Friday, March 04, 2005
What you don't know can't hurt you
Sometimes (a lot of times) I mean to write about things that I never end up writing about. It could be because I'm lazy, or because things just aren't as compelling as they seemed at first, or because my goldfish-like attention span has flitted off to some other bit of flotsam. (Shiny! Shiny!) I compose posts in my head almost every day on the way home from work, can you believe it? What half-formed thoughts would I end up shoving, drooling and shy, before the invisible Intarweb audience if I wasn't distracted by other things, like lint and comic books? Anyway here is a list of some junk that I never got around to talking about. Use your brain to stuff it in the cracks between my legitimate brain dumps, and you can fill my long blog silences, eh?
Sometimes (a lot of times) I mean to write about things that I never end up writing about. It could be because I'm lazy, or because things just aren't as compelling as they seemed at first, or because my goldfish-like attention span has flitted off to some other bit of flotsam. (Shiny! Shiny!) I compose posts in my head almost every day on the way home from work, can you believe it? What half-formed thoughts would I end up shoving, drooling and shy, before the invisible Intarweb audience if I wasn't distracted by other things, like lint and comic books? Anyway here is a list of some junk that I never got around to talking about. Use your brain to stuff it in the cracks between my legitimate brain dumps, and you can fill my long blog silences, eh?
- I tailed the same blue car down Beach Blvd. two afternoons in a row, trying to catch a glimpse of the driver, who had stared at me with beautiful mellow eyes in the rearview mirror at a stoplight once. It turned out to be a middle-aged lady.
- The DJ on KLOS rambled for about fifteen minutes one afternoon about a long-awaited Led Zeppelin concert he'd gone to in the summer of 1978. He was thrilled because someone had just given him a bootleg recording he hadn't known existed of that very concert. "Like a window to the past," he called it. His description of being there as a teenager was so palpable that when the crowd started to cheer, and Robert Plant shouted "Hello!" I was practically there myself. Time travel.
- One day at lunchtime I saw a girl done up in full goth regalia, with a pirate hat, riding down the sunny street on a black bicycle with a tattered pirate flag flying behind.
- Speaking of pirates, there was a wild-west dinner theater thing (one of those cheesy theme restaurants you find in touristy areas like Anaheim) that closed near work recently. It reopened as a pirate dinner theater. The giant cowboy still adorns the front of the building, but now he holds a pirate flag. He could use an eyepatch.
- Here is a secret: If you want to avoid getting a parking ticket on street-cleaning day, park in front of the garages by my building. I stuck my car there last night after driving hopelessly around the block three times, figuring I might as well have a good spot if I was going to be ticketed anyway. This morning? No ticket! Rock on.
