At 6 I gave up any hope of sleeping. Fuck it.
Got up. Drank coffee at Starbucks across the street. How nice to order a cup of coffee and they understand you. Try saying, “Venti drip. Room for cream.” in London. Trust me. Hilarity will ensue.
Read the LA Times. Apparently one of their sportswriters is becoming a woman. Always interesting.
Walked past my old apartment building. See. You can go home again. It’s just that now other people live there.
Walked to Vermont. Buttermilk pancakes and bacon (American style) and coffee. Read the LA Weekly (Think Time Out only it’s a big paper and it’s more liberal and it’s more hipster and it’s free). Apparently they have a new column called, ‘Ask A Mexican’.
The first question this week is:
Dear Mexican: How come all the Mexicans who came here two or three generations ago look like “almost-white†people while the ones coming now look like those little guys who live naked in the Amazon and kill things with blowguns?
—No Indios Need Apply
When I can be bothered to do the HTML to the answer I will. In the meantime, if you want to know the answer to the shades of brown question go to www.laweekly.com yourself.
Hopped on the bus to Pasadena and started to feel like ass. Got a half hour massage and a manicure and pedicure. Felt better.
Ate some lunch. Felt like ass.
Bought a pile of underwear at Victoria’s Secret.
Felt better and yet like ass all at the same time.
Hit the Gap and Origins. Told myself what I bought is stuff that I need. That it isn’t a matter of want and that it a smart buying decision to buy it here. Spending money is saving me money.
Met Jolie for ice cream. Nearly pass out. (No not really. But I have decided that if sleep deprivation torture was used on me, I would confess that I shot JFK even though it wasn’t possible as I was a zygote.)
Jolie drove me back to the hotel.
Here I am.
Here.
Feeling a bit like a nut.
Sort of like an Almond Joy.*
I am going to bed now. it’s 5PM PST. (1AM GMT)
It was a good day.
*Dopy reference to Almond Joy and Mounds chocolate bar commercials from when I was a kid. “Almond Joy’s got nuts . . Mounds don’t. Because. . . Sometimes you feel like a nut! Sometimes you don’t!
April 28th, 2007 at 12:04 am
you know you’re of a “certain age” when you automatically start singing, “sometimes you feel like a nut”.
gah - people will be saying that to us in our 80s