Inexplicably, there is a Burt Bacharach LP on my bedroom floor.
It’s one of the very many items in my new place that I neither remember obtaining or have any real use for. The majority of what surrounds me are things I haven’t seen in more than 7 months, and if I had any connection to them then, I certainly don’t now. Christmas lights that don’t work, six or seven alarm clocks, clothes that look like they’ve been in a dumpster (well, to be fair, some actually have been), and more pots, pans, dishes, glasses and silverware than I could ever imagine using in one lifetime. I’d like nothing more than to throw it all away. Anyone need some useless shit? I’ll trade you for a refridgerator.
So our little family has moved to Los Angeles. We’re in a not-quite-ghetto neighborhood, but close enough to Inglewood and Compton to give it that authentic feel. What matters is that it’s close enough to all necessary areas of interest. So far as I can tell, it aint too bad. It’s only been a week, so we’ll see. All I really care about is getting shit on the right track, emotionally, musically, and employment-ly. Got no time for baby steps, and right turns are the only way to go. Brielle’s talking more and is a singing, dancing interactive little person, I’m singing more, writing more, playing more, and Renee and I are making more headway. Guess that’s all I can ask for right now. Skinny-dipping in the slipstream.
Yesterday was the corporate scam capitalist holiday known as Skwerl’s birthday, so we all went to Roscoe’s for some godly chicken and waffles to celebrate. About halfway through our syrupy little trip through heaven, who should sit down at the table right next to us but the Reverend Jesse Jackson, with a bunch of important-looking dinosaurs. We contemplated asking him when the next Million Man March is, or whether he preferred playing for the A’s or the Yankees (oh wait, that was Reggie Jackson), but ultimately chickened out of the opportunity to be photographed with an American icon in such a comically ironic location due to Skwerl’s Big Business shirt, which bears a huge red pentagram on the front. Conflict of interest, since he’s, you know, a reverend and all.
Brielle seems to enjoy covering herself in grape jelly. She likes waffles.
The new Electric Six record is sizzling fucking hot. It’s called I Shall Exterminate Everything Around Me That Restricts Me From Being The Master, and that wins best album title ever in my book. Put me in motion drink the potion use the lotion drain the ocean cause commotion feign devotion entertain the notion be nova scotian.
Mom’s in town, heading up from San Diego, so I have to make this place look a little less like the aftermath of a tornado. That means I say goodbye to you now.
Don’t make me do this, don’t make me sing you a love song…
January 18th, 2008 at 5:05 PM
Hey that is my cd! HOld onto it. How did you get it anyway?