Body sushi

In this case, the surrealism of death. Man uses search engine to determine depth of lake when planning wife's murder. Creepy.

There's an article in the LV Review Journal about the new Playboy Club opening at the Palms. The last US location closed 17 years ago.

Picture of Hefner and designer Roberto Cavali posing with the latest litter of bunnies

This is Progress?

That's hilarious, Paul.

I get in an elevator at work to find a group of young women waxing orgasmic about some recipe for something called "Hash Brown Casserole." The ingredients seem to consist of hash browns, "hamburger meat," cheese, sour cream and onions "if you like them." I got out of the elevator without suffering a myocardial infarction.

How ducks sleep if you line them up in a row:

And a fat lot of good it does them:

Poor thing. If it had been a giraffe instead and needed only 2 hours sleep a night, maybe it would've got away.

As the article points out, basic point and all, it is strange that animals sleep and leave themselves in such a vulnerable state for so many hours per day.

Lucky animals.

You'd need a lot of dipping sauce for a giraffe, wouldn't you?

what a coincidence. last night, while asleep, i had a dream that involved animals (including giraffes). i was in some strange open air game park somewhere in africa and there was an utterly pointless enclosed walkway around the perimeter--pointless because the animals were passing through it unimpeded. at one point some american idiot panicked when a lion roared and started running towards me in a panic. i calmed him down telling him his fear would excite the animals. just as he shut up, a leopard started coming towards us with mal intent. i fixed it with my leopard-neutralizing stare and he hurdled both of us and kept going. at this point american git freaked out again and started shrieking. leopard turned around. i grabbed the six-guns that had materialized at yank's hips and pointed it at the leopard--he scoffed, and when i fired the first shot and discovered i was shooting a toy gun i realized why. as a last ditch resort i ran into the living room that was now in the center of the park and turned on de la soul's "buhloone mind state" very loud. i'm pretty sure it would have done the job but the alarm went off and i woke up exhausted.

i wish i could sleep with my entire brain turned off. god knows, i can post on the internet in that state.

I needed a caffeine fix so I ducked into a Coffee Bean in Hollywood. They were filming a Young and the Restless espisode across the street with the Paladium substituting for an airport in Salem. I get the last table inside next to the order line. I'm sipping my Americano when I look up and see the backsides of an apparently young couple. He's an average size guy with a pony tail and she's a very petite highly bleached blond wearing hot pink wedgies, a black mini skirt, and a very loud pink, white and black jacket. She's got nice legs. Then she turns to reveal an incredibly huge chest (probably FF) somehow mounted on this bare little frame. Then, I check the heavily made face--it's Angelyne! Her face is that of a badly worn woman of 65 or 70 (sort of like a balloon that's being inflated and deflated way too many times). Her date's face is revealed as well. He's about 25.

That's obviously not her. And none of her photos prepares you for what her face looks like.

Honeywood, I am sure you can tell the difference between a FF cup (probably a JJ, really) and the nubile naked perfect breasts in the aforementioned photo.

You couldn't possibly think I doubted you. You're posting here: you ain't blind.

My most surrealistic discovery: I am related by marriage to Steven A. Shaw. Twice.

My cousin Irene used to be married to his uncle David, and my cousin Louis is (still) married to his aunt Denise.


I informed Steven of this via e-mail before I posted this.

"Cousin Fat Guy! Give me a hug, ya big galoot!"

A friend of mine told me that she has never once, ever once heard her husband of 14-15 years fart. EVER. Not in his sleep. Never.

How is that possible?

Not hearing farts during the course of a marriage is indeed problematic. For if one openly claims to have smelled them, there is the very real possibility one will be accused of having dealt them.

I can understand not hearing, but what about smelling?

A woman walks up to another at a cocktail party. "I understand you're a doctor," says the first.
"Yes," replies the second.
"Well, I've been having this little problem lately -- I fart all the time," says the first.
"I'm so sorry, I can't help you," responds the second, "you probably need a gastroenterologist, and I'm not one."
"That's all right," says the first, "I didn't even know I had this problem until my husband told me."
"In that case, maybe I can help. I'm an otonasolaryngologist."

You no dummie.

Me, neither. I can Google with the best of 'em.

Or, if you are too lazy to google, the "naso-laryngo" part kind of gives the meaning away. It's all about context, people.

My current surreality is that most of the stuff in house has little post-it notes on it saying "STAYING" or "GOING". Movers on Tuesday.

we've gotten 10 collect calls from the cook county jail (caller id is 'prison' ) in the last 2 days. the menu to accept the call is repeated in at least 7 languages.

I heard on NPR the other day that some prisons charge the prisoners and their families up to 20 times the cost of regular calls. The prisons run their own telephone companies or something. Some familes are in debt by thousands of dollars after receiving collect calls from their imprisoned relatives.

the recording said $2.00 per minute.

my guesses of the languages:
spanish
english
polish
russian
hindi
????
????
????

we've had several calls from cook county jail over the years, but never ran into someone so persistant as this one.

The other night my friend K and I met a woman who told us about her first night at work here in downtown LA.
She'd been walking down Spring Street, just a block over from us. She ran into a homeless guy who told her she shouldn't be walking on Spring Street at night. "It's all crack addicts down there," he said, "you want to walk on Main Street. It's heroin addicts. Heroin addicts are a better class of people."
Good to know.

(Contains profanities and the "n" word)

Well, this could be on Reasons to be Cheerful or Annoyances, but essentially we acted out Twelve Angry Men on a crowded D train in midtown last night. A slice of New York, for better or worse. I am standing, nose in my book, when I become aware of an altercation behind me and about a quarter of the way down the car. It is not unusual at rush hour to hear a few harsh words exchanged if someone gets bumped too hard, but nothing usually comes of it. This quickly became more serious - "I'll punch your fucking teeth out of your head. Come on, throw a punch. That's what I'm waiting for."

Turning, I observe a middle-aged white guy, sitting down, offering to fight a standing black guy. "Okay," he says, "I'll throw the first punch," and launches himself. Black guy, perfectly capable of taking care of himself, simply throws the aggressor back into his seat. A space clears around them - it's amazing how that will happen even in the most confined area; I have seen it at concerts, in crowded bars. The pushing and shoving happens a couple more times as we pull into a station. As the black guy turns to leave, the white guy gets a good kick in. People hustle the innocent party off the train as the white guy lets loose with a stream of invective about "niggers, slaves (!), immigrants" and generally how we hates New York. He would probably enjoy sharing a pint with John Rocker.

An unhappy quiet settles on the carriage...until a little grey-haired lady, probably in her seventies, sitting just in front of me, decides to break the silence. "You shouldn't be saying those things, everybody in New York is from someplace different, this is very bad." This gets some applause. Now, despite the fact the lady is probably of Eastern European or Russian origin, the angry guy decides to call her a "nigger" too. Since it seems unfair that she should be doing all the heavy lifting, without taking my nose out of my book I inform the guy loudly that he is a "racist". "Who said that? Who thinks I'm a racist?"

Uh oh.

Fortunately, at this point an Asian woman responds in a very matter-of-fact way, "Everyone here thinks you're a racist." And an African American voice pipes up from the back of the car "He should try this shit in Brooklyn. He should try this shit on the 2 train."

Next stop, he gets off the car one way, I get off the other, and I distantly hear him explaining to someone on the platform that they are a "faggot". Psycho, I guess, and I expect he eventually got the fight he was looking for. Interesting experience of New York solidarity - watching each others backs, while trying not to actually get ourselves killed.

I NY

Talk about immigration. A man on the 16th floor of a building on ever so fashionable west 38th st. is hanging fish on a clothline on his office's balcony.

Whoa.

Yesterday night at about 10 PM a friend of ours was walking home from our house and it was very windy, so he had his hoodie up. And he didn't hear the cops in the unmarked car calling out to him. So he was very surprised when they grabbed him and shoved him up against another parked car and shook him down, asking him his business, where he lived, demanding ID, etc. They said they saw him hanging out on our porch (he stopped to light a cigarette before beginning his walk) and they asked him all kinds of bullshit questions, where he's from, where he works, the routine bullshit.

Finally they let him go, warning him that "this is a gang neighborhood and you should be careful. You shouldn't hang out on the porch. You shouldn't wear that sweatshirt."



It was ALL my boyfriend and I could do not to pull our hoodies up and go "loiter" ON OUR OWN PORCH just to inflame them further.

Nice to know they're watching *our* house, the fuckers. Hint: try a couple doors down.



EDIT: good thing we'd smoked all his pot with him before he left

Monday I had an operation to correct a problem with my right knee. On the operating table, looking through an athroscope (sp?) the surgeon was surprised to discover that a key part of the orthotic (the tibular plate) had detached from its post and floated off to wreak havoc with the knee joint. He opened the knee, removed the defective part, cleaned up the joint and snapped in a new part, hopefully locking it into place. He said he "had never seen this happen before and was surprised that I could even walk or get around as well as I was. This has been bothering me since August, but only when he went in with the scope could he discover what the problem was.

That same day, for my Mercedes 420 sedan with 139,000 miles, I had the timing chain, tensioners and guide rails, the radiator and the thermostat replaced.



I am home and recovering pretty well so far.

Let's hope you and your healthy knee will be driving that healthy car soon enough!

Amusing breakfast conversation about whether or not Harry Potter has had sex. I came down on the side of yes.