In the land without humor, the man with bad jokes reigns supreme

Kids are morons. For the past ten minutes, this child has been talking about "Boosa." She's on the internet, and she's asking "is that Boosa? Boosa? What's boosa... Boosa! That's Boosa!" Then she points out to her father next to her. "Daddy, that's Boosa." What kind of inane fool can't determine that your own beloved father doesn't want to hear this meaningless drivel?!

The los angeles superior court is a land without humor. And I learned nothing from my time spent with them. It seems I was mistaken as to the nature of my transgressions against the Law. I thought I was being penalized for the totality and rate of destruction I was visiting upon the poor victims. It turns out this is not correct. It was not the viciousness and efficiency with which I consumed the beverages in question. Nay. These facts are most likely to be lauded by nearly every individual in this fine country, including most agents of the Law. Rather, it was merely the location at which I performed my beer-consuming virtuosity. So, I suppose the good news is that I am still free to consume massive amounts in record-breaking time, provided that I do so under the roof of an appropriate venue.

The debates are on. This is pretty good stuff. I think that they should have a fun category of debate. Like, every so often, they throw out a bubble-gum filler debate topic. Like... oh say... "Tapatio is better than Tabasco, isn't it?" "Palen could be the vice president of the United States of America. How surreal is that?" Palen... not enough can be said about this candidate... I wish she were running for President. Because she would have chosen a running mate foolishly (for instance, maybe she would, oh say, have selected some newbie political hack governor from some state nobody gives a sh*t about). It would be amazing. The republicans would be beginning a campaign of constantly one-upping themselves on putting bigger dip-sh*ts into the oval office. Everybody would keep voting for them just to see how good it was going to get. By like 2050, they'd have some guy that smears sh*t on the walls. Anyway... I'm tired of the way she always answers EVERY question (regardless of relevancy) by discussing her actions in AK with the energy and oil issues. We f*cking get it all ready, b**ch. You're a one-trick pony. Got it, thanks. Now come up with some more stock BS. Stock BS - if you've got it, you too can be a presidential candidate (or vice presidential candidate). I think vice-presidents should be like vice cops. They should go a little too far, y'know. Like snort some cocaine to try to prove to the dealers that they are not the president under-cover. Maybe sign some stuff out from the evidence room, and maybe misuse it, y'know, the ends justify the means and sh*t.

"Clayton, you blog on the level of an 8th grader. But not a 2008 tech-savvy 8th grader, but like a 1980's-welcome-to-the-future-see-how-poorly-you-can-utilize-this-amazing-invention-called-the-internet-8th-grader. "

I apologize, for I digress.

There is a theme within the work of Kevin Costner. To define it, I have been on a bit of an academic chase through the catacombs of my own mind.
I thought the amazing film "for love of the game" showed us a brilliant insight into the solution of the challenge I seek to solve. It gave us a glimpse of the everyman vs. legend dicotomy that Kevin portrays time after time.
While Kevin's character, Billy Chapel (RHP, Detroit), is pitching his final inning against the Yankees, the announcer narrates the epic struggle for us. He notes that Chapel is not pitching against the Yankees. Rather, he is pitching against Time. It is the final game of Chapel's career. "He can used that tired old arm one last time. To push the sun back into the sky and give us one more day of summer." The announcer has latched onto this timeless theme! Billy Chapel is facing an immortal enemy in the passage of Time. The announcer has divorced the character of his incidental traits (pitcher, Tiger, man), and declared that he is now an agent of Apollonian status. Like a god of the Greeks, it is his proffession, much less ABILITY!, to hoist the sun, and push it back into the sky and give ALL OF US one last joyous day of the recently-departed summer! Meanwhile, Kevin Costner as Chapel mutters to his god. He apologizes for breaking a promise that he would never ask his god to get involved in a baseball game ("it always seemed silly,"). But he breaks the promise to his god for this simple request: "if you could just make this pain in my shoulder go away for ten minutes..." As you can see, Billy Chapel the legend is on the verge of a monumental accomplishment. Billy Chapel (as portrayed by K-Cos) the individual is just a dude. I think to ourselves, we are all just dudes. Not ace pitchers, future hall-of-famers, the stuff of Grecian myth. Kevin Costner has made the brave decision, both in his life and in his career, to stand on the brink, that frightening space shared by immortality and the mundane, and we are all the better for it.

A rock band.

A fucking rock band. Magnets make the sounds and you overpower the electronic signals to make it interesting. We write pop songs and juice them up with guitar solos. No extended instrumental solos, no tonal explorations, no world rhythms nor drugs. That's not a direction you ought to go. If there's dust on it, blow it off. Rather, keep it there, see how it sounds, it may bode well for the reception. Nothing too showy, just matching suits. It goes "tssss" right before the snare (that's the beat upon which the audience claps), and the beat is drawn out with a chord on the keyboard, the bass guitar announces this approach, over and over again, denoting a pattern, a schedule, a promise. Now, how hard does that sound?

A word on a hero. Spoilers abound.

In the 1992 film Bodyguard, when K-Cos speaks the line, "There is a difference between wanting to die and having no fear of death," he effortlessly and definitively declares candidacy for Least Convincing Dialogue in a Film Ever.
Well, as most of you know, it is a rare day that you will hear me bicker about the attributes of an actor of the caliber of K-Cos. K-Cos rarely plays the Legend-in-his-own-time role. Rather, he effortlessly portrays the everyman who rises to the level of mythology in the end. See Postman and Guardian for entertaining and inspirational examples of this concept. In more challenging moods, K-Cos uses his effortless ability to portray the everyman-to-legend heroics as a ploy to draw the audience in, only to ensnare and challenge the viewers. For examples of this, take in Mr. Brooks or No Way Out.

I'm getting a phone call. Expect more on the ouerve of K-Cos very soon.

If you don't believe in God, you may also like etymology.

As you read this blog, I can't help but wonder. Dear reader, have you ever seen a Chevy with the butterfly doors? Stuntin' is a habit.

As I compose these sentences and sentiments, I sit on the floor of my former apartment in Sherman Oaks, California. I made this space my domain and lair for six months before I had to depart and start to stay at a pair of good friends' spot. It's a really good spot, and I'm grateful for the hospitality. But I miss when this apartment was mine. Now, my other good buddies have taken control of this sweet apartment, and as I type, they are assembling the shelves and tv stand. It's a bit funny that I moved stuff into this apartment, moved stuff out, and I'm back to moving stuff in again. I consider the warm Budweisers due payment for the work I've done. Ah, heck, I would've done it for free out of the spirit of good friendship. Weirdest part about it? This is going to be the domicile of my two good buddies, one of those buddy's lady, and their newborn son. Life is weird. Beyond weird.

I'm in the eye of a hurricane of weirdness. Actually, I'm not even in the eye. I'm in the thick of the heavy winds. I think it only appropriate that if you are my true friend you grab a burdewski, crack that sucker (and if you are truly brethren, you'll sip on a room-temp brew), slurp it down, and think of me and my southern california campaign while you listen to Baby Boy Da Prince's classic "This is the way I live." Look it up on youtube or something.

Thanks for the brotherhood boys.

This blog was way too genuine for my standards. Sheeyit.

Your blog is inexcusable.

I spent a couple of days in the airport recently. I flew to Chicago, stayed in a four star hotel in the prime near-Michigan ave. location, sat front row at Wrigley and flew back to LA the next day.
My flight back to LAX was delayed about three hours, which is par for the course when it comes to me and O'Hare on the way to LAX. I thought the fates were torturing me the first time I flew to CA from O'Hare. I had to stay in the damn airport for over six hours trying to get a seat assignment on a flight to LA. Luckily, I had my portable CD player with Pavement in it. Note; Pavement was still a band back then! No Stephen Malkmus, I don't even think I knew that name yet! Back to this trip. So, I'm delayed 3 hours, which eats a big whole in my plans and now I'm sitting around with nothing to do. So I hit the "Hudson News" which sells magazines and books. I can usually burn through a magazine in much less than 3 hours, so I needed a book. We all know what a damn crapshoot it is to find a good book in an airport. You're sitting there looking at a bunch of suspenseful bestsellers one minute, and you walk out well on your way to being a lifelong john sandford, carl hiaasen, or james patterson fan. This time, I settled with a novel called "Night Probe" by Clive Cussler. I picked it partially on the grounds that it is quite possible the most dubiously titled novel of all time. The treasures only mulitply when you realize that it was published in 1981, which does NOT stop it from taking place in 1989. 1981's view of 1989 is pretty hilarious. Quebec is fighting for independence, and has allied themselves with the Russians. All of North America is in jeopardy, you don't need me to tell you that.
I think I bore my father with my high level of country bumpkin-ness. 8 years in CA and 4 of those years in a University should refine a young man, after all! Instead, I am like a child when I enter a 4 star hotel. I use the robe. Do you guys use the robe when you stay in a hotel? I found myself thinking, "I need to re-structure my life so that I have a lot of leisure time after my showers, necessitating the use of a robe." This is foolish. There is no need to shape the structure of your life to accomodate previously unknown luxuries. I asked myself, "what do I need to do while i'm in a robe that would require my robe having pockets!?!?" I countered with, "What would I need pockets for that is so all-fired important that it would justify changing out of my robe and into something with pockets?!?!"

Sherman Oaks, bastion of Scientology.

"the only three things I care about in this goddamn world are me, my drums, and... you."

Before everybody goes off half-cocked thinking that my schtick is dissing legendary classic rock acts, I have to say that there is a lot of good music out there. Particularly current music. With new ish from Nas, My Morning Jacket, Stephen Malkmus (maybe I can't still count this as new), Dr. Dog, Beck, and the Hold Steady we are spoiled. And each one of these artists is in the midst of some artistic rennaissance. Not to say that their previous albums were Dark Ages, I just couldn't think of the word that means fresh and inventive, but without following a period of artistic void. "The Ark" by Dr. Dog is absolutely brilliant. Beck's album seems to be very good. It's all in the vibe of the record, because Beck hasn't really changed up his melodies for the last three albums. And his lyrics are hard to understand, so I have to read them out of the liner notes, big deal. Despite the fact that "Highly Suspicious" just set the record for most necessary song to skip ever, My Morning Jacket's new album is dope. These guys are weird, cuz they simultaneously exhibit tastemanship and then follow it up with songs that make me pucker my face up like Rene Zellwiger. ("Who the f#*& is rene zellwiger!?") The best lyrics go to Dr. Dog. They edge out the Hold Steady because their lyrics can be more easily digested without a level of ironic removal. The Hold Steady get there too... through ironic removal... I dunno, too hard to explain. I haven't actually heard Nas yet, I just assume it's dope cuz Hip Hop is Dead was awesome and because this one is so controversial, surely Nas is makin' points. Ratatat, despite all my previous beliefs, is a pretty cool band. They go for a Pink Floyd head-trip on their newest album, and I find it pretty tasty. It is good stuff to listen to while you are reading. Especially if you are reading a j-book. Like Thor by Straczynksi. Big deal I probably didn't spell that right. It's a blog. Most people probably assume I'm 14 years old. I shouldn't know how to spell right. The American public schools are to blame.

I think I'm going to drink a whiskey and coke.

I got no J-books this week. I agree with the Dr's scientific evaluation, Black Panther is pretty good. Would I read this and be excited about it if it weren't by Jason Aaron? No way. But I am glad to find that Jason Aaron writes this J with a different style than he writes Ghost Rider. If he just brought that intensity and pacing to all his J's, I'd think he was a hack. Turns out that he can write a much different style with the discussions amongst the two adversaries (Black Panther talks to his crew, while the Skrull talks to his crew). It's kinda like an episode of Star Trek or whatever, but it showcases that Jason Aaron is not a hack. It leads me also to believe that he crafted and puts on the style of Ghost Rider, which returns me to that J with renewed vigor. Have I yet bitched and moaned that the new Conan is not "bold" and "new" at all? They merely slapped a cool Joe Kubert cover on it and re-started the number. Inside is the same boring Dark Horse Conan crap they've been grinding that series to a halt with for the last 30 issues. Bad J. Captain America is awesome, even if Brubaker is treading water. Sure, lots of cool shit happens in each new J, but the serious progression of the main stories progresses like a soap opera (again, is this how j-books are supposed to be!?). Wolverine is okay. Have I yet mentioned how the first issue is exactly like 3:10 to Yuma?

I hope I can still find a girlfriend after writing a dumb-ass blog like this. Speaking of... maybe I will post some news on that very subject (if mysteriously and in the Legends of the Garrison 3rd person voice). I may need advice and the only person who can give me the advice I want to hear has become celibate for some very foolish reasons. I'm not sure if I can trust his friendly advice at all.