R.I.P. George
Half of the greatest rock 'n' roll band of all time is now dead. How weird is that?
Now George was the least talented of the three talented Beatles (sorry, Ringo ...), but nevertheless, it's just strange to contemplate. Even though Paul's looking pretty haggard these days, with his clean-living vegetarian lifestyle, he's likely to be around for a while. And I imagine Richard Starkey, AKA Ringo Starr, is still just incredulous at his good fortune. He'll probably live well past 100, and will be heard mumbling, "I still just can't believe it. A talentless git from Liverpool in the greatest rock band of all time. Go figure."
And speaking of old, washed-up rock stars, did anyone but me see the documentary that Mick Jagger did about Mick Jagger? Whoa. I was completely and utterly absorbed by it. Oh, the life this man leads. If you missed it, there's a pretty funny recap on Salon here. It boggles the mind.
And lastly, speaking of old, washed-up never-beens, The Hills Have Eyes head into the recording studio tonight to record a demo. We will attempt to record five songs — pretty ambitious, really, for two days in the studio — but we'll see how it goes. The one problem I foresee is that I will be called upon to sing lead vocals on a song I wrote. And it really wouldn't be a problem, except that a. I can't sing, and 2. I can't stand the sound of my own voice. Other that that, it should be super smooth.
So think about me tonight/tomorrow morning, about 2:30 AM PDT. We should be ready to strangle each other by then. Peace out. ßßß
What's next, the Black Death?
Pleurisy.
Doesn't that sound like some disease we should have eradicated around the turn of the last century? Something you'd only get if you had just emigrated from Eastern Europe on a steam ship and were living with 17 of your relatives in a cold-water flat in Brooklyn in 1910? Well, we haven't, and it isn't, 'cuz I got it.
I'd been experiencing tightness in my chest for a couple of days, nothing serious though. Figured it was a weightlifting strain. But yesterday morning it was getting progressively worse. I could only draw the shallowest of breaths without excruciating pain shooting through my chest. So I'm sitting at my desk, panting like a dog, writhing in agony, when it occurs to me that I should probably go to the hospital.
I made it to the bus, to BART, across the Bay from Frisco to Oakland, to my car, and to the E.R. Longest commute of my life. There were times when I honestly didn't know if I was going to make it, if I was going to get enough oxygen to sustain life. But the highest hurdle was still ahead of me: the emergency room triage area.
If you have faith in humanity and need it shaken, head over to your nearest emergency room. There you will find the most disagreeable, self-centered members of this human race of ours. People without a passing familiarity with the concept of "triage." For example, while the intake nurse was dealing with me — a patient complaining of extreme chest pain — a woman walks over, and the following conversation ensues:
Woman: Excuse me. Why are you seeing him before me? I've been here a half-hour, and he just got here.
Nurse: What is your problem?
Woman: I have a boil.
Nurse: Well, this man has chest pain, and he might die. Do you think you might die from your boil?
Woman: I might.
Nurse: You realy think that you might die today from your boil?
Woman: Well, it feels like it. It hurts a lot.
Nurse: Go sit down! I'll see you as soon as I can.
Woman: Fuck it. I'm going to Kaiser.
That's more or less verbatim. There was also a young woman who tried to impersonate another woman in order to be seen sooner, and yet another woman who, despite the fact that she had not taken her asthma medication for several days, was threatening to sue the hospital for malpractice if she was not seen immediately. Basically, a whole room full of adults acting like big babies and refusing to take any responsibility for anything.
But I made it through the intake process, was seen, and was diagnosed with pleurisy. The treatment? Take fistfuls of Advil and don't exert yourself. Shit, I coulda done that on my own. That's pretty much my response to all ailments.
And now that formerly eradicated disesaes like smallpox, anthrax, and TB are resurfacing, it's only fitting that I'd develop the pleurisy. Here's to you, Public Health Officials. Keep up the good work. ßßß
Dear Mr. Ashcroft
Just in case it had slipped your mind:¹
Amendment VI
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district
wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense.
¹ About 600 Still Detained in Connection With Attacks, Ashcroft Says. ßßß
Body Snatchers + Stepford Wives = Dallas, Texas
So as you can see from the insane itinerary below, Tracy and I spent a coupla days in Dallas this past week. If I never, ever return there, it will be too soon. Hell on earth, I tell you. Hell on earth.
Honestly, Dallas reminds me a lot of Los Angeles. Only without the culture. And the sprawl makes L.A. seem positively compact and organic by comparison. Hell, it makes L.A. look positively wonderful. And I can't fucking stand L.A.
Here are some of my impressions of the Dallas Metroplex, as they are fond of calling it:
So I'm telling a coworker all this yesterday, just venting, and she finally turns to me and says, "Well, that's America today." And I was struck dumb, because I'm pretty sure she's right. If America really is glitz and sprawl and indiscriminately accepting everything offered to you, I'm not sure I want any part of it.
Canada, anyone? ßßß
One holiday down, one to go.
You'd think that after taking almost an entire week off of writing this thing that I'd have all manner of junk to say. Huh. Go figure.
Our Thanksgiving traveling was strangely uneventful; almost pleasant, you might say, save for a couple of luggage-related snafus. We even evaded a four-hour layover in Denver by going standby on an earlier connecting flight. We had to go back later in the day and pick up our checked baggage, but it was a small price to pay for avoiding four hours of tedium at Denver International. Class.
So our itinerary for the holiday went something like this:
Damn, I got exhausted just reading that.
Correctional Department
So Jason Giambi did not win the AL MVP as predicted by me and by pundits who are paid to know these things. But Ichiro did, and that, my friends, is a beautiful thing. I love the Ichiro. Long may he reign. ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
