If I Should Die, Darlin', In Your Arms, What A Lovely Way To Go.

A good nine-and-a-half minutes to pass the time on a lazy Thursday night with a joint, a beer, and a cigarette:

We laugh together, we care for each other, we have highly proficient sex... why can't we get married?

Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time

There's a couple who live on the first floor of my building with a pair of great, friendly, well-behaved dogs. Their apartment is right next to the elevator, by the building entrance, and they frequently leave their front door open so the dogs can play in the lobby. I love dogs, and it's way fun for me to play with them when they're hanging out.

I just ran out to the market, and saw one of the dogs -- Skittles -- laying on the floor in the lobby, looking bored when I left. I gave him a friendly pat. When I came back, he had moved over by the entrance to the elevator, and was looking really sad. I guess his ownerpeople had some friends over, so he was just chilling in the lobby, but he looked morose. I sat down next to him while I waited for the elevator, scratched and him and asked him, "Who's a good boy?" That cheered him up a bit, but then the elevator came and I was anxious to get upstairs and eat my Doritos. (I also don't want to seem like the kind of guy who's only friends in the building are a couple of dogs that hang out in the lobby.)

As the door closed and I waved bye to Skittles, he had that sad look on his face again. I figured he was sad that I was leaving, as he enjoyed the petting and the attention.

But then I thought about it. A dog doesn't really understand an elevator, especially if he never has to ride in one. He just seems people open a door, go into a room, and then not come out again. Or if someone comes out, it's an entirely different person. It's like some weird, trick room that must blow their little doggie minds. Into this little room I go, and then a short time later a little Chinese girl emerges.

It's amazing how dogs remain so cheery in a world they clearly cannot understand.

Newspaper Taxis Appear on the Shore

Saturday morning, the four most viewed articles on the LA Times site were all about porn:


This kind of interest over a unnamed and apparently not well-known porn contracting HIV leads me to wonder where the LA Times should establish a permanent porn beat to drum up circulation and views.

Also in the news, the unhappiness over Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's apparently sham re-election caused riots in the streets. According to Bill Keller at the NY Times:

"On the streets around Fatemi Square, near the headquarters of the leading opposition candidate, Mir Hussein Moussavi, riot police officers dressed in RoboCop gear roared down the sidewalks on motorcycles to disperse and intimidate the clots of pedestrians who had gathered to share rumors and dismay."

It's fantastic that a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter is now using "Robocop" to describe riot police gear. Charles Manson, what do you think of Robocop gear?



(It's times like this when I regret not having any Photoshoppin' skills. Cuz I'd totally color Robocop in Iranian national colors. Robocoppin'. With Robotussin'.)

And then, today, a kinda inspiring story of UCLA legend (and one-time fellow student) Ed O'Bannon, trying to maintain in Nevada despite the disappointment of his adult life. Go Ed!

I Hope You Die A Fiery Death, I Love You. God, I Need You

Today is/was the 2-year anniversary since Jess and I met. So far, it's going swimmingly. I must have blown $100 last nite getting trashed. Woke up this morning at 7:00 am and proceeded to get royally baked. Wound up 25 minutes late for work. Posted a brief San Diego missed connection for Jess. Am going to see Doug Benson tonight (he's recording a CD over at the punchline) with a friend.

I would much rather be smoking more and playing Fallout 3 than working right now; amazingly, I am actually getting work done.

And I haven't cried yet today! Oh, success never felt so empty.