Q and Me - A Modern Love Story

I hope that today will be as unpleasant as this job gets--before I dig in, maybe now is the time I actually say what this job is. Oh, you prefer the mystery? Very well then. So, back to the story... well, nothing really bad happened today, unless you consider driving from Marina del Rey down to Manhattan Beach, then up to Pacific Palisades, then back down to El Segundo to be bad (if you don't then you probably don't know what any of that even meant). The point is: LA is famous, primarily, for its traffic congestion, and that traffic congestion, combined with my ignorance of the fastest way to get from Manhattan Beach to Pacific Palisades or from Pacific Palisades to El Segundo, in addition to the downpour which began precisely as I arrived in Manhattan Beach, meant that I managed to accomplish very little over a very long period of time. Which, in turn, means that I probably made very little money today, despite the first half of the day going very well.

One other thing: I got to see Quincy Jones's lavish Bel Air spread today. I don't want to tell tales out of school or nothin', but from what I can tell, the guy's got bucks. You didn't hear that from me, mind you.

Okay. That's all I've got the strength for. I hope you people who kept saying I need to get a job are happy. You brought this upon yourselves. Have a nice weekend, jerks.

Not One of My Better Efforts

Sorry no writey yesterday, but me not used to working, then coming home and realizing that I only have a few hours to waste before beddy-bye, then starting all over again. Truth is, I haven't worked full time in about, oh, five years or so. How did I manage it, you ask? The answer, friends, is grifting. But now I'm trying to go legit, workin' 9-5 just like Dolly Parton sang (actually, so far it's been 9-8, 9:30-5, and 8-4:30). As you can see, it's pretty much wiped away my writing ability. I mean, this entry looks like I washed down a handful of opium with a jug of varnish. Talk about your inability to craft a cogent paragraph!

Anyways, I got nothin' to tell ya. After seeing a giant geyser and Brian Grazer's kitchen during my day of training, I've seen nothing funny since. Today, I did see a few young actors reading their scripts in preperation for what I'm guessing was a TV audition, but that's hardly funny. Mostly, I've seen traffic. On Laurel Canyon Boulevard, I saw some knit skicap-wearing dude with a license plate frame identifying him as "Hollywood Ken." He had the whole Bluetooth earplug thing going, chatting away in his Audi convertible while dance music pounded away. But that's not so much funny as it is depressing; all day long I see these Hollywood people, the fucking slicky-boys in their shiny suits and designer hairdos. These people won't all become millionaires. What happens to the ones who peak during their post-college talent agency assistant gig? I imagine they go into sales. What happens to the sexy-but-not-quite-beautiful young actress after her tenth unsucessful pilot season? Do they dry up, like a raisin in the sun and/or a dream deferred?

More important than all that, what's up with the upcoming ABC series, "Blind Justice"? It's about a blind District Attorney or something. What next? A show about a comatose private investigator who solves crimes by twitching involuntarily? Or how 'bout "Brains," a medical series about a man who sustained serious head trauma in a traffic accident and is also the world's greatest brain surgeon, even though he is unable to tie his own shoes or feed himself? For the love of Pete, people, when are we going to stop allowing the PC mafia to show cripples and differents in a positive light? I'm sorry, but blind "people" do not deserve our tolerance, let alone our admiration.

Here is a picture of a dump truck with some tits on it:

(my Photoshop skillz are not, I'm afraid, mad tight, yo)

Nine Hours in a Gas-Electric Hybrid with Foster Fucking Brooks

For reasons, I'm not going to tell you in any detail about day one of my new job, but here are a few highlights:

• I saw a 30 foot geyser right in the heart of the downtown garment district.
• I helped bring a tuxedo shirt to Brian Grazer's house and got to watch his maid stock the refrigerator.
• I got to listen to a man who smelled like vodka constantly rub his paper-dry arms with his scabby, calloused, paper-dry hands, laugh his drunken, wheezy laugh at his own "jokes," and cough his wet, phlegmy, smoker's cough every ten minutes or so.
• I got to experience traffic jams in at least ten different cities.
• I got to listen to lots and lots of Diana Krall.
• I also got to listen to K-JAZZ, which, at one point, had a female DJ who said that Valentine's Day is a great day to watch romantic movies like "LA Story," which has the message that there is someone out there for everyone, a message that she finds very comforting. Also, after playing a song called "Down with Love," she announced that she does not agree with that song, because she feel that there is someone out there for everyone, an idea that she finds very comforting.

There are probably other things, too, but I have forgotten them. Perhaps someday, though, I'll fill you in on some of the details. If not, please accept as my apology the following undoctored photo:

Another Poll, Because I Want To

I have things to tell you, but I'm not going to--not yet, anyway. Let it suffice to say that I start a new job on Monday, and thta it is so shitty a job, I already wish I was still working at Pizza Hut. Also, if things go as I hope, I will be able to quit this job on Tuesday. Nonetheless, I could still use any spare change you pricks can scrounge together. That said, here is the new poll:

If you were not so incredibly racist, which African-American politician would you most like to see as President of the United States?
	Mitch "Blood" Green
	Spinderella
	The Cream of Wheat Logo
	Ray Chew and the Crew
	Kiki Shepard
	Sandman Sims
	Charlie Pride
	The I-Threes
	Wayne Williams
	J.C. Watt
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