I awaken at 9 and head to the car repair place by 10:30 in order to obtain the 45,000 mile regular maintenance on my import sports luxury coupe-type car. This will take two hours and cost $176, they say.

I walk over to the soulless mall, buy a couple of magazines at Tower, and read them and drink coffee. The auto man calls to inform me that I need three new tires at $200 apiece plus alignment. I smoke.

I go to a chain restaurant italian place and eat a reasonably good fettucine with pesto plus caesar salad. I smoke more.

I return to the place of cars and give them $900.

I go to the Black Hole Coffee Shop. There, I meet up with reggiT and odradak, and another acquaintance of ours. She relates her birthday party of the night before which apparently consisted of lots of hoochie coochie with several fafoochies and a zoochie all in the back of a noochie outside the kerbloochie, TEE HEE!!!!1! with lots of cute tossing of the hair and outuendos. I smoke. The highlight of the day is watching an assortment of cute teenage girls flap in annoyance at the smoke drifting towards them from my stinky cigarillllllllllos.

reggiT is in current mood: BOUNCY! and odradak is staring through me at the blank vista of 17th street and the car wash across the street.

I return home to make lentil soup and consider the Situation of Humankind.

FUCK YOU, WORLD!

On my commute today, I was cruising along a bit of the 405 by the airport when I saw a cloud of brownish debris and bits of things flying, and cars swerving madly.

With no time to think, I was soon in the thick of it. It proved to be a huge piece of plate glass which had just fallen off a truck and exploded into a deadly cloud of knives, through which I zoomed at 70 mph.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be under my bed whimpering.

If this wasn’t enough, now we have this.

Bring on the Eschaton. I embrace you, happy Death.

this is all Other Jeremy’s fault:

PIMPIN RIDEZ!

I am in awe.

“The number of breakfast items available to the warfighter is limited and not highly acceptable.”

YOW! I want to be SHOT AT while eating my PIZZA POCKET!!

IgnatzMous: Myrrh with the amber, you turquoiseless fence!
Odradak: TURQUOISELESS?!?
Odradak: I’LL SHOW YOU!
IgnatzMous: Ha.
Odradak: I’LL SHOW EVERYONE!
IgnatzMous: go ahead, wave your tiny fists! you’ll never be a big-time suet auctioneer!
Odradak: (fade in ‘eye of the tiger’)

My employer’s website has an unintentionally hilarious ad banner on it. The second frame says something like “so now read something other than Cliff Notes” and takes you to this page which is even scarier, in that college grads are being told it’s time to read Dr. Seuss, Robert Fulghum, and Danielle Steele.

Is it time for the Robot Holocaust yet?

I want to learn to play poker. I’ve never played it successfully. Anyone have a good source for a POKER-HOWTO?

A quote from my father surfaced in my head today while listening to some people at work bullshit each other:

“Businessmen are all idiots. You can tell one of them some platitude like ‘If you want something done right you gotta do it yourself’ and then follow it up 10 minutes later with ‘The key to success is delegation; you have to trust your colleagues’ and the guy will agree enthusiastically each time.”

I miss Dad. He would have enjoyed the Interweb.

The new Krazy Kat book rules. Everyone must now buy it.

The local drugstore put their patriotic tchotchkes (flag stickers, etc) in the “Seasonal Products” aisle.

I used to work with a guy who is, among other things, a magician. I think they prefer “illusionist” nowadays to distinguish themselves from the people who believe in MAGICK! and are trying to get Aleister Crowley to spoil someone’s eggs or something.

Anyway, he is really good; good enough to belong to the Magic Castle, where you have to submit a portfolio and convince other magicians that you have the stuff. I went there with him a few times and saw him perform as well as some of the greats in that field.

I saw some “close up” magic, which is really amazing stuff. You’re in a little room like an independent theatre, stacked up on these almost vertical bleachers, and a man sits in front of a table and does things right in front of your face that are impossible.

I had a kind of zen moment thinking about this experience. The tools these guys use are ordinary objects: lit cigarettes, bits of rope, playing cards, a lemon. But because of the fixed attention that they and their audiences give these objects, they become infused with a new set of qualities. The dollar bill or the paperclip starts to sort of glow, and when the trick is completed suddenly everyone wants to look at it.

This is what I always thought Zen meant; attention. To everyday things. So odd to find it while holding a drink in a funny old Hollywood castle full of entertainment types.