jimmy

That is indeed a shot of me taken at my desk at home chugging a bottle of scotch.

I spent the night at STAPLES Center watching the Kings demolish the Vancouver Canucks. That was fun. By the time all the postgame interviews were done, it was 10:05 and I had a decision since I decided to Metro it to the game to avoid the shit-for-brains on the road. Do I finish my story at the arena and ring in the new year in LA Live somewhere, or do I jet home and celebrate 2012 by myself?

I obviously chose the latter since I really hate humanity. So there it is, me drinking while finishing my story and being the very last story on LAist for 2011. I think I will buy that noose right now.

Nothing more needs to be said.

Before you fuckers start being all thankful that your god was born, I say fuck it all.

I should have known better. I went to a chain bookstore in Torrance that rhymes with Narnes and Boble. They usually have my favoritest magazine in the world stocked: Arena Homme +. Of course since the birth of someone’s god is right around the corner, people are packed in the parking lot trying to position themselves for the best parking space possible. Never mind that in doing so they create a traffic jam while unwitting drivers like me who just want a place to park no matter how far (since we acknowledge that we need what little exercise we get in walking 1,000 feet versus 50 feet) was trying to hold in urine before exploding into a mess right there in the parking lot.

Anyhow going into the store and using the bathroom, I found that they didn’t have my magazine. Oh well, I thought. No big deal.

I traveled through the stacks and notice the children’s section expanded while the literature section shrunk. I couldn’t find the biography and sociology sections, and the philosophy section was poorly stocked and filled with titles like The Philosophy of The Sopranos. Ugh.

Since I’m reading Proust right now, I wanted to see what they had in the way of Proust. See the picture above. Three. Count them, three copies of Swann’s Way and that’s it. That was shocking to my delicate composition. But don’t worry, they had that Snooki book.

But like I said, I should have known better. My expectations of humanity are usually very, very low. But on the rare occasion I have one, I always end up disappointed and bitter. So here’s hoping for that nuke to hit.

That is probably the most incredulous statement I could ever utter. That lady pictured above is 60 years old. I emerged from her loins when she was 27 years old.

My family had a party for her on Saturday where we stuffed our gullets and drank wine. She seemed really touched especially when I told her if she gets lost in the wilderness again and we have to send helicopters and search parties that I would send her to a home. She seemed really touched by that.

No, my mom isn’t feeble. She runs marathons, loves hiking and has the usual Korean obsession with golfing. In other words, she’s fucking insane.

But she’s my mom, and I love her.

For the first time since Nov. 10, 2007, I have created a podcast. So here it is. It’s under an hour long, and no copyright infringement is intended. All songs are property of their respective owners. Yadda yadda yadda. The only intellectual property I own on this podcast is whatever comes out of my mouth. And even calling it “intellectual” is a stretch.

1. Fugazi – Waiting Room
2. Annie – Heartbeat
3. Cibo Matto – Black Hole Sun
4. PJ Harvey – Hardly Wait
5. Elastica – Stutter
6. Limp Wrist – I Love Hardcore Boys
7. Fagatron – Like a Prayer
8. Crocodiles – Jet Boy, Jet Girl
9. Pussy Galore – Cunt Tease
10. Skinny Puppy – Spasmolytic
11. Nine Inch Nails – The Hand That Feeds
12. Siouxsie and the Banshees – Overground (Peel Sessions)
13. Coil – Tainted Love
14. Unwound – MKUltra

Download here.
Subscribe to podcasts here.

I went with Madd to see North Morgan (aka London Preppy) read from his book Exit Through the Wound last night at the Redcat Lounge. I was a huge fan of his blog and really loved his book.

See how nice that paragraph was? The problem was getting to the reading left me quaking like Odysseus. Knowing that a portion of the 60 freeway was still shut down after a huge tanker truck fire caused a bridge to be structurally compromised, I left my place in San Pedro at 4:45 to pick up Madd in Mid-City (Pico-La Cienega) by 6 to make to for the reading at 7. Most likely I would have gotten to Madd’s early, we would have gabbed, had some tea or some nonsense and shit.

But no. The heavens unleashed upon LA torrential thunderstorms and hail just then. The storm cells moved from North to South, so by the time I left the storm had finally reached me in Pedro. Which meant everywhere else in LA had got the rain and hail which meant everywhere else was gridlocked.

To make a long story short, I got to Madd’s at 6:30. We made the decision to take Pico Blvd. all the way to Downtown LA and got to the Redcat in 30 minutes. I figured we would get there late, miss most of the reading but get there just in time for the gabbing afterwards.

Fortunately good ole Northie was also caught in the horrors of LA traffic. He got there at 7:30 and we proceeded from there.

Anyhow, it was nice to meet him in person. After all I read the blog in one sitting last year. He talked about wanting to move to LA, life decisions and I just blabbed blabbed and blabbed some more. Incessantly. Madd bought his book and got it signed. We both decided him and his boyfriend are fucking disgusting together and plotted ways to bring about their demise.

But it was all right since we went to get ramen and Yogurtland in Little Tokyo afterwards. It also surprised me that it was Madd’s first time at Yogurtland ever. That was actually shocking.

Anyhow, now I feel fucking cultured so I can go back to my sports ghetto with my nose in the air. Oh, and I have to live at the gym now because I’m a fucking pig (that’s my other takeaway from last night).

Here’s a list of books I finished this year:

• Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.
• Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith
• The Coming of the Night by John Rechy (again)
• Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
• Exit through the Wound by North Morgan
• Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis
• The Lure by Felice Picano (again)
• The History of Sexuality Vol. 1 by Michel Foucault
• Slanted and Enchanted: The Evolution of Indie Culture by Kaya Oakes
• Damned by Chuck Palahniuk

This doesn’t include the books I’ve started and have yet to complete such as The Bible, In Search of Lost Time and Those Guys Have All the Fun: Inside the World of ESPN. I’m in the book of Isaiah in The Bible, finished the Overture in Swann’s Way and in the late 80’s of the ESPN book.

Basically it’s been a very productive year for me in reading despite the webcam picture above.

I watched Gregg Araki’s Kaboom the other night. It reminded me a lot Nowhere — a bright color palette painted in scenes of surreal science fiction with ambiguous late teenage, early 20’s sexuality littering the screen. Only Kaboom didn’t have the celebrity cameos that Nowhere had.

Kaboom was a return to the style and themes Araki employed in his Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy of Totally F***ed Up, The Doom Generation and Nowhere. And that gave me a lot of comfort. Comfort against what, I’m not completely sure.

I guess I am a product of the 1990’s anti-mainstream movement. There is a lot of comfort in these cardboard caricatures that spout vaguely sociopathic maxims. It’s a cool world that a person like me desperately wants to belong to, is happy that someone else has the same illusions but is ultimately disappointed when reality looks nothing like what is painted on the screen.

So it’s a bit distracting the lead character looks like Jared Leto, that the British-accented blonde looks like Cassie from the UK version of Skins, that James Duval looks quite unfortunate throughout most of the film. So the ending seems like it was slapped on during post-production, but endings aren’t what Araki is best known for. It’s for dialogue like:

“Do you want to fuck?” “What?” “Do. You. Want. To. Fuck?”

See? Fun! Well. Maybe just for me.

After leaving the Kings-Canadiens game on Saturday, I came upon what apparently was KIIS-FM’s Jingle Ball Village – a free open air version of their Jingle Ball concert in LA Live. My grasp of pop music is tenuous at best if not non-existent.

Anyhow this fat Christian was holding this sign that made me laugh. I’m used to the “Repent, Jesus Died for Your Sins” signs that pepper the area, but this one was different. It was one step closer to Fred Phelps.

But it made me smile. It made me think about how many of those things I actually am.

I just took this snapshot, walked to my car and drove to Cathi’s house where hot chicken and rice soup was simmering. The spawn in her uterus is growing. I guess it will be my job to screw this kid up in the head.

Ugh. Can you picture me as Uncle Jimmy? Oof. I just caused myself to shudder.