Don't mess with Texas

I am not a fan of the Chicago White Sox. I'm hardly a fan of baseball. But my favorite TV show the past few days has been the one where Houston is forced to eat its ten-gallon cowboy hat. My favorite part was when they showed former President George H.W. Bush and wife Barbara decked out in Astros gear and mouths agape when the White Sox took the lead in game four.






(I couldn't find a pic online of George senior and Barbara when their mouths were agape, but you get the idea. That's Neil Bush next to the silver fox. Neil is potentailly your future president if we don't get our shit together and stop the insanity.)

One of the many sayings in Texas is that they do everything bigger there. Well, they certainly managed to lose the World Series as hugely as possible. Swept. Not one win. That's huge, right?

Days of Thunder

I was channel surfing the other day (taking a break from surfing the web), and "The Color of Money" was on TV. Tom Cruise and Paul Newman in a movie about shooting pool. And I wondered: When exactly did Tom Cruise fall out of favor? There was a time in his career where he could do no wrong. But now he's seen as a crazed egomaniac.

Was it after starring in a few bad movies? Top Gun? Cocktail? Days of Thunder?
Or was it later, like: Magnolia? Mission Impossible II? The Last Samurai?

Was it his breakup with Nicole Kidman? You can't hate the guy for that. But you can wonder about his sexual preferences for that. I mean, IT'S NICOLE KIDMAN FOR CHRISSAKES.

Or was it when he became a supremely vocal Scientologist? I gotta think that his rant against Brooke Shields must have lost more than a few of his fans. Beck is apparently a Scientologist, but you don't hear anybody saying "remember when Beck used to be good?" He's still good! But Beck isn't as vocal about his love for Scientology as Tom Cruise is.

Maybe if Tom Cruise picks up a guitar and starts playing the lo-fi slacker part, he'll be welcomed with open arms again. Or if he shuts the fuck up.

Witness the evolution of the revolution

At the rate new iPods are coming out these days, why would you buy the video one Jobs announced yesterday? By this time next month, there'll be one with internet connect-ability (duh). And by January, one with a built-in iSight for iChatting! I'm gonna hang onto my $299 until the one that makes perfect poached eggs and hash comes out next spring.

Hello. How may I help you?

We're on the verge of buying a bed, which is long long overdue. I've researched mattresses so much in the past week that I feel like some sort of authority on the subject. Like "a little knowledge is dangerous" kind of authority.

After lying in the beds for 30 minutes at Room & Board near the old Western Images intersection of 7th & Townsend, we were about to pull the trigger on buying a memory foam mattress. Then Lily's friends Kevin and Randy ran into us and convinced us to shop around online for something that would surely be half-price.

We found an online mattress seller which had memory foam mattresses for half the price of Room & Board. Not a lot of info there, and I wanted to ask some questions, so I clicked on the "chat with a customer service representative now" button. I was looking forward to chatting with somebody as helpful as the woman on the picture of the button.

Keep in mind that an average of 5 minutes passed between each response.

Chat Information Please wait for a site operator to respond.
Chat Information All operators are currently assisting others. Thanks for your patience. An operator will be with you shortly.
Chat Information All operators are currently assisting others. Thanks for your patience. An operator will be with you shortly.
Chat Information All operators are currently assisting others. Thanks for your patience. An operator will be with you shortly.
Chat Information You are now chatting with 'ed'
ed: How may I help you today?
lee: hi.
lee: I'm wondering what the ILD rating of your memory foam mattresses is.
ed: our memory foam has a 5.3lb density

[Sidebar from LLMB: ILD does not measure the density of foam. It is a measure of how hard or soft the material is. It's generally measured in the number of pounds needed to compress the material 25% (on average). According to ed's answer it would take 5.3 pounds to compress the material 25%. At that rate, any full grown human would be lying on the ground.]

lee: is the foam made in the U.S.?
ed: our beds are made in the US
lee: is the foam bought elsewhere and the beds assemebled in the U.S.?

[20 minutes passes]

lee: still there Ed?
ed: I'm sorry for the delay
ed: our Memory foam is made in China
ed: and beds are assmbled in our plant
lee: does the foam contain fire-retardants such as PBDE or formaldehyde?
ed: they are fire retardent
lee: does the foam contain PBDE?
ed: no
lee: what fire-retardant chemicals are used in the mattresses?
ed: i dont know
lee: can you find out?
ed: not today
lee: sorry ed, but your lack of answer is not allowing me to make a decision on buying your product.
ed: i'm sorry
lee: does the foam contain formaldehyde?
ed: Call me at 1 800 xxx-xxxx ext xxx
ed: on Monday, I'll find out from my plant
lee: I'm not clear on how you would have the answer to the PBDE question and not the formaldehyde question. Do you have a list of some of the chemicals and not others?
ed: I said I'll get the info on Monday, call me then, OK?

Command + Q

Oh, ok. I'm just some pesky customer that might spend more than a few bucks at your store. Good thing I kept asking questions about where the components of your mattresses are made or you might think China is a state in the US.

I wasn't about to pick up the phone to speak with Ed considering his track record with answers. I went back to Room & Board to ask some questions and got basically zero help there as well. Luckily we ran into a very nice young man named Andrew at a mattress store in Menlo Park. He gave us loads of info and was ready to do anything in his power to lower the price and get us the mattress we wanted. No salesy BS at all. Nighty-night.

My butto is go e

My butto is go e

My butto is go e. I have a theory about how it happe ed. Whe you wa t a ew fi der wi dow i OSX, you press Comma d + . I do that all the time, i stead of goi g to the Fi der File me u a d choosi g " ew fi der wi dow". So I guess all that pressi g Comma d + wiped it away.

But perhaps someo e stole it. The fact that I ever oticed the butto slowly disappeari g is evide ce of this. Maybe someo e who pressed Comma d + eve more tha I do, a d who eve presses Comma d + Shift + more ofte tha I do! That would make the butto disappear faster.

It's ot like the e tire butto is go e. It's just a bla k key betwee B & M, u der H & J, that sits there a d could be a ythi g. I e visio the comi g back o e day as a rei car ated . O e with miraculous powers that would make a fi der wi dow that ope ed EXACTLY i the directory I was thi ki g of.

Rece tly some self-proclaimed geek mass-produced keyboards with othi g pri ted o the keys. Evide tly it makes o e a more efficie t typist because with othi g pri ted o the keys, it's impossible to hu t-a d-peck a ymore, thereby rei forci g o e's memory of where each key is. Screw that. I just wa t my back.

Stray Cat Strut

There are 4 stray cats that live in the yards surrounding our carriage house. We're convinced that three of them are related and the fourth is not, but one of our neighbors has a theory that the fourth is the father of 2 of them through the other cat.
They are:

Mama cat



Fraidy (daughter of Mama)





Lil' Grey (daughter of Mama)








Slow-mo




Our naming conventions are pretty straightforward. Mama is the mama of the two grey cats. Fraidy is afraid of everything, so if you come through a door, she runs away. Lil' Grey is the smaller of the grey cats. And Slow-mo moves in slow motion. It is impossible for him to run away quickly, even if you make a move toward him.

None of the cats are very comfortable with the idea of being petted. Once or twice Lily and I have been able to pet Lil' Grey, but not the others. I'd never want to pet Slow-mo because he is disgusting. He sneezes a lot and pieces of his fur are everywhere. He also has only one eye, and we had the pleasure of watching the process of him losing it.

The cats have been pretty busy lately. First they were bringing half eaten birds back to the patio. Then mice. Now it's rats. I had no idea there were rats around, but apparently there are fewer of them now. I think the cats are decimating a nest somewhere, because the rats used to be big dead ones. Now they're small dead ones.

My neighbor Michael usually cleans up the rat corpses because they feed the cats and hence, it's kind of by their doing that the cats hang around our yard so much. But sometimes the dead rats lie in areas that are hard to see unless you're in our house, so I pick up and dispose of them. Usually by grabbing no less than three plastic grocery bags and finding a stick to roll the carcass into the bag. Cats - 5, Rats - 0.

The week in cycling

It was an interesting week on the bike. On Monday I nearly got run over twice by the same truck in a span of 10 seconds. Makes me wish I had a third hand just so I could flip the bird and stay on course. And so I could choose the tunes a little better as I ride. Anyway. Monday night I guess I ran over a nail because on Tuesday morning I discovered a flat and I had to walk to work.

Tuesday evening I walked to 3 shops looking for flat-fixing related gear, and let me tell you, the employees at that new Sportmart on Folsom and Division are VERY eager to help you find what you need. Not that they know what to recommend, but enthusiasm counts for something, right? I bought a pump, a patch kit, and a tire insert called Slime that is supposed to prevent more flat tires.

Wednesday morning I rode the bike to work with fully pumped tired for the first time in... well, a long time. Much faster. And with no fear of riding over the glass on 14th street that probably amounts to a case of beer's worth. Mmm... beer. Okay. I was flying down the bike lane on 14th so fast because of the tire fullness that I passed 3 slowpoke cyclists (feeling like Lance Armstrong here, but without Cheryl Crow waiting at the finish line) and past one scooter rider occupying the bike lane who I yelled "it's a BIKE lane" at. I arrived at work in record time. 2 songs.

At the end of the work day I left a little late (5:04 pm), put "Suck my Kiss" on the 1st Gen iPod and pedaled down Harrison. The beginning of rush hour. Crazy people frantically careening home in their cars to get in front of the tube to watch Friends reruns. Upon approaching the bike lane on Harrison near the Best Buy I noticed a homeless dude in the middle of the bike lane bent over rummaging through an old suitcase. I looked to my left and there was a car driving right along side me. No room to maneuver, but the fully-pumped tires were sending me right into him. I swerved between him and the narrow space left by the car and gave him a spank on the rear as I passed by. I laughed so hard that I almost didn't make my turn. I could barely hear him yelling "HEY, MUTHAFUCKA" over the Chili Peppers. Try that in a car at 3 bucks a gallon.

With gas prices the way they are, you might just consider hopping on your bike and taking a ride too.

I Love LA

What the hell is up with that song? What is there to love about LA? I mean, I like LA, and I may one day live there, but would I love it? Probably not. I can imagine hating it after living there for a bit.

What is there to love? The weather? Probably. Hot days and warm nights are pretty lovable. The beaches? Okay, having a warm night on a beach is pretty rad, brah. The radio? Love it. I ditch the CDs and mp3s when I'm in LA. KCRW is the best station in the nation, and you can just leave it tuned in forever.

Sorry, but that's about all there is to love about the City of Angels.

What is there to hate? Well, the list goes on and on.
Smog.
Idiotic drivers in idiotic traffic.
Bad service at mediocre restaurants.
Strip malls.
Starfuckers and wannabees.
LAX.
Downtown.
Ugh.

It's really lame when the landmark for a city is a bunch of letters on a hill (sorry AC). But a city as huge as LA ought to do better than that. What do you think of when you think of New York? Maybe the Empire State Building or the Brooklyn Bridge. What do you think of when you think of San Francisco? Possibly the Golden Gate Bridge, or the painted ladies, or the Transamerica Building. What do you think of when you think of Los Angeles? A bunch of non-descript buildings downtown surrounded by traffic and smog, and the Hollywood sign. Lame.

Even their song is lame. Maybe I'm forgetting some beautiful song crooning about the beauty of Los Angeles, but I believe that the Randy Newman song is about all there is. We've got "I left my heart in San Francisco." LA has "I love LA", where Newman sings about driving and the weather and a bum on his knees. I love San Francisco, despite this fog that is supposed to have burned off by now. LA? Well, that smog ain't never burning off. We love it!

The Problem

Due to the fact that I'm on a mini-vacation, and to commemorate his band's recent visit to SF - Steve Albini will be the guest writer on this week's edition of Lee Lee the Musical Bee.

Enjoy!

The Final Cut - part 2

Continued from last week...

"Holy shit Bob, I thought you were dead!"
"I'd like to be dead after the crap they've been feeding me."
"What have they been feeding you?"
"Golden Boy pizza"
"Sweet! When do we eat?" I asked.
"I always loved those slices. But after you've been eating it for as long as I have, it starts to taste like a cardboard square with tomato paste on it." Bob gagged.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the stage as two silhouettes approached. It was blinding to try to see them past the lights aimed in our direction, but it appeared to be Lisa and a tall thin man. The man clapped his hands in mock appreciation. "Congratulations Mister Garner. You are the second editor to survive the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death."
I tried to make out the voice, but no luck. He was still just a silhouette. "Thanks. And it's GarDner, mister...?"
The man let out an evil laugh. "My apologies Mister Gardner. And I assumed that you would surely recognize my voice by all my lectures you've attended and by my award-winning DVD collection 'In the Blink of an Eye.'"
The man walked out from the shadows, but it was already apparent to me who he was.
"My name is Murch, Walter Murch."
Bob puked right next to where we were sitting. It smelled like rotten pepperoni.
"Well, I guess I'm never eating at Golden Boy again. Damn!" I gagged.
Murch explained the reason for our capture: "You see Mister Garner, the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death has always been unattainable by even the likes of me. I lost many a colleague by its hands. I believe the only thing that protected me was my award-winning Standing While Editing™ technique, which I will receive the patent for later this year."
I gagged again. "You can't patent standing, you megalomaniac."
Murch laughed again and walked closer. "Oh you silly computerized-editing boy, you lack the true knowledge of this business, don't you? I will not only receive the patent, but I will produce the Murch Console™ which will only permit standing while editing. Legions of editors, especially that of your era which have never even cut a strip of film, will buy the method and console in hopes that it will make them stronger editors. But you can't buy the skill of editing, you must learn the craft."
"That's funny, coming from somebody that had to abduct two editors who did the work for you in solving the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death." I turned my head towards Bob's and whispered "Back me up here, dude."
Bob lifted his head and said "Yeah" and then he vomited again.
"Oh Jeez Bob, the pizza's not THAT bad"
Bob finished puking and said "It's not the pizza, it's his pompousness."
"Right."
Murch continued on. "That was the one thing I could never understand about the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death until Mister Malloy figured it out. The missing link is not a link at all, but a pen. And not a pen, but a stylus. You see Mister Garner, there really aren't many editors using a tablet as their input device, and even fewer who will attempt the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. But with my newly forged alliance with Apple Computer and Final Cut Pro, we are in negotiations to purchase Wacom technology. Wacom will cease to exist and their tablets will be renamed iTablet, in coordinance with the Apple naming system. In 2006, I will be introduced as the face of Final Cut Pro 6 and with iTablet in hand, Steve Jobs and I will travel across the world hosting seminars unveiling the mystery of the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. The effect will be sold as a plugin ONLY AVAILABLE through Final Cut Pro 6."
Bob finally perked up and said, "The Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death was completed on an Avid, Murch."
Walter Murch began to turn red. He turned to Lisa and screamed "Avid? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Kind of like the newly minted Darth Vader in Episode III, but without the cool James Earl Jones voice. Lisa plugged her ears and doubled over as Murch's head began to shake violently. Lisa screamed "OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!!!" Murch's head exploded with such a force that it blew Lisa's head off too. Bob puked again, and the smell of rotten pepperoni was a blessing compared to the smell of Murch head on my shirt.
I remembered that I had put my Wacom stylus in my pocket, so we used it to pierce and rip the tape binding our hands to get free.
After we found our way out of the stage, Bob and I walked to Columbus Cafe for 2 for 1 drinks at happy hour. We laughed as we picked off pieces of Murch from various places on our clothing.
Bob pondered the state of editors and the standoff between Avid and Final Cut Pro. "I went to a lecture once where Murch was talking about cutting Cold Mountain on Final Cut Pro and he constantly slammed Avid like he would never use it again. We have to keep our options open and use the best tool for the job."
"Yeah" I replied, "Some people refuse to learn the new tools and they become dinosaurs. Murch became one by refusing to keep his options open."
We decided to go our separate ways. Bob told me he was moving to New Zealand. I told him I was going to Golden Boy to get a slice of pepperoni. Bob puked in the alley. Never seen anybody puke in North Beach before.

The Final Cut

Many of you know him and some of you do not. His name is Bob Malloy, and he's an editor. He does the strangest shit like putting his mouse on the left side of the keyboard even though he's right handed. He turns his keyboard upside down and types with his palms underneath. Sometimes he turns his whole console toward his clients so that he can get some perspective on where they're coming from with their requests. Either that or he's paranoid that they're making faces at him when they ask him to change something.

Well, I hadn't heard from Bob in a while. I got a little worried about him when 3 months went by and I hadn't seen him at the FCPUG at Brainwash (Final Cut Pro Users Group for you non-editors). Bob's producer Lisa called me looking for an editor to cut a results reel for Genetech. A results reel is a compilation of taped news broadcasts from around the country showing where they put a "story" on a typical Health and Science segment of the nightly news. It's advertising parading as information which causes the drug investors and day traders to get their boxer shorts in a bunch. The finishing touches hadn't been put on the cut Bob had been working on.

Lisa, the producer who I once thought was the hottest chick on earth but who was now looking somewhat haggard but beer-googleable (if you're not married like me), called me asking if I could finish out the job. I was still working on Dean Martin with no end in sight, so I had to turn her down. She said we should go out for a drink to figure out how she could finish this piece (of crap) without Bob, and I obliged her with no arm twisting at all. We met at Lucky 13, and she bought Newcastles all night. She told me that Bob was dead. Dead after attempting the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. I immediately called bullshit on her bullshit. No way. Any editor in his right mind would never attempt the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. She laughed and started to cry at the same time. I wiped her tears with my soggy beermat. She went to kiss me, but I pushed my wedding ring into her lips. "Nice try" I muttered as I took a swig of my 5th Newcastle of the evening. I walked out into the cold summer night.

The next day, as I was looking at footage of Dean Martin and Ann-Margaret shaking their asses while singing "I Take a Lot of Pride in What I Am", my senses came to me. I decided to help out Lisa. She knew I would call, and she had already rented a suite at Beyond Pix to attempt that which had killed Bob. I left work five minutes early (4:55 pm) so I could get down there and get started.

When I arrived, Jen, the operations manager was leaving for the day along with everybody else. "Half-day?" I asked. She smiled slightly and said "Never heard that one before. No, just going out for beers. It's Thursday, ya know." I looked at my wrist where a watch would be, but there was only my bracelet. "Oh yeah. Where is it? I never get those e-mails anymore." One of her work buddies said "I can get you back on the list if you want. Just send me your e-mail address. It's at Eagle Drift-in Lounge tonight. Not to be confused with The Eagle." I walked into the suite and turned back to them, "Thanks. Hopefully I'll be getting out of here soon and I can have a pint with you guys." Jen burst into laughter "Yeah right! You'll be lucky if you get out of here at all!"

I sat down at the console where there was a note on a post-it from Lisa. It read: "The latest sequence is called "Rev 27". It only needs that last transition completed and you're done. Call me when you're finished. Thanks!"
Yeah, only that last transition. Only the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. I sat down in the chair that wasn't an Aeron chair. The last chair Bob Malloy ever sat in, the last suite Bob ever edited in. I got right to work.

Hours passed. AC drunk dialed me to ask when I was gonna finish up. I paced the room back and forth at least 100 times. I took my shoes off. I did headstands. I channeled Bob as best I could. I put my mouse on the other side. I turned the keyboard upside down. I remembered what the famed editor Walter Murch said at a lecture: "I stand when I edit. It makes one impatient with the footage." I stood. Nothing. I stood on one leg. Nothing. Suddenly I remembered that I had my Wacom tablet in my bag and forgot to plug it in. I removed the mouse, inserted the plug and grabbed the stylus. Success! "Holy FUCKING SHIT!!!! I DID IT!!!" I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn't asleep on the sofa dreaming. And to make sure I was still alive. I was. I raised my arms in victory and let out a sigh of relief. "I did it." I looked at the clock and it was 4:20 am. Then I heard the sound of one person clapping slowly from behind me. It scared the shit out of me. I turned around and it was Lisa. "You did it. You're finished." She sprayed something in my face that knocked me out cold.

I awoke groggy and with a massive headache. I was in a shooting stage with bright lights shining directly at me. My hands and feet were tied with gaffers tape. I tried to wriggle my hands free, but it was no use. I was tied to another person. He said "Dude, will you stop moving around? I'm trying to sleep." I remembered that voice. It was Bob Malloy.

To be continued...

Phood

I've been working a longer-term project in the last couple of months. The food here is amazing. There's a chef at this place, and he's not cooking spaghetti with meat sauce everyday. It's like eating at a restaurant you could pay serious bucks for. Not only lunch, but breakfast too! I may have told readers 1 & 4 about the food at one point or another, but now the truth can be shown to ALL readers: 1,2,3 AND 4!

A sampling of the bountiful bounty:

Breakfast -


Ham n' cheese croissant with fruit salad



French toast with maple syrup and ham, with fruit salad.


Lunch -


Steak with onions, polenta, heirloom tomatoes, spinach with chanterelle mushrooms, salad.
You can see a bit of the Mackie mixer in the corner of this pic, which proves I'm taking these pictures at work. I would never eat next to a Mackie mixer at home. Or bring one to a restaurant for that matter.



Paella - That's not all for me. Calvin, the chef was so stoked about my picture diary that he wanted me to take a picture of the whole pan.



Grilled cheese and tomato bisque for dipping, pork roast with mustard sauce, peaches, salad


Dessert -


Strawberries with Marscapone cheese


I'm gonna stay here as long as I can until they drag me out kicking and screaming. Now if they would just get an espresso machine...

Take that

You may have heard about the recent lightning strike which touched a plane operated by AirFrance and subsequently crashed at the Toronto airport. Well, that was all me. I will take full responsibility for the lightning strike, and the authorities may begin an investigation into my involvement. Nobody died, nobody was seriously injured. And there will probably be no financial repercussions to AirFrance because it wasn't like it was operator error which caused lightning to strike the plane. It was me.

You probably don't think it's funny. I don't either. But after I heard the news, I had that little grin on my face like Megan from The Exorcist did after she kills the elder priest. You see, AirFrance did me wrong. Last year on one of their flights I was smacked in the back of the head (on purpose) by a Frenchman sitting behind me. The man had been jamming his knees into the back of Lily's seat the entire flight, and when we asked him to move his knees elsewhere, he said something to the effect of, "How do you say... fuck you?" Homeboy actually said his legs were long and there was nothing he could do about it. Later I passed him on the way to the bathroom and he wasn't much taller than me. Legroom Lee they call me on the planes. Yeah.

After a while Lily and I switched seats so we could both share in the joy. When we were about an hour from home, the Frenchman's knees pushed into my seat so hard it snapped the seat out of its locked position and into a position further forward than normal. I responded by trying to get my seat back to its regular position, and then more pushing from the dude, and then the smack on the head.

I immediately got up from my seat and was about to grab the guy when my inner Phil Jackson told me to take a timeout. I went to the flight attendants and told them what happened. They proceeded to go the headsmacker and ask him what happened. He told them, in his native tongue - something I have a very slim knowledge of - and the flight crew were laughing with him about his story. Great. Suddenly I had a hankerin' for some freedom fries.

AirFrance did nothing about it. Well, they did have the courtesy to send me a letter stating that they weren't going to do anything about it. Oui oui.

So I expect to be receiving another letter from AirFrance soon expressing their full apologies and giving me and Lily free flights to anywhere AirFrance flies for a year. Don't make me pull out the lightning finger again. Cuz I WILL burn you. C'est la vie.

3 o'clock

Not long ago in a galaxy not far away, the people who write the articles on the website you're parked at right now all worked at the same company. Western Images at 300W Townsend street San Francisco, CA. When I began working there, I didn't drink coffee. I don't know if Tama did either because coffee didn't seem to involve so much of her daily existence as it did the others. Alan constantly had a coffee mug at his desk, and Josh constantly carried one with him wherever he went.

I drank orange juice in the morning. The bike ride down Potrero ave at 8:30 am complete with cars racing by within 6 inches of my bike was enough to wake my ass up. But then the afternoon would arrive and asses would start dragging. I began to notice that Josh and Alan were hanging around the kitchen at 3 o'clock every day drinking coffee. I'd get my regular - Coke in a plastic cup with ice. Coke poured before the ice was put in so as not to flatten the Coke. I hate it when fast food joints do it the wrong way. Anyway, one time at 3 o'clock Josh asked if he could buy me a cup o' joe. Figuratively speaking, of course. It sounded like fun, and away we went. The energy level after 3 o'clock coffee definitely trumps what a Coke will do. Enough caffeine-induced energy to get through the end of the work day.

I joined the tradition of congregating in the kitchen with the other coffee aficionados at 3. And even though Western Images is gone, the tradition remains. For me at least. Or maybe it's called caffeine addiction now that it's less of a social thing. In any case, another tradition that IS social is wearing a tie on Thursday if you're gonna tie one on at Thursday Night Social Club. And then there's the tradition of AC buying you drinks if you're wearing a tie. Or even if you're not wearing a tie. What could be better than that?

Howdy Neighbor

Neighbors suck. Well, they don't ALL suck. But for the most part I think I can safely say that my neighbors, in general, suck.

I live in a house which includes seven rental units. In this day and age, if you even see your neighbors a couple times a month it's a rarity. Some neighbors I see far less than that. Included in San Francisco neighbor-dom are the people who live on either side of the house that's standing next to yours. So I have a neighbor on one side who's an opera singer, and one on the other side who's redoing his backyard. There was a time about two years ago when I would hear the opera singer belt one out, and I thought it was beautiful. Now I think she's showing off. And as for the guy with the backyard, he needs to get it done before the wind blows all his dirt away. The opera singer's friends routinely park in our driveway, despite the NO PARKING IN DRIVEWAY sign. And I routinely tell them, "Hey, it would be super cool if you guys could just put a note on your car saying which apartment to ring. K?" Why I oughta...

Those are small gripes compared to the ones I have toward the people living in the same building as me. They collectively do the absolute minimum it takes to keep the building in order. One of my neighbors (who I don't mind so much, but Lily does because he's nosy) called last week to gripe about the lack of participation by the rest of our building in taking the trash bins out for Thursday morning and taking them in that night. Nobody in my building takes out the trash bins nearly as often as I do. So obviously I was ready to hear him out.

He wanted us to leave the trash bins out after the collection and have somebody take them in, other than the three of us who regularly do it. Not a big deal, seeing as how I take them out when they're full (i.e. Heavy as hell), so taking them in when they're empty shouldn't be too difficult. But no, the bins sat there on the curb for days. Days after all our neighbors on the block had taken theirs in. After a while I began to feel childish about it, and that we were becoming the neighbors who suck by leaving them out there. I was just about to break and roll them inside when my neighbor who started this test told me that he saw Bob taking them in at about midnight the night before. Bob's one of the newest residents in the building. Bob had a little accident
when he moved in. When he was moving in at 3am a bunch of guys beat him up, and now his shoulder is messed up. He's probably pissed off at the people who left the bins out there for a man with a bum shoulder to take in. I better wrap this up. I forgot to take the trash bins out. Neighbors suck.

Minutes

A very hearty "welcome" to my newly found 4th reader. Enjoy!

Thursday July 7th -
9 am - Work on Dean Martin
6 pm - Work on Barbershop

Friday July 8th
9 am - Work on Dean Martin
6 pm - Meet Brian, Joe and JC at Hi-Dive. Margaritas.
7 pm - The four of us go to Red's Java House. We grab a beer before entering SBC Park which sells half the beer for double the price.

7:20 pm - Enter SBC Park to see Giants v. Cardinals.
10 pm - Giants lose 3-1. I am hoarse.
11 pm - The four of us go to Noe's. More margaritas.

Saturday July 9th
1 am - We travel to El Farolito. Super quesadilla suiza - Al pastor. Chips. Corona.
2 am - I am dropped off and immediately pass out on the sofa.
6 am - Lily helps me find the bed.
9 am - Hangover begins
10 am - Lily gets me ibuprofen.
11 am - Lily returns from the corner store with Gatorade.
12 pm - I get out of bed and return to the sofa to space out for hours while Lily prepares and bakes a plum tart.
1 pm - Director of Barbershop calls to request revisions.
2 pm - Shower
2:30 pm - Drive to San Anselmo for BBQ with Kevin & Sheila and their two kids.
5 pm - Dinner - Poached salmon, flank steak, grilled zucchini and mushrooms, rice pilaf.
8 pm - Return home and work on revisions.

Sunday July 10th
12:30 am - Go to bed
9am - Wake up
9:15 am - Get e-mail and more revisions
10am - Edit revisions
11am - Prepare old computer for sale to new owner
12pm - Edit more revisions
6:30 pm - Post last revised cut of the day
7 pm - Drive to the law offices of George Rush to drop off old computer. Setup takes 10 minutes.
7:30 pm - Pick up Jesse and drive to Metreon. The newly paved Mission street between 5th and 11th streets is very smooth.
7:45 pm - Eat chicken curry and rice at Sanraku. Sapporo and sake to share with Jesse.
8:40 pm - Batman Begins
10:50 pm - Batman Ends

Monday July 11th
9:45 am - Doctor appointment
12 pm - Work on Dean Martin

Tuesday July 12th
9am - Work on Dean Martin
10:45 am - receive e-mail notification of approval of Barbershop title sequence
5:15 pm - ride to Washington Mutual new location in Potrero Center and deposit checks. Receive massive flirtation from teller. Remember wedding ring is in pocket and put on in front of said teller.
6 pm - Post clean version of Barbershop for titles to be animated elsewhere

Wednesday July 13th
9am - Work on Dean Martin
5:45 pm - Go to gym. Answer guy's questions about my Shure e2c earphones. Recommend said earphones. Wonder if he heard a word I said.
6:45 pm - receive call from Lily.
6:46 pm - remember that I forgot to pick up Lily
6:47 pm - drive downtown to pick up Lily. The newly paved Mission street between 5th and 11th streets is very smooth.

7:15 pm - calculate timings of titles for Barbershop and e-mail producer
11 pm - roll trash bins to curb

mp3 of Death

As you no doubt have heard in the press, there have been a rash of robberies in New York City lately for iPods. In fact, one 15-year old boy was killed for his iPod last week. I can just imagine the thugs who stole the iPod thinking "heall yeahz, I'm gonna fill this up with all my dope-ass tracks" only to find that they need a computer to actually put their dope-ass tracks on the stolen mp3 player. Doh!

Well I thought it was only the east-coast riff-raff that were capable of such dirty deeds, but the San Francisco riff-raff proved me wrong. As I rocked out to Slayer's "God Hates Us All", some punk kid in the lower Haight with a Rambo knife charged at me and yelled "Gimme the iPod!" Well, I actually don't know exactly what he said because I had my earphones in and... nevermind. The dead giveaway was wearing my old standard-issue white headphones because I forgot where I put my decidedly better sounding black Shures.

Not really wanting to get sliced in any way, I reached into my pocket and held out my first-generation 5GB iPod from 2001. I removed my earphones and the kid looked at me quizzically. "What the fuck is that?" he asked. "My iPod" I replied. "That ain't no muthafuckin iPod, bitch" he said, shaking his head. "Uh, yeah it is" I replied. He asked me how much storage it had and I told him. He just said "shit" and turned and walked away. I put the unwanted iPod back in my pocket and got back to Slayer. Well, at least it's still wanted by me.

Brain-rot

My apologies to the 3 regular readers of this column, but my brain has still not recovered from last weekend's festivities (my birthday + friend's bachelor party), and LLMB will resort to music review-age.

Shellac is coming to the Great American Music Hall for 2 nights in August. They don't tour much, and this may be your only chance to see them. Minimalist rock that's indie in nature - but now that indie has become synonymous with emo - it's not really indie other than the fact that it's not on a major label. Math rock at it's finest.

Buy TRS-80's "Shake Hands With Danger". It's kind of a hard listen - no vocals - and crazy electronic beats - but I've listened to it 20 times in the last 3 days, and that has to say something good about it.

Rock on.

Dinger

I don't know if many of you have heard of this, but there's a local dude named Barry Bonds who's chasing the home run record. Not currently though. Currently he's sitting on his ass counting his millions and blaming the media for his plight.

But there is another dude I've heard about from a friend of mine living in Chicago. He told me that he's heard from more than one co-worker that there's a serial killer in Pittsburgh who's chasing Barry's record in a different manner. He's mimicking Bonds' home run record in kills. Apparently the Pittsburgh Police Department have given him the nickname "Bury Blondes" because of his penchant for bludgeoning people with blonde hair (both male and female) to death with a baseball bat.

Now I don't have anything to worry about because my hair takes about 10 hours under a sunlamp to turn light brown, but maybe the blondes out here living in San Francisco should take notice. "Bury Blondes" has been operating in Pittsburgh for 6 years now, which is almost as long as Mr. Barry Bonds was hitting home runs in the steel city. Which means this could be his last year there and next year will be his first year in San Francisco, if the killer is indeed following the career of the slugger.

It's hard to debate the similarities between the home run record and serial killer's record. In 2004, Bury Blondes murdered 25. This year he's on pace for 34, which is exactly what Bonds homered in his final year in Pittsburgh.

Apparently the reason this serial killer isn't featured more heavily in the news is because of pressure from Major League Baseball to keep it quiet. They don't want this thing taking any of the excitement from the home run chase. God forbid something like steroids might do something like that.

Good Karma

I have no idea what's going on, but I've had a mini-run of good fortune lately. Not that you can call your computer dying on you good fortune, but the resulting free-repair-after-your-laptop-isn't-under-warranty-anymore would be moved to the "good" category.

My bike has been sitting in the garage for a while in the recent past because it's used mainly for transportation to and from work. And because you can't really ride a bike from San Francisco to Seattle very quickly or very easily, the work commute has left the bike next to the rake and the broom and the hoe. Huh huh. Hoe. Anyway, the bike has been called to action lately because I've been working close enough to pedal down 14th street and coast to this week's worksite. That's livin'.

The gears on the bike don't shift like they used to, and I didn't think it was much of a problem until I tried to do the slick biker maneuver of blasting through a red light, pedaling my ass off to avoid being run over by a Toyota Tacoma. Well the gears didn't shift like they used to and the gears kinda snapped into an unintended gear at an unintended moment and I didn't have the cranking speed I wanted. That, and my foot nearly slipped out of the pedal, and that could have been disastrous.

So I tried to do the bike tune-up by myself. I'm no bike mechanic, but how hard can it be? It looked like I fixed the gear shifting when testing the gears out with the bike upside-down in my garage, but the riding was a different matter. The problem was worse than before. I'd shift gears and nothing would happen. I couldn't pass those road rage bikers like I used to.

There's a little bike shop on 14th street and Guerrero called "Box Dog Bikes" that has a pit bull type dog that's old and very sweet and slowly comes out to greet you on the street when you pull up. I brought my bike there and a bike mechanic with worn black nail polish came out and asked me what the problem was. He said the rear derailleur cable was too tight. I said "I wonder how that happened?" and scratched my head. He brought out a wrench and did some quick adjustments and took it for a ride. He rode it back into the shop and said "I think I fixed it. Do you want to put some air in your tires?" I did and then I took it for a spin right out front. Fixed. I rode back in and asked him "how much?" No charge. Wow. That's 2 free repairs in 2 weeks. Since everything comes in 3s, I can't wait to see what's next.