floorpie

My company had their annual Christmas party last night, which in the nearly 4 years I’ve been there is really the first annual Christmas party we’ve ever had. It was…classy. I mean, just look at that guy. He’s totally oozing class, no?

It’s hard to believe that that guy can’t seem to find a girlfriend who loves him even with his overwhelming faults, isn’t it? I’m not bitter, why would you say that? Actually, I’m not bitter, I’m just terribly disappointed with myself. I pretty much screwed it with someone very special to me…which is something I excel at. Something I also excel at is changing the subject.

It was a pretty fancy affair, and it was weird seeing people in ties that you otherwise have only ever seen in T-shirts. There was a lot of alcohol that I took personal responsibility for drinking, and there was a buffet that I didn’t attack as much as I would have if I wasn’t already feeling the effects of whiskey and DayQuil. There was a raffle with things like big screens and laptops, and there was a general feeling of partying.

I got there late enough that people had already started eating and claimed their seats at the cool table. Under the aformentioned effects of DayQuil and whiskey I just took over my friend’s abandoned spot and put my plate of chicken kiev and shrimp on top of his. I’m fairly certain I also used his napkin, which I’m going to say now was in the interests of saving the environment somehow.

There’s only so much one can do when in the company of all of your co-workers so we went around the corner to Seven Grand. It was my first time in what is definitely the best whiskey bar I’ve ever been in. To re-use an overused descriptive: it was classy. I wasn’t out of place in a suit even if the hipsters were in jeans and logo tees.

And there was dancing. You’ve not lived until you’ve seen me dancing. I’m not saying it’s good, I’m not saying it’s bad; I’m just saying you ain’t lived.

Last Friday I got to see Ozzy at the Staples Center. Ozzy as in Ozzy Osbourne. THE Ozzy Osbourne. And Rob Zombie opened for him! THE Rob Zombie. And some really crap-ass band opened for Zombie. THE some really crap-ass band that it honestly was better to walk around the hallways looking for bathrooms than it was to sit in the sky box I was lucky enough to be in.

Staples is not exactly the best place to see a live show. It wasn’t designed for music and the sound system is therefore only so-so. There are, however, no bad seats in the home of the Lakers (and some team called the “Clippers”, especially when you get to be in a private box with two really hot chicks (where “hot chicks” means “dressed sluttily”) that were with two douchebags (where “douchebags” means “probably perfectly nice guys that just didn’t happen to be me, thereby earning my ire through jealousy”).

Also, there were free hot dogs and nachos.

For as yesterday both Ozzy and Zombie are, they were both really good. It was an awesome show. Ozzy did not seem at all drug-addled, and he was moving around the stage like a spry 40-year old (upon Wikipedia inspection, Ozzy is 59. 59!). His voice was good, Zakk Wylde was good (who played at least two Van Halen-inspired guitar solos. It occurred to me at the time that a majority of the people watching the show probably weren’t old enough to appreciate or recognize this fact), and the production was very good…though there weren’t enough big screens.

Zombie was good, too, and had the advantage of a few go-go dancers by his side. And, thank Jebus, he played a lot of White Zombie songs.

More than FIVE YEARS AGO I announced the First Annual Kiss-Off Contest. You would expect, I presume, that we would then be figuring out the results of the 6th Annual Kiss-Off Contest. That, of course, is not nearly the case.

At any rate, the Kiss-Off Contest was, in my opinion, a brilliant way to objectively assess what your kissing per year(s that you’ve been dating) rate was, and therefore, how much of a huge slut you were. The sociologists among you would probably also read some interesting factoids into the results. Stuff like how long-term relationships effect the results, or whether being a member of your high school marching band means that you couldn’t one day grow into your huge over-sized head and in fact be an attractive and desirable man to a number of beautiful women, even if you did briefly have scoliosis when you were in Junior High and braces and glasses and a comic book collection.

What?

The results (scroll to 06.07.2002) were interesting and I was a good 1.4 kisses below the average. I attribute this to a couple of things: (1) I had been a relationship for nearly 7 years and (2) you’re all liars.

A lot has happened in the last 5 years. I’ve been in love. I’ve lost love. I’ve been hurt, damaged, and dragged down. I’ve suspended my morality. I’ve been bad. I’ve been good. And, after all that, I am still below the average…BUT, I’m climbing fast at 1.7 which is pretty good considering this was over a 16 year period. It’s easy to keep that A average, but once you get that one C it’s almost impossible to climb back up, right?

On a serious note, though, I wish I could find that One. I thought I did, and maybe really did, but life isn’t a fairy tale and I lost it yet again. If it was up to me, I’d find that person and my Kiss-Off Number would keep falling year after year, until it was effectively zero…and I wouldn’t care because I’d found something more important than a silly contest.

But hell, until that happens, and if anyone even still reads this, feel free to send me your KiPY (Kisses Per Year) so we can do it all again. Maybe this time there really WILL be valuable prizes…

USA! USA! USA!

Good game, America! Nice hustle…

U.S. Sets Record in Sexual Disease Cases

ATLANTA – More than 1 million cases of chlamydia were reported in the United States last year – the most ever reported for a sexually transmitted disease, federal health officials said Tuesday.

“A new U.S. record,” said Dr. John M. Douglas Jr. of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

More bad news: Gonorrhea rates are jumping again after hitting a record low, and an increasing number of cases are caused by a “superbug” version resistant to common antibiotics, federal officials said Tuesday.

Syphilis is rising, too. The rate of congenital syphilis – which can deform or kill babies – rose for the first time in 15 years…”Suddenly we’re starting to see the spread…”

Outstanding work, USA. Historically, the world at large expects us to be the forerunners of any aspect of life and, once again, we have excelled at STD’s, and are kicking the rest of the world’s ass!

You can go ahead and suck it Puerto Rico!

I’ve been seeing a lot of shows, lately. Where, by “a lot” I mean more than I usually do. In the last few months it’s been Sabrosa Purr, Black Angels, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, U.N.K.L.E., Queens of the Stone Age, …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, The Raconteurs, Birds and Batteries, Jonneine Zapata, and a myriad of local and opening bands that I’ll never possibly remember.

It’s good. I’m getting out and spending the money that I would otherwise save stealing music, so it’s all a wash in the end. I am, however, in danger of losing my hearing. After three shows in four days a couple of weeks ago, I had a ringing in my ears for half a week; and I’ve since decided that I may need to consider being that guy at the club that wears earplugs…or at least carry them with me so I can insert/extract them in time with the moments that the hot blond turns to look at me (which, of course, means that I’ll never take them out…sigh)

By most accounts, I’ve been blogging for a very long time. I started waaaaay back in early 2000 when Blogger was really just a couple of people in an apartment in San Francisco. I was lucky enough to be dating a friend of Ev’s at the time, and through her came to know Blogger. She, of course, is a wildly successful blogger and (Internet) Household name, while I’m just some semi-unpopular guy.

But that is not the point.

In the beginning, my posts were all about observations and not all that personal…other than the real-life details of: I went to blah blah blah and saw whatsis. Gradually things got a little more personal, but abruptly stopped again when my parents and friends started asking me about stuff I had posted about and never told them. That creeped me out. I found it (and still do), and invasion of privacy; which is, of course, ridiculous as this is a public medium. I dunno, though, as public as this may be, it’s entirely one way. In a lot of ways, I’m shouting out to a void filled with mutes and am in that way, alone. Sure, I have the ability for readers to comment on here, but I don’t have to. I have a link to my e-mail, but I don’t have to. So, as far as I will continue to be concerned, this is private.

That’s not the point, either.

For those few of you left around here, you may have noticed a dearth of points. Why? I don’t know. It might have been my last girlfriend who was horrified by the idea of it, and was shocked to discover that I hadn’t immediately disclosed the 7 years of personal history found in these virtual pages. I understand her point, however, because she had satellite people in her life starting to ask her about things we did or places we went. Again, creepy.

That’s not really it, though.

I haven’t been blogging much, because…I haven’t been blogging much. It’s no more complicated or simple than that. A good portion of people online are jerks, that’s a factor. I don’t like people quoting me back to me, that’s another. My last girlfriend I’m sure had something to do with it. I’ve been incredibly busy living, lately, and that’s probably the biggest reason. And…that’s it. Hopefully I’ll post more, maybe I won’t. Who knows?

Signing off,
Major Tom

Happy Birthday to me.

I wish I was this hot

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww]

The Edison

flickr shot by Theremina
I went to The Edison Downtown this weekend…LA’s first private power plant converted into a very suave bar/lounge replete with go-go dancers, power plant relics, multiple bars, and a full menu. You enter from an alley and head downstairs, giving you the feeling of exclusivity. The Edison, though, is very accessible (save for the dress code), and I’m not sure if this is because it’s not that popular, yet, or if it’s just that vibe. All bars in downtown LA suffer from a bit of wannabe Sunset status, in my opinion…mostly because there just simply aren’t that many people living in downtown. That’s what I like about it, though…it gives you the feeling of the undiscovered, even though it’s been there forever.

The drinks aren’t strong, and they aren’t weak, Happy Hour is until 8!, and the crowd is mostly fantastic with only a few Guido’s. On average there were more guys than girls, but where isn’t that true?

Will I be back? I will, and I would make it a regular hang-out if I lived closer.

Oh, I almost forgot. The waitresses now wear (apparently it’s a recent thing) flapper-dresses, which is surprisingly hot.

90% of the time I drive with the radio on. It’s either talk radio in the morning, NPR in the afternoon, music at any of those times, or something off of my iPod. Every now and again, though, I like to drive in silence. I don’t say anything (you’d be surprised at how much I talk to myself), I don’t have the radio or iPod going, and I have the windows rolled up.

Granted, this isn’t really silence…but it’s a type of it somehow.

I don’t drive a Mercedes or a Land Rover, or something ridiculously expensive that is designed to separate you from the experience of driving as much as possible. When I’m tooling around in my kind of silence I hear the engine, the tires on the road, and the cars around me; but, it’s muted, it’s not frenetic, it’s soothing.

Of course, 15 minutes or less later, I’m back int he shit.