so to protest it i will continue to put up pictures of hot girls. today we gaze upon bellies and legs of ms. paris and nikki hilton, porn star names if ever i saw em.

fell asleep last night while finishing up the website of los angeles’s best attorney, but i promise it will be done this weekend.

i have no idea why im slacking on it. my attorney has been so wonderful to me, and has never complained at my medicraty. maybe its because she knows that in real life im americas biggest loser.

which is interesting. ive had several supervisors who have complained to me that i try to come across as “mr. cool.” and i look around and i think who the hell are they talking about?

my mom buys most of my clothes, and she still shops for them in the same places that she bought me clothes when i was 8. sears. most the time these trendy threads are wrinkled because i leave them in the laundry hamper.

my hair has always been a joke.

i either wear white sneakers or black ones.

i mispronounce words worst than i spell them.

i love sports so much i play online internet fantasy games.

im a tv junkie.

i stay at home way more than i go out.

my house is a mess pretty much at all times. i dont read books. im a born again Christian. and my newest favorite hobby is gardening.

none of these activities add up to the doings of anyone named mr. cool.

and yet somehow i continue to be levied criticism of always “trying to look cool.”

theres nothing cool about me, other than my friends. i have the coolest friends.

im wearing a raiders beanie which on most people makes them look tougher, on me it makes me look cold and pin-heady. it cost me $5 at the subway stop.

my sunglasses have flames on the side stickered on. those, too, cost me five bucks.

mr. cool’s bicycle is broken.

mr. cool doesnt have a date for this weekend and isnt all that upset about it. maybe thats a little cool, but not really.

mr. cool needs to toast his bagel from a bag of five that he got from the ninety nine cent store.

mr. cool loves you all.

how to start a free blog (scroll to the bottom) + backseat driver + fussy

i was shocked. what a pleasant surprise. i was actually running a little early.

she looked cute. shorter hair than i remember. wasn’t as pissed off. not as punk rock looking.

i wanted to stand next to her and wait for the subway with her but that wouldn’t be my style with her.

my style is to ignore her when close up and admire her from afar.

craziest thing is shes not even that amazing looking. theres just something about her that makes me nervous as hell. i love that feeling.

i know girls like boys who are full of confidence, but i like girls who make me all nervous.

at wilshire vermont i lost her. at first i thought she was gonna take the bus so i went to the stairs (the elevator has been broken all week) and i didn’t see her climbing the stairs so i went down to the wilshire western subway train and didn’t see her there so i climbed the stairs to the bus.

nothing.

no tall skinny girl, no nothing other than a bunch of losers like me commuting in the early cold spring morning of koreatown.

took the express bus down wilshire, got off where i normally do and walked past a local bus stop.

gorgeous girl there.

tight jeans. tight white blouse. amazing heels. pretty, sweet face. it was getting warmer.

i strolled past her and turned around and asked myself, why are you avoiding the girls that you like?

i asked myself, why must you only date cheerleaders and chicks who write you off your website?

so i stopped and waited with her at the stop.

i was under the bus stop, proper. the sun was shining so i was getting a little shade which was helpful since i had a jacket on and a fleece shirt underneath it, and since i was nervous, i was sweating a tad, but not really.

she looked at me, looked past me, then looked at me again.

then she walked into the covered area with me.

shit you not.

all the negative thoughts went flowing through my brain.

shes too young. she wont like you. its a set up. she has a penis. she has bad breath. shes going to boarding school. she doesn’t like boys. she has diseases. her dad will kill you. she rides the bus. You ride the bus!

the bus, thank God, wasn’t coming any time soon.

i had to say something. but what do you say?

sweet ass you got there. damn!

so i said the thing that i have learned works every time. every time, people.

i really like your shoes.

she smiled and said thanks and moved closer.

she has the teeth of a teenager, my negative thoughts told me.

are those suede? i asked.

uh huh. she said and smiled very brightly, looked at the bus and then back at me and twirled her hair behind her ear.

i looked away.

the bus came.

she sat near me.

i got off at my stop.

and this is why i sleep alone.

bukkake + sk smith + nevada north

how could i have forgotten!

im in love with raymi, and im about a hundred percent sure she wouldnt like me.

i doubt first of all that she would like my music. hardly anyone does.

chris says she does but chris tells the prettiest lies.

and i dont think i could keep up with her. i saw her chat live on the internet and she could barely keep still, imagine how riled up she’d get if she saw me without my shirt on. she’d rip me to shreds.

im a sensitive poet. i cant be being ripped to shreds. by a candadian. girl.

i still get carpal tunnel, raymi the minx would fuck my shit up.

anyhow, i lust her. from afar. im glad shes around.

i like that she sorta rambles in her writings. i like that she has like 89 blogs. im glad shes a foreigner. im glad that if she ever did come to la she would probably let me take like a zillion naked pictures of her and then we’d see what this damn camera can do.

ive said it before and its still true, theres nothing i dont like about raymi.

and i think shes even sexier now that shes twenty.

a. beam is back

which is scary cuz of that asian disease.

the killer flu one.

this one guy sneezed today and i said SARS which is funny, but wrong.

we were talking about geraldo rivera and some guy walking by real fast, total hurry, had plenty of time to chime in with a juicy ass fuck geraldo.

this dude was wearing a turtleneck.

super hot chick from where i used to work makes tshirts now, and how sweet would it be to bust with the fuck geraldo tshirt when youre walking to the liquor store.

fuck bush, fuck the yankees, fuck terrorists, fuck sluts, fuck bud selig, fuck ticketmaster, fuck your hanging chads, fuck blood for oil, fuck the busblog.

it could be a whole line.

black shirts, white letters. easy.

nothing in here is true, right?

yeah, i buy cds all the time.

i think sixteen ninety nine for a cd is a reasonable price.

the white stripes came out with a new cd yesterday. one that they claim to have made for $15,000, which is a ridiculously low price. maybe even impossible.

since the first thousand people who buy the cd pay it off, i wanted to be part of that.

the last cd i actually bought was norah jones for my mom at Christmas.

tom waits was playing on the cd player of this record store.

there was a sealed Eazy Duz It above the register. vinyl. vinyl all over the place.

fuck vinyl

just kidding. i saw an ac/dc flat above the window and i pointed to it and asked for one, he went into the back, got one and charged me two bucks.

no problem. you know how hard it must be to be an independent record store these days?

picked up vice magazine. free. now i dont feel bad about the twenty bucks im spending. buying records is like a vote, anyhow. i elect the white stripes. i elect weezer. i elect tsar.

i did something so incredibly stupid today and so then i bought an overpriced cd, and then paid money for something promotional.

rode the bus to the subway

these four black kids were being loud and teenaged and quasi gangsta and brushed up against my magazine more than a few times to see what id do.

im undercover motherfuckers

train came after a long time, saw a total loser guy with the hottest chick ive ever seen on the subway. latino, arms crossed, long jeans, heels poking out the boot cut, bitchiest eyes, and bro was all up close to her and she would just look past him, and up.

forgot about my boys till i got to sunset and on the elevator.

me, two of em, chinese lady. a group of other people were about twenty feet away and if i was the lady i woulda kept the door open so the numbers would be more in her favor, but she let the doors shut and we rode up from below slowly.

big guy says u-g-k underground killaz, he was looking at the graffiti on the ceiling of the elevator.

his buddy scanned the ceiling and nodded

they discussed how that crew lost their influence in a suprising defeat not too long ago, and the big one took out his pick and slid it through the back of his afro

and i keyed in on his adams apple

just in case i needed a target

bettie girl + reverse cowgirl + cleve blog

sometimes i do have an interesting life. sometimes it’s downright fascinating.

unfortunately some of it is off limits for purposes of this blog.

sucks.

mostly sucks because lots of it is right on the forefront of my mind and theres no better place to work out such issues than in a forum like this with wonderful people like you. and instead of saying things like two cheerleaders called me last night as i was making jiffy pop with a third… im forced to say things like, what the fuck are the red sox thinking trying to “improve” fenway by sticking rows of seats atop the green monster?

and here we are in america. home of the brave.

land of the free.

fuckers.

two cheerleaders called me last night as i was making jiffy pop with a third.

giggling. bar noise in the background.

i tried to talk softly cuz my date was flipping channels on the tivo.

what?! they yelled on their end of the line. huey lewis was playing on their jukebox.

huey lewis?

hip to be square i think. they wanted to know if they could come over because they locked their keys in their car as they were barhopping and i was two subway stops away.

cheerleader logic. instead of using the phone to call AAA or a tow truck they called me because when they thought of this particular seedy bar they thought of me. things could be worse.

what worried me was they had done about three cosmos too many and they shouldnta been about to go driving at all, so i told them to get a cab home and then call the tow truck in the morning. they said they wanted to come and sober up at my place.

i looked at my leather couch and my guest for the evening and i wondered what toby mcguire would do.

that didnt help so i thought about what jack nicholson would do. i put down the phone and asked my guest if she was interested in having two of her squadmates come over.

she hesitated and said, okay? and took a sip from her wine glass.

you know what ladies, lets do this another night, i told them, thinking id probably never have this opportunity ever again. three cheerleadres. two drunk, one getting there. clean apartment, stocked fridge, three full cans of ready whip.

they understood and hung up with a thank you, even though there was nothing to thank me for.

got back into the living room and my guest was putting on her little faux fur jacket.

she looked at me, applied her red lipstick and gave me the dirtiest stare. threw her tube of mac back into her coach and said that next time i would be better off not answering the phone.

sped off in her miata.

and i stood there with the front door still not closed because when she slammed it it hit the swinging chain lock and bounced back open with the sickest bang.

scurrility

Your idealism is one of your greatest assets, but it can also be a liability. Driven to seek beauty and harmony, you sometimes become blind to the messy truth. That’s why I was so pleased to get the following oracle when I consulted the ancient Chinese book of divination, the I Ching, on your behalf: “It is only when you have the courage to face things exactly as they are, without any self-deception or illusion, that a light will develop out of events by which the path to success may be recognized.” I interpret this to mean that you are about to temporarily suspend your idealism in order to see the messy truth, which will in turn lead you to an opportunity to practice your idealism on a higher level.

– Rob Brezney

i really wanted to write this morning.

i wanted to write about a lot of things, like clipper girl’s friend who came over last night to sleep with me.

just sleep sleep not sexy sleep.

i wanted to write about how sometimes thats nice but sometimes its torture cuz i havent had a beautiful love making session in like weeks and its killing me.

i wanted to write also, maybe most importantly about an incredibly interesting debate that i had with several smart people about why it is that we in our blogs dont link to pay sites like Variety.com which is totally full of great information, and has a free trial period.

some of my friends were saying that we link to other sites that charge money like Amazon or cdnow, or nay. And probably the best example is when people link to Salon.

Salon might be a little different because all you have to do to read a particular article which might be the article of the moment (because Rabbit wrote it), all you have to do is click one ad and watch it for thirty seconds.

But I argued that a lot of times if i get to the Washington Post and they even ask for my birthday that i wont read the article because fuck the Washington Post for wanting to know my birthday.

Chris says she just lies when they ask, but i dont feel comfortable lying.

Anyhow, i would like you all to do me a favor, one of the few favors that I will ask from you before the Tsar cd comes out this fall. Do me a favor and sign up for the free trial on Variety.com because i would like to talk about some of the information in there and i wouldnt want you to be frustrated when i wrote about it.

Also, if you have a blog, let me know in the comments here: do you link to pay sites? would you? should you?

i am seriously interested in your feedback in this matter.

now it’s time for me to make a sandwich for my lunch.

Variety

and said its april fools day, maybe you should do a post today and make it all true.

i said, nah.

put on my clothes, brushed my teeth and kissed her on the forehead and took the bus back to my house.

i dont like showering in strange places.

man on the radio was complaining that men complain to much. especially the american ones.

for some reason i thought immediately of andy rooney.

winner of the greatest job in the world contest.

i wonder how much andy would pay me to write his shit.

that way all hes got to do is show up for two minutes a week and not even think about anything.

how much would you pay not to have to even think about anything?

went to work then came home and made a tv dinner.

usually i dont eat tv dinners, but im exhausted tonight for some reason.

cracked open the old time favorite, salisburry steak.

somehow theyve turned the simple process of preparing a tv dinner (take dinner out of box, put it into microwave, press Quick Start + 3) into… cooking.

today i had to flip over the “steak”, pull back the plastic over the potatoes, stir the potatoes, and then put it in for a few more minutes.

ended up having to put a slice of pizza into the toaster oven afterwards.

fell asleep, woke up and write you.

vodka pundit + almost bathing suit season + urban chic + my readers dont do that!

im going to ask you people to get behind it.

im going to want you to not only buy it but tell all your friends.

last time we tried to let the record company take care of their success, but this time we’re going to take that shit in our own hands.

my bro whalen called me yesterday to wish me a happy opening day. i thought that was killer.

he really is a pretty awesome guy sometimes.

i love all the guys in tsar. all very different people. all great friends. all great musicians.

even solomon.

im so happy that theyre my friends. i wish theyd get on with it and start playing in la every week. it’s the only way.

they also need a video. i wish theyd make ten videoes in ten days. i wish theyd get held hostage at a radio station and be forced to spin records and play live and then the captor get caught and tsar ruled the world.

i want peter jennings to wear a tsar tshirt at a knicks game.

i want the pixies to get back together for the sole purpose of playing the first tsar record in its entirety on rock radio.

i want a new girlfriend.

i want a boss who respects me.

i want a job so good that i could afford a car and drive down wilshire listening to talk radio during rush hour on the way home and i dont have to rush i can just cruise into the kfc drive through and after ordering call up a cute girl and ask her if she wants me to swing by and take her to the new chris rock movie and shed say, me? and id say, you.

and shed squeal and ask me to give her 15 minutes and when i got there shed smell super great and shed be beaming and id be beaming and shed get into the car and as we were heading to the $13 a ticket theatre we’d hear the dj say, and this, oh my, this is the brand new single from la’s best new band.

kiddies, this is tsar.

and this girl would like me so much she would hold my hand through the whole movie.

and then shed ask me to show her tsar videos at my place afterwards.

i get to use my new bus pass today.

5ilver + jamie + lilly