karisa has been making a concerted effort to spend a little more time with me. that makes me happy. tonight we went drinking at the good luck bar, which is within walking distance from my hollywood bungalow and yet even though ive lived here for what 57 years i still havent frequented.
it was great.
reportedly the place is packed on the weekends but tonight it was about three quarters full when we arrived at 10 and about one quarter full when we had our last baileys at 1:15a.
the bar is dark, the jukebox played x and the clash and elvis costello. at one point someone put stairway to heaven on and the bartender walked over to it and turned it off and then on again so it’d go to a new song.
it was the only time we’d hear zeppelin but those few seconds were plenty as none of us needed to hear any more of that song tonight.
karisa and i talked about lots of little superficial things like television and rearing children and gays in pro sports, which of course led to me dissing her quarterback tom brady who will probably lead the new england pats to a superbowl victory on sunday despite the fact that he probably wouldnt give a cheerleader the time of day.
she said, what proof do you have that hes gay?
i said just look at him.
she said thats not enough evidence.
i was all, joe willie namath stood on the sidelines in a floor length white mink coat and he still didnt look or act gay and yet your boy cant not look like a fairy even when hes driving his team down the field with nothing left on the clock.
still she remained loyal and unmoved on my accusation. but whatever, shes a girl, shes forgiving when it comes to good looking winning quarterbacks who are poised to bring another ring to her home state.
soon we would reach agreement on a sad point. we’re both so over 103.1 fm. we dont even listen to it any more.
the problem is, they dont change their songs up nearly enough.
its painfully obvious that they have bob marleys legend the clash’s london calling and k-tels the best of grunge on heaviest rotation and i wont even get into the Spree, but after a while i know im gonna hear something off either Wild Gift or Check Your Head, which trust me, is never a bad thing, but theres a lot of rock to choose from, so why not keep choosing.
wheres zwan and king missile and celebrity skin and mr bungle and urge overkill and sugar and tom waits, victoria williams and motorhead and de la soul and digital underground? wheres nomeansno and house of large sizes and kinky and the boo-yaa tribe? theres a bottomless pit of quote unquote independent music that kroq wouldnt dare put on their airwaves that would sound just as good as the third ramones record in an hour, so why must they insist on singing that cover of mad world for the tenth time in the day?
bust with the jesus and mary chain for pete sake
and the pogues
and the minutemen and firehose and watt and the rentals.
remind the kids who jello biafra was and is, and what negativland did and how good teenage fanclub and nashville pussy sounded.
where the fuck is my motorhead
thats all i want to know
wheres my boy lemmy and dont you dare tell me that he’s not independent.
we toasted and drank and kept getting more and soon we were done and soon it was over and it had gone so quickly but we were both responsible adults and before you know it my electric blanket was warmed and i had finished telling you all that needed to be said.
other than janet is still looking good.
as always.
damnnit janet.
theres a ghost band, girl, playing our song yeah. drank beers and rum ate bowling alley shrimp fried rice and got to hang with an x xbi director which was a pleasant surprise because i always liked him and i was shocked when he had to turn in his flying car. its a strange planet we’re rotating on he esped to me. but i kept thinking of rancid. 
i dont know why. who cares why. anyway, they do.
than a democratic presidential nominee who knows how to pump up a house full of downtrodden campaign volunteers is to be a gay professional athlete.
