Blog for the children

Dr. Dog's new album came out today, if I'm not mistaken. I didn't buy it. Rather, I chose to spend eleven dollars fifty cents at the Sherman Oaks Arclight to sit through two hours forty minutes of Batman. Batman was okay. They did not need to have two villains in that movie. Batman is a supporting character in his own movies. I saw the trailer for Kevin Costner's latest masterpiece; "Swingvote." It looks really, really good. I was a little disappointed when I realized that the plot is that K-Cos is a normal ass red-neck dude who has the responsibility of casting the final vote to split the tie in the presidential election. This is interesting, given the controversy of recent elections, but I thought it was going to be way more wacky. I thought the plot was that K-Cos was a beer-guzzling average Joe who got ELECTED president by accident. That would've been a great movie. The good news is that they at least got the "beer-guzzling" portion of my vision incorporated in the movie.

I drank entirely too much over the course of the weekend. I drank Garrison amounts of booze. I started a round of beers with the boys at the local bar. Feeling daring, I chose to suggest we get some whiskey shots with our first round; on me. What I didn't expect was to discover that the boys intended to continue this shot-with-every-beer trend throughout the remainder of the night til last call. We probably even sat at the bar past our welcome. We are no so good at taking the subtle friendly hints. Hints like shouting "LAST CALL!", flickering the lights, leaving the lights on, smiling and saying, "Ok, good night boys." Luckily there were some gay guys who used their sobriety and careful understanding of the situation to engage us in conversation and draw us out into the open. Where they were probably hoping to score on some young LA fags by saying we looked like we could make it in the biz. We weren't young LA fags, and we weren't fooled by this devious second portion of their plan. Another night, I finished my 40 oz and doubled back to see my friend at the convenience store in order to purchase a 24 oz. I accidentally walked out with a 12 pack of miller instead. There weren't very many people around for me to drink with. So, nothing stopped me from drinking miller after miller. Garrison behavior, indeed.

Do Ed Brubaker's stories ever go anywhere? If you analyze the plot elements it would seem that they totally do: the titular character is dead, a character who has been dead for like 44 years of comic books is back to life, Captain America's lover is knocked up... now she's got a scalpel in her uterus.... But, somehow all of these things happen in an order and lack of climactic oomph to where it always seems like the next issue is going to be awesome, but the current one never is. Is that exactly what good comic book storytelling is?

I've made up my mind. I am going to go to a Giants game down here in LA. I don't have any Giants paraphernalia any more, so I don't know what to do. I don't like going to games without appropriate attire. What am I going to do? I'm going to buy a Dodgers t-shirt. I think I probably swore I wouldn't do this. I think I was a fool for swearing I'd never do that. I never had any Giants loyalty anyway. I hope Barry Bonds cries when he realizes that nobody will pay him the league minimum to play on their team.

Sea Dog's round of Raps in this Garrison blog Salvo.

We have blogs on girl-talk, and wine-talk. Both are inexcusable. Both are rubbish. I can only chastise the blog about girl-talk, because I myself spent a hot afternoon drinking cocktails and listening riveted to the i-pod as "the night ripper" caromed against its own ADD inspired maze of pop-song nostalgia rock-techno. I got my co-worker way too drunk, she cried at work and her father picked her up and drove her to her childhood home for recovery. I think all went well, but it was a difficult day for her. I've yet to hear this new one, and I fear for how much I will enjoy it. I'm glad I'm desperately lost in love for a woman, or while enjoying it, I'd doubt my own heterosexuality.



ENOUGH about other petty fools' blogs!

I awoke this morning to find myself the victim of a peculiar brand of shame. It was several minutes after four in the afternoon, and I had imbibed various alcoholic beverages for the bulk of the previous day. This immediately stung me with a throbbing anxiety and torturous regret. However, this lasted for mere moments, as it was replaced with a more brutal and telling sorrow: the regret of the knowledge that I can no longer drink all one day and sleep all the next and revel in this power! Instead of acknowledging this gift for the blessing that it is, I now look upon it with scorn! As if this power were not some righteous divinity, but rather a mortal weakness! How my perceptions have changed. At least I didn't melt an ice-cream sandwich all over my shirt and shorts (and head, hands, arms, head, and front porch now that I picture the dilemma with the clarity of the sober cobra) like the other guy. Then I would really feel a fool.

I possess a restless soul. There is always something un-nameable that I feel I ought to do. There is some phantom chore that plagues my sense of duty and conquers my acceptance of the right to relax. I fear that this is the curse of some scourge that may corrupt the entire course of my life. I fear that this malady is called... adulthood. May the gods have mercy upon my soul...

I haven't even gotten comic books this week... what is wrong with me!? What have I become!?

For those devoid of imagination, imagine that I spoke this blog as a monologue, my clothes tattered, remnants of rusted, giant chain links manacled to my wrists. I cannot stand, my knees are in the mud, my eyes are to the heavens, it is the darkest of nights, and as I shout, "What have I become!?" a giant vein of lightning pierces the sky, splitting the eternal blackness in two.


In other news, I am going to go to Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles. I'm going to hold off on waffles, I don't feel I have to make the restaurant live up to its namesake every time I go. Nor would I expect apples and bees, every time I go to the eatery which derives its name from those two things. No, I think Roscoe just named his fine locations that as merely an offer, or perhaps a promise. Waffles, are good, but easily done. Chicken is a fine delicacy, and perhaps because of its mistaken simplicity it is not always taken seriously enough. So, I will focus on the chicken. It will be good.

I am going to try a place famous for its burritos here in the valley. Can I help myself for being nothing but skeptical? A review online calls it "BUSY BUSY BUSY" while its ingredients are "fresh fresh fresh" and overall it is "inexpensive." These clues lead me to two distinct possibilities. 1) it is delicious like los pinos. 2) it is trendy like tacos moreno and therefore completely overrated and impossible to deal with due to hordes of drones lined up for miles because of some review they saw in the Good Times. We'll see.

So I blogged about food, get off my f*#*ing back all ready!