Those wacky bastards at the social security administration sent me my yearly social security statement today, and it’s a real eye opener, I tell ya.
For instance, during the 1980s I lived on an average of $8,107.60 a year. It’s really quite disheartening to see your working life summed up in quaint little numbers like that.
These listings go back to 1977, when I left home late in the year to prove how bitchin’ I was, and made a whopping $526. But you know, that’s 526 1977 dollars! Probably worth $1500 or so now (actually, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics inflation calculator, it’s $1624.62 in 2003 dollars).
There’s been a lot to write about lately, and I haven’t written about any of it.
Writing about the election is pointless – there are 800 million words on the net about it, and someone somewhere has no doubt already said what I would have said (without as much style and panache, of course — yeah).
David Johansen and Syl Sylvain are not the New York Dolls.
So why do I keep reading about a “New York Dolls” reunion? That’s like saying, “Come on all you old hippies! We’re going to have a BEATLES reunion!” It would kind of suck, wouldn’t it, without John Lennon and George Harrison.
I’ve been wondering what the purpose of smog.net is for some time now.
Why I’m running it, why I am, in effect, curating or editing, when that’s not my thing at all. I never set out to put myself in the position to give a thumbs up or a thumbs down to an artist or writer, but that’s where I wound up. And as you can imagine, the vast majority of the time, that job really sucks.
Every day on my way into town on the 110 freeway I see a billboard for some minivan with the tag line, HAUL MASS, and the very next billboard, no more than a few hundred yards further down the road is an ad for a Showtime cable series that says, GET FOLKED in fifteen foot high letters.
Basically these billboards are urging us to HAUL ASS and GET FUCKED. Which is fine with me, but it seems a bit funny to see them every day during such a horribly embarrassing, hypocritical, cowardly period in our country’s history.
That may not sound like a great accomplishment, but consider the fact that my car was rear-ended by a drunk lunatic in a rainstorm about 2 years ago, and after finding out that my expensive insurance didn’t cover the damage (because I didn’t get a license number), I let the car sit at the curb like a sad, crumpled loser for about a year until I got a job I had to drive to, at which time I yanked the collapsed wheel well away from the tire, sawed off the part of the bumper that was hanging down on to the ground, and drove the thing to work.
Wow, I really hate what benfox is writing here [this refers to some entries in the old public blog, may it rest in hell].
I mean, I really, really hate it. It’s exactly the kind of pretentious bullshit that I reject out of hand when it comes in as a submission. So why is it stinking up this section of the site? I don’t know. I should get rid of it, but it’s so bad I leave it there as a cruel joke on the rest of you.
I’m buried, drowning, whatever you want to call it, in work around here.
Granted, it’s web work, but it’s still work. At least when I did manual labor or printing or house painting or construction or music or sold candles door to door, there was a time at the end of the day where work stopped and real life began (okay, maybe not with music, but I threw that in there anyway to brag…I made a living playing in a band, and not many people can say that, so I like to point it out once in a while to show how awesome I am).
There is a lighthouse about half a block from here that was built in 1874, and they have been “restoring” it for about four years now (it looked fine to me before they began the restoration, but what do I know).
I just read in the paper that it has finally opened for visitors, but only from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Sundays. Oh, and the inside is still empty. They expect to have the inside finished in 2006.
Our local chain grocery store has undergone a painful six month remodel and is now open again, all shiny and new with a Starbucks and a deli, and it no longer leaks big puddles of water around the frozen foods, or smells weird in back, by the bottled water.
Anyway, the only “improvement'” we make use of is the deli, where I was today, getting some thinly sliced Swiss cheese.
I just read that Tower records is near bankrupt, and in the last year Musicland, Sam Goody, and Wherehouse have all filed for bankruptcy protection, and one day, there aren’t going to be any record stores. Why? Because modern music sucks ass! No, really, it is because of peer to peer file sharing networks.
Let’s get all the bullshit out of the way right up front – I love peer to peer networks. I routinely steal any software that I can, and I download music freely using LimeWire (and previously, the dear, departed napster).
If we needed any more proof that the earth is hurtling toward Armageddon at an all new super-sized pace, it is still ridiculously hot here in beautiful Los Angeles. 88 degrees and climbing as I type this. This has been the summer from hell everywhere and it continues without mercy.
Not only that, but last night I had to murder a two inch long scorpion that was found trotting down our hallway. It was on the way to the bedroom no doubt, where it would have waited patiently to kill us.
I just love how eBay has a search criteria in their art category for “Dominant Color.” That’s so handy when I’m buying art to match the purple leather couch and overstuffed club chairs in my pricey downtown loft!
I also love paintings of young girls with huge eyes and enlarged, encephalitis-like heads. The ones that look just like the popular young actress Christina Ricci. They remind me of the paintings of Margaret Keane (who has dedicated her life to Jehovah, by the way, and thinks that you should too) or Kenner “Blythe” dolls from the 70’s.
I went to Schwartz bakery on Melrose to get a special birthday cake for Carol, and before I went she typed to me (I was at work), “Get some fresh holy bread.” I typed back, “Holy bread?” And she said, “Yeah, it’s yummy!” Okay, holy bread. What do I know.
So I walk into Schwartz and ask about the cake, and the ancient woman behind the counter says, “HAAAAH?” every time I say anything, so I just figure she’s old and half deaf and this is the way it’s going to go.