see, i go out of my house on a Friday night and it starts of a chain reaction

of similar impossibilities that hopefully will end with a series of resignations in Washington D.C., starting with the Commander-and-Theif.

Impossibility number one: It snows in Frisco. From Santa Cruz to Napa the frosty white stuff made an appearance sending the hippies wild and the bums to their immediate deaths.

dumbmonkey and i have linked each other for a little while now, but i am happy to see that he has a story and a byline and a link and lots of pictures to prove this magical feat

My mother loves to talk about the weather and I hate to talk it because it usually tells me that theres nothing else to discuss. But I promise you very few things in this blog, but I will always report on the activities of Anna, Mariah, and any snow conditions that may transpire in the 415.

Just this morning I chose the wool-lined Levi’s jacket since the brisk January air reminded me of highschool ski trips to Michigan, and less like the southern california warmth that we enjoyed only a few days ago.

What’s with the crazy weather? Who the hell cares. It’s a great excuse to wear mittens on the bus and crank up the fireplace.

truth is stranger than fiction and sometimes it’s nicer too.

rarely do i leave the complex to hob-nob with the working class but sometimes the invitiation is so inviting and im insppired to break from tradition and actually leave the damn house.

friday night i ventured into the Laurel Canyon just beyond Mt. Olympus to the sprawling grounds of Brian Linse who hosted such a nice sweet party that i couldn’t even believe it.

normally when the premise is that several big name web loggers are going to meet one another, the results can be scary. nobody cool writes on a blog on the Internet, do they? of course not.

but i have been pleasantly surprised in the past by what has come my way via the www and friday was no exception.

the host and all of his guests were not only as interesting as their writing, but polite, and smart and fun and more social than i expected. the nerd-factor was there but only because i was in attendence and the wine was delicious.

i can’t guarantee that i will be more social in 2002, but this was a fabulous start and it reminded me why i need to venture out more often as the universe is abundant, generally with wonderful and intelligent souls.

and what do you know, i got home before my pumpkin tuned into a snoop de ville and had enough time to play on my little computer and pass out in a smelly mess in front of the roaring fire only to be awaken by the four am thump of saturday’s paper arriving at my doorstep.

saw “the others” on saturday and was also, thoroughly impressed.

wanna have a good cry at your office cubicle?

then go to the Presidio Pet Cemetary. in lots of ways, San Francisco is just a larger Isla Vista in that it has more curious, crazy, wonderful, lovely things, all squeezed into a ridiculously small area. And the Presidio, now opened to the public, thanks to military budget cuts, thanks to the fall of the Soviet empire, thanks to Bill Clinton, a hem, is turning out to be the best kept secret in Frisco, despite the movie that no one saw called, “The Presidio.”

Don and Jen got hitched there, Chris worked there, I even got paid to update a web site for a non-profit there. It’s home to the coolest Burger King in America, and who knew it has one of the most charming pet cemetary in town. It may have the only pet cemetary in town since Frisco put a moratoreium on cemetaries way back when it became obvious that they were running out of space for people who were still alive (the locals are usually laid to rest in the neighboring Daly City, which boasts more dead people than living ones.).

One of the markers grieves the long-departed Coco, who passed on in 1925(!), which is the oldest stone you’ll see on the web site.

Sorta makes me want to have a pet so i can bury him in a nice place one day.

when anna calls it always disturbs me, somehow.

I think it’s her accent. I love accents, but I’ve never gotten used to hers. It sounds like she’s always mad at me. What does she have to be mad at me for?

“We won the doubles championship in Melbourne today,” she informed me last night at, oh, three a.m. pacific time.

“Doubles are for girls,” I said.

“Why can’t you ever support the things that I do?” she whined.

“I do, I talk about you all the time. I think you really can win a singles tourney, that’s why I tease you.”

“Yeah, well it hurts. You could at least congratulate me.”

“Congratulations, Anna, princess of St. Petersburg.”

“I’m from Moscow. I mean, I don’t write you and complain that you have a ‘BusBlog’ and you never write about riding the bus anymore!” she said.

Two mexican kids were on the subway this morning. One of the kids was about five years old, the other was maybe one years old.

Anna doesn’t like it when I grammar bad. She says it confuses her since she’s trying to iron out her English. But I can’t help it. I have this weird thing where I mimic whoever I’m listening to. I try to be a good listener, but in fact I’m a terrible listener.

The older Mexican kid was licking the metal pole on the subway car, the one that everyone holds on to as the train is jerking and making it’s way through the city.

The younger kid was idolizing his older brother. The younger kid was sitting on his mama’s lap. He had a cute little pacifier in his mouth. Some of my hippy friends who have kids don’t believe in the pacifier. They call it a plug.

“I’m not putting a plug in my child’s mouth,” they say.

The mexican kid with the plug was watching intently as his brother licked the pole and then the little kid playfully punched the pole. His older brother kept licking.

When I least expected it, the baby thrust his head at the pole in order to lick it too. His plug hit the pole squarely, as did his cute little mexican kid babyhead. His brother backed away. The baby didnt cry.

A woman sitting next to me, holding her newborn said something in Mexican to the young mother. The older brother went back to licking the pole. The baby went back to watching his brother. Then he went back to punching the pole.

Then my stop arrived and I exited and walked up the stairs.

home | email | this guy linked me this week | this guy did too | tiny little penis wrote me a nice email | and im waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay at the bottom of this one

the mailbag is bursting it’s so full, so let’s get to it.


Q. What do you think of Mike Tyson?

A. If some guy with dreadlocks and a British accent was going to beat me at a fight, I would act super crazy too and try to freak him out. Mike is following the game plan perfectly. He’s still my favorite boxer of all time.

Q. I just met this girl, we’ve been having sex a lot, now she says she always feels like she has to pee but she doesnt have to pee.

A. Shes got a UTI – urinary tract infection. If you live near Mexico, go to Mexico and get the generic Ciporol that’s probably being sold for $2 a box now that the Anthrax scare is over. Take two pills a day for 5 days. And tell her to take care of the puddy after banging.

Q. I’ve seen your picture, there’s no way you’re getting all those girls.

A. I don’t understand it either. It’s starting to freak me out.

Q. What new records are you listening to?

A. “Glitter,” no lie. And I taped Yo Yo Ma and Emmanuel Ax opening the new opera hall in Philly and I listen to that all the time.

Q. Why do you believe in Jesus?

A. Cuz He writes better than me.

Q. What was the best moment of your life?

A. When I won the award for Best Arts & Entertainment Editor for my college paper.

Q. Why don’t you just change your site to Ashley.com?

A. Don’t tempt me.

Q. Why don’t you write the way you used to?

A. Too much Civ III.

Q. Why don’t you write for a living?

A. No one has offered.

Q. How old are you, really?

A. Old enough to know what matters.

Q. What was the best movie of the year?

A. “Moulin Rouge” “Lord of the Rings” and “Amelie” and “Hedwig” and “Momento”.

Q. Why do you like Mariah so much?

A. Cuz she pays attention to me.

Q. Why do you like Bill Clinton, he thought with this dick.

A. True, but his dick was usually right.

Q. Are the Clippers for real?

A. No, but Clipper Girl is.

when mariah found out that i hadn’t bought the “Glitter” cd,

she emailed me saying she wasnt going to talk to me until I “got my act together.”

Little did she know that weeks previous I had signed her up under her fake name, Julie Van Maldegaim, into the BMG Music Club. You know the famous record and cd club where they give you 4 free cds, then you buy one, then they give you 5 more free cds. I chose all my cds to be Carey’s much-mailgned “Glitter”.

When my caller-ID said, “Mariah,” last night, I knew that the package had arrived at her Manhattan apartment.

“You’re so crazy,” she said.

“You’re so rich,” I said. “Nice job getting that free $28 million.”

“It wasn’t free, honey. That’s for sure.”

“Well I’m glad you didnt listen to me when I said for you to sell out for $25 million.” I said. I was cleaning my apartment.

“Don’t worry, I never listen to you,” she teased.

She was making towers with $20 bills in her boudoir. Her assistant was making towers with $20s in the guest room. They were competing. Every once in awhile Mariah would yell at her girl down the hall, “I’M UP TO FORTY-FIVE GRAND!”

“I’m sorry your record only went double platinum, Mariah.” I said.

“Yeah, I suck,” she giggled.

“Your career is over.” I said.

“Uh huh, nobody ever wants to hear me sing again.”

“I bet if you went into a mall no one would even recognize you.” I said.

“And if I announced a concert tour, I bet it only sells out in 4 hours.” she said.

“Real divas sell out in minutes.” I added.

“FORTY-SIX THOUSAND!” Mariah yelled. And then she squealed. “Oh poo, my tower fell over.”

“Ok, baby, ‘Undeclared’ is on,” I said.

“Aw shit, I hope I Tivo’ed it. Bye sweetie.” Mariah said, and had her girl hang up the phone.

dear tony,

we know you’re bummed and we want to make you happy.

we know you’re a big fan of our music and of j mascis and pavement and mike watt and eddie vedder and we have brought them all and many more to Westwood for a three day weekend and we want to entertain you.

it’s $50 for one day or $100 for the whole enchelada. please come.

we tried to get Mariah cuz we know how much she means to you, but she was busy, we tried to get AC/DC because we know how much you love them but they are recording a new record.

we tried to get your friends, Tsar, but they would wipe the stage with us, so please accept what we have to offer, which is basically just us and some very cool bands like Cat Power and Television and that super crazy Japanese noise band The Boredoms.

If you cant find a date, we’ll hook your skinny ass up.

love always,

Sonic Youth

sometimes things are so fucked up that even forgetting about it doesnt help.

life isnt fair. that’s the way the cookie crumbles. nice guys finish last. life sucks and then you die. wait till next year. etc. etc.

but im not like that. i dont believe any of that. i think all that stuff are quotes by losers for losers to make losers feel less like losers. but fuck losers. they are the people that you whallop before you have to take on the worthy challengers.

i believe that when something as ridiculous and fucked up as what went down in the storybook setting of snowy foxborough happens, cooler heads should right the wrong.

im hearing that when the season is over, the incompletion rule will be changed or reworded, or worded so that an incomplete pass looks different on paper than a second-string quarterback getting his shit handed to him in the mush ending the game and the season for the valiant patriots. and i appreciate courage so much you dont even know and what would be so courageous would be if the nfl would just say right here and now that that play was misscalled and it was to be the last play of the game and because of the miscall the wrong team won and the right team lost.

and because i believe in fairness, i will tell you that if the Cubs won the world series on a play at the plate and if baseball had instant replay and if the replay umpire called the Cub safe, but it was obvious that he was out, i would make the official change the call to out, because that is the right thing to do.

now theres a disturbance in the force.

just like when George Bush took office.

and when things get out of whack, fucked up things get in the mix and losers win and winners lose and a mess of mess is created in its foul wake.

fuck the nfl if they dont right this wrong before next week.

fuck them.

what we all saw was the biggest travesty that ive ever seen in professional sports. everyone knows that the nfl and al davis dont get along. but not everyone knows that in the two playoff games that the raiders played, only one penalty was called against their opponents. do i think the referees were in on it?

all i know is that only one penalty was called in two games.

and i know that the raiders won their final game but an unseen face in the referee booth overruled the call on the field and gave the playoff win to the patriots who had, at that time had lost it, and everyone everywhere knew that they had lost it.

here it is days later and i still dont know what to say.

but of course i do.

i hope that the NFL commisioner Paul Tagliabue gets a fast-moving cancer in his left testicle that attacks his right testicle.

i hope Mike Pereira, the NFL’s director of officiating comes down with a terrible cold, which in fact isnt a cold at all, but a new form of lung cancer that turns your heart black and your blood green and your face grey and your eyes pink and your death immediate and your soul evaporate.

finally i hope that all the NFL press corps, particularilly the columnists and commentators stand up and call bullshit when bullshit is dealt and quit standing behind a ruling that wouldnt have held water in a flag football game in a park, or a little league game on a field, or a college game in a stadium, and definaletly not a playoff game in front of tens of millions.

why is it that im the only fellow on a keyboard outraged and thinking that there could be something done about this right now so that the Raiders could be playing the Steelers this weekend?

that’s right, im also the fool who thinks that the Cubs will win it all before i die, and that this site will get me laid.

is there anyone who covers football or who is in a position of power at the NFL or the New England Patriots themselves who have enough class to say that what went down was fucked and it shouldnt be so and that things should be different and they will make it so.

sadly, america, there isn’t.

(1:30pm) hot-headed New England linebacker Bryan Cox

(former Bear) emailed me while I was at lunch with lines like “fool you better recognize game…” and all that stuff that thick fingered-asassins like Cox are apt to type. He even tried to get personal by suggesting that my old pal Ken Layne recently disrespected me by not mentioning me in his blog today when he talked about all of his supercool friends who write.

“Brotha gave props to Axel, and everybody know Axel just a guitar player. Where’s the brothas on the wall?! I wanna see some brothas on the walls of Sal’s Famous!” wrote the ever-inflamed Cox.

I responded with a hearty Whatever and flooded his mailbox with pictures of Jerry Rice’s rings and Tim Brown’s receiving records. I told him he better prepare for Tyrone Wheatley’s helmet being repeatedly slammed into Cox’s chest and becoming familiar with the back of Rich Gannon’s cleats.

I know my friends love me and it’s hard to link to a guy who puts huge pictures of barely legal girls on the splash pages and floundering stars in his blog. It’s not the trendiest column, it’s not the prettiest, it doesnt talk about Cheeny and Ari and all those other liars and thieves and ne’er-do-wells. I dont link lots of people or articles or newpapers and from that I dont get lots of links back in return. Still, some bear with me, as they should, as they better.

And my good pals like Ken and Matt and Amy and Ben do me the biggest stoke of all, they read and they dont make too much fun.

Still, I’m jealous as hell that Matt and Ken have taken this 9/11 thing and perfectly surfed the wave into huge success. They have made it so that no serious warblog can not link to them or comment on their comments and they have accumulated much respect and many many readers. All deservedly so.

You’d think two handsome young men with such a masterful way with words and real ideas about politics and international affairs could find themselves on the boob tube more than a lot of these old wanks that we’ve grown tired of, but I’m sure that day will come soon, too.

In the meantime I’m just planning on waiting in the wings, typing on here during my 15 minute breaks, cursing the public transportation here in the city of Angels, and wondering how long Layne’s mail will pile up in my hollywood cabana until I call him over to pick it up.

Some of this is from the summer!

Come watch the Raiders with us, Ken. Bring Laura. Chris will be there. Jeanine may drop by too.