I'm an asshole

How's your New Years resolution going? There was a report on the radio that said New Years resolutions are good for business. Like the health clubs get a boost around New Years, which kind of pisses off the health club regulars because the gear is taken up by people who aren't really serious about fitness. They'll only be there for a month or so, then go back to their slothful ways. That's what the radio said anyway. Good for business.

And as I was listening to the report I noticed this truck.



The truck is not really the thing to notice, but the appendage below the license plate is. It's not apparent exactly what the gold part is, but I'd say it's balls. A pair of gold balls. When the truck drove, the balls kinda waggled, which made me think that they're balls and not some other thing like... well, like nothing but balls.

Which led me to wonder why somebody would put that on their truck. The fact that they've got a truck like that should convey the same message as having a gold ballsack appendage on the truck. I was thinking it might be just as appropriate to have a big gold asshole on the truck. Which led me to remembering that I hadn't actually made a New Years resolution for 2007.

So here it is: I resolve to not drive like an asshole in 2007. You can join in this one with me if you want. Just raise your right hand (or left hand if you're goofy like that) and repeat after me:

- I resolve to not drive like an asshole. I will not speed ridiculously nor race from a stop sign or stop light. I will not do that thing where you sense that the person in the next lane is trying to speed up to change lanes and get in front of you, and then speed up to prevent them from doing so.

- I resolve not to drive like an asshole. I will not talk on my cell phone while driving or I'll pull over or I'll get a headset. I will not try to navigate my iPod to that one song that I must hear immediately. I won't fuck with any gadgets whatsoever while driving. If I need to do that I'll pull over.

- I resolve not to give people a dirty look when they cut me off. Or wave my middle finger at them. Or shout or spit or any asshole-ish things that an asshole would do.

In the end, it's probably easier to just ride my bike everywhere and not drive as much. Then I can be immune to being an asshole. Nobody who rides a bike is an asshole. Ever.

Thirty Dirty Birds

Due to the fact that drinking the tap water here would cause me to grow a third ear, we've been drinking bottled water. Not really in bottles, but in those suitcase-style plastic containers with the little spigot at the bottom. Seems to make more sense for us than getting water delivered or drinking the tap water here and growing a third ear.

But after a while those empty plastic suitcases start to pile up, and Judah likes to use them as cars that he pushes all over the apartment. So to prevent that, I take the plastic suitcases and put them in the hatchback part of 'Lil Brown (our 1990 Honda Civic that appeared in LLMB 7/6/06). That works until the items in the hatchback part of 'Lil Brown overflow into the back seat, and any co-workers who happen to see my car wonder what the hell is going on.

I was feeling crowded out of 'Lil Brown enough that I finally decided to take the empty suitcases to the plastic recycling center nearby. When I pulled up to the trailers outside Albertson's where they collect plastic, three homeless men were sitting on the curb passing around a lighter lighting cigarettes.

I grabbed a couple of the handy big plastic garbage cans to throw my plastic suitcases in, and one of the homeless guys yelled "Make 'em count 'em". And another one said "Ya get more money" while the third guy took a drag off his cigarette and nodded and winked. The two people working the recycling center - a woman with thin penciled eyebrows and a small man with a moustache and trucker cap - moseyed off the car they were sitting on and reluctantly assumed work mode.

The woman asked "How many?"
"I don't know" I replied and then started counting the suitcases as I filled the garbage can. I got to 19, but I wasn't finished emptying 'Lil Brown of all of the suitcases.
"Please smash 'em next time" the mustached man said while smashing the suitcases. What? So I can save him the time so he can go back and sit on the car again? Like hell I will.

The total was 29. The woman gave me a receipt for $2.90 to take into Albertson's to redeem for cash money. I walked by the three homeless guys on my way inside. "How much did ya get?" one of them asked.
"2.90" I replied.
Another one chimed in "You'd get more if ya made 'em count em instead of weighin' 'em"
"I did count 'em" I said.
Another one of the homeless guys said "Buy a power tie" as he noticed I was wearing a tie (this was on Thursday before work). The other two guys cackled. I locked my car so they wouldn't steal any of the highly valuable items in 'Lil Brown. Like the melted cassette collection in the glove box.

I got my $2.90 in mostly quarters so we could do laundry. I came back outside, headed toward the car and realized those homeless guys were gonna ask me for money. I tried not to look at them, but I couldn't resist after I heard "Hey!"

I looked over.
"Can I borrow $2.90?"
The three guys all laughed.
I smiled and said "You guys have a nice day."

Divine Intervention

Don't know if you caught the end of the Seahawks / Cowboys wild-card playoff game on Saturday night, but I sure did. You think after all the griping / wishing / praying I've done in this section of the TNSC website in the past year I'd miss that one?

Let me preface the rest of the rant with this: I have no illusions that the Seahawks are good at all this year, and they definitely aren't worthy of being considered a playoff-caliber team this season. But until the NFL decides to exclude the NFC West from the definition of "playoff-caliber", they'll still be in the running.

Around the middle of the 4th quarter, the standard Seahawks sinking feeling started setting in. The Cowboys were clicking. The Seahawks defense was looking tired. I had done enough yelling at the TV that Lily has forbidden me from watching Seahawks games at home until the end of time or the end of my life, whichever comes first.

I came to the conclusion that no team that I root for is going to win a championship any time soon, nor has any won a championship in my lifetime - excluding the SuperSonics in 1979, but I was too young to really appreciate it. And I realize that it took forever for many fans of the Boston Red Sox to get another title, but it's kinda hard to feel sorry for a place that's won three of the last five Super Bowls.

In fact, Seattle has the longest drought of any city in terms of winning a sports championship. Unless you're counting the WNBA championship won by the Seattle Storm in 2004. But that's the WNBA. If most women don't care about the Women's NBA, why should I?

Okay, I also realize that Cleveland has statistically the longest drought in terms of championships, but they've actually WON the NFL Championship. They've won the World Series. Seattle titles in those sports? Zero.

But we kept the game close. And we took the lead. And I knew that it couldn't last. Near the end of the game, Dallas drove toward the goal and set up for a field goal. And I'm thinking "a bad snap is the only way we're winning this thing."

And there it was. And there I was jumping off the couch and pogo-ing in my living room. Lily got pissed because she had just put Judah to bed and I was in danger of waking him up. Bad snap? No. Bad hold? Yesssss. Romo got one last chance to take off the goat costume, but it didn't happen. I don't feel sorry for that guy. He has Carrie Underwood around to take the pain away. Unless she dumps his sorry ass. Who wants to date a goat like Romo?

My only explanation for the win is that some divine intervention intervened and gave Seattle a break. After all the bad breaks that have gone against the Seahawks in the past few years, something came through and said "I'll give ya this one". Or maybe it's so Seattle can get tortured for another week.

Rollercoaster

Happy New Year! I hope everybody survived the holiday season. Except that fucker who whipped his huge suitcase far back enough from the luggage carousel to hit Judah and make him cry. He had the nerve to say "you should watch where your kid is", even though Judah was in the no-luggage-flying zone.

I hope he didn't survive the holiday season. No, no. He can survive the holiday season. But he needs to have a kid and maybe some fucker can whip his huge suitcase far back enough from the luggage carousel to hit his kid and make him cry. No, no. That's not fair to his kid. Maybe he shouldn't survive the holiday season after all. No, no. He should get a really bad case of crabs.

Man in the Box

Well, we're in the home stretch of gifting for the holidays. The gift I've received most this year is the link to "Dick in a Box" on YouTube. I received the link about 15 times in 2 days before I began stopping would-be IM links from happening.

Yes, it's funny. No, it's not THAT funny after the 5th time. But yes, it's still funny.

If you haven't seen it - and I can't imagine how you wouldn't have received this link 15 times already like me - well here ya go. It's probably over on Linkey-loo anyway. Don't say I never got you anything.

Happy Holidaze!

i Against i

With all this holiday shopping (that would be Christmas shopping in the religion I was raised under, but don't practice anymore), I've noticed the abundance of iThings. You know, stuff that's meant to go with an iPod, but maybe not always.

iPod is meant to work with iTunes. Check. That makes sense. But there's iEverythingunderthefuckingsun these days. iHome, iSkin, and the always easy to remember iH31s. Yeah, go to the Best Buy and ask those oh-so-helpful employees where you can get an iH31s for your iPod. They'll surely tell you "I don't know what that is but I'll go check. I'll be right back." But they won't be right back. They'll be hiding from you in the appliance section, where nobody ever goes.

If you don't get enough iPod in your daily existence, you can go to iLounge and see the accessories you don't have. You can get an iWoofer if your stereo doesn't have enough thump. And when you've dropped your iPod too many times, you can't get any old scratch remover to make it purty again, you have to get iCleaner. Just don't go to Walgreen's to buy it or they'll direct you toward the contact lens solution.

There's iEat if you can't figure out what to make for din-din. And then when din-din is done, use iCarta for... well, I'm not ever gonna touch anybody else's iPod ever again.

If you're looking for the perfect gift to get your favorite person for whatever holiday you were raised under, look no further.

You just can't be away from your iPod for too long, so better strap it to your undies. Well at least until the music really gets you in the mood.
iLee iLee the iMusical iBee

The Hurting

You gotta love the grocery store. It's where we get to experience one of the most mundane aspects of our existence: the food gathering part. Except now it's got all sorts of decisions attached to it which are far more important than HUNGRY NEED FOOD:

- is that brand cheaper than that other brand?
- is that brand more eco-friendly than that other brand?
- am I getting a good deal at this market?
- should I buy the Coppola wine or the Charles Shaw?

HUNGRY NEED FOOD doesn't ask those questions. HUNGRY NEED FOOD finds adequate food and ingests it. When we moved toward having a civilized society, we introduced money into the equation and now HUNGRY NEED FOOD must wait. And HUNGRY NEED FOOD doesn't like to wait.

Waiting happens at the checkout, where all sorts of stuff you expect to happen in places like the bank or the DMV happens: People without their shit ready. Employees not interested in efficiency. Or if you're like me (or if your face happens to look like mine), you get both in a lovely setting just one back from getting rung up at the register.

Got my food. Got cash in hand ready to fork over and begin eating. Senior citizen lady in front of me, her goods on the conveyor belt. She says, "I brought up this burrito box to see if you had any more in back."
Gorilla-sized employee working register glances at me and my food in one hand and cash in the other.
"Let me check for you, ma'am."
(It would be so easy to just throw my cash at him and be on my way, but no, I am a responsible and patient citizen.)

Employee mutters incomprehensible banter over intercom. White guy in turban hurries up to answer call. "What's that you need, T?" (Apparently T is the name of the gorilla-sized gentleman at the register)
"See if there are any more of these." (Points at empty burrito box.)
White turban guy says "I don't think there are any more, but I'll check."

In the meantime, senior lady's (who is very sweet and nice) goods are rung:
"Is it senior discount day today?"
"Senior day is on Tuesday." (This was on Monday)
"Tuesday, huh"
(No reply from employee)

"Do I sign it now?"
"Wait 'til I'm done."

"Can you help me take my groceries out to my car?"
"We'll have somebody do that for you ma'am."

Employee #2 arrives.
"Would you like all these in your canvas bag, ma'am?"
"As many as you can get in there, dear."

Employee #2 crams everything into one bag.
Senior lady stops her "It gets heavy really quickly"
Employee #2 grabs a paper bag and tosses groceries in.

White turban guy comes back empty handed.
"Sorry, we don't have any more of those burritos." He hurries away.

Employee hands senior lady her receipt and she gets her things together at her cart with employee #2.
Employee rings up my food.
I hand him my cash. "I don't need a bag."
He hands me my change and I maneuver around senior lady and employee #2, still at the cart getting organized.
Hungry. Need food.

Thunderstruck

Actual conversation with somebody at a party recently:

Dude: How you liking SoCal?

Lee: I like it. I didn't think it would get as chilly as it is, but it's that time of year. Who knew it wouldn't be warm and sunny here all the time?

Dude: Yeah! People say there aren't any seasons here, but there are slight variations in the weather. You know what place doesn't have seasons? San Francisco. It's always gray and cold there no matter what time of year it is.

Lee: Well, it does tend to dump buckets of rain there in the fall and winter more often than other times of the year.

Dude: Nah. It's the same all the time there. There's more variation in the weather here. It's subtle, but it's definitely cold in the winter and hot in the summer.

Lee: Yeah.

Dude: It's kind of like AC/DC. You listen to AC/DC?

Lee: A little bit. I don't know too much of their stuff after Back in Black.

Dude: Well, the weather in SoCal is just like AC/DC: People say their stuff all sounds the same, and it sorta does, but if you KNOW AC/DC, you know that The Razors Edge sounds a hell of a lot different than Back in Black.

Lee: Wow. I had no idea.

Who knew the weather in SoCal is like AC/DC? I sure do now.

Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

What the hell are you looking here for? You should be looking for the gravy to slather all over your plate of turkey & mashed potatoes.

Thanks for reading! See you next week.

I want to ride my bicycle

I have the luxury of being able to ride my bike to work. It's 3.5 miles each way, and mostly flat with subtle inclines and declines. And luckily for me, there's a bike lane most of the way. And being that I live in lovely Southern California, where the weather is gorgeous most of the time, I don't have to worry about the elements too much. It's been fun to ride past all the people sitting in their cars in my traffic-free lane meant just for me. That is, until recently.

You'd think with the mornings getting a tad more chilly here, there'd be fewer cyclists on the road. But in fact, the opposite is true. My once-clear bike lane has become congested with other riders. Riders who like to go different speeds than I do. Riders on beach cruisers who aren't attempting to get to work in a timely manner. Riders decked out in racing gear who aren't attempting to race.



And the worst of all: riders who pass me.

The last few weeks I've finally been able to arrange my morning so that I leave my house and get on the road at the same time. Can you believe that? I can't. Anyway, 8:30 it is. Apparently it's the same time this other guy leaves his house every morning too. And he passes me every day. I thought I was fast (certain writers on this website have referred to me as "super-sonic bee" before), but apparently I've slowed in my old age. And the thing that kills me most about this guy is that he looks like Napoleon Dynamite. Huge blonde hair under his helmet, lanky, on a road bike with a huge frame, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. I can almost hear "Tina! Come get some ham!" as he rides away. The worst part about getting passed by the biking Napoleon Dynamite is that it looks so effortless as he goes by. La la la, just in probably the highest gear possible, slowly cranking, but making huge strides forward. La la la. I hate him.

But worse than that, there was a guy who even inspired a bit of road rage recently. I'm just past the first 1/5 of my ride, stopped at a light, and this joker with no helmet meanders past me and runs the red. Fine. If he wants to get run over, fine. So when the light turns green, I start pedaling and eventually catch up to him. I figure he's not going too too slow, so I coast behind for a bit, knowing that I'm gonna zip by him when we reach the next stop light. But after a couple blocks of green lights, another guy blows past both of us. I decide I've had enough, so I pass the red-light-running-guy. A couple lights later, there's a red. I stop and wait, and then I feel something bump against my back tire. I turn around and it's red-light-running-guy. I stare at him for a second, then turn around.

It's at that point, I decide to mess with this guy a little, so I ride the next leg of the trip more slowly than usual. Eventually he passes me, and at the next stop light, he's not running the red. So I do what any good SoCal citizen would do and obey the golden rule of the road: Do unto others as they've done unto you. I bump his tire. He doesn't turn around at all. He looks both ways and runs the red. I'm not gonna let this guy win the race, so I pedal my ass off until I reach him, but he starts veering into the oncoming lanes (there's no cars coming, don't worry about red-light-running-guy) like he's gonna take a left. I ride past him and raise my arms in victory. I haven't seen him since. I sure showed him. That morning, it took me about 20 minutes to catch my breath. I'm gettin too old for this shit.

Dress You Up

A couple weeks ago I wore a tie on Friday. First time wearing a tie at the new job. I wasn't wearing a suit, mind you. Tie, dress shirt, slacks. No tennies. Loafers. No jacket. By the looks and remarks I got, you'd think I was wearing a Halloween costume.
"What's the special occasion?"
"You trying to show us up?"
"Isn't that tie thing for Thursdays?"

Which brings me to the point of this weeks post: If the "tie thing" is for Thursdays, why haven't I seen anybody wearing a tie on Thursdays?!?!?!?!!! My apologies to Alan and Brady - who both wear ties on a regular basis. One co-worker saw me and said "Oh, you're starting the tie thing. Isn't that for Thursdays? I'd totally be into doing that." Whew. FINALLY!

The next Thursday rolls around (this was last Thursday), so I get ready for work and put a tie on. Lily hates it when I wear a tie to work. She thinks it's dumb. There was once a time in men's work-wear that men were EXPECTED to wear ties. Not just on Thursday, mind you. Monday through Friday, sucka. No "Casual Fridays" anywhere. Just "put on your suit and tie and look like you're going to work" days. Look like you're going to work. These days, seems the line between looking like you're going to work and looking like you're going to have a drink at the local watering hole has been cleanly erased.

Anyway, I get to work, grab coffee and the harassment continues:
"Is it still Halloween?" Yes! And what a unique costume I've come up with!
"Is it dress up day?" Yes! You know how I love to play dress up!
"Is it Thursday?" Ugh.

And my new comrade in tie-wearing forgot about the tie-wearing. Or he didn't know it was Thursday. Or something. Whatever the case, I stuck out like a sore thumb because NOBODY KNOWS THAT THURSDAY IS "TIE ONE ON THURSDAY"!

Here's the deal:
As a member of the TNSC, you get to, on Thursday, wear a tie. Then after work (or after whatever you've been doing all day in your neckwear), you go to the TNSC venue and because you're wearing a tie, Alan - who will be wearing a tie - buys you a drink. If your name is Lee and you were his assistant at one point, he might even buy you multiple drinks! So what are you waiting for? Wear a tie and get a drink bought by AC! The end.

Cheap Trick

I love Halloween. Who doesn't? I mean, at what age will you stop loving Halloween? When you're a kid you love it because you get to go out Trick or Treating and eat candy for weeks afterward. When you're an adult you love it because you get to go out and party your ass off with a costume on. And eat candy for weeks afterward! But somewhere in the transition from kid to adult, I think the message went awry.

Halloween is traditionally about scary. Not goofy, although some of the best costumes are the goofy ones. But Halloween is definitely NOT ABOUT SEXY. I don't know where the train ran off the rails with the costumes, but how the hell did "sexy" make its way into Halloween? Elvira, fine. She's the exception because she's still trying to keep her cleavage in the Halloween vein, but how did every costume you can think of become skewed toward lust?

Example:

"Hey Blanche, what are you going to be for Halloween this year?"

"I dunno, maybe a sexy nurse"

Okay, what the fuck does being a sexy nurse have to do with Halloween? Nothing. Not that we don't like seeing Blanche run around in a short skirt and high heels, but as a nurse? For Halloween?

"How about you, Hildegard?"

"I dunno, maybe Little Red Riding Hood, but Sexy"

Little Red Riding Hood wasn't enough of a costume, huh? You had to go and make it sexy. Ooh, I'm scared!

"And what are you going as, Myrna?"
"I dunno, I was thinking of going as a sexy police officer"

"And you, Doris?"
"A sexy indian, but I dunno."

"What are you going to be this Halloween, Bob?"
"Peter Pan"
"Whew! I was getting worried about all the sexy in Halloween this year, but I knew you wouldn't fall for that old... Bob?"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Which brings to light the real reason why I don't like the whole "sexy" costume idea: There aren't any "sexy" costumes for men. But I know of one. And it's just what I'm gonna be next year. SEXY EDITOR!!! Oh wait, I don't have to wait til next year to wear that costume. I already wear it every day. Aw yeah.

Stay Clean

The other day I was cleaning the kitchen, which is what I do every day after
dinner. I tie the apron, put the gloves on and get to work. Wash the
dishes then tackle the grime on the stove. Some nights I'm more meticulous than others, so I take the heating elements off and set them aside before getting into it. And some nights I really go to town and get out the "more-than-daily-cleaning" cleaning supplies for a thorough cleaning. You know, for the stuff that just doesn't come off easily. Monday night was one such night.

Scrubbing the stove can be both a therapeutic and an infuriating experience. Watching the grime come off revealing the beautifully unblemished surface underneath is the therapeutic part. Seeing the grime stick around after scrubbing so hard that little pieces of the sponge break off revealing muscle soreness in your triceps is the infuriating part. I was deep in the infuriating section when my mind started to wander. "That doesn't need to come off. It's fine." So I stopped and looked at the black mark on the stovetop, contemplating whether to go on or to throw in the towel - literally! Not really literally because I wasn't using a towel to scrub. It was a sponge, but to "throw in the sponge" isn't the saying, now is it.

I turned from the stove to put the sponge back in its place, then quickly turned back and scrubbed the hell out of the mark until it was gone. That's how it starts: A tiny seed of thought that says that dirt and grime are welcome in our homes. But no. We won't allow them to take root in our kitchens, on our stoves. We will win the battle. With all the fortitude and relentlessness as the dirt and grime, we will win.

Proteck ya neck

The finale of Project Runway season 3 was last night. I've been watching by osmosis of Lily's watching, but also because I've convinced myself (and others) that the editing is by far the best you'll see on any reality-based TV show. Well that and because Heidi Klum has managed to stay by far the most babe-a-licious of any supermodel in her peer group. By contrast, Tyra banks has managed to show that she's a super ugly hateful bitch on the inside.

Why the judges chose Jeffrey as the winner over Uli was pretty clear: Jeffrey's collection at Bryant Park was far more innovative than Uli's. But the judges should have taken one look at him and tossed him out based on the cardinal sin of fashion: When trying to downplay large physical attributes, you DON'T PUT HORIZONTAL FEATURES ON IT!!!



Jeffrey's neck is huge. So much so that you'd think he'd constantly be in a turtleneck to hide that monstrosity. Instead, he has a group of tattoos that amplify its width.



I thought for sure that as Uli and Jeffrey waited to the verdict, Heidi would say "Jeffrey, your designs were brilliant, but you've shown that you have no ideas on how to use fashion to hide your neck. Auf Wiedersehen."

Your kiss is on my list

According to Blogger, this is the 100th post of Lee Lee the Musical Bee. I have no idea whether it is indeed the 100th, because I'm too lazy to go and count the ones I've actually posted. Well, to commemorate and to tie in to the whole number thingy, I've decided to throw a top 10 list together. Yay! (It really makes no sense that 100 posts equals a top 10 list, but go with me on this.)

Everybody out there has an opinion about something and they just have to put a friggin' list together to show how opinionated they are. So here's my opinion and feel free to tell me I'm totally wrong. I've clicked the "allow LLMB readers to comment on this post" button.


Top 10 alt-rock/indie albums of the late 80's/early 90's:

10. Undertow - Tool
Prog rock with a pipsqueak scatological singer. I'm still miffed that I missed it when they played "Prison Sex" on the Lateralus tour.

9. Gish - Smashing Pumpkins
Back when Billy Corgan had hair. And wasn't such a whiner.

8. Rid of Me - PJ Harvey
Who knew that Steve Albini and PJ would make such beautiful music together?

7. Liar - The Jesus Lizard
Proof that the only ingredients you need for a great band are tight musicians and a lunatic frontman. And Steve Albini recording your album.

6. Frizzle Fry - Primus
Okay, maybe I'm the only one to ever put Primus on a top 10 list of anything more than bass playing lists, but you can't deny that "Too Many Puppies" takes control of your head and makes it bang.

5. Surfer Rosa - The Pixies
Duh. Like I was gonna leave this off the list.

4. Nothing's Shocking - Jane's Addiction
Classic. Go ahead, the coast is clear. It's ok to listen to it again.

3. Check Your Head - Beastie Boys
The Beastie Boys can play instruments?

2. Blood Sugar Sex Magik - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Flea can play bass without slapping it?

1. Nevermind - Nirvana
What? You were expecting Led Zeppelin 4?
Yes, Nevermind is great and it changed everything. Well, it actually made all the frat boys at UW start liking the music that I liked, so that kinda sucks really.


On that note, thanks for continuing to read Lee Lee the Musical Bee. Maybe 100 more posts, maybe 1 more.

Shameless self-promotion department:
If you don't have anything else going on already, my short film "Wakeup" will be playing at the Mill Valley Film Festival this Saturday at 6:30 pm. Be there or... well, go on doing whatever you were doing.

Stardog Champion

What the hell happened to rockstars? It used to be some elevated unachievable status by us mortals. Rockstars were people who did the unthinkable by regular worker bee standards: Partying all night. Overdosing on drugs. Engaging in wild crazy threesomes with no protection whatsoever.

Nowadays everybody and their mother is a rockstar: Partying all night. Overdosing on drugs. Engaging in wild crazy threesomes with no protection whatsoever. Except there’s one very significant piece of the puzzle missing: the ROCK.

Sorry, but you need to rock to be a rockstar. You can snort all the lines of blow off a strippers ass you want, but if you play soft music you’re not a rockstar. Rockstars smash guitars. They don’t smash keyboards. They bang their heads or at least nod them on stage in a heroin induced motion. They utter vulgarities at the crowd and sometimes spit on the crowd. Rockstars don’t care.

I found an article that called Ann Coulter the "rock star of the annual Conservative Political Action Conference". Now if that's not a contradiction then.... Coulter might be the most blindly ignorant tool for conservative men who don't really give a shit about women's rights, but rock she doesn't. I'll believe she's a rockstar when she's overdosing on partying all night in a wild crazy threesome with no protection whatsoever. With a smashed guitar in her hand.

Very superstitious

We're superstitious. Maybe not VERY superstitious, but still. We knock on wood or touch wood after talking about something bad happening. Or something good happening too. Lily made me a bracelet with wood beads, which she reaches over and taps from time to time for no apparent reason. Now if I forget to wear my bracelet I get the feeling that I'm gonna die that day. Great. Thanks for the cool wood bracelet, Lily.

Our last apartment was #7. Good number. Lucky number 7. Now we live in apartment #4, and we don't feel very good about that. Number 4 means "death" in some eastern languages. That's why there was never a D4 tape machine. Went from D1 to D2 to D3 to D5. No D4. No Sony exec is gonna make the tape machine of death.

The Seahawks are 6 & 2 since Judah was born. They're 3 & 0 this season. Which happens to correspond to Judah wearing his Seahawks onesie on game day (and Seahawks bib when he's eating). Undefeated this season thanks to Judah, not counting preseason. Unfortunately, now that I've mentioned it, they'll probably lose. Damn superstition.

I might like you better if we slept together

Well it's the end of the line for my career as a freelance editor. No, I'm not changing careers. I've taken a staff gig! (This is not news to at least 7 of the 10 people who read this blog. Sorry.) No more invoicing or going to the post office to send my reel. No more 1st and 2nd holds and releases and bookings. No more "challenging". Not directly for me anyway.

In the past 6 years I've learned a thing or two about how to manage a freelance life. Guidelines, not tricks of the trade:

- Never take a hold without getting something in writing. E-mails are your best friend here. My favorite way to get it in writing was always "Can you send me an e-mail with the dates? I don't have my calendar in front of me."

- Not that I ever did this, but a fellow freelancer told me: Never give somebody the first hold. You always have a first hold on your calendar - your own free time. The people calling get a 2nd hold until you decide what you want to do. You're a freelancer after all. Free as a bird. Sometimes that bird is a dirty pigeon eating scraps out of a garbage can, but you're free to do what you want until somebody decides to hire your sorry ass.

- NEVER NEVER NEVER EVER take a gig from a startup without getting some money before you start. I got burned. You will too. If they're serious, they'll give you some money to get going. If not, let the next chump get burned. Unless you like working for free. Which leads me to...

- Everybody has a great film that will definitely get bought and of course a killer distribution deal, and they have no money but they need some of your time to make it happen. Read the script. If you like it, then by all means work on it! Unless you're a kid out of school and need some work for your reel, you might be wasting your time. But if you're building relationships, that's different and you should work with them because you wanna work with them.

- I didn't have the balls to do it, but you're free to ask what the budget is for the position they're calling you for. People always ask what your rate is, and then they freak when you tell them what you want to get paid. Why not cut to the chase and find out how much money they have to offer and then you can decide to take the gig or not?

- Make friends with people in your field. I got so many random recommendations from people I worked with for short periods of time. And don't buy into the competition bullshit. Editors recommended me for edit gigs more often than anybody else in the field.

- Don't freak out over time between gigs. Something will come up and you'll find yourself missing all that free time you wish you'd done something with.

- And lastly, never say never.

It's your business so do what you want with it. If you wanna build a steady stream of clientele, then treat it that way. If you wanna work as little as possible, then go ahead and do that. But don't ever think that somebody will always hire you, because there's plenty of kids coming out of school every year to fill your shoes who are faster and more hungry.
Oh yeah, and don't listen to anybody who gives you advice through a blog. Doy. Like I needed to tell you that.

The New Style

We recently went to a restaurant called Meditrina Cafe, and their menu had "Famous Hamburgers" on it. This place isn't famous for anything, certainly not a burger. After eating there (and having a salad) I don't think they'll be famous for anything but being the fastest place to close its doors on Abbot-Kinney.

Every stooge on the planet has a "famous" hamburger. Especially in Los Angeles. It's the official food of Angelinos. You can't throw a rock around here without hitting a burger joint. (I just threw a rock and hit a Hummer, but a dude was eating a burger in it, so that sorta counts.)
So where do all these places get the cred to call their burgers "famous"?

If your burger is famous, wouldn't there be a line out the door? Pink's Hot Dogs is the only famous hot dog I know of and there's one hell of a line there at all hours of the day and night. That probably qualifies as famous. Because only a famous hot dog would make you stand in a line like that for a hot dog.

Tommy's Burgers are supposed to be famous, but has anybody heard of them outside SoCal? Maybe they're famous for having chili on them, but it's not like the burger is that good. Probably the best tasting, least cowschwitz-y burger in San Francisco is at the Metro Caffe on Fillmore and Haight. But they don't call their burgers famous. I guess "Famous" doesn't necessarily mean good. But nobody wants to eat a Notorious Burger.

White Castle is mentioned in a Beastie Boys song, as is Fatburger . That probably qualifies as being famous, but neither of them use that word in their slogans.

In-n-Out Burger is probably the most famous burger of all, but they don't call their burgers famous either. I knew a vegetarian who was broken of her vegetarianism by In-n-Out Burger. That's worthy of fame.

Every time I drive by a sign that says "Famous Hamburgers" I think to myself "I gotta stop in one of these days to give it a try". Like I'm the decider of whether a burger is deserving of the word Famous or not. Now I'm wondering: Why the fuck would you need a sign to advertise your burger if your burger was famous? IT'S FAMOUS!!! IT DOESN'T NEED ADVERTISING.

Like a Prayer

Lord,

Thank you for the wonderful day.
Please bless all the nice people you've put into my life to help me along the way.

Please make that horrible parking ticket lady get nightmares every night of somebody going road rage on her until she decides to start a new career.

Please give Stephanie and AJ at the Apple Store on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica the worst customer service imaginable from their cell phone companies. And any other terrible customer service that you can think of so they might reconsider the meaning of customer service. And please give Nick at Apple Phone Support a personality so he might stop responding with no human emotion whatsoever. Bless John at Apple Phone Support though.

Please make every idiotic Harley and crotch-rocket rider who unnecessarily revs their engine go deaf so they might not hear that bus that hits them and doesn't necessarily kill them, but prevents them from riding motorcycles and revving engines anymore.

Please let every person who drives while talking on their phone realize the error of their ways and stop doing that shit.

Bless Lily and Judah and our families and friends. And make sure Judah stays a good person.

And please let the Seahawks win the superbowl this year.

Amen. G'night.