Tonight’s supermoon eclipse was sort of a bummer because of the clouds and haze. But it was nice to stand on the sidewalk for an hour or so during the total eclipse and wait for the moon to become visible. So now to wait for the next total lunar eclipse on January 31, 2018.
I cannot wait for this coming weekend — the next Jimmy Gone Wild weekend! Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually have a wild weekend! That would be something novel.
I don’t know what it is. I can’t remember if this happened yesterday or on Tuesday, but I found myself overcome with emotion at the mere mention of the pope. Don’t ask me why this atheist was getting teary-eyed hearing reports on the radio about his visit. But it happened.
I don’t need a lecture on why it’s stupid to get all worked up. It’s not like I’m extolling all the virtues of the pope and the Catholic Church. Sometimes I just like succumbing to the emotions of things. The best part is that I don’t have to take part of the dogma and beliefs and all that stupid shit. Win! Win! Win!
Today I was a bit transfixed by the pope in the popemobile heading down 5th Ave towards St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I kept thinking that a Latin American being driven through Midtown Manhattan while not wearing a seatbelt, shouldn’t the NYPD be beating him to within an inch of his life?
Today I suddenly experienced an absurd but quite valid sensation. I realized, in an intimate lightning flash, that I am no one. No one, absolutely no one. (p. 19)
I don’t know why I never heard of Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) until now, but here I am reading Book of Disquiet. It’s part journal, part fragments, part fiction. It’s as if he was a blogger back in the early 1900s, a proto-blogger.
I’ve been a bit obsessed with journals lately. I also got Susan Sontag’s Reborn: Journals & Notebooks, 1947-1963 and can’t wait to delve deep into that. I guess this is slightly more high brow than using the Wayback Machine to read a former escort’s blog.
Some guy named Richard Dawkins apparently wrote something insensitive over the weekend. Several of my friends on Facebook bemoaned it, but I was wondering one simple thing: who is Richard Dawkins?
I posted something cheeky on Facebook wondering this, but no one answered my curiosity. So apparently he’s a British biologist who wrote a book in the 70s inventing the term “meme” and promoting a gene-centered view of evolution. He is also an atheist and apparently is very serious about it. I mean, I’m an atheist but at least I smile.
So I don’t know what this Dawkins fellow said, why anyone should pay attention to him or why I should care. I don’t know why others do, but I guess I’m choosing not to bear that cross.
This morning, I also posted a question to folks wondering who like the new Ryan Adams cover album of Taylor Swift’s 1989. Now I know several people whose music tastes to ignore. I don’t like Ryan Adams. I don’t like Taylor Swift. ‘Nuff said.
Over the last couple of weeks I went back and reread an old blog of a San Francisco-based hustler Devon Blackwell. He blogged regularly, had a complete meth-aided breakdown, moved to Houston and closed up shop. Actually that is an overly simplistic way of putting it. I wonder how he is doing now, over a decade later. Did he finish his degree? Has he found someone who compliments him? Is he all right?
Most of the news I read is thanks to a link via Twitter or Facebook. If a headline doesn’t move me, that’s pretty much all I know. So when I saw the David Cameron headline yesterday about him and a pig, I figured it was some stupid news agency mistaking the first episode of Black Mirror for real life and reporting on that. Given how many people are duped by The Onion, it a fairly plausible explanation.
So I look on the Twitter machine last night, and people were still going on about David Cameron fucking a pig. I was shocked to see how many people still haven’t seen Black Mirror, but I decided to search the story anyhow. Cue the New York Daily News:
How’s this for a pig in a poke?
A soon-to-be-published book makes a shocking claim that British Prime Minister David Cameron put a “private part of his anatomy” in a dead pig’s mouth as part of a student initiation ritual at Oxford.
Say what? That wasn’t in the Black Mirror episode.
So let’s get this straight-ish. The current British Prime Minister and conservative leader willingly stuck his dick in a pig’s mouth?
Allegedly?
Straight rich white folk are nasty. It’s bad enough these motherfuckers don’t use washcloths, but they have the strangest initiation rituals. There’s the Skull and Crossbones where everyone jizzed on you while you are lying in a coffin or something stupid like that, and now this pig fucking thing at Oxford? The sexual repression amongst rich white folk is pretty ridiculous.
It might have appeared that I watched both Monday Night Football games last night, but I didn’t. Not one bit. I didn’t actually witness the mismatched 49ers uniforms or Trent Dilfer yelling at me all night or anything this Australian guy was writing about in his liveblog of the game.
Instead I watched this documentary on the Paris v. America fashion battle at the Palace of Versailles in 1973 which is far more interesting than a bunch of wannabe obese heterosexual men in tight clothing running around for 10 seconds then falling down.
I knew it was supposed to rain overnight. When I first saw the alerts late last week, the National Weather Service said to expect about an inch of rain. Then the estimates went down. Down. So I wasn’t expecting much more than a few sprinkles.
When I woke up this morning, I saw that we got over a 1/2 inch of rain here in the Pedro, and close to two inches in Downtown LA. That certainly was surprising.
However in its wake, we are not left with a nice crisp day. Nope, this was a tropical system meaning now it’s hot and muggy, much more like Louisiana than Southern California. Hopefully local water districts have plans for retaining all of this water. I doubt it though. So, really, this doesn’t do much for the drought especially since there was no snow.
Couldn’t they find at least one gay person in San Francisco to tell them their hats clash with their outfits?
Today I had to go and get The Grandmother’s monthly allotment of Vicodin. New state laws dictates that a written prescription needs to be given to the pharmacist. No automatic refills. No fax. No email. No phone call.
So to Downtown LA I went to pick up the prescription from the doctor and I remarked how great the traffic was what with Rosh Hashanah. I got to his office in 20 minutes and was really excited about getting all of this done early. So back to San Pedro I went to get the prescription filled at Target by my apartment. Backup Pharmacist was there whom I’ve never met, but I didn’t think much about it. I’ve done this once a month this entire year with no incident.
But then the clerk comes back to me with the prescription saying that two of the 4s written down didn’t match. Wow. I didn’t know Backup Pharmacist was a handwriting expert, too! I asked if they could call the doctor since I didn’t want to have to drive back down to Downtown LA, but both the clerk and Backup Pharmacist refused. I guess that’s what I get for being happy about the traffic.
So back to Downtown LA I went, and thankfully the traffic wasn’t any worse. I had to wait a little at the doctor’s office while he finished with a patient and called Backup Pharmacist to ask what her damage was. And then back I went to the Pedro to fill the prescription, slowed down by slow-driving expensive German import luxury cars.
I first left the apartment at 10:30 am and finally got back 2:15 pm with the drugs. It would have been easier to score some smack or buy the Vicodin on the street than to do this all legally. It’s sad that rather than trying to actually care about patients and their needs, the main role of doctors and pharmacists and everyone in this healthcare cartel is to minimize their liability at all costs.
That’s why I’m not kidding when I say I’m not getting old. I’m not going to be stupid like The Grandmother and get old and linger. I’m offing myself before that happens. Any. Means. Necessary.
To blow of steam I decided to go for a run on this humid day. I got back home and was still just as angry — now I was just hungry since I didn’t have time to eat.
I guess it also didn’t help that I saw this during my run. I’m so proud of my stupid little town sometimes.
I know I find the concept of a “Jimmy Gone Wild” weekend hilarious since there is very little actual wild things going on. My yobo Daniel summed it up succinctly in an email yesterday: “when your ___ GONE WILD weekend is at its naughtiest when eating high glycemic load foods, we can expect you to put a sentence together.”
And that’s basically what it’s all about for me: catching up with friends and hearing the bits of their lives that don’t end up on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram or whatever. There are no drug-fueled orgies or forgotten moments although I do wish those things would happen.
It all started with catching up with Daniel and Staci Friday night. Hearing what they have been up to reassured me that age doesn’t necessarily have to mean that it is time to tame things down. Of course I could feel my bitter jealousy start to bubble up as I listened to their exploits, but that’s just a stupid thing really. We had a pizza party and walked over to Pazzo Gelato which looked a lot smaller than I remembered.
Saturday was a day with Emma featuring Catherine, Tyson and Ben where we got crazy with Souplantation, Target and Colombo’s Italian Steakhouse in Eagle Rock. Sunday was Noodle World, Santa Monica and crepes with Madd.
There was nothing wild. There was me talking loudly (as I tend to do) and making people very uncomfortable (my specialty!!!) There was a lot of walking. There was a lot of laughing. It was all too much so that I had to rest all day yesterday. High glycemic loads and walking. That takes it out of me.
I get another wild weekend the first weekend in October.
Only in a male breeder world is this:
preferable to this:
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you guys and your fantasies.
