I see the Razzies nominees have been announced. ::sarcastic sigh:: Some of my favorite pictures have been nominated for Worst Pic. 3,000 Miles to Graceland, for instance, which is my favorite film of 2001 that I did not actually see, a movie which starred so many that I’m surprised I wasn’t in it…Freddy Got Fingered, which is the film of 2001 that I most regret renting…Driven? And, finally, look!! They picked “Glitter!”
Clarendon has just become heaven, hasn’t it?
This brand new shopping center opened up there. Looks like Oz. I’m not sure, but I think it even has a yellow brick road. There’s a Pottery Barn, there’s a Zany Brains, there’s a container store…it’s yuppy hell, man, and I’m telling you, the setting is much too regal for it all.
My night starts at the Galaxy Hut. This is the coolest little hovel ever at this point to me because it encompasses all the things about a bar that I really need. Goddam, tonight was perfect. I sat in that bar and drank and ate and read a book about markets in writing science fiction.
Then I went to Oz.
Because you know what anchored the Oz in Clarendon, don’t you? The biggest, newest, most beautiful Barnes and Noble I’ve ever seen in my lifetimes. I’m trying to do market research, see. That’s what aspiring writers call “wasting several hours in a Barnes and Noble.” And tonight’s mission is to find a copy of the following periodicals: Issac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Omni, Analog, The Magazine of Fanasy and Science Fiction, Aboriginal SF, and Amazing Stories. All I found was Analog, the only one I’ve ever received a rejection from. (I shoudl clarify, it’s also the only fiction submission I’ve ever made.)
With mission accomplished, it was time for recess. Music, baby! And I poured through the CDs. And I looked here for the passion I once felt. Where is the glory? Where is the day when I first found the magick in Jimi, felt the fog and lush foliage in Led Zeppelin, or even fel the mighty hammer of Nothing’s Shocking? I want the sense of discovery back, the strong but pock-marked notion that music matters, that if love never stomps me into bliss, at least music will tide me over to death, that if I don’t believe in Christ, at least I have Jimmy Page to fall back on. I want war, I want rage, peace, and love, and I’m not finding it in the Barnes and Noble cutting bin. Goddammit. No impluse buy in the music section tonight. So I buy my Analog and my Orson Scott Card novel, and my gift for a loved one, and I pass on the Merrill Markoe novel and figure I might get G.D. Gearino to send me a copy of the book for Vegas, and I check out of there and I leave.
And as I’m leaving, there are these outdoor speakers that I guess are meant to keep you, the exalted consumer, in a blissful happy place from shop to next impulse buy to car. And for me, it works, it ends my little panic bubble about not finding passion in the music anymore.
Stevie Wonder is all you need, baby.
A letter from the Society of Professional Journalists, to moi:
“Dear Mr. Binks:
What is journalism to you? If it’s just a job, you can probably stop reading this letter right now…”
Oh. All right then.
When I was shopping for a college, my Dad tried to tell me how incredibly important it is to choose a school with a good basketball program.
Of course, at 18, I knew more than he did. Why the hell should I care if my school’s basketball team is any good? I’m not going to play basketball, I’m going to be a big braniac weisenheimer and pretend to be a student activist for a few years before going to work for the school newspaper. What he couldn’t convince my mushy, short-sighted little brain of was that, by the time I was 33 years old, college basketball would indeed be very important to me.
I love college basketball. I have witnessed what happens at a school that has a good basketball team when the team wins an important game. Every thoroughfare suddenly becomes Bourbon Street. Students start bonfires, girls waggle their boobs, people scream “tarnation” and pee in the streets…oh, gods, it’s wonderful. See everything I missed out on? Where I went to school, the only thing that got students into the streets was the illegal escalation of an undeclared war. (Actually, basketball was quite instrumental in the shootings. As it turns out, when you throw some 2,000 students out of a nice, comfy bar where they’re watching an NBA playoff game into an already tense situation in the street…guess what, LeRoy? You got riots!)
Anyway, so now, Kent is 13-1 in conference standings, which means they’re likely to take the MAC championship and go on to March Madness, which is approaching shortly…(Kent is 19-5 overall)…Kent is having a good season under new coach Stan Heath. They lost to Kentucky and Youngstown State, but by golly, they beat Ball State and Miami of Ohio (vital victories to win the MAC).
So, lookie there, Dad! I DID go to a good basketball school! Just a little too early, is all.
“Happy Presidents’ Day! Or as Al Gore would call it…Monday.”
A few thoughts…
- Who in his right mind would want to attend Boston Public? If I went to that high school, I’d like, leave.
- Radio Flier is not a very good movie.
- Rosie’s gay? You’re kidding! Holy cow, what’s the world come to? (Seriously, tho…more power to ya, Rosie. I can’t wait to read the book…)
- I wish spring would come.
It’s one of those nights (er…early mornings) where I know I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow so I can stay up as late as I want, goddamit, and so, I do. I watched “The Candidate” on AMC, damn, that’s a great movie. Now I’m surfing and looking for something to watch. I saw a commercial for some kind of hair replacement shoobie. I always laugh at that. Can’t help it. Dude, I’m going bald. I know it. It’s a mess up there. My grampa on my mom’s side was a horseshoe man by the time he was 28, I think. He was a man with a lot of integrity, and that integrity was manifested in part in the fact that the man never attempted the dreaded combover. I often tell the people I love, please, if I ever succumb to that, please, please please, unplug the life support immediately. I wrote a song once called “Drive,” and it has a good line in it: “When I get older, someday, man, I hope I lose my hair. At least, then, when I look in the mirror, I’ll know I’m there.” I think I was 24 when I wrote that. Looks like I’m getting my wish. I will admit to you that I’ve actually owned a container of Rogaine. I even kept the routine up for a few weeks. Then I realized the futility of it all and dumped it. There are some things in life that you just accept. For me, one of those things will have to be that I’m going to be a bald man.
So now I’m watching “Battlebots.” I swear, this is some of the best television ever; it was even before they got Carmen Electra. Look at these ‘Bots, beating the shit out of each other. ::laughing like Beavis:: That was cool.
Wow. Maybe I should go to sleep.
VIRGINIA BEACH—I sat for six hours and force-fed standup comedy to my recuperating mother this evening on Comedy Central. (I know I haven’t mentioned this, I don’t want to say much about it here. I will say that she’s being one courageous lady. Power to ya, Mom, I love you.)
Anyway, the best line of the night came from Greg Proops, who referred to Canada as “an entire country named Doug.” Titter.
“Women are a lot like street cars. They’re big, and they have a bell that goes ‘clang, clang, clang!'”
—Lewis (Ryan Stiles, The Drew Carey Show)
Today, I have come to an executive decision.
I have in the past taken a lot of pride in the fact that I design and build this Web site on my own. However, it’s coming time to make a few decisions about how I want to proceed. Soon, I will have to ante up again to responsor this domain name and this host or to decide if existing service can suit my needs better. After having experimented with the Blogger system and successfully overlapping my existing design onto a Blogger template, it’s become clear that Blogger has a LOT more to offer than my current host for this purpose. With Blogger, I can offer commenting, I can update easily, with automatic date headers?not to mention a timestamp?and I can archive instantly. It is, quite simply, the right tool for the job.
Until my hosting contract is up in May, I will have the old domain point in this general direction. Hopefully, that’s enough time for folks to bookmark, if yer interested. This move will save me a lot of cash and will at the same time make this sucker a lot more fun.
Have a nice day.
So like, have you ever seen your personal sound system levitate?
It’s the whackiest thing I’ve ever seen. I got Amelia Ray’s CD (Mr. Gibson Scores Again) from CD Baby, put it into my CD ROM drive, started to play it, and the harman/kardons started floating.
All right, I’m exaggerating. But only a little. This CD is good, ya’ll, and I’m not just saying that because Ms. Ray throws incredible parties and I hope to get back to San Francisco someday. This artiste spans styles and depths that few signed artists can even muster.
Geez, Amelia. How could you give me “Sam He Is,” a zippy story about a would-be messiah, and expect me not to be thankful? I’m just sorry as hell I don’t have a lighter with me right now…I know I’d be waving it over my head if I did. And Ms. Ray, are you waving over at Prince with “Iberian Girl?” This little stroll smacks a little of “Do U Lie?” and its unfortunate cousin, “Strollin’,” and frankly, it’s better than either. “Whosyerdaddy” is funky and gorgeous…”Karma” is a gorgeous heartbreaker in three…Ah, hell, it’s just perfect. Buy it here. Buy two, in case one breaks.