Saturday, April 24, 2010

Okay But Really, Why?!

Ice in urinals at all these Lenny's type grease-pit 'restaurants'. What's the point? What's the deal?
Why, if they ask, you say, that's a good question? (Stall stall stall, the politician thinks up something to say.) Why don't people say: That's a stupid question(?). Instead, they just insult you. Doubly so.
{From The Handheld}


Today's Reading comes to us from King James Douglas Morrison: "I'm sick of these stinky boots. I'll never wake up in a good mood again". Which we interpret: I'm sick of these stinking moods. When will I wake up in a good mood?
{From The Handheld}

Friday, April 23, 2010

Cold Still

My brown and black, mesh and suede nylon Vasque trainers on my feet, well worn good foot support out. Loose top white crew socks, mysteriously still clinging to my rough, raw, cold, chapped shins. Loose fitting Levis 505's, 33/30 in pre-wash-fadedness, hanging annoyingly off my hips, but not off or below my 'negative-butt' arse, as the style of the day is. Medium fitting, Large size, Fruit-Of-The-Loom brand, Black pocket T, with a Medium, long-sleeved, fine-ribbed, black, polo shirt, over that, by Land's End. A cotton on the inner body, and fleece at the neck, insulated, dark-charcoal, zipper front, woolen sweater, by Carraigdonn, in Ireland, a brown wool ski-cap by Patagonia, from Italy or France. I'm cold this tail-end of Spring.
Delivered Via Aether Space

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Insurance Girl As A Naked Baby In My Dream

And so I get my gig, my first Hollow-Wood situation, in decades, and am to appear at an undisclosed location somewhere in the bowels of Hollywood proper. It was one of those nondescript places nestled off a busy street, right next to some houses, that'd been there for years, probably longer than these "studios".
Parking right out front for me, a Producer? Well, I dunno. A simple green car with 4 doors, but without it, my nuts were gone, and I need those. Just, you know, in case.
I get on set, every thing's a mess. People clothes cables lights grip stuff every where. Folks on tour. I'm telling them it's closed. There's a fire I have to call in. I'm trying to turn on the work lights three times and a fire breaks out around a flat wall, out of my view but I can hear it and see the orange light, see some smoke. It's like I'm the stage manager, not even a producer at all, and no one cares about me or the fill in job I have to do thank-less-ly. But of course when every one walks by when it comes time to leave, they're all bragging about how they're having to have their Rolex's serviced and are going to TimeShare's in Acapulco in three weeks. Who cares?
I have ... Oh, no worries. Flash on the old days when I had to bum a ride home or something, but no. I have my car. I can drive my self ho...walking out to the curb. There's nothing there! What?! What? Where's my car? It's not there. And I go into panic mode and find the office and ask all around and am viewing shocked faces. I'm all, over-reacting for them. I get a line on the tow service. I'm yelling and screaming my story to each and every face in the bureau-crazy. Not open today at this time. Will have to call tomorrow. Such-n-such time, etc. Damn. Walking along the crowded cubicles a dog or two come out to greet me, calm me down, etc. I get with a friendly face or three, and finally it's the insurance broker lady on TV. She's naked or partially clothed. She has really odd pale skin. Hairy like I'd never noticed it before.
And she's cuddling with me and I like it. People in the office are making noises about us, as they pass by, but she doesn't care. I smile, and wake up, ready to get into my wacky-weird day. Not all populated with rude, coupon people.