with my uppity neighbors telling me I can’t park my monster truck on the street near their house. What up with that? It’s a public street right? Instead, they want me to park the 35 inch wheels that drive up mountains in Death Valley and won’t be stopped by an LA city curb on my steep inclined hillside street. I usually park it on a flat piece of land, whether in city or country. It’s not even in front of THEIR house. They just don’t like to look at it.
I hate to break it to you people, but this is not Santa Monica – no matter how much you drive your Porsche Boxter and Mercedes. Go two blocks down the hill and you’ll be dealing with the backyard roosters, broken down cars on the side of the road and yard debris by the side of the street. And around the corner more than a few lifted off-road vehicles and an RV someone lives in. Maybe it’s time to think about moving back to Bel Air… it’s an easier commute to your studio gig.
It is quite depressing to see immigrant mothers with their gaggle of children on the streets of Los Angeles walking around, forced to take sub-minimum wage for their hard work. These families didn’t have the money or time to immigrate here legally so they resorted to crossing the border illegally. Some clean floors, others pick fruit, many take care of our children to feed their children who as they grow up go to fight foreign wars in the name of our country at the behest of George the Pretender or are sold into prostitution on the streets of Skid Row.
It is apparent to everyone that these poor impoverished babies of the immigrants greatly contribute to the sad state of our nation and any person who could come up with a solid solution to the creeping problem would be a hero of the people. It is not my goal to simply solve the problem of these children, but also of their parents and the drain they place upon our economy. It is quite obvious that any current problem in out nation can be traced back to these people who have come in to our great land that we have been entitled to by God.
The simple solution to these problems is the creation of camps in which we can “concentrate” the population of these law breaking heathens. We’ll call them Immigrant Concentrating Camps. We can build farms around these camps and after we round up all these illegals and lock them up, we can force them to work at these camps picking our food. Instead of a wall at the border, I propose we build a giant mote which feeds into a slide that simply drops the immigrants directly into the concentrating camps. Once these interned illegal immigrants are no longer useful we can send them back to whence they came as new forms of export good like soap, lamp shades and buttons. It is a perfect solution, I wonder why nobody has though of it before?
this lousy sweatshirt:
(I couldn’t resist. Lines are LONG today at the Post Office.)
After hearing that some folks were having phone line issues over in Beachwood I contacted some friends who live there and got this story. No idea how many people are in the same boat, but it sucks none the less. Kathy writes:
Woke up Saturday morning and discovered the phone lines were dead. No dial tone. No nothin’. Assuming rain had knocked the line out, not the first time, I call up AT&T/SBC on my one-tiny-bar of connection cell phone to see what the ETA is on having our phone back. According to a pre-recorded message there was some damage on the line affecting eastern parts of Los Angeles. Crews were at the scene working on the damage and should have repairs compete by…. October 24th? Huh wah?
Okay, that sounded off but I figured they were working on it and… well you hope they’ll have it up before October. I resign myself to no phone or internet for a few hours. Maybe I’ll read or something.
Hours go by and I check with AT&T/SBC again. Precious World of Warcraft hours are just slipping away — something’s gotta give. Still nothing. Dead silence. I decide to call on my cell again and see if repairs might be done sometime today and not October.
This time I don’t get a recording I get the typical voice mail maze. I navigate it down to a live person eventually who tells me he is going to test the line for me. Gee thanks.
Surprise of all surprises it appears I am having a problem with my line. They’ll have to send someone out. How’s Thursday? Dude, it’s friggin’ Saturday — what is this communist Russia? Five days without phone and DSL service? You’re kidding right?
He’s not kidding. Thursday’s all they have. Feeling completely violated I say okay when what I really wanna do is scream and yell about communist Russia; the phone company’s impossible incompetence; the insane reality that a huge metropolitan city like Los Angeles would force its citizens to go 5 days without phone or internet service; that Chad’s business is run from the house on the internet and without his paycheck we won’t be able to buy food or sweaters for the dogs; that I can’t even get fucking Verizon to get a station near my house so I can even use my cell phone without going outside and walking down the street.
“Thursday’s fine, ” I say meekly.
So here we sit without communication with the outside world. Adding insult to injury DirecTV also died the night before The Sopranos and saw fit to schedule repair service three days down the road. Guess that beats five.
Since this is the hot topic of the day and everyone seems to have their own take on it, some of us thought maybe you had some opinions worth sharing as well. Here’s the questions banging around on this end – How do we treat immigrants as a community? Should there be an amnesty? Should there be a wall? What’s too far, when it comes to legalization or amnesty? What do you think? Comments are open, go nuts.
Forest Lawn has a new ad campaign, aimed at – ??? – I’m not exactly sure.
Here we see a freewheeling nutty retiree, letting you know she can and will still control you, even when she’s DEAD.
Who CARES if you want to express quiet dignity and experience personal grief? Not Me!
I want a craaaaaazy funeral. So Get Cracking.
(apologies for the crappy photo – I was driving!)
Dear Owner Of This Car,
I know how it is. You wrapped that student film — I’m sorry, “indie feature” — on location near MacArthur Park last night and in deserving celebration downed seven too many craptinis at the Golden Gopher. Forget that you ended up parking like a Tardo McDipstick further blocking an already tight squeeze of a sidewalk. Really, forget about it. Because frankly what’s far more important is appreciating the miracle that you were able to get the fuck home in one piece without throwing up or killing anything. That is… other than that coyote you creamed coming up Edgecliff from Sunset.
No, you didn’t dream that, you really clobbered that sucker. But try not to stress, especially now as you’re heading into post production and your next stop is Sundance, baby! Seriously, I saw the whole thing and the pathetic creature was half-starved and on its last legs and you did it and the neighborhood a favor by putting it out of its misery. Bravo! And I already called animal control to come pick up the other pieces. But I kept the head because even though its minus the right eye it’s largely intact and I might try my hand at mounting it. I think it would look cool on the porch over the front door!
But for the remains that got stuck in your car’s undercarriage, I would sincerely recommend cleaning that up ASAP. All the matted and bloody gunk like the fur and viscera and entrails and such should come off with a good hosing, but the animal’s hindquarters and spine look like its wedged good and tight against the rear axle and the gas tank. The dog and I tried to yank it out this morning and its up in there good — but nothing a powertool can’t dislodge. A good reciprocating saw should do the trick. Whatever you do, don’t waste getting to it because it won’t be long before it decomps and stinks up the inside something hellacious. Trust me, I know!
Today I needed to catch a taxi from the sixspace (in Culver City) to LAX for a flight up to SF where I’m hanging out for the next week or so. I Googled and found Yellow Cab of LA. I’ve seen yellow cabs around so figured that was reputable enough to try out. I spoke with a gentleman there and gave them my pickup address (5803 Washington Blvd), told them where I was going, and gave them my number. They told me a cab would be there in 5 to 10 minutes and that they would call me when it was arriving. Cool deal. 25 minutes later when I was still sans-taxi I thought it would be wise to call them back and kindly ask WTF. The following conversation was had:
Lady: Yellow Cab – what is your address?
Me: Hi, yeah, I called a little earlier and reque..
Lady: What is your address?
Me: Oh, um, it’s 5803 Washington Blvd. I actually already called and just wanted to check on…
Lady: 5803 Washington Place, OK, phone number?
Me: No, not Washington Place, Washington Blvd. I already requested a cab, just wandering where it is.
Lady: I don’t have any order for that address, what is your phone number?
This goes on for a few moments, she checks my name, phone number, address, etc and concludes that no one there has ever spoken to me or if they did they just didn’t place the order.
Lady: Oh well, that happens. I can place the order for you now.
Lady: So what is your address?
Me: You don’t have it? I just gave it to you about 5 times.
Lady: No, that was a different screen.
Me: Oh, OK. Well, it’s 5803 Washington Blvd.
Lady: 5803 Washington Place, OK.
Me: No, not Washington Place. Thats a different street. I’m on Washington Blvd.
Lady: Um… doesn’t look like there is a Washington Blvd. You must mean Place.
Me: There’s definitely a Washington Blvd, it’s a huge street.
Lady: Well, it’s not in our records. Maybe it’s official name is Washington Place.
Me: Trust me, Washington Blvd and Washington Place are two totally different streets.
Lady: Well my computer says there’s no Washington Blvd in LA.
Me: Um… ?
Lady: And if the street doesn’t exist I can’t send a taxi there.
Me: OK then, forget it.
I then called Checker Cab and placed a new order. They had no problem finding Washington Blvd. At least in their system. I don’t know if they ever sent a cab since 20 minutes later a Yellow Cab showed up.
Is it just me or at this point is Daylight Savings Time just an annoying vestigial prank?
Everyone knows it was created by American hero and famed Satanist Ben Franklin, but that was Ages Ago and it’s been completely obsolete for decades. Plus, several states already ignore it and they haven’ evaporated or experienced economic collapse.
This year I hear it’s being observed in PARTS OF Indiana – wow, that’s going to be great: an hour’s difference just by crossing a street.
Adjusting to the difference is unpleasant, mostly I think due to the underlying implication that time, having been expressed to us as about the only constant thing in the universe, is really just a collective hallucination. That if we all close our eyes and say it’s [insert time here] then that’s the time. From New Moment forward, we’re awake and back to time being a rigid, unforgiving, implacable constant.
Well, is it or ain’t it?
So help me out here, activists – how do we get out of (or into) DST once and for all?
Okay. It’s been since last Christmas that I visited Brentano’s in Century City and as an Eastsider, I don’t get to that great bookstore as often as I should.
But on my visit there yesterday, I remembered why: IT’S THE LOUDEST BOOKSTORE ON THE PLANET!!! We’re talking Groundlings/SNL-sketch loud. Not just because they PAGE EACH OTHER CONSTANTLY ON THE P.A. but because even when they are standing three feet away from each other–or you–THEY SHOUT AT ONE ANOTHER instead of using their church voice. The manager is loud. The register people are loud. The stockers are loud (and yesterday, whiny). EVEN WITH EARPLUGS!!!
There’s a great deal going on there through Sunday, the 2nd:
4 books for the price of 5…um…5 books for the price of 4 (der). And since they’re now Borders Empire affiliates, you can use Borders coupons and sign up for the (free) Borders Rewards affinity program, you can get extra deals. But do your quiet browsing online and come in with a list. BECAUSE IT IS SO LOUD IN THAT STORE THAT YOU CANNOT HEAR YOURSELF THINK, MUCH LESS READ A BOOK.
When I first moved to LA I heard nothing but amazing things about Trader Joes. First time I went I was blown away. And the next and the next. Caroline (who may or may not be on crack) was throwing a last-minute dinner party and TJ’s saved her:
“I’m going to tell you something that as Angelenos you probably already know: Trader Joe’s is a great place to go if you’re throwing a last-minute dinner party, either for a date you want to impress or just some friends you want over to keep you company on a rainy night. They’ve got everything from the cheese plate to oven-baked entrees to ready-to-serve desserts to flowers and candles to a great wine selection.”
So yeah, anyway I was all impressed and shit and then I moved to Silverlake. I was psyched about the fact that there was a TJ’s a few blocks from my house. That was until I tried to go there and noticed there’s about 4 parking spots for the entire place. OK, maybe there’s more than 4, but no many. I’ve spent hours trying to park there -I’ve probably 3 times as much time trying to park as I have actually in the store. It’s a complete nightmare to the point that I won’t even try to go there anymore. If I’m out around town and have time when I’m near one of the other locations then I’m psyched to stop in and get 6 or 7 bags of amazing food for under $20 but the hassle at the lot in Silverlake just isn’t worth it. I don’t really have a point to this post, just wanted to rant for a moment. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing now.
People of LA, I am not a celebrity. I see you checking me out, across the restaurant, when I go to the farmer’s market, when I’m buying plants at home depot or just walking down the street. Look, I am not a celebrity. I am just a normal person. Can you just go about your day without paying me that much attention? Maybe I look like some reality TV person or a minor celebrity, but I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong person, I am not a celebrity. Not even close.
Does this happen to anyone else?
Ever since I moved to LA, people are constantly staring at me with that almost recognized look in their eye. Today, the guy at Home Depot asked me if I was an actress, and I’m like, “no, I’m just a normal person.” I just chalk it up looking like someone on TV or something. I must be a doppelganger.
Could I have a show of hands from bloggers who are currently experiencing issues with their hosts because of nasty spammers?
I know Joz and I are on the outs with our current webhosts because of spam attacks. My ever helpful team that set up my blog (fellow metblogger Travis from Vancouver) has been disabling portions of my site and if this keeps going I’m going to lose the distinction of being called a blog pretty soon (comments are next on the list). Even though my site has been fending of the actual spam from getting onto my site, it means that the creepy buggers have been crawling and probing my system for vulnerabilities and that’s causing server overloads.
Is anyone else having troubles with this stuff? Is it web-wide and where I do I join up to fight these destructive forces?
(I say continuing, but really have never – that I recall – mentioned them before. Just so we’re straight.)
On December 12th I was mugged. My purse and car were taken. The car has since been replaced, which is nice because I like the new car a lot but annoying because the old one would have been paid off in a few months and now we have something obscene like six more years of car payments. But I digress. After I called the police I immediately called my bank to cancel my debit card. I also called my credit cards, but with less urgency as I figured I’d have more hassle if I needed to contest charges on my checking account. Anyway. Washington Mutual sent out a new debit card which arrived, remarkably, only a week later (either the 19th or 20th, I don’t remember for certain). It was one of the new ones, which either means my old one was a debit Mastercard and this one was Visa or the other way around. I activated it by phone right away, and the recording told me it would be active in 24-72 hours. I thought the additional wait was a pretty huge pain in the ass, but hardly the end of the world considering that the cops weren’t looking for my car and wouldn’t take a detailed description of my assailant, and also considering that my husband has a debit card that works perfectly. Still, it was the week before Christmas.
On Thursday, the 22nd, I attempted to use my new debit card and it was denied. I figured this was because it hadn’t been quite 72 hours yet, and didn’t worry.
That was my first mistake, unless you want to count the fact that I bank with Washington Mutual in the first place, which I am really regretting now.
Continue reading The continuing saga of my banking woes
Some days I feel like I went to sleep and woke up on Planet Dumbass. Now, I would never say that rock and roll is supposed to be a bastion of perfect grammar usage, but to me there’s an obvious difference between writing colloquially (wanna, gonna) and just plain being stupid. Glendale-native Armenian supergroup System of a Down’s new single “Lonely Day” is the latest addition to my “Oh my god, how can you be so f*%king stupid?” list, with it’s horrifically mangled chorus, “The most loneliest day of my life.” AAAAARRRGGGHHH! ARE YOU F’ING SERIOUS?!?! You. People. Are. Killing. Me. I’m not a total English freak, but that’s seriously basic grammar and if you made it to sixth grade you should be able to properly construct that sentence. Look, I don’t even care if you want to mess up
“lonliest” [of course there had to be a typo in this] “loneliest” vs. “most lonely,” but NOTHING WILL EVER BE “MOST (ADVERB/ADJECTIVE)-EST”, EVER. Got it?
What really drives me nuts is that I know that at least a couple of the guys from System of a Down are smart fellas. How they could have purposefully released this monstrosity on the listening public is beyond me. Maybe it’s a bid to connect with the MySpace generation? If so, I’d like to point out to them that not everything we do as teenagers is rebellious reinterpretation. Some of it—lots of it, even—is just plain boneheadedness.