I talk back to the car radio a lot, particularly when it’s not making sense. Today I heard a commercial shilling for a local supermarket chain’s loyalty program. The pitch was that you were supporting local schools because they’d give the kids a pencil for every 400,000 cucumbers sold, etc. The ad was pure SPIN selling, starting with “Education is so important. Our schools need new books and new computers all the time so children can progress. And there’s something you can do to help!” At which point I yelled “YEAH, YOU COULD PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES!” That’s when I noticed that my window was opening and that the motorcyclist next to me was grinning at me.
Dinner: Chilled poached salmon with mayonnaise and dill; toasted pita bread with a dollop of hummus and fresh ground black pepper; caprese salad with fresh tomatoes on vine, fresh ovolini mozzarella, fresh basil, and good olive oil. Time to prepare: 15 minutes.
I was at Kéan for just an hour or so today, to cool off and slurp a cold coffee beverage. Rich unhappy people have such scrunched-up, sour faces even when they’re experiencing pleasures most of the world will never see. Looking dissatisfied when you’re having a dark chocolate mocha milkshake in an air-conditioned cafe in Paradise just after buying an iPod must be difficult, but they manage it.
At Trader Joes a plastic surgery disasters woman in her fifties was dragging her husband around hectoring him about their purchases. She’d perch angrily next to some item and pick it up: “Do you want these? Do you like yellow mustard? I like Dijon mustard. Do you want it? Are we going to get Dijon mustard?” He was a tired Tommy Lee Jones who didn’t say much except “Okay,” or “Go ahead.”
90 degrees and humid means that all the beautiful people were showing flesh today. Including the very genuinely beautiful ones and not just the ones who had purchased the standard of beauty as an aftermarket option. A six-footer surfer boy, all tanned abs and long bones and bleached hair-mp, was looking at frozen food next to a hourglass-figured blonde beach goddess with honey-colored skin and shockingly bright blue eyes. They were unaware that they were a Guess! ad because they were trying to figure out which kind of peas to get.
The flower shop next to Kéan has an appropriately fancy name, but their sign with their url on it looks like they’re selling the flowers eaten by a demon rather than those painted by an Impressionist. It’s not as obvious as “powergenitalia” but they should have realized.
I am currently maintaining crushes on at least three unavailable women. Go me!
In musical news, I’m going to see Steve Wynn this Friday night. It may well be a real Dream Syndicate reunion show of some kind. I have an extra ticket if you’re interested and can go with or meet me at McCabe’s Guitars in Santa Monica.
I have “Percy’s Song” as done by Fairport Convention in my head.