Monday, December 10, 2001










OH YEAH, AND BOOKMARK IT! (Me no live here no more. no. bye.)

Friday, December 07, 2001

*******PLEASE NOTE******





Ok, this is site design at its worst. I just wanted to change a few colors. I will try to redo the site this weekend. I tried to rush (during a busy a dumbass) and flailed. Oops! ez
My Cat Hates You (Thanks to Jeff, via Vanessa)
Big Boss
poking me to work
pushing me to push
paying me to comply
you are my very own personal thorn.

Big Me
bucking to buck
trying to reclaim myself
sure that I can get by alone
thinking big boss is not so big.

Big Beer
drowning my sorrows
making my heart grow big
my muscles growing too
bad big boss
just try me.
My friend Heather is the best when I need unique insight into my life. We don’t hang out more than once or twice a month, but she is always prepared. Last night, we went to Murio’s Trophy Room on Haight Street (surprise!) to play some pool and catch up. Somehow we ended up discussing my love life, which is strange but not barren. As I said yesterday, I am not really looking for a relationship. However, I do try my damnedest to date with all my heart. At first, everyone- friends included -get my total trust. Then, errors and deception whittle it away. If you are honest and honorable, then the total trust will remain for all eternity. I have no reason to believe that someone is not “the one” right from the get go. So I try to treat them as such.

Anyway, Heather informs me last night that I am looking for someone to break MY heart. How unusual. But when you really take a deep look at the way I operate, it seems plausible. I tend to give and give on principle alone. Then, if it is reciprocated, I go full throttle. I just want to be with someone believable and passionate. I want a lover that throws caution to the wind and lets love and beauty out through every last pore of their body. If I were to find such a person, I would allow myself to go beyond the generic, yet honest, niceties that define my demeanor, allowing myself to fall freely into the dream state that is my ideal. At this moment, the harsh pains of life and memory that makes getting up a bore on some days would disappear with the breeze. We all know longing.

I am paraphrasing a bit, but Heather said that what ends of happening is that in my pursuit of personal heartbreak, I end up breaking other’s hearts. Maybe true, as I obviously haven’t found the right person yet but I have heard “I love you” uttered in my direction. I have even said it back, and meant it, but somehow I am still looking so I cannot define that type of love as the “ultimate” and “final” love that I seek.

Before this becomes a knotted shoelace of blather, let me say that I do not wish to hurt others. As I mentioned before, I enter into relationships of all kinds filled with optimism and hope. Like everyone else, I seek love and comfort. But this is where the lines are blurred. In the process of needing and later finding love, I can get addicted to affection directed at me without wanting to give it back. I may fake it (without lying), so as to keep the affection headed my way, though I do not feel it in my heart. I am able to excuse my temporarily falsified self by saying that the other person’s “love” cannot be real if my love is not. How can love exist if it is not somewhat mutual? Is that not stupidity disguised in a honey sweet exterior?

So, maybe I am seeking to have my heart broken. I have no idea what I would do if a woman approached me with no agenda, her passion and abandon on display for the whole world to see. What does total purity look like when it is looking right at you? What about when it is for you and not just in your line of sight? I think that I have looked at others this way, as my memories of relationships involve me acting from passion and truth early on. But as I grow older, I can see a formula developing for getting into relationships that I do not really want to be in. I try to be a gentleman, and do all the little things that are considered to be chivalrous and charming. While I am just being the way I think I should always be, it is viewed by the other person as case specific. Then they give me a little attention; I get addicted to it, and the horrible cycle of insincerity resumes.
I really need to break this cycle. I think that I should hold more of me back in the beginning, releasing myself slowly so I do not get tossed around so much. I also need to learn how to draw the line and stand by my principals. I often allow my principals to bend and twist into the mold that results in me getting attention. This is not good, and it is dishonest. It also ends up in resentment, as I end of sacrificing a piece of myself to get some affection. When I finally come to the conclusion that the other person is not right for me, I get pissed because I made sacrifices that I did not want to make to get something that I ultimately did not want. Bad stuff.

So, in conclusion, I do not want my heart broken. I just want the opportunity for it to be broken. At that point, I will know that I found someone that I want to be with and that wants to be with me. It will be true and pure, and if I get my heart broken it will be because I opened up and it did not work out. That is infinitely better than chipping away at what I want until it fits with the agenda of another person.
Seattle Weekly - news: Interviewing John Ashcroft

This is a clever little piece from the Seattle Weekly. I think it sums up the current Privacy vs. John Ashcroft battle quite well.

Jokes by Steven Wright (Thanks, Craig)

Thursday, December 06, 2001

I pound and choke and stutter to get through my days sometimes. I don’t have any time to make sacrifices for love right now. I need to get my life in order and produce my art. Love myself first, etc. It isn’t an issue anyway, since I don’t have any true heart throbs in my life right now. Sometimes, I think I might begin to care for a person in a lovey and touchy way, but it proves to be relatively worthless. True character takes quite a while to show, and I am a bit dismayed by some people’s showings lately. Whatever. I learned to stand on my own two feet alone, and I shall continue in this fashion until I find someone that I don’t have to struggle to appreciate.

In my weak moments, often clouded by optimism, I can get sucked into believing that I have already met the right person, and that I must now make a choice. It can be an old lover that I miss, or a lesser known new person in my life. The old flames burn because the spark that originally put us together never died. It just became clouded with resentment and hurt. With new people, I am back to the character issue, giving people the benefit of the doubt and letting myself get sucked into their initial charms. Usually, people turn out to be good at heart and do not mislead me. Maybe I just lose interest, or see some little side of them that is a turn off, but that does not mean that they are displaying defects. It is just a mismatch (however small), and like I said, I do not make sacrifices right now.

I will do just about anything for love, but do not take away my youth, my art, my friends, and my need to live in SF. This is the first place that I have lived where I do not feel like a freak or a rebel. You may find rebellion glamorous, but I never did. When that label has been slapped on me, it is because I was fighting for righteousness, and not for rebellion’s sake. Now I live somewhere that allows me to speak my mind without being labeled or used as an example by some organization or administration.

I feel somewhat alone right now. The things that excite me like talking to cabbies do not excite others in the same way. This is fine. We are all alone in our impression of the world. I thought about my situation last night when I returned from LA. I have a great life here: many great friends, a decent job, a good home with even better roommates, my music, my writing, and my freedom. But my joy is somewhat of a façade. It is complacency. I am fighting for something, and do not know what it is yet.

Righteousness is at the core of my dilemma. I will not settle. You cannot have my love without complete abandon. You must dream and only seek purity. You must be willing to roll up your sleeves and fight, not call the cops and tattletale. You must believe that the only pursuit worth working for is absolute truth. I will not wake up next to you and wonder if you are a liar and a cheat. I will walk away when I see your weakness clouded behind a thinly veiled attempt to hide it. I will slam my fist in disgust, even if I have been a hypocrite. I do not seek perfection in another, but you must seek it in yourself for us to be. I will die proud and learned, not betrayed and sulking.

I will weep with the willows, and feel my stomach drop as I traverse the balance beam. I will open my heart to the wind, and enjoy the feeling of being pushed by the unseen as I lean into the bellowing gusts, arms extended. I will teach my children not to die on their knees, and to look down at those that do. I will love my family, and not deny their love and advice. I will swim towards the horizon forever and forever, panting and losing strength, to prove that I see no limit to my beliefs. I will help those that need it and kick those that take unnecessarily and with no remorse. You will not deny me the truth.

I consider love of money weak, and work ethic admirable. I think that sacrifice is foolish, unless it happens to come along with something you want to do (i.e. studying for yourself, and giving up partying). I deplore liars, takers, people who blame others, the “why me” folks, those with no passion for life, the me first crowd, people that litter, corrupt politicians, cops that drive up one way streets the wrong way, those that see work as a life goal rather than a vehicle to pay bills (if you get paid for what you love, than good…but do not tell me that it is work that satisfies you. Tell me that furthering your beliefs satisfies you.), those that speak for others, incompetence combined with pride, silence during oppression, fear of truth, and just about every thing else that betrays the notion of fighting for what you believe in.

Show me some guts and we will talk. Show me your character. Do not play the games so familiar to us all. Save me from your secrets, manipulation, embellishments, betrayal, hurt, aggravation, and laziness. Spare me from you lies, explanations, rumors, selfishness, and hate. Go away and come back when you can stand strong and sit for the entire world to see, noble and righteousness. I will be ready when you can open up without squirming to escape.
Kc has a design company, which has a really cool graphic for his DJ promos.
Claire and Teri are holding court at the Hush Hush Lounge in the Mission this Friday. If you can hold yourself together in front of these fabulous divas, I suggest heading down to see the action. From Claire (of The Hush Hush, Boys Toys, and Rubbish):

Gearing up for a dirty Christmas Hangover?

Join us this Friday Night for a pint and some very funky moments
New Resident Go Go Dancers
and announcing the new
Luscious Teri! on the door
(Mess with her at your own peril)

DJ Claire Ahll
DJ Neel N. Kizmiaz
Visuals and Slide Shows by the Werepad
The Hush Hush Lounge
9pm - 2am
14th @ Guerrero
Every Friday night

Here is the JPEG flier for the party (It’s HUGE so forgive me. It’s not really my image to toy with).
“Free Love” Has Created A Monster!

In the Haight, you can’t walk ten feet without being hit up for change, food, drugs, and cigarettes (as Jeff points out almost daily). Today, it occurred to me that I haven’t seen any of the beggars using signs like the ones that used to grace the inner pages of LIFE magazine years ago. You’ve seen them before, “Will Work 4 food,” etc. There is nothing like that in the Haight.

The signs used by the street people in the Haight (if they even bother to make one), are lame ass attempts at humorous pleas for handouts. “I won’t lie, I need a beer,” comes to mind as a pretty common one. It’s pretty pathetic actually, as most of the people in the street are totally capable of holding a job, speaking clearly (as in “Buds!”, “Doses!”, etc), and are under 30.

I get really pissed sometimes, especially when a young white kid, standing and lucid, asks me for change or a smoke. I typically inform them that there’s a store right over there (pointing), and that it sells smokes. Kids usually get pissed, so I then tell them to come and sweep my steps for money. One time, I was stupid enough to tell some girl to come do my laundry for money. Of course, she agreed thinking that she could steal my clothes. I retracted my offer.

It’s an outrage, quite frankly. These kids are seeking some kind of return to the days of indolence and free love/drugs. Absolutely stupid. I have seen kids begging beneath a help wanted sign. My buddy Bill has the best strategy. He saw four kids get out of an SUV one time, only to start begging as soon as the doors closed. He followed them around and told everyone that they owned an SUV and not to help them. The kids got pissed and left the Haight. Bill is infinitely smarter than I am, as I just make snide remarks and get in arguments with the beggars.

I really do get tired of seeing dog shit (the beggars often have dogs, which they somehow afford to feed) and human waste on the streets of my neighborhood. The culture of free love and ultra liberalism has exasperated the homeless problem here. There is no belief in exchange, just handouts. SF has a budget of 170 million for the homeless. Yet, they still like in the streets looking for handouts. It is a city that serves as a posh lily pad of warmth for the indolent, lazy, do nothings of the world. If there are 10,000 homeless in SF, the budget would break down to 17,000 per person. That equates to a Starbucks job at $8.50 an hour. Ridiculous. Where is the incentive to work?

We need a solution like NYC. The budget needs to be directed towards help for the mentally ill (a significant portion of the people in the streets), and towards getting the stupid lazy kids off the streets…forcibly. I know it sounds harsh, but something must be done. We cannot continue to live with human waste while fomenting a culture of laziness and handouts. Free Medical Clinic, yes. Handouts for the lazy, no.

I think “Free Love” is to blame. Weather plays a big part in the homeless problem here, which obviously cannot be changed. But the idea that anyone is free to receive without giving, and that everyone is entitled to the same life style (work or not) is ludicrous. Free Love has evolved from a philosophy of sharing to one of taking. It is the same distortion that turned the hippie movement from free speech and protest to one of pot smoking and tie-dyes that cost 40 bucks.

I do not have to give handouts, and I am quite tired of the beggars that can’t say “Please,” or get pissed at me when I do not share. Piss off, that’s what I say. Learn you freaking manners. I’ve held a job since I was 15, and very few of my work experiences have been professional. I cooked, swept floors, pumped gas, mowed lawn, bussed tables, etc. Minimum wage sucks, but you have to start somewhere. Bucking the system when you are capable of changing it, or at least participating in it, is unacceptable to me.

Musicians in the subway get my money. They make my commute pleasant. Poets, writers, and artists get my money. People that are obviously disabled and lost get my money. I am not cold hearted, but if you can stand and say, “Fuck You!” to me, get a job. Or get out. Or go to jail. Do something.

Willie Brown, our mayor, needs to go. We need someone that walks the streets, understand the problems that SF residents live with, and takes action. Get these people off the streets. Do not take their shopping carts, as Brown did. Arrest, shelter, provide training and affordable housing, and reintroduce to the world. Simple. It is harsh, but necessary. Human waste on the streets is a disgrace. Mr. Mayor, you are a fraud. Accountability was the last thing that was flushed down the toilet in SF, and I am tired of it!

Monday, December 03, 2001

Dear Folks,

I will be in LA until Thursday, and will not have net access. I encourage you to read the archives, and email me any ideas that you may have for the site (I know...redesign it...will do). I will be busy for two days aproximating a serious business person in the fine, yet dirty, city of LA. How fun. I will centainly have a lot to say to you when I get back.

I love my job. We get to go to places like LA. I can't wait for the smog, heat, and fake advertising BS that awaits me.

Mat Honan took some pictures of our party. Thankfully, I am not in the photos.

Welcome to the Hollywood Stock Exchange!

This is a really weird game, yet addicting. Z

Thanks, attendees. Thanks.

So my party went off without a hitch, except for the hell I went through this morning trying to make coffee (Three grind dumps, a stove top covered in coffee, and resulting cup consisting of floating mushy grinds in luke warm brown water). There were some surprises, sure, but the music rocked, the people were super chill, and I managed to find my bed sometime before sunrise on Sunday.

The finding my bed part wasn’t easy, as I had ½ of our house piled into my room. Climbing over bikes, trees, and desks while looped is not an easy task. However, it helped me to get up this morning, as my alarm clock was hidden under a pile of tables and clothes, so I actually had to jump out of bed to shut the damn thing off. The result? At work at 8:30, which hasn’t happened in months. Maybe I need to party more

There were a few pleasant surprises that boosted my mood at the party. A few months ago, I put an ad up on Craig's List for a blind date to see DJ Shadow. A young woman responded, and she was funny as all get out. We never met up, as I chickened out and invited a friend instead. In retrospect, I should have brought her, as she was way too funny to ignore. When I didn’t call her back about the tickets, she told me the next day that considered holding up a big “Ezra” sign at the Fillmore to get the ticket. Way cool, and I regret not seeing the show with her. However, she somehow ended up on my party invite mailing list, and guess what? She showed up! All the way from San Jose just to find my party. How cool is that? Wow!

I basically was four on the floor tossed on Saturday, and I was caught off guard when these two girls asked me if I was Ezra. Then, one of them said that she knew me from craigslist. She immediately became the coolest girl I know because she had the balls to come all the way to my party, not knowing me, and track me down. I kept poking her shoulder (like an idiot) and saying, “You are so damn cool. Wow!” Pretty tasteless on my part, but she seemed to understand appreciation. She was way fun, with a silly streak that gave her instant credibility in my book. We will be friends for sure. I like people that grab life and take it for a ride.

I think a fair amount of my enjoyment came from my roommates. Cheryl, Jeff, James and I have all lived in SF for a long time, which made for an interesting crowd. No broken stuff, no theft, and no fights. Plus, my roommates were totally chill. We all cut loose, forgot to work the door, and just raged. The only person that even tried to work the door was Rampy. He stood at the top of our steps and sang with an electric guitar and amp, letting everyone in. Good doorman, no?

My "will remain unnamed" friend also took care of me quite well. She followed my blotto ass self around the apartment, carrying ice cubes which she used to massage my hands and face. Talk about feeling like a king! Kudos, Ms. M, Kudos. What a doll. All we need is a little love, and wham! Life is grand. She made me feel like a million bucks, even if I couldn’t see straight.

Sunday was an easy day. The housemates, plus the occasional late arrival to the party, sat around and spun records. I DJ’d for the first time, spinning records from my rather odd 70’s folk/soul collection. I have approximately 40 records, and maybe two of them are worth listening to more than once a month. So, I mixed Donovan’s, "Season of the With,” with the Police’s, “Roxanne.” The Deadly Nightshade with the Cars. Sugar Hill’s “the Message,” with June of 44’s “Anatomy of Sharks.” Weird stuff, but I think I was ok. Jeff taped it all, so my Monday night will be spent watching myself.

Thanks for coming people. I enjoyed myself immensely. Big ups to the attendees, caretakers, wine bringers, and especially my roommates. Y’all are fun as hell. I am glad I moved in. Z

Friday, November 30, 2001

Let's play a game in honor of my dear friend, Teri Lund. Her favorite word is "lascivious." The way the game works is as follows:

We writing a poem. (See the comments section of this post.)
You get one word.
It starts with "lascivious"

Have fun.
Dear MS. CC Girl, is this true?:

"i know exactly who you're talking about at citrus club. but she is untouchable. she only dates asian men that her parents have approved. sorry..." (from story comments).

Damn. I had her pegged as a social liberal that appreciates a good effort. But rules are rules. I'm out. I guess I'll settle for a rebellious Marina girl that only dates white guys her parents can't stand. Never mind valor and romanticism, what we need is rules based on race and what our parents say. Taken is one thing, but hey...rules are rules.

I really should just delete this, but whatever. If someone wants to speak for her, then I will give him or her their very own post. After all, experts deserve attention.

A year after record-breaker, Buffalo has first ever snow-free November

This is downright amazing. I remember when it was 20 below in Pittsburgh, we would say "Hell. At least it's not Buffalo. They get 24 inches in two hours there."

And can you believe it's freezing in SF. Why does the weather follow me? Why? I hate the cold!!! Sure, I moved here having never seen the place, and thinking of beaches, implants, surfing, and condos. That was stupid of me. But freezing? In California?

To make matters worse, my new apartment in on the 3rd floor, and my closet has a vent that is open to the roof. I still look at my window and say, "It's closed...why is it so cold. Oh yeah, the vent..." I wear socks on my hands at night just so I can write. I sleep with huge blankets, a wool hat, and sweaters on. I refuse to pay for heat in Cali. It's a psychological block I have. As the say in Ezraville, the stubborn freeze. Brrr....

Google Search: lauren tewes fan page

I love that Heather's site is #1 on Google for "Lauren Tewes Fan Page," and she has never written about Lauren Tewes. That's funny.

My favorite search query that sends people to my page "Bra Strap Fan Club."
Baltimore's City Paper has the best entrance of any alt site out there. Check it out.

I watched a Fugazi Video last night (can't remember the name but it was cool), and they had a license plate on some car that said "RU THURS-T" Perfect for the Minister of Brewed Beverages, eh? I tried to find a template online so I could post it, but I guess vanity plates are really a big item for ecommerce. Sigh.

What a dizzy whirlwind of commotion today is. God! It's cold outside, I have to plan a party, plan my trip to LA on Tuesday (G N R girls, here I come!), and get through this busy day at work. Grr...

I will band out some writing tonight, so hang tight.

PS. Thanks for all the comments! I am very pleased that my posts elicit so many responses. Thanks. Ezra (name defined)

Alas, I will not being having Iron City Beer at my party this weekend.

Thursday, November 29, 2001

I sent a letter to President Bush, but I changed one thing. At the end, I added "And please do not bail out ENRON." Ha!

Harper convinced me to sign up for Working Assets for long distance service. She is undoubtedly their number one fan. Thanks, Harper. I like politics and telcos in a mixed drink.

"Was that so bad?" (from criagslist/missedconnections)

Kind of a lame post, and quite typical of the do nothings on Missed Connections, but can you believe this line?

"When I walk down Sansome St. I feel like a failure because I walk slower than everyone else and on the wrong side of the street. I only wanted to ride the fast elevators. Was that so bad?"

Yes, it's frickin' bad. I already told you, get out of my way!
I take issue with people that can’t walk in a straight line. Why do people decide to randomly wander back and forth across the sidewalk? I saw this “Leave it to Beaver” episode once where Beaver claimed he could walk twenty miles and then proceeded to zig zag the whole way home until his little meter said “20.” I find it hard to believe that people in the Financial District are trying to relive Beaver episodes. So what the hell are they doing? Get out of my way!

If the wanders really need assistance, they should look at the damn lines in between the sidewalk squares. They line up. Get it together and follow the line. Do the wanders get DUIs when they are sober? Should we overhaul the tests applied to allegedly drunken motorists to accommodate inept walkers? That would end up being just another corporate hand out to some Texas security firm.

SF is not Middletown. I have to get places, and these folks hold me up. Plus, I feel like a freak when I am close to passing someone and they just jet right in front of me. I feel like a criminal when I get that close to strangers.I sometimes get really pissed and say “walk in a straight line.” I know it’s obnoxious, and they have a right to walk as they wish, but can we have a little acknowledgement of community here? Not everyone wants to wander. I just need to get to work, or get to lunch, or find a bar, or whatever. I suspect that the wanders are the same idiots that try to push me out of the way so they can rip the doors off the MUNI buses when the door stays closed at a stop. No patience, and no idea how to function in a crowded space. Social graces and the realization of space have gone the way of hula-hoops.

I first noticed the walking problem when I lived in London. As you know, it rains constantly in England. People always have umbrellas out, and they don’t hesitate to poke you with them. I would walk down the street, in a straight line, of course only to see some jackass wander towards me and poke me. No apologies, and no acknowledgement of the problem. Just pure la-di-da then a poke to my head.

It also happened in the stores in London. I would be reaching over to look at a record, in a 15-foot wide aisle mind you, and some punk would find a way to run right into me. It made me so furious. How on earth did these people get out of the womb? Oh yeah, someone pulled them out. I forgot that you get help with that.

I have contemplated how to solve the problem. Yesterday, I considered suggesting that we install little moving tracks that you have to put your feet in unless you have a walking license. The license test would be just like a DUI test. Pass it sober, get a license. Fail the test, and you have to stay in the little ankle booty track thingies. Or drive everywhere. Or get pushed in a cart by one of the walkers with a license.

The problem with this plan involves kids. Kids don’t know how to walk straight, even if they are coordinated at birth. So, we would have to make an exception for the parents’ of the kids, because you can’t leave them all alone…right? The liberals would kill us with this kid clause. Imagine: A bunch of people on tracks moving at the same speed in single file. Then, a side track with professional straight walkers busting ass, and parents hunched over (in the way, of course), telling their kids to walk straight or they’ll end up like the lower caste, ankle booty crowd. Pathetic, but something must be done. It just doesn’t seem right to berate people on the street for their walking failures, but I am ready and willing. Now get out of my way!

Kool Bobby's Korner has it going on. That's why he's the Minister's homie.
One thing I really miss about living back in Pittsburgh is the pizza. I went to this pizza shop called Aiello’s nearly everyday as a kid. They sold 55-cent slices for years, but raised the price to 75 cents when I was in college, because Joe Aiello’s nephew went to Catholic School and he had to cut the checks. Speaking of “cut”, that’s what we called slices. No one understands that term in San Francisco.

Aiello’s makes pizza a little differently than most places. It’s the cheese. They use ½ cheddar, and ½ mozzarella. You still get the big, bubbly crust that makes a good pizza good, but the taste is pretty unique. Also, experienced eaters knew not to ask for hot slices. You ate them “off the top,” which mean luke warm slices stashed on top of the oven so the cheese could congeal.

The pizza shop is located about four blocks from the public high school I attended my freshman and sophomore years. It is also about that far from the house I lived in from 12 to 18. My buddies and I cut school a lot, and often hung out at Aiello’s because they didn’t care about school attendance, as long as you ate the pie. Good deal.

The workers were tough, overweight Italians with an attitude. They were the neighborhood pot slingers, street fighters, and landscapers. Being a local meant that they might nod at you when you came in. If you weren’t a local, then you had to speak up or leave. What do you want for .55 cents, right?

I have a few vivid memories about eating at Aiello’s. My friend Jesse had a way of getting in “taken” girl’s pants. One time, he picked the wrong girl and had his face smashed in by neighbor Mike over a girl. It was a punch that he didn’t see coming. Pittsburgh is like that. Watch your back, or a car will roll up when you least expect it. He had a dozen or so stitches above his eyebrow the next day. Still has the scar.

Every once in a while, some guy would walk buy that one of the shop’s employees had a beef with. Right in the middle of taking an order, the worker would jump over the counter, through the door, and pound the guy right on the street. Rags flew, boxes, toppled, customers watched, but no one left the shop. The pizza was that good. And he probably had it coming. Besides, Pittsburgh is the kind of place where you better be ready to roll up your sleeves and fight if there is a score to settle.

When I left Pittsburgh, my buddy Patrick gave me an Aiello’s T-shirt. It is one of the best gifts I have ever received. When he gave it to me, he said, “Now that you are leaving town, you can wear this. It’s just not cool to wear local T-shirts when you live in the town.” Very true indeed. There is no way I would ever wear an Aiello’s T-shirt in Pittsburgh. That would be like wearing a frat shirt for a frat you didn't belong to. Or, wearing a letterman jacket when you are on the chess club. But I wear it now, even if it’s just to clean the house. It’s kind of big and ugly, yet it feeds my need for nostalgia.

I miss that pizza. Escape from NY just doesn’t cut it at $2.50 a slice. Sure, it’s better than 99% of the SF pizza shops, but damn…it’s not that good. And, it sure isn’t Aiello’s. Nobody fights at EFNY, they just beg for change and smokes in the good old Haight Ashbury district. Tame and lame.
San Francisco finds 240 ballots not counted in November election; supervisors demand answers

Like I said when they announced the result, there is no way PG&E won the election. No way. Everyone hates PG&E, and if you walk around and talk to one voted for PG&E to saty as our power provider. No one. If anyone can truthfully say that they voted against public power, email me and I will put you on display for safekeeping. Right next to Einstein's brains, and Madonna's pap smear.
Shane Wilkie wrote a cool story on Mavericks, called "A Closer Look..." Also, here are some more photos to enjoy. Plus, the SF Examiner story about the idiot WaveRunner riders that had to be rescued form 100 foot waves.

I have never surfed, and don't really like watching the tricks and runs. However, I really like to look at the water. It's crazy that people try to ride these waves. It's the equivalent of trying to ski on an avalanche.

Wednesday, November 28, 2001

More Batts

(I feel like a Lousiville Slugger Salesman...)
Carlos Batts -- With The Lights On.

He's the king of fashion photography.
Ok, I need to pause for a quick moment...

This is still a blog, but my recent efforts have drawn a lot of attention. Hits galore. I love attention like this, as I am just like any other artist trying to get my work out to the masses. I am really really grateful for the compliments from friends and strangers alike. However, It has become really difficult to produce short stories and confessionals from my desk at work (which I really should not do anyway). I still have time to hit “Blog This!” on good articles and pictures, but the task or opening up is quiet daunting. My boss is on my ass to get us some appointments in LA (I work in a recording studio for advertising), so he keeps coming to my desk every five minutes to smack me around and hound me with inconsequential crap. Still, I collect a check here…so I have to bust my ass and bring in business.

As for writing, I am 100% committed to quality now. It’s not just my steam of consciousness anymore. Now I must find the right topic, the right words, the right angle, the right tense, and still stay employed (hint to publishers: please get me out of the freaking pit of 9-to-5). Every night, I wrack my brain for a new topic. I start at least three or four stories, and then have insomnia over which one to tackle in the morning. It is a pain in the ass, but I love writing. It is good for me, and Blogger makes it easy to write every day. After all, If you write one page a day, you will have a good sized book in a year. That’s my plan.

I want to write things that mean something to people. I want my charms to win the heart the heart of the right woman. I want her to feel like the queen of the land, like Marilyn when she was with Arthur Miller. This is a daunting task. Should I slow down, and only publish every few days? Should I set up frames on my blog so a stream of links can go up on the right side of my site, and my stories can grace the left? I don’t know, but I am giving my best. It is a fine line I walk with revealing my private struggles on this site, as my friends and family read it as truth.

On top of all of this, I don’t really understand HTML. I manage the, which has quite a few writers. I avoided learning technical stuff when I was at Carnegie Melon. Avoided it! Do you know how stupid I feel for not knowing HTML after attending one of the top computer science schools in the world? Yeah, stupid. That’s why I studied Social History.

On top of that, I have to go out and get experiences to write about. This involves making an ass of myself, throwing back beers and meeting people, asking strangers out, hyping up my crushes, travelling, etc. All cool, but man those hangovers kick my ass.

So forgive me today. Writer’s block, my boss, the weather, my party, etc are bogging me down. This isn't a pity party, but I need to get it off my chest. I do promise to deliver and if you just keep coming by, checking out the other writers on, and have some faith…you will be entertained. Here comes the boss again…
I reworked Heather's website called "The Lauren Tewes Fan Page!" Much better. Now if I could just figure out permalinks, we'd rule the world. Z
So busy today. Please stop back later, as I promise to write something good for y'all then. Z