I work at home in pajamas and house shoes. I drink coffee. There's cat hair on everything I own. Tofu is part of nearly every homecooked dinner. Lately I haven't been leaving the house much. I don't think Irish pubs in Southern California should have Boston Celtics paraphernalia. F Jackie. BABA BOOEY! BABA BOOEY!
I think it's official. Yeah, probably. We now have five cats.
I wrote all about this little guy a while ago, so if you care to hear that story, do some searching on this here blog. If not, here's the short version.
There was this ghetto cat that came around about six weeks ago. We started feeing him and he started coming around more. Then he let me pet him. Then he came inside the house two days ago. We got him looked at. He's clean and now lives with us.
His name is Ghet, short for Ghetto, but he's so not ghetto that that might change. He was introduced to the other four today and so far so good. That too could change.
Here are four pics I snapped of him. He spends most of his time in the office because he's not used to the rest of the apartment just yet.
Sorry about the camera angle. I never used that function before. Now I know.
Famed author Ray Bradbury is known for lots of things, namely his books, which include Farenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles. Locally, people know Bradbury as a proponent of Long Beach's Acres of Books, a world class destination soon to be hit by the city's figurative and literal wrecking ball. Bradbury ain't no spring chicken, so he called the store (and the media) to make what could be his final appearance.
I'm lucky enough to be on the good side of Acres of Books and jumped when manager Raun Yankovic called me with the news. Yes, it took four days for me to post this, but that's the beauty of this blog thingy - I can update whenever I want.
Bradbury talked for about fifteen minutes in the store's music room, which doubles as the open mic lounge. It was hot outside and even hotter inside that cramped space during the middle of the day. He couldn't hear well, sat in a wheelchair and took his time. Most of the questions asked were of the amateur kind ("Why are bookstores important?" "Are you sad to see this place go?") and made me glad I wasn't covering this. Shit, now that I read this, I guess I was, which means my question of what he reads now is probably pretty lame too. Damn.
He talked about diplomas not meaning a damn, how stupid it is for the greater Los Angeles area to lack quality bookstores, how places like Borders and Barnes & Noble have a place if done properly, the meaning of the French medallion around his neck and a bunch of other stuff I can't remember. But it was good, in a press conference sort of way. Most of the reporters seemed like an editor sent them there and I was disappointed that fewer fans didn't show up, but it was Wednesday at 1 p.m. Score one for the unemployed!
As you can see by my pictures, there were a lot of photographers. Most pissed me off. I mean, get your shot and get the fuck out of my way, but don't push two inches in front of me and stand there for a few minutes and expect me to move. We're in the business together, but come on people, show a little respect. I mean, look at my pictures below. They're just as good as anything the so-called pros produced from this event.
Of course this is the only song to hit Youtube so far.
Scored some freebies to see 311 last night. No, you didn't read that wrong -- I went to a 311 show. Why would someone with such fine musical taste torture myself in these sorts of unnecessary ways you ask? Maybe because Snoop Dogg, the S-N-DOUBLEO-P opened up, that's why.
Smooth drive from Long Beach to Irvine. No traffic. Good sign. Roll into the parking lot and hitch a right for the cheap parking, which turned out to be FREE! Girlfriend then announces this show is called FREE11, hence the headline.
Roll through the largest sea of bros and their accompanying chicks I've ever seen. We ain't in Kansas or Long Beach. We sat in the car and smoked a bowl. I mean, it's Snoop, you know we're getting fucked up. Roll down the window and it reaks of puke. Look down. The open spot next to mine? Full of vomit. Roll the window back up.
Cops, bros and Orange County girls everywhere. Yes, some were incredibly gorgeous, but I can't deal with all that fake shit.
Eavesdropped on some converastion while waiting for my tickets. "Dude, I drank like eight beers earlier." No you didn't. No drank three. If you drank eight, you'd smell like it and be way more fucked up than your 22 year old ass is. Fucking bros, always streching the truth to make a party sound better than it is. Look bro, you're a lightweight. Deal with it.
Security feels me up and asks "That's just keys, wallet and a chain, right?" Sure, whatever you say. I mean, what if it wasn't? It sure woulda been easy to get a weapon in there.
Snoop starts as we make that long trek from the entrance, down through the ravine, past the vendors and into the arena. Oh snap! We got fourteenth row seats! Snoop literally is upside my head. And he's got a full band. That's right -- drummer, bassist, guitarist, percussionist, dj, and a guy who played keyboards and sax, not to mention tha Dogg Pound (Daz and Kurupt) and Soopafly. Pretty dope setup.
FULL DISCLOSURE: I wanted to see Snoop at Irvine Meadows (I refuse to call this place whatever company sponsors it now. Cell phones have nothing to do with live music. At least they shouldn't.) so I could spark a doobie while he was playing. I've probably inhaled a few pounds while bumping his shit. I've seen him twice before, but a third was needed.
Dressed in a long white shirt and baggy black warm-up pants, Snoop was on fire. It took me second to see it, but above his stage was a massive prop pot leaf. Nice. I figured he'd play a decent mix of old and new and he did. Personally, I know all his recent singles and don't mind them as much as I should (but that's cuz I'm a fanboy), but Doggystyle shit got everybody moving. Gf pulled the joint from her bra during I Love You Mary Jane and we puffed the hell out of that thing. It's nice to know in the heart of the lamest place in the world to see a show (Orange County, not the venue itself), a guy and his lady can still blaze some chronic outdoors to some Snoop Dogg.
Good and fucked up, I bounced, threw my hands in the air, waved them from side to side and yelled out all the backups (SIX IN THA MORNIN'!!!!!). Sometimes I get paid to be a critic, but this evening I found nothing wrong with tha Doggfather.
I thought I heard tha Shiznit while we were walking in. Oh well. He did his verses from "Deep Cover," "G Thang" (in which he said "Death Row is still the label that pays me" -- I haven't heard him say "Death Row" in that part for a long time)and "Bitch Please," along with a fully rocking version of "Pump Pump" that was the highlight of the show. He did "La Di Da Di," "What's My Name" and "Gin and Juice," along with that R. Kelly song, that Akon song, "Drop It Like It's Hot," "Sexual Eruption" and a few more newbies.
At some point I looked at the crowd in front of me and noticed how many people were recording the show. Welcome to live music circa 2008, huh? I'll try to find a link and post it here. I wanted to bring a camera, but forgot.
Highlights -- bringing out Warren G (dressed in khaki shorts for the cool Cali night) for his verse on "Ain't No Fun" and Everlast coming out to do "My Medicine" and OH SNAP! "Jump Around." That was pretty cool, even if I felt like I was at the biggest frat party of all time for those three minutes.
Snoop asked people to blaze the weed for "My Medicine" and shit, that's why we came, so we did. There was a dude three rows in front with a pipe. How do you get a pipe into a show?
I wish he woulda done "Gzas and Hustlas" as I think that's the dopest song of all time (seriously), but overall I had a great time, which I hardly ever say about seeing live shows these days. If it's a weed-friendly venue, go see Snoop. I'm hoping his own show (ie, not opening for 311) would mean a few more old songs and a longer set, but I guess that means I'll have to go see him to find out.
Last song and we split. Finally we see the black people. They're the ones leaving too. I told the gf: "See these people walking out? These are the cool people, the ones we want to be associated with." She agreed. Although we were the two palest people in the room, I think we fit in better with the 40 black people than the 40,000bro dudes.
Best part? We were in the car by 9:45 and there was no traffic on the way home.
UPDATE: SHE DID IT AGAIN -- THIS TIME EVEN LESS CLEAN
As most of you probably know, oh wait, who am I kidding? Nobody follows the WNBA.
Ok, so the Los Angeles team is called the Sparks. They have this rookie named Candace Parker. From the little I've seen and what I've heard, she's pretty good. A few days ago she dunked in a game, which is only the second time that's happened in league history. The first was also by a Sparks player named Lisa Leslie.
This made national news, but really, who cares? It's not like it was that clean of a dunk and she just went straight up.
The WNBA has been showing these commercials with some of their "star" players where they say things like "girls can't play," "nothing exciting ever happens," "you couldn't pay me to watch," etc. The campaign is called "Expect Great Things" and wants people to view the league in a positive light. Well, anyone who knows me knows I'm no sexist, but let's face reality. The WNBA blows.
I love basketball and I love women even more, but the combination doesn't work. Why, you ask? Well, the problem is simple. They are playing a men's game. What the WNBA fails to realize is their version needs to be adapted to fit their players. For example, the league uses a smaller ball than the NBA. Makes sense, right? So why not apply that logic to more than just one aspect of the game.
For starters, you want to see more dunks? Lower the freakin' basket a foot. Men play on 10-foot rims, but there's no reason why the women should have to. Make the court smaller. Bring in the three-point and free-throw lines a foot or two. Do something. Anything.
Collegiate teams don't play the NBA rules. Why? Because their governing body knows two important things: 1. The players have different bodies than those in the NBA. Forcing them to play the same style creates for a worse game. 2. The NBA is the pinnacle of American basketball. Any other league that attempts to mirror the NBA will be viewed as lesser in comparison. Make your game different and people will watch.
Congrats Candace Parker. The closest I ever got was dunking a softball the summer between eighth and ninth grades. I doubt I can touch the rim anymore. But that's because I'm not a pro. The rules are different for people who aren't.
This homeless cat's been coming around for about a month. I noticed he was dirty and real skinny, so I started putting out some food and water. He's been real sneaky, coming up for food but running whenever I tried to get close. It's been my mission to touch this cat. I mean, I am feeding the damn thing after all.
Lately he's been warming up to me, hasn't given me what I wanted. Until an hour ago. I opened the door with a fresh plate of food and some ice cold water. He rushed me, but right when I thought I could pet him, he put his butt in my face. Not one to be had, I leaned over and touched him. He got scared and ran like he always does.
But it was a start.
I sat three feet away from where I dropped his dinner and watched him eat. After he was done, he started pacing in front of me. I knew I had him. Sitting on my porch, I leaned over and stuck out my fingers. AND HE CAME!!!!!!!!
I know enough about cats to know to start slow. I rubbed his butt for a few minutes, then moved to his head. He started purring like crazy and was loving it. I got up to go into the backyard and he followed me there and back to the porch. I stayed outside for twenty minutes playing with him. He's dirty as hell, but I made sure to get my hands way into his fur. Poor guy probably hasn't got much love in his life and I'm going to make sure he gets some.
I'd love to adopt him, but one of my cats hisses and bites and scratches me whenever he comes around. Is it wrong to want to build him a home in the backyard and keep him there?
I've been calling him Ghet, short for ghetto, ya know, cuz he's a homeless cat and all. It's probably not nice to call a person that, but he's a cat. He don't know.
You don't call. You don't write. You don't leave comments. And you certainly don't email. Except someone from Texas whose been writing me about a band from Austin playing at the Prospector on June 24, which is in two days.
He's been contacting me and I've been flaking (sorry dude). But he sent me this link and I thought I'd pass it along in case anyone in Long Beach or SoCal is interested. I was just at the Prospector getting all kinds of drunk on Friday and it still rules there, so go. They're called the Boxing Lesson. I like boxing. And I like Texas, particularly Austin.
