Frontwards

3.2.2018

I have never understood trendy fashion.  I understand that if you see someone wearing something that catches your fancy, you might seek that thing out for yourself.  I can't see, however, seeing guy after guy, gal after gal that look the same from head to toe and saying, "looking like that fucker is the look I've been looking for!"

We have two fashion trends in this hole we call LA these days:  The aging of the urban male hipster and the "Patagonia Parka Person."

The aging urban male hipster is the 30-something and sometimes the "late-adopter" 40-something variety of the man with work boots, cuffed jeans, wallet chain, plaid shirt and a trucker cap (meshed back).  On my short ride to work just the other day I saw three of them.  One crossing the street, one on a typical fixtee single-speed bike and the other simply standing there.  All looked identical but for the color and "weave" of the plaid and the ironic image on their trucker hat.  All of them were also looking down at their phones.  I don't see too many people on the streets and sidewalks, so to have three clones in the small sample indicates saturation.

Then there's the new status of the "Patagonia Parka Person."  Here is what I'm talking about:

    

I suppose it's more of a jacket, but I like the sound of "Patagonia Parka Person" better.
These jacket have exploded in popularity.  I have seen every other person wearing them.  They come in a variety of colors, so I guess there's some choice involved, but no one's choosing any other style of jacket.  Everyone on Venice Beach, everyone at the Little League park, and even every one at the Grand Yosemite Hotel had a Patagonia parka like the one pictured.  I'm sure it's warm and well-made but why have something everyone else has?  That has always bugged me.


 What ever happened to individual style?  I know I'm far removed from being stylish, but I like to think I march to the beat of my own drum.  I didn't nick the "baggy camo shorts, black sox and black T shirt from anyone.  I just evolved into it.  And hey, I'm not stuck in a morass of always looking the same in my baggy camo shorts and black T shirt,  that, too is evolving!  I'm now sporting "desert camo," or, "snow camo," instead of just woodland camo and T shirts with colors like navy blue and dark green to go with them.  Viva la change!

Tonight, be yourself at - 500 Club.
(it's been something like 2+ yrs since we've been)

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Wing-in-Ground

3.1.2018

So imagine that you're buying a car and you tell the salesman that you don't want a racing fin on your new Jeep and she says it doesn't come with a racing fin, and upon delivery it's got a god damned racing fin on it.

Or imagine that you're buying a box of used LEGOs on eBay and you say you don't want any K'Nex and the seller says there's no K'Nex in the box only to find on delivery that there are a bunch of god damned K'Nex blocks in the box.

If you can understand the feeling of the two scenarios above, you might understand my fury regarding my sandwich order at Big Mike's the other day.

I asked the lady, "what comes on the Atlantic City Hoagie?"
She said, "onions, tomato, provolone, Salami, Soppresata, Prosciutto ... " 
I stopped her there.
I asked, "may I have a small with no lettuce, please?"
She said, 'it doesn't come with lettuce."
I said, "great!  Small wrapped to go but we're going to eat here, please."
She said okay.

A few minutes later my small to go came, I unwrapped it and quickly discovered there was god damn shredded lettuce all over the thing.  I scraped it off with a fork, but once lettuce touches bread, it's always there.

I just shook my head at how stupid it is.  "No lettuce, please."  "Ain't got none on it."  "Great."

Then:  Lettuce. 

Tonight - Doc's Clock - CASH ONLY

Also, be sure to kick down some corn to be part of moving the historic sign:
https://www.gofundme.com/docsclock


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

M&M (Redux)

2.4.2018 (first posted this week 2002)

As a freelancer, I sometimes have spare time between paying gigs. I've got a lot to do on my own during this time, but I also cough up some of it to charitable causes. So far I've done volunteer work at the donut factory, the local brewery and the coffee roastery. I had to quit those places because they actually have paid docents who are very territorial. They've banded together into quasi-government states within the institutions, doling out assignments like NEA grants. One would have to submit a written proposal (of no less than 500 pages) and three years later would be forced to answer a battery of questions in front of their tribunal of Elder Docents. All of this to have the "privilege" to survey the employees' opinions about the recent switch from conical paper cups to flat bottom cups. Who the fuck can write 500 pages about that horseshit?

Anyway, like I said, I quit those joints, but recently I found the Mother-of-All-Volunteer-Gigs: Driving folks around in a little van. It's great! Most often I drive the little van around parking lots and help people find their cars. I'll be damned if I didn't learn an important life lesson soon after starting this: Most people who can't find their cars in a parking lot are in fact NOT drunk. This was a surprise to me. I don't have much exposure to parking lots to base my predisposed belief upon, but whenever I found myself in a big parking lot for, say, a mall, I would see dozens of people wandering around the lot looking for their cars. They all looked slightly dazed, confused, lost and, frankly, drunk. Now that I shuttle them around and talk a bit to them, it's revealed to me that they're mostly not drunk, but certainly forgetful.

The mall lot gig is good, but I've found a new gem. The neighborhood I live in here in SF (as are many in the city and in big cities in general) is a frikkin nightmare when it comes to parking. If you find a spot (and that's a big IF), you often need an airport shuttle to get you to the front door of where ever you're going, as it is fifty blocks away from where you found a spot.

Many of you savvy List Members can see this one coming. My new gig is to drive folks from their cars to their front doors. I started small, with only one or two clients, but word of mouth referrals pushed their number up into the high hundred fifties. And growing! It's really simple: Client Mary makes a quick once-over of the potential spots around her pad to no avail. She rings me on her cell and tells me where she's off to look and shortly thereafter I tuck in behind her Miata. When she finds a spot, she parks and I zip her back home. Easy-Peasy. And like I said, this is volunteer work, so I do it for nothing but gas money. In this tough economy, though, tips are appreciated.

Tonight - The Homestead

News: No news is good news. Welcome Lola and Heather.

Tonight’s Singled-Out List Members: Mary Haring, Jimi Simmons

Porn Title of the Week: Tender Tubbies

bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Thumbscrews

2.3.2018

Did I ever tell the story about the hospital collections dept calling me one day and was geared-up for a fight to get her dough only to read the amount, stumble and start swearing about their recent software update?  No?

The phone rang.  I answered and a bulldog asked if it was me.  I said yep.  Bulldog said, "This is the collections department of Bisbee General Hospital."  She had the voice of an pissed-off enforcer who only called shifty deadbeats who dodged her calls, or made empty promises to pay or had every excuse under the sun.  She'd heard it all and wasn't going to take any shit.  The time for "pleases" and "thank yous" was over.  No more Miss Nice Bulldog.  She continued, " You have an UNPAID, OVERDUE balance owed to the hospital!  The UNPAID BALANCE is in the amount of ... "  She choked on whatever she was about to say.  "uh ... You have a balance ... " Her voice was one of total confusion. "You ... Oh god damn it!" she said.

From the moment I said yep I just sat there and listened to her.  I was interested in hearing the way she talked and knew immediately the kind of jerk she usually has to call.  I also knew that I didn't owe her anything.

She composed herself, "Okay.  I'm so sorry.  I didn't read your file.  You have an unpaid balance of $6.  Our system is not supposed to elevate the account to collections for amounts under $20.  We had a god damn systems "upgrade" six months ago and we're still trying to sort out some bugs.  I'm really sorry to have bothered you."

I told her that it was okay.  I'd always wondered what an approach to trying to get money from someone over the phone sounded like.  She laughed, 'Yeah, ya gotta be an asshole from the start."  I said, "well no offense, but you nailed that."  She laughed again, "Ha.  No offense taken.  I trained hard to get that, uh, hard."

I asked her if she'd talk more like that and she said no.

Tonight - St. Mary's Pub (1 time!! 2 different requests)

Kickin' it Bernal/ Missio .

bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!