Killer winds whip through the Southland! It’s usually a safe bet that whatever L.A.’s weather is, the rest of the state is experiencing ten times that and people are dying of it. Windy? Trees fall over, people die. Raining? Mudslides send houses into the ocean? Hot? Brush fires, of course.
Last night, though was insanely windy. Loud, shrieking wind that battered my windows all night. Yet it’s still warm, and there are very few clouds in the sky. Dirt and dry dust flies everywhere, and my sinuses don’t like that.
Well, it’s official — the New Times office will close for good by year’s end, putting me at home even more than normal. At least I might get a better modem — this dial-up one plays hell with me when I’m trying to deal with folks in 11 other cities.
The shirts should arrive tomorrow, though the salesman isn’t inspiring a great deal of confidence — I feel he may need to be hurried along by me tomorrow, and I plan to lay the verbal smackdown if they aren’t ready as promised. If I’m happy with them, I’ll promote their place no end, though.
A certain relative of mine caught a look at this site, and was disturbed that I admitted to being depressed and drinking in one post, fearing I’ll never get hired for a job again if word somehow leaks out that, gasp, I’m not always happy, and consume alcohol! I looked back at the journal , and saw that that post was made the night the Republicans won everything. I’ll go out on a limb here, but since this is the only state that the Democrats swept, I’d say a lot of Californians were depressed and drinking when the national results came in. Just a hunch.
It was fun hanging with my friend Ed and his dad on Friday — Ed’s apartment is being used to film a script of his that I read back in college (he’s not directing this one — too many other projects that I’m not at liberty to say anything about). That Ed is a horror director/writer, and that I freaked him out with a Tortured Souls action figure, speaks proudly to my personal tastes, I think. I know he’ll figure out a way to push my boundaries somehow, though. I’d love to get horribly murdered in one of his films. Or horribly murder someone else.
Saturday I watched the movie Frida — Salma Hayek finally shows her boobs, and they’re fantastic. In the same vein, watched Scarlet Diva on Sunday, which I loved; everyone I know, almost, has made this kind of self-confessional/pseudo-docu movie about themselves, but Asia Argento is more shameless and has more resources. Check it out.
I’ll try to post here more often, but I was so amused by my own Scientology Santa skit that I wanted it to stay on top of the page for a few days.
