November 30, 2009
Grandma accepted it! And me, by extension.

Grandma accepted it! And me, by extension.

Botticelli shoes. The Squished Ant of Venus.

Botticelli shoes. The Squished Ant of Venus.

November 28, 2009
The topic of the brochure is Ambiguous Body Part Arousal Syndrome.

The topic of the brochure is Ambiguous Body Part Arousal Syndrome.

November 20, 2009
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Tom Waits – Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneappolis

It was eighty degrees in Los Angeles today, a tricky, fall-threat heat that fooled me into wearing long sleeves and sweating half a gallon of regret. The local radio stations have already started up with their Deck the Halls and ‘Tis the Seasons, but this song just seemed  more appropriate for my achy-skulled drive down Cesar Chavez. Particularly when trading bored looks with the corner dealer. Especially while craning my neck to see if that man splayed Jesucristo-like on the sidewalk was dead or just sneaking a nap on his gravel-and-gum Serta.

And call me a romantic, but “Hey Charlie, for Chrissakes, do you want to know the truth of it? I don’t have a husband. He don’t play the trombone” is just about the most beautiful little thing I’ve ever heard.

November 18, 2009
Gratuitous Photo Of Your Self-Loathing Wednesday

Gratuitous Photo Of Your Self-Loathing Wednesday

November 14, 2009
Rufus is the Takashi Murakami of dogs.

Rufus is the Takashi Murakami of dogs.

November 12, 2009
I’m no good at the beach.

I’m no good at the beach.

November 10, 2009
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Sweet Jane -The Velvet Underground

Jack is in his corset, and Jane is in her vest. And me - I’m still in my pajamas writing fake historical celebrity tweets.

November 6, 2009

Happy Friday. Here’s a minute and a half of ‘Heavy Metal Parking Lot.’

November 3, 2009
“Wait, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me! You’re… a cumulus cloud!”“Um, no.”“Okay, you’re… an exploded twinkie in a sandwich bag. No? Um, A pillow. A perforated ulcer? Abstract expressionism? Fuck, Sarah Palin?“No, man, I’m blow.”“Blow! Hey Travis, this guy’s blow. Like the white spray that comes out of a whale’s spout. That’s really clever, man. I like it.”“No, I’m blow. Like cocaine. Cocaine, that’s why I’m wearing these dark glasses and doing that to my nose. Because I’m cocaine.”“Oh. Well, at least you’re not in blackface.” (via Vice’s Halloween)

“Wait, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me! You’re… a cumulus cloud!”

“Um, no.”

“Okay, you’re… an exploded twinkie in a sandwich bag. No? Um, A pillow. A perforated ulcer? Abstract expressionism? Fuck, Sarah Palin?

“No, man, I’m blow.”

“Blow! Hey Travis, this guy’s blow. Like the white spray that comes out of a whale’s spout. That’s really clever, man. I like it.”

“No, I’m blow. Like cocaine. Cocaine, that’s why I’m wearing these dark glasses and doing that to my nose. Because I’m cocaine.”

“Oh. Well, at least you’re not in blackface.”

(via Vice’s Halloween)