i am a man of routine and ritual for example, when i come home my st. bernard fetches my slippers and my sheep dog retrieves my pipe. i stir a martini and unwrap the afternoon paper.

in the mornings at work i power on the computer, turn on the tv and clean my sidearm. that is followed with a trip to the break room where i have either apple or orange juice and donettes or whatever pound cake is available in the machine.

vending machines have been around for centuries but here at the xbi theres a competetive nature towards our collective original employers that drives some (not me) to continually aquire the latest and greatest.

we have the coolest Coke machine on the block.

all the cans and bottles are visible. when you put your buck in the machine and punch in your selection, a motorized shelf zooms to the correct row, the soda is released and falls gently and sideways upon said arm and the mini conveyor belt sends the refreshment to a slot and, hi, theres your pop.

because there are so many moving parts it is a spectacle in itself, but it is also, not surprisingly, incredibly vulnerable to breakdown.

last night some joker seems to have shoved the million dollar machine releasing dozens of bottles, but the arm would not be fooled and did not raise nor activate its conveyor belt to move the drinks to the glory hole. indeed, the arm remained stubbornly at the bottom of the contraption awaiting its friend, the vendor guy.

which is to say i had to greet this early morning with a cup of bottled water, and not my nurishing juice.

tgif?

hardly.

fortunately Psoma and Nerf Herder were swell last night at Spaceland and when i returned to my bachelor pad drunk from the two gigantico beers they serve at the silverlake hotspot, i was able to fall asleep peacefully with ears ringing as soon as my 'fro hit the pillow.

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i have my critics i guess everyone does. but my critics are lazy. i have a lot to attack, but they always go for the most obvious things.

date a girl for while who's 19 and they say i like younger chicks. date a girl with big boobs and they'll say im a boob man. date a hawaiian nba cheerleader and they'll say ive got asian fever.

bor-ring.

this is why people dont go to your web page, idiots.

anyone can see that im an extremely equal-opportunity dater, and you cant even call me a player since my relationships last years and years. so if you're going to criticize me, at least do it in an area where i dont kick your ass repeatedly.

like felching.

from what i hear you're quite skilled there. so brag about it, tell the world im rotten at it, then sign your damn name to it, you pathetic hump. and dont lie and say that you've been my friend for years and you know me because i live in a fantasy world where none of my friends talk shit about each other. we love each other. we have for years and we will forever. it's disgusting in its sweetness. bizarre, really.

and it's not even as cliquish as you'd think. layne didnt go to ucsb, nor did axel, or monty, or emmanuelle, or a lot of people who you'll see at the tsar shows or at the rustic or any place featuring mc brown, which is what keeps it fresh and fun and interesting -- and normal.

my friends are real people who are intelligent and creative and open minded and loving and beautiful-- and we dont talk shit about each other cuz the only thing that we could diss each other for is for not taking the world by the cajones and turning the whole place into what we have here.

cynthia lander, miss venezuela knows a thing or two about cajones. her great uncle was Ezequiel Zamora, one of the most beloved and important leaders her country ever had. defender of the federation, fighter for the poor.

75 young women will vie for the crown of Miss Universe and cynthia has refused to hold back. who doesn't love a latin lady who isnt afraid to show a little leg? who doesnt love a woman who won her country's crown a blonde-- a gorgeous blonde-- but has chosen to keep it real for the big pageant?

bonne chance, my little 20 year old bonita petite fleur.

viva la revolution!

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caption this... but be nice

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people ask me all the time when im gonna get hitched, maybe they should wonder when im gonna get a car, first. or even a steady girlfriend.

baby steps, superstars, baby steps.

and since half of american marriages end in divorce, and since i dont want to be on the wrong side of that coin flip, i think that its a good idea to take ones time before falling for the first blonde bombshell that jumps in my lap.

i just want a normal life.

whats normal? well if i had a hot chick girlfriend and we were together this is what would be normal today.

first id come home and we'd make pornstar love on the coffee table in the front room. why there? because i have these great flowers there that chris gave me this weekend and they smell awesome.

then i'd rustle up some grub and we'd have that with a fresh bottle of vino. why vino? cuz just like kid rock, im a classy motherfucker.

then we'd head over to Spaceland by ten pm and listen to Justin's band Psoma who have their debut record coming out and tonight is their record release party/concert. At eleven Nerf Herder hits the stage and I love Parry and I cant believe i've only seen them play once!

during the show we'd get drunk so we'd take a sloppy cab ride home and hit the hay in a heap.

it's starting to get nice out so we'd sleep with the window cracked open, tangled, happy, with smiles on our faces.

somewhere in there i would like some ice cream with hot fudge. i guess thats where life comes in with its charming little surprises.

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mark prior's first major league game

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i really cant believe ive read 21 of these, but i guess thats what you get being an English major for 7 years in two of the finest public institutions in california.

but my question you list-making fools is where's Bukowski? you should have Post Office, Notes of a Dirty Old Man, and Women on that list of yours and from now on i will completely ignore any list like this that does not include my man.

Dawn has a poll where they decide who's the sexiest male blogger. about a year ago ashley asked me for a sexy picture of myself and i took this one and she said you can be sexy and smile and i said, maybe you can but i think i look more pissed off than sexy.

moving on...

the bones in washington dc are those of missing intern Chandra Levy.

jenna bush writes me emails almost every day, i dont respond or print them because i pretty much hate young republicans, especially drunk ones.

time is running out to see the anna kournikova gallery photo essay exploitation thingie that close to 20,000 of you have come to this URL to get a look at. any of you who are not regular readers to this page, who came here after a search result led you here, if you have $2, i'd appreciate it if you ponied up. unlike butterflies, bandwidth isnt free and im giving you way more on those 35 pages than penthouse gave you in their mag and im not asking even close to the $9 that the Guch got off most of us. and all the money goes to charity: the fellow behind the drapes who hosts these zeroes and ones.

alien ant farm got in a bus accident that killed the driver and injured the band in Spain.

and sara is mad at me 'cause i repeated a Whalenism that may have struck a nerve since even this enlightened group cannot count on two hands great women writers who arent or werent crazy. file this in the I Like To Be Wrong, So Prove Me Wrong department, friends.

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goddamned you half japanese girls you do it to me every time.

ex bestfriend amy jo goddard emailed me last night and totally caught me by surprise.

this is a girl who wouldnt return letters or phone calls or respond to mixed tapes or even put-downs. a triple scorpio with a scorpio rising, my old pal had written me off and i was pretty sure that id never hear or see her again, except for those rare instances where you pass each other at the denver airport while changing planes and you go, "hey, hi." and she goes, "oh yeah, hi." and neither of you can leave the cinnabun line cuz that would just be too obvious.

i didnt have a chance to write her back last night because i was trying to make the beach house look presentable for a handful of guests that arrived last night from abroad. so aj if youre reading this, your email was a pleasant shock. i thought you hated me. i thought that i had embarrassed you in front of your militant feminist friends who took it all wrong when i said, "you like girls, i like girls, lez be friends."

even thought some kids love the bad jokes, it only really works when you have a few good jokes to follow up, and just like today i didnt have caca.

anyway, aj, theres always a place in my heart for you.

i have always liked tomboys and aj was -- and is -- a tough girl who doesnt take shit from anyone. she skateboarded, she sewed, she could drag her teeth down the side of your neck smelling of perfume fluctuating between a sultry deeper voice and a very feminine upper register.

we were dynamite on the radio giving the kids all the newest gangsta rap and grunge as the year was 1989 and the greek god of funk had delivered to us milk crate after milk crate of the hard rocking metal riffs and hip hop beats that a girl from texas and a boy from the midwest had been waiting forever to hear, and play.

thanks for not hating me for eternity, aj.

very cool of you to write.

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i can not get a girl to sleep with me. no, not hump sleep, sleep sleep.

all these independent women, all these empowered females... they all feel confident giving up the sweet stuff, but they draw the line when it comes to spending the night.

never in my 108 years would i have ever expected as much.

now, i browse the web pages on the internet and maybe some of the other fellas dont care one way or the other, but i just might be one of the few bachelors who enjoy the company of a nice young lady to snooze with. sure the lovin is nice, but

you know what. this topic depresses me.

let's pretend im a regular blogger.

mike piazza swears he likes girls.

there might be a Miami Vice movie.

marc brown has pictures of gary coleman.

sara reviews the talents of the street people on her way to the subway and has a crazy dream.

and some elevator fun.

ok, with that said im going to cross my fingers and pray that the new phenom for the Cubs will have a nice major league debut today. Good luck, Mark Prior, welcome to the show.

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last year i got a lot of nasty letters from people from all over the globe asking me why i didnt cover the 2001 Miss Universe pageant.

it was a valid complaint.

here in the Information Age nobody was writing about the annual contest to see who was the most beautiful and talented young woman in the entire universe.

people link to drudge all the time, did he cover the miss universe pageant last year?

nope.

ashley asks me all the time, who is this drudge? who is this drudge?

i tell her

nobody.

Miss Thailand 2002, Janjira Janchome hasnt heard of drudge and look how better off she seems.

This year's pageant is being held in beautiful San Juan, Puerto and will take place May 29th for your ass.

Janjira is showing off her new mesh Spider-Man belly shirt and skirt made from three dozen afros.

the red fishnets hint whore, but her stylin mullet specifies trailer park whore.

still janjira retains an essence of purity and youthful wanderlust and her wicked witch heels complete the look wonderfully.

good luck janjira, we'll keep our eye out for you.

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anna said, why are you trying to make troubles

i said, aaaah. i aint trying to make no troubles.

she said, all this bs about women writers being crazy.

i said, take it easy. first nothing in here is true.

she said, thats the biggest lie around.

i said, second i didnt even say it, whalen said it. and i dont even know if he believed it when he said it.

she said, well you should stop saying it.

i said, i didnt even say it!

she said, cuz then people will think that you think it's true.

i said, i do think its true, but i never said it.

she said, i dont need you anyway, the lady that they said was me just got several million dollars from penthouse and i'll get mine soon and i didnt even have to pose, and i would appreciate it if you took down that weirdo photo essay that you have of me.

i said, i'd appreciate it if you won a tournament.

she said, id appreciate it if you just shut your big fat mouth.

i said, i know.

she said, what are you doing tonight?

i said, anna, my life is so bizarre, i could be doing a bunch, i could be doing nothing, i really dont have the foggiest. i could walk down the street and meet christina aguelera or i could--

she said, thats not how you spell her name.

i said, i know.

she said, i thought she was on your list.

i said, what list?

she said, everyone has a list of people who they'd do.

i said, do?

she said, yeah, my list is harrison ford, adam sandler, mel gibson, brad pitt, and john cusack.

i said, john cusak?

she said, yeah. now who's on yours?

i said, i dont even

she said, come on its just fun.

i said, ok, you, mariah, madonna, christina aguelera, drew barrymore, and this chick who lives down the street.

she said, thats six you can only have five.

i said, ok, cross your name off the list.

she said, you prick.

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i dont know who the young man was but he was fearless. he greeted me with a smile, nodded at my bus pass, hit the gas and tore down wilshire like he had been there before.

"i love bukowski," the young woman with the tounge piercing revealed to me. i was sitting in the very back row of seats in the middle. she was sitting on the drivers side next to the window. she was spying on me.

i smiled back.

"do you like any female authors?" she asked.

i continued smiling and shook my head no thinking that shed leave me alone.

i thought about how my friend had said that all the great female authors were either crazy or crazy, and it's not amazing when crazy people write great books

and i was going to present this thesis to my fellow commuter when i saw that the bus driver had slid his way through the wilshire corridor so quickly and assuredly that we had reached my destination in record time and i had only read one poem from "what matters most is how well you walk through the fire," and i had written only a few lines in my diary.

i got off the bus and began walking and the sun was nice and the air was clean and a homeless man dug through a public wastecan, picked up a styrofoam to-go box, inspected its contents and rejected it completely.

and at the half hour the watch left behind last night from clipper girl's college roommate chimed on my wrist.

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beat this caption

sharon stone is told that Los Angeles is fine with just one daily paper.

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crazy weekend, crazy week and to be honest even though the good parts were super good, the bad parts were super bad and if i had to take away the good parts so that i wouldnt have to deal with the bad parts, i would. how fucked up is that?

went to a hollywood hills party the other night and an after party a few houses away from the original.

the first house had all the things you'd want plus a house full of dogs: from little ones to a great dane. but the best part of the house was the secret unfinished unused rooms on the lower floors that would be fun to explore late at night in the dark because they seemed haunted. this man's house was so big that he hardly ever went in there and it showed and that made it very cool.

second best part of the house was the garage that not only had a full line of tools and a complete workshop, but a Bentley convertible and a Corvette.

the neighbor's house was even bigger. i cant even begin to describe this place other than to say it was perfectly decorated and had a view of los angeles that i have never seen even a celebrity have. but the point of all of this isnt to look back at wonder or awe or even jealousy but to say that many people who live in big places like this have a slanted outlook at the world. they're messed up in one way or another. but im glad to report that neither is the case in these examples.

both gentlemen who hosted the parties were happy and healthy and generous with their homes to their guests. the booze flowed, the music played, the ladies danced.

even the helicopter ride was fun.

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she said lets take lots of drugs and make out.

i said but im already on lots of drugs. and she leaned over my shoulder and looked at my email.

i said excuse me.

she said, fine, mr honesty what do you have to hide in your email box?

i said, first of all, its not mr honesty, its mr nothing in here is true.

and she said all you men are alike. i said i know very few men, and i would certainly hesitate before i called myself one.

she said, what on earth are you saying?

i said i nearly started crying the other day, thats not very manly. she said what on earth?

i said, if i had a car i would have.

she said, so what did you do?

i said, i rented a car.

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