Bulock's Corner

Chris Bulock helps solve all of my problems. Why just this morning I was in need of guidance, and I found it through the power of Chris.

Here is what I wrote to him:

Zippy-
Is that a monkey in the background?
I have no desire to work today. I want to go home and sleep.
I got a mysterious text message last night, from some character named "Brett" from Malibu, and I don't know who that could be...The first message said "I am looking for liz" I said, "This is Liz." He wrote back "its brett from malibu im sorry its late your number just rang out hi" WHAT COULD THIS MEAN?!?

Floozy

Here is his response:

Well,

There is this bell in Malibu. It rings out number sounds. Brett is always listening to the bell. Whenever it rings, he puts the number that it indicates into the phone. Funny thing is, Brett also knows about this other bell that rings out names at the same time that that other bell is going. He has to record the name bell though. The whole thing yields a mysterious text message. And also, the person who responds to his text message with...a golden egg... will become his wife. That's why Brett listens to the number and name bells. To find a wife. Brett is an egret. It's hard for an egret to find a human wife. They won't let him in to clubs. He doesn't have a job, and he doesn't go to church. How else would you expect him to meet women. He hasn't had much luck with the text messaging either, though. His phone is made of sand.

-Brett

Thanks Chris. I feel much better.

Playboy for the Blind?!

Soundtrack of the Day: Whatever It Takes by Larry Goldings (his first Warner Release!!)

I have learned a few things today. 1- magazines are very in tune with the needs of the public. 2- no matter how clever you think someone is, when ta-tas are involved, they can be reduced down to their most simplistic nature. Note the comments at the end of this Instant Message conversation that I exchanged today with my friend The Other Liz. (Note to The Other Liz and Feldman- I edited this conversation so that it wasn't 90 hours long.)

The Other Liz: yo its the other liz
Me: YO YO YO YO
The Other Liz: what up
Me: Not much. You?
The Other Liz: same i watched the view with feldman then we r going tie shopping
Me: Good.
The Other Liz: so fyi playboy comes in braile
Me: NO
Me: NO IT DOES NOT
The Other Liz: yep
Me: What? Do they like ... label the parts?
Me: "Boob" "Butt" "G-String"
Me: Jesus.
Me: I guess these are the only people in the world who can say "It's for the articles"
The Other Liz: i dunno cause its kinda a visual magazine
Me: Ummm yes...
The Other Liz: like if u are blind from birth like " boob" doesnt mean as much
Me: True
Me: but, if you went blind because you jacked off too much ... then they've got something.
The Other Liz: feldman wants u to know he likes boobs


There you have it folks.

Hi Feldman

To my #1 Fan!

Things I Thought About Today

Soundtrack of the day: Goat Hill Junket by Anthony Wilson; and also this car alarm that's been going off every 6 minutes for the last two hours.

-- Bill Stewart=Best drummer of all time. His playing is so tasty!!
Dig this fantastic picture of the boy.
He's from Iowa- and yet, much to the surprise of James Brown, still remains funky. (Check out Larry Goldings' tune "Funk in Iowa," by the way.)



--- It is unbelievable how much red tape is involved with the phones at work. I'm trying to get a line added to my phone and I have been trying to do that for a week. I don't get it.

--- Sometimes, all I really want is a fun-sized Mr. Goodbar.

--- Christy Ciniglio is one of the most brilliant people on the earth. She likes names that revolve around "Phil."

--- Today, two guys who work in my office got in an argument about the cheese. You see, our employer provides food- one of the PAs goes to the store each Monday and stocks the kitchen. Then, when we all have lunch, we don't have to leave, we can stay here and be slaves to the our phones. It's a very clever plan on their part. It looks like a perk, but it's really a trick to get us to stay here. Anyway, one of these guys loves cheese. The other guy "needs" cheese because he is doing that whole "protein" thing. Apparently Mr. Protein 'hid' the cheese as a joke. And Mr. Other Guy got angry. Anyway, they ended up yelling at each other for like 10 minutes about this whole cheese situation. It was violent. Other Guy threatened Protein Face and Protein Face called Other Guy a "fucker" and then more swearing happened. Boy. It was great. I'm just glad that Dr. Spencer Johnson wrote a book about this type of event. Otherwise, I wouldn't know what to do.

That's about it people. It's well past Going Home Time. But I'm still here. Gotta make sure no one gets killed over any more dairy products.

Tonight only! Dennis Miller at the Comedy Trough!

Current Soundtrack: My dog snoring.

Christy and Avaryl and I went to the Canyon Club this evening to see Dennis Miller perform. That man is a genius with the English language- smart, eloquent, with a smattering of F-bombs. He also happens to be one of the most attractive men on the planet. As soon as he strode out on stage in his jeans and sport coat and began delivering those trademark sarcastic, poignant run-on sentences, I forgot all about all of the discomfort (both physical and financial) the evening had brought.

It was $90 all told, I think. A ridiculous chunk of change for someone in my current Life Stage. But well worth it- the food really was delicious, and we all know how I feel about Dennis. I have renamed the Canyon Club the "Comedy Trough," as a tribute to the perpendicular, Last Supper-style seating that had been set up for our enjoyment. There were, I believe, about 649 people per long table. Luckily, we were right next to the stage, so we didn't have to compete for a view. But that didn't change the fact that every minute was a battle for elbow room. The rows of tables and chairs were so close together that, unless you model haute couture for a living, just trying to find your seat was a meet-and-greet. ("Hi, yes. So sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Hi. Thanks. Hi. Sorry. Thanks.") I haven't had that much polyester-clad ass meat touch my head since that slumber party I went to at Elton John's. (Note: That never happened)

In addition to the too-tight seating arrangements, the three of us happened to be seated next to two gaunt and be-turquoised lesbians. What they were doing at a Dennis Miller show is beyond me. Every time they laughed at a joke, a guilty look would spread across their faces. And when Dennis started talking about environmental issues, they just sort of glared. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it- they may have just been friends, or a mother and daughter ... Christy and I were very confused.

The car trip home was a thirty minute collective squeal. Christy pointed out earlier in the evening: "We're like those girls on the Ed Sullivan show when Elvis was on. Only it's Dennis Miller." I'd say that's fairly accurate.

Losing My Blog Virginity

Soundtrack of the Day: Savivity (Anthony Wilson --- it just came in the mail yesterday!!!)

Up until now, I've been a blog virgin, but I decided to get 'with it' and hop on the Blog Wagon like everyone else in the world.
And thank God, too, because how much longer could the internet survive without my mindless prattling? (A: Not long)
Speaking of virginity, today on my drive to work, I thought about that band The Cherry Poppin' Daddies. I hadn't thought about them since their little album came out. It was all the rage among my peers. Back then, whenever I heard the name I thought about a lollipop, or a cherry-flavored candy. Well, luckily, I blocked that band out for years- until today. For some reason, the name appeared in my head. And I realized what it meant. Good for me.
Or not so good. Can I just say: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW. What the heck kind of a name for a band is that. I don't know what exactly they mean by "daddy" in this case, but I'm hoping it's like "sugar daddy" and not "father daddy." Because if it is the latter, I will punch the next person I see. Even if it's the former, it's still horrible. I don't see how that concept relates to the Swing revival of the mid-90's. Yuck.

On to better things:

I was on Pandora.com and a song came on by The University of North Texas One o'clock Lab Band. What?! That's awesome. It'd be like reading a book by Professor Kenton's 230 Chem Lab.

Also, last night Christy and I crashed Donnie's birthday party. You see we went to the Oyster House in Studio City for a beer and when we arrived we were greeted by a man dressed as Merlin, who beckoned us inward, through a band that was playing really loud music. So, we weaved through, between the drummer and the guitarist, past Merlin, to a table. Turns out it was some guy named Donnie's birthday. So, we had a drink, and we had some popcorn and then we bolted. The band was called Grandaddy Purple (I believe in honor of Merlin). And in addition to having its very own sorcerer, it also had a Wiggly woman in a Purple Sequined Hat. She and Merlin (who by the way was a septuagenarian AT LEAST) sort of "air-humped," as Christy most eloquently put it, to the songs. I think they call it "dancing." But it wasn't like any dancing I'd ever seen before. At one point, the lead singer said, "K. Now we'd like to do a song that-- it's one of Donnie's favorites, and he likes to sing with us. And 'cause he's not tending bar tonight, we'd like to invite him up. To sing it. Or sing anything, or say some poems, or whatever he wants. 'Cause it's his birthday." Donnie wasn't actually listening, which was awkward. But eventually, he made it up there, and began ... reciting back up vocals. Needless to say, Christy and I made a quick exit. We didn't even wait for the check. We left a wad of cash on the table and split. We grossly overpaid, but I think it was worth it, just to get out of that uncomfortable situation.


Phew! I just did a blog!! Good for me.