had finished her sauna and was attempting to join me in my siesta.

“im sorry sweetheart, you’ve got to go. i appreciate all that you did here but it was so unneccessary.”

“i know,” she said, “but i wanted to do it for you. you were so nice to all of us last night.”

“ok good, well, heres a hug. i really have to take a nap right now, not everyone got to sleep in this morning.”

“dont you want me to nap with you?” she asked.

“no no, not necessary. thank you, though.”

“well my friend isnt going to pick me up for about an hour, would you like for me to clean your kitchen?” she asked. she was wearing my robe. my robe seemed quite pleased.

“ok look, if your friend is really going to be here in one hour and not one and a half hours or two hours, then yes, you can nap with me, but no talking and no funny business.”

she disrobed and slid into my sheets.

of course i had my Dilbert glow-in-the-dark boxers on and i tried to be suave and slip them off with my cords but im not as graceful as you’d think. somehow i made it in my bed.

it was hard to sleep. we spooned. i looked at the clock radio. she held my hand in hers under her cheek. little tone was trying to get closer to her, so i changed positions.

now she was pressed against my back and her arms were around me.

this is nothing how i imagined it in grade school.

she whispered in my ear, “did you enjoy sleeping with me last night?”

“i dont remember much of last night.”

“dont worry, you were a perfect gentleman.”

“we didn’t…”

“everything but.”

“everything?”

“you dont remember the hay and the trick ropes?”

“no.”

“you dont remember the whipped cream and the bongos?”

“uh, no.”

“you dont remember the ‘Pictionary’ competition?”

“i just remember pom poms.” i wispered back.

“thats good, at least you remember some of it then.”

i tried to keep quiet. totally impossible.

“are you in love with this girl?” she whispered, annoyed.

“which girl?”

“the girl you have plans with tonight.”

“i think she’s spectacular.”

“is she as pretty as i am?”

“all the girls in california are beautiful,” i answered.

it was quiet, so quiet i could hear the radio playing a stevie nicks song next door at my neighbor’s house.

the steady stream of water in the shower was soothing and made up for the mildew collecting on the window pane and soon i was asleep and soon i was awake and soon my date had arrived with a long sleeve surfer shirt with the word “free” printed on the front.

she has a magic spell on me, one that prevents me from looking at her for too long or sitting too close to her. a spell that makes me smile like a fool nonstop.

i wanted to show her my sauna, but i wanted to leave the house quickly before the cheerleader had become aware of my disappearance.

home

The pool that you have displayed

on your site today is where Janice and I got our life guarding certification before we headed up to Susanville for a crazy summer of life guarding in a small town.

I love that pool and that particular view of Santa Barbara.

Thank you for putting it on your site.

I love you Tony and the next time I am there I will watch IVTV with you.

I haven’t until now because I love that place and while most of it was good some of it makes me sad.

But, I’ve been really stupid about it and for that I’m sorry I’ve been sort of mean about it.

It’s hump day.

Enjoy

🙂

p.s. when are you going to start movie nights? i want to come.

i promise to bring lots of yummy microwave popcorn.

What are you doing for the Super Bowl?

I think Katie is having a party at her pad. Please go.

Your friends will be there.

Besides it will be a fun game even if it will be a blowout.

i’ve been into football this season and i would like to watch it.

i have $5.00 in our office pool. NEVER, ever have I ever put my name in a grid

with the hope of winning some money in every quarter of a football game.

Anyhow, stay warm and toasty.

xoxoxoxoxo

a gaggle of cheerleaders

bum rushed my back door as I was taking out the trash last night to my surprise. they had picnic baskets with tasty foods, thermoses full of tangy fruit drinks and wines, bales of hay and trick ropes for entertainment, and of course pom-poms and silly string and ecstasy and chewing gum.

there were so many of them that it was hard to get anyone’s names and im so bad at remembering one or two people’s names at a party that this amount was just ridiculous to even attempt so i just smiled and called everyone honey and sweetie and blondie and red. they called me sweetheat and turned down the lights, turned off the tv, turned off the computer, locked the doors and windows, took a wrench to the dripping shower and busted with the whippits.

life is a delicious waltz filled with clutzy gentlemen and the same old friut punch. it takes more, sometimes, than a squirt of lime to get the party started proper and if weren’t for the strands of pom poms on the floors and the snoring heaps of blankets snoozing on available floorspace, i would have thought it was all a dream this morning, but isnt everything a dream?

i left a note for the girls on the television wishing them a happy day and to ignore the mess and how to lock up the house but i was late for work and couldnt start the coffee. i hope they understood.

sometimes when youre late the busses and trains will help you out, but not this morning.

my arch enemy, this guy who i hate who rubs me the wrong way was at my bus stop. it’s sort of who Brad Pitt was to the guy in Fight Club, his alter-ego. this is my nerdy ego who reminds me of all the nerdy dorky dumb things in my personality that i try to ignore. he’s only at my busstop when im late. he is so creepy. so of course he was acting all creepy as i waited and waited in the brisk sun of todays wintery los angeles morn.

the bus arrived packed with late losers alike and we made it more packed. stuffed with humanity the bus rolled on and i wondered how much they paid off the guy to tell the supreme court that the LA bus system was ok and had enough vehicles despite being terribly short for years and years.

got off at the stop, walked the five-six blocks to the job and thought about Welch’s fine rememberance of the Daily Nexus and I hope all of you either have a Nexus in your past or are having one now or are about to have one, because it was a spectacular experience.

and just as i thought that, i saw a man naked from the shirt down crouching behind a row of bushes in front of an Office Depot right behind a bus stop bench. he was going number two, i believe. i wondered if he had tp. i wondered if people knew there would be human poop in the bushes as they waited for the number 21. i wondered if even this could dampen my fine spirits.

and i got on the elevator in my place of employment and i sat down at my cubicle and i fired up the machine and i began to type to you.

and i read an email that a young lady wrote to me about how she fantasized about anna and martina in the locker room after their match and my day had officially begun.