I don’t mean to say in that title that religion is stupid, although that is certainly what I do believe. I mean to say a religion about fucking. Or perhaps not even an entire religion, but a sect of an already existing religion. Like Sexy Christianity or Lacy Islam or Foxy Buddhism. Where, all apologies to Tori Amos, where if you can make me cum maybe that does make you Jesus.

In today’s LA Times front page, Jonathan Kaiman took a look at the rise of ultra-conservative Salafism in China and how it’s dividing the Muslims in that country. About Salafism:

Salafism is an ultra- conservative school of thought within Sunni Islam, espousing a way of life and prayer that harks back to the 6th century, when Muhammad was alive. Islamic State militants are Salafi, many Saudi Arabian clerics are Salafi, and so are many Chinese Muslims living in Linxia.

Okay. I know those two sentences are trying to infer that Salafism = Terrorism, but I’m all but certain that it is way too simplistic to think about it that way. But the fact that people want to live like a bunch of nomads in 500 AD immediately makes me wary.

What really got me thinking is written several paragraphs later:

“I’ve been studying Muslims in China for the past 30 years, and it’s only over the past four or five that we see young Han men converting to a radical, conservative Islamic ideology,” said Dru Gladney, an expert on Chinese Muslims at Pomona College. “Not politically radical, but radically conservative, radically orthodox.”

This set my wheels in motion. Why are these sects of religion always ultra-conservative and austere? Look at the Pilgrims, the wacko Mormons, the people who actually like Ted Cruz, ISIS, the keep-the-women-away-from-the-prayer-wall Jews. All of them seem afraid of sexuality, afraid of the electrical impulses of the brain to carry on cognitive activity. Yet people flock to them as if denial of pleasure will somehow bring them closer to their god.

I would think that you would want to head into the afterlife full of experiences from this life, fully satisfied that you did everything in this incarnation and that you won’t be a miserable bitter fucking cunt in the next life. Besides, with all the ills that life hurls at you, isn’t fucking a good way to get through the pain?

By the way, that picture above is from a real Romanian Orthodox calendar.

I finally figured out what disturbs me most about the Matthew McConaughey Lincoln commercials. It seems he’s done too much ketamine! Please, help little Matthew out of his k-hole. Some coke, some meth perhaps?

The LA Public Library offers many daily newspapers across the world for free thanks to PressReader. So because of that I’ve been reading the print edition of the LA Times every morning. Most of the links won’t be from the Times because they have a weird paywall thing that they use — you only get to view a certain number of articles free per month — so I’ll be linking from other sites most of the time.

Here’s what I learned today:

– Scientists discover the schizophrenia gene. It’s a nice first step into unraveling the disease and ways to treat it without those nasty side effects the current batch of drugs have.

When I read this, I instinctively put on Sonic Youth’s Sister on just to hear “Schizophrenia.” It’s a great little send-up to Philip K. Dick. “I can feel it in my bones. Schizophrenia is taking me home.”

– Dudamel and Youth Orchestra LA to play the Super Bowl halftime show. Deep in this article it mentions how none of the presidential candidates talk about art, music and culture in school. I haven’t been paying attention to the campaigns, so I don’t know if that is true or not. But I wouldn’t be surprised by it.

I have a cousin who loves playing the guitar and says that he loves the classic rock guitarists. His favorite was Eric Clapton to which I rolled my eyes, talked about his cocaine addictions and said that no one cared about him until he threw his son off the balcony or whatever. I told him about Jimi Hendrix. He had no idea who that is. I told him about Jimmy Page. Who?

– Why are middle-aged white Americans dying at a higher rate? Here’s the study that the Times referenced. The story highlighted the states that had the highest mortality rates of this group: West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas and Oklahoma.

The states showing the worst trends have high rates of poverty as well as some of the highest rates of smoking and obesity in the country.
They also historically have had among the weakest healthcare systems, with high rates of people lacking insurance and poor access to medical care.

Some of these shortcomings may be addressed in some states by the Affordable Care Act. Arkansas, Kentucky and West Virginia have expanded their Medicaid safety nets through the law, a step that other research suggests should have health effects over the longer term.

The remaining states with the biggest health gaps continue to resist the law and do not guarantee health coverage.

Yes, I gave in to the nostalgia and hoopla and watched the two episodes of The X-Files. When you think about what a let down other reboots have been, there was much to be fearful. I guess it’s a relief that the two episodes were actually good, pretty decent really. It did achieve one rare thing: it got me to watch them live on television as they aired rather than wait until they came VOD and all that good stuff.

It also made me go back and watch the original pilot episode of the show. I only started watching the show midway through the first season, and in days of yore usually if you missed it you were shit out of luck until it came up on syndication. How I never watched these early episodes yet, I don’t know.

As eerie as these stories may be, one thing I do know: Siouxsie will keep me safe.

I would like to very much go to this music festival in June in Barcelona. If a benefactor (or benefactors) would pay for my flight, my lodging, my tickets, my meals, I would be very appreciative. I give good head, have an insatiable asshole and am pretty fucking dirty.

PJ Harvey, Air, Suede, Explosions in the Sky, Drive Like Jehu, Dinosaur, Cabaret Voltaire, Tortoise, Mudhoney, Boredoms, Current 93, Shellac, Psychic TV, Autolux, Neil Hagerty.

I’m a bit confused as to why all the oldies yet goodies are in the lineup. Is it because they heard how dull and boring the new music the kids are listening to nowadays and realize they can blow those cunts right out of the water? Either way, I’m happy that these folks are still making music.

Here is Björk’s video for “Pagan Poetry,” one of my faves from her. Just to show you how good this video is, I still really love it despite a Matthew Barney cumshot at the beginning. The song is great, but can we talk about that Alexander McQueen wedding gown? I might have to let go of my objections to marriage just to wear that down the aisle.

My Siouxsie and New Order tees came in on Tuesday, and I washed them yesterday, and here is the Siouxsie tee. Yes it’s a public bathroom selfie, a first for me. And for some reason it looks like I need some makeup. My face looks so plain! But I like my hair, so there is that. And the shirt.

I took this picture while The Grandmother was in the stall doing her business. Of course, I make her use the men’s room since it’s more seemly for her to be in it than me in a lady’s room. This makes me wonder why there aren’t more unisex bathroom options for those of us who care for a parent or grandparent with needs. Although The Grandmother prefers men’s rooms since she says they’re cleaner than ladies’ rooms.

I was talking with Wheelchair Cousin today about what we would do if we won the $1.5 billion Powerball jackpot. I am going to travel the world for a year, that is for sure. But after that? I suppose I could busy myself with projects and what not, but really I’m at a loss as to what to do for the rest of my years. Maybe try to start a serious journalism outlet here in Los Angeles? Start a record label? Put a hit out on a couple of people? Go on a date?

The possibilities are endless, and I’m too tired right now to think about such things. Woke up and started my laundry straight away, tried to hustle The Grandmother into the bathroom to do her bath, go visit Wheelchair Cousin, get The Grandmother all situated after her bath. Tomorrow we go to her primary care doctor. I’m sure I’ll get some rest sometime soon.

On February 1, 2011, I was in Downtown LA next to Staples Center hearing people trying to sell the media and LA on this football stadium called Farmers Field. An executive from Farmers Insurance sat next to me during the press conference trying to pump up my enthusiasm in the NFL coming back to LA.

“Until I see a shovel, I won’t believe it,” I told her. I then proceeded to list the different sites we had seen come and go by that point. I pointed out the Seattle Seahawks already had their stuff in moving trucks back in 1996 until they pulled back at the last moment.

Besides, fuck it. No tv blackouts. No stadium traffic jams. No extorting taxpayer money. I was fine with the NFL staying away.

But here we are. The LA Rams are back, and what is this emotion I’m feeling? Could it actually be a glint of happiness? Why, yes it is!

As with everything else NFL related, I’m torn. Sure I’m happy to have a team — I suppose I could be a Rams fan. Maybe. But I feel bad for the folks in Inglewood who now are subject to the extortion by the NFL billionaires. I feel bad that there is no easy mass transit solution to get to the proposed stadium in Inglewood.

Nevertheless, the Rams and the NFL are back. Let’s just hope they stay in the LA colors and not the ones below that Georgia Frontiere changed to when they went to St. Louis.

Also, I have to say I was right. There was no way Farmers Field or Ed Roski’s plan out in the City of Industry was ever going to work. They didn’t. Although I believe I still have a PowerPoint presentation by the Roski group on a thumb drive somewhere hiding in my desk.

Last night I was helping The Grandmother from the bathroom, and I didn’t want her to notice the stupid tears in my eyes. Yesterday was a bad day, and she was in quite a bit of pain. So that was good — I wouldn’t have to tell her that I was broken up by a singer dying.

I would have had to explain it to her that way because she wouldn’t understand who David Bowie is, what he means for culture, the barriers he broke and all that. Hell, I didn’t expect to be this broken up about it. I never met him, and while I loved his music I never was a crazed fan like I was with Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails.

But there I was tearing up last night as KCRW was playing Ziggy Stardust in its entirety. And today at every mention of his name, the tears would start up again.

I don’t have a favorite Bowie song. Life on Mars. Space Oddity. Suffragette City. 5 Years. Rock n Roll Suicide. Heroes. Rebel Rebel. But I chose to highlight “I’m Deranged” here because not a lot of people have done so. Released on 1995’s Outside, it was played in the credits of Lost Highway. It was when David Bowie flirted with NIN, and it the David Bowie era that I am closest to since I lived through it.

I never imagined he would ever die. But here it is, I suppose.