Crusin' For A Bruisin'!

Occasionally I am forced to make a retraction in this space. This is one of those instances. While I was initially skeptical about the pointless, goofy PT Cruiser my local rental car joint put me in, after two days of driving (or should I say Cruising?) I have to say... I'm hooked.

I don't know what it is, I just feel so... retro in that thing. It makes me feel like I'm Eddie Vedder singing about fatal car crashes and soda shops and fingering 18 year old virgins up on Blueberry Hill, staining their heaving blouses with grease from working all day on the Cruiser in my Levi blue jeans and a tight white t-shirt, smokes rolled in the sleeve. Back before cancer. I swear, Cruising around L.A. in that thing -- you should see the looks I get from the ladies at stop lights. It's a look of... well, I'm not sure it's pity, exactly. Because they're having a little too much fun at my expense for it to be just that. But they're looking! Man oh man, are they looking.

Anyway, some people have asked me for photos of me rockin' the Cruiser. I can do you one better. In the short time of my Cruisership, I've already joined the PT Cruiser Society of Eagle Rock -- "The Wingnuts". Here are some photos from our various PT-themed excursions. Enjoy!



That's T-Bone. He's buffin' the grill. T-Bone sure does like America. And accounting. And "ATM" porno, but that's for a different photo gallery.




This is Connie and Burl. They always bring their own chairs wherever they go. (They love sitting down.) Oh, I see Connie took the one with the footrest again without asking Burl. Not a good move, Connie. Don't you remember what happened last time you did that?




That's The Mayor. He's not a real mayor. Actually, he's not really part of The Wingnuts. He just walked up while I was trying to get a shot of Karl's new undercarriage lighting work and started talking about the Korean War. Poor Mayor.




Ah, Francesca. Me and Frannie had a thing a while back. Well, yesterday. I bought her those jeans as a thank you gift. She deserves a lot more for what she taught me.




Ugh. These guys. They're fucking dicks. Especially Eleanor.




Oh no, Skip is going over the falls. Watch out, Skip! (Don't worry. It's just a photo illusion.)




Fucking Derrick won the Best Rims trophy. Total. Bullshit.




Wait. I don't know how this photo ended up in my camera. It clearly from the past. But PT Cruisers weren't around in the past... *shiver*




Okay, well, that's just gay. A car is not a pumpkin. C'mon now.




And lastly, that's me! I had the flames painted by this great air-brushing artist who used to do a lot of clothing work for me. (He did this demin jacket with a big picture of Tupac on the back and then Biggie and Left Eye on the front pockets. It just fucking rocks.) My friend wondered if the rental car place would be angry that I did this to their car. Please, that's a four hundred dollar air-brush job. They should pay me. (Oh, the costume? Don't ask. It was for Francesca. She has this weird Santa thing.)

Never Not Playing Everywhere I Am For The Last 16 Months Including Yesterday (No Shit) The Shower

Ohmygod you guys! Have you heard this new album by Green Day? The punks from the 90's who talked about how the masturbation isn't very much fun sometimes (so true, btw).

It might be hard to find, but if you can track a copy down, it's TOTALLY worth it.

You and Me and Leslie

What kind of tool drives a PT Cruiser?

This kind.

It's what my local Rent-4-LE$$ offered me, and 4 le$$ than renting a crap Geo or Focus at a real, legit rental place. So for the next month or so I'll be the guy driving around the 'hood in a cigarette-stanked (not from me) PT Cruiser looking for my abandoned Civic.

Oh, and the best: a few hours after I picked up the car, I was heading to a poker game... and I got rear-ended on Santa Monica and Heliotrope. There didn't seem to be any damage so I just told the guys to be more careful. My car karma is just kickin' lately. Today? I plan to have a block of concrete dropped onto the car from an overpass. Or a tire will blow. I'll let you know which one happens.

Chapter Nine

Jason has deep thoughts while sitting in a car with a fan.

And then there is this fact: the good feeling, the sudden possibilities of the world, of your normal life to randomly—just from something small like meeting a girl you don’t have to have sex with—to randomly and unexpectedly seem better or more magical than it really is, that good feeling is just as easy to erase as a chalkboard full of the most profound things. They can be gone. Bam! Like that. Like a lightning strike, or a plane flying into a tower, or a glass fish tank shattering on dirty linoleum. And when happiness is that easy to destroy. Why fucking bother?

Final Real World Recap

What a shitty season this was. I stopped watching the show a handful of seasons ago, but was pressed back into action for the second half of this Austin season. Every second of every episode, I was reminded why I don't watch anymore, and nay, why I hate reality television with a blinding, bleeding passion.

Anyway, last recap is up. Now with extra vicious.

#051129254

That's my LAPD stolen vehicle report number.

My family had the car for 17 years; I had it for the last nine. I learned to drive in that car. I did my first job -- delivering videos for a rental store (mostly pornos) -- in it. I drove to Canada with a girlfriend in that car. I discovered music on that crappy factory stereo. I got into my only accident to date when I was 17; in passenger seat: Rebecca Romijn (pre-Stamos). And yes, I lost my virginity in that car (not with Rebecca Romijn, however).

I'm not a car person. Cars don't really turn me on. I realize I live in a town and work in an industry where one is judged by the symbol on one's key ring, and I have been embarrassed in certain occasions to pull up in front of a fancy restaurant for a meeting where the person I'm meeting is waiting out front and my brakes squeal as I stop and my door crunches as I emerge. And sure, I've often thought it would be nice to have air conditioning or power windows or a stereo that had more than one functioning speaker, but the car worked, and there was no reason for me not to drive it. I always assumed one day it would simply stop working and it would cost too much to fix and then I'd have to put her down, after a tearful ceremony. But if I've learned one thing it's that you never get the endings you envision. And indeed I was robbed of that ending this morning, sometime between 2am and 10:30am.

I keep trying to be funny about it. Joking that the thief is going to be very nervous that the check engine light is always on (there's a short) and that he'll be quite confused by the Tori Amos tape in the glove box (old; very old). It's also due for a smog check and an oil change and is out of gas, so, you know, he'll immediately have to put a few bucks into the thing, so already it's a financial hardship, this car. A real ray of hope is that the tags just expired, so the thief could be pulled over for no reason. And there isn't much in the car, other than some roller blades size 14, an umbrella, a faded 49ers hat, a Kangol, a red Ben Davis shirt, a skateboard, a Frisbee, a bike rack, a 1995 Thomas Guide, and an old tennis racket. I never even put the earthquake kit in the trunk that I'd been meaning to buy, so joke's on him.

I drove around a bit today looking. I knew I wasn't going to find it, but it felt good just to be able to pretend to be doing something.

I enjoy things, but I'm not a possession freak. But there's no way to spin it other than: the car was mine. I loved it and took care of it. And some evil fucking asshole took it from me and that fucking sucks and I hate him forever. And that's kinda all the lesson that I can extract from it right now. Some People Are Dicks.

So hey, if you live in the East part of Los Angeles, here's what it looks like:



If you happen to be driving and you see a faded 1988 Burgundy Honda Civic with no front emblem and Rilo Kiley and "Save Buttleman" bumper stickers on the back, say hi.

And then call the police.

You know, at the end of the day, I'm tempted to wonder why on a street filled with newer, shinier, more expensive cars, they took mine. But I know the answer. It is a very, very good car. And I'll miss it a whole bunch.

Chapter Eight!

Jason and his band Balls play a gig at the Knitting Factory:

"We start with “Mo’ Money, Less Problems” and segue straight into “Cork,” which is about this retarded friend I used to have when I was a kid. It’s about the lost innocence of childhood, which is what a lot of my songs tend to be about. Lost childhood and pussy. Next we do a cover of “Hard Habit to Break” by Chicago. I sing it with this ironic glint in my eye that everyone loves. The good thing about me is that I can make my enjoyment of something seem derisively ironic, even when I either actually really like the thing, or I’m just not sure exactly why something is funny. It’s what I’m paid assloads of money for. (While teachers are paid nothing. Where’s the justice in that, my friends?)"

Chapter Seven

Jason goes to visit his manager.

"He leans back in his chair and puts his feet on the desk. I stare at his shoes, willing them to burst into flames. I’ve done this ever since I was fourteen and saw Firestarter where baby Drew Barrymore could light shit on fire with her mind. It’s never worked, though I did make this Audi’s engine overheat once when I was waiting for the bus one day on my way to a temp job."

Rearviewmirror

Somewhere right now Eddie Vedder is penning a scathing song about targeted ad servers.

Mondo Extras - Profit

I did a recap for charity of the pilot for the crazy 1996 Fox show Profit. All the naked guy in a box you were craving, but now with extra mom-humping!

Buffalo Bill

He has an important message today.

Chapter Six!

The reviews are in. Everyone loves IN LIGHT OF RECENT EVENTS!:

"Your 'novel' sucks. It's boring, contrite, and 9/11? It was four years ago. And I am sooo O-V-E-R I-T."


Go read Chapter Six. Even contriter than the previous chapters!

Shiny

I would like the goofy "Bodhisattva" by the goofy Steely Dan a lot more if one of the lyrics was actually the way I just misheard it:

"Bodhisattva
Would you take me by the hand
Can you show me
The shine of your japan
The sparkle of your 'gina
Can you show me
Bodhisattva"

The Song I Would Have Eventually Written

Have you ever heard a song that didn't take a second listen, or even one complete one, for you to know it already? Songs you connect to instantly like this usually aren't then very good, once you take them apart -- when you look at the lyrics or consider the instrumentation or find out who they're actually by. But I heard a song the other day that is. But more than that, it is a song that encapsulates exactly what I like about words. It is a song that manages to do everything I strive for in my writing but rarely achive. It is the song that I should have, could have, and would have eventually written. Except I don't write songs. And I can't sing. Or play the guitar. But I do play the piano a little, so that's something.

The song is "Cotton" by The Mountain Goats. (I heard it first on an episode of the fantastic give-it-time, let-it-grow-on-you Showtime half-hour "Weeds".)

I have no idea what it's trying to say, but I know exactly what it means.

This song is for the rats
Who hurled themselves into the ocean
When they saw that the explosives in the cargo hold
Were just about to blow

This song is for the soil
That's toxic clear down to the bedrock
Where no thing of consequence can grow
Drop your seeds there
Let them go

Let them all go
Let 'em all go

This song is for the people
Who tell their families that they're sorry
For things they can't and won't feel sorry for

And once there was a desk
And now it's in a storage locker somewhere
And this song is for the stick pins and the cottons
I left in the top drawer

Let 'em all go
Let 'em all go

I wanna sing one for the cars
That are right now headed silent down the highway
And it's dark and there is nobody driving
And something has got to give

I saw you waiting by the roadside
You didn't know that I was watching
Now you know
Let it all go

Let 'em all go
Let it all go

I Want This Shirt

Really bad.

Important Update!

I just turned on a TiVo'd CRIBS and almost "boo-booped" through a commercial for Coinstar. You can now forgo the 9% fee and get a gift certificate at Amazon.com.

Take that CoinMaster!