floorpie

While watching the fascinatingly disturbing Hitler: The Rise of Evil on CBS last night, I couldn’t help but notice the commercial for the Anti-Defamation League. I have never before seen a commercial for the ADL, but was not surprised to see it in the middle of a two-hour Hitler story. Marketing genius with a conscience, I tells ya.

There are more things n heaven and earth, Harris… than are dreamt of n your philosophy

CONDITIONS CLEAR

It’s my 10-year high school reunion this year. My mother called to tell me that, though I probably wouldn’t be interested (how did she know?), she’s forwarding me the packet They sent to her house anyway.

I graduated from high school ten years ago! (This, by the way, seems like nothing I’m sure for those of you that graduated from college ten years ago… and even less to those of you who are several decades past your graduation date; but, still, you can empathize right?)

This is supposed to be the time when I show up with my beautiful model wife in my new Lamborghini, talk about how many islands I just bought from the proceeds of my several successful businesses, and laugh at the flabbiness of the football players in comparison to the svelteness of my Apollo-like frame. Also, I’m to leave the head cheerleader breathless and wanting more.

Sadly, reality is just slightly to the left of that. I remain a poor, unfortunate, laid-off engineer; a nameless statistical casualty to the dot-bomb fiasco. Not only do I not have a Lamborghini, but my very, very old truck recently decided to have it’s interior door handle snap off. Let me tell you, nothing impresses the ladies like climbing out of the passenger side. I am, at least, in good physical condition (not having the money to eat will do that for you), and I certainly can’t complain about one other thing: I do have the model girlfriend.

Still, though, I’m leaning towards not going. The kind of people that will go are most likely the kinds of people I’m not terribly interested in seeing. I’ve kept in touch with only a scant few of the people I went to school with (for better or worse), and don’t expect to see them there. The enduring fantasy of seducing all the ladeez that I always wanted back then is tempered by the fact that I’m spoken for and happy about it, and that fantasy never holds up to reality anyway. I’m envisioning two kids and 40 extra pounds for each of them… is that cruel or just realistic?

So, for those of you in the same boat, or those that have experienced The Reunion, or those that are about to. What do you think? Yay or nay?

Cool.

Hello, by the way, to all of you coming here from Tony Pierce, the preeminent L.A. blogger on the scene. See what a little guilt can get you?

At any rate, I hope you’ll stay for the observational scandal that is my life… though to be honest you may want to skip down a bit, the last few weeks have been somewhat blase… Remind me to tell my nude Raiderettes story tomorrow to keep your interest.

Driving down Lincoln Blvd. in Santa Monica, there’s a young blond woman in a light-blue BMW Z3 (license plate 4LX10886), who is apparently too busy or too rich to care about the environment; who surreptitiously draped her arm out of the window and dropped a fucking cigarette pack onto the street. And I’m thinking, “This woman

has all this money, all this… whatever, and she can’t be bothered to eventually find a trash can? Gimme a break!”

I honked at her and glared at the back of her head. She may have noticed the honking, but most likely without knowing that it was directed at her… her main focus being on her cell-phone conversation (of course) and in dropping non-biodegradable detritus out of her expensive windows. Should you see or know this woman, do me a favor and flick her off for me.

Travelogue, Part IV

3.19.03
San Felipe wakes sunny and clear. It is warm, but not too warm, which is nice. The wind is very gusty, however, which I could do without; but, wind is a small price to pay for this level of relaxation.

It is best to pick a spot somewhere between the boat rental area and the resort hotel farther down the beach. Both areas are non-ideal for the noise, but one is of deals and motors, and the other is of gringos. The only thing left to contend with then is the hawkers of wares, which are plentiful and unceasing. You can see them pour on to one side of the beach, trudge their way down hitting everyone they pass, turn around, and repeat the process� all day long. No gracias. No rings, necklaces, tattoos, braids for my hair, caps or blankets, thank you.

Amigo? Quiresse sunglasses?
No, no quierro sunglasses, I say looking at him through a pair.

Later, we cruise the marecon and stop for tortas and fish tacos at a local restaurant. “Three Locations!” their sign boasts. �One upstairs and two downstairs!� All the same building, you see, but THREE locations nonetheless. The food is good and cheap. $9US for: fish taco, torta de asada, tostada de ceviche, two quesadillas, two cervezas, and two cokes. $9. More would have seemed an outrage somehow.

Also, we see Santa Claus and the Mrs. sunning themselves on the wall dividing the marecon from the beach. So that’s where he goes in the off-season.

Later, more beach time. Laying in the warm sand, taking in the rays. Caballos (for rent, of course) saunter up and down la playa from time to time. They are in fairly sad shape, though I suppose their work now is better than what they had to endure in the fields.

There are many retirees here. Or, at least, Americans of retirement age. And that they are Americans, they leave no doubt.

The thing about going to school in Santa Barbara was the couches. Most likely, this is not only the thing about going to school in Santa Barbara; but, instead about going to school anywhere. The couches, I mean.

>Everything happened on the couches. 90% of sleeping was done on the couches… not the bed like you might think. The bed was for pawing at a girl, or more usually, wishing you were pawing at a girl; and then reading three pages of your 6th Black History 6a book before falling asleep for 15 minutes. You might think that’s sleeping, but it’s not. It’s studying by osmosis.