During lunch, on my way home from work, I found three interesting things: a practice drum pad (with metal tripod stand), an official Dr. Seuss Grinch watch (accidentally tossed by someone moving out in a hurry - this was one of the few times I've actually looked for stuff in a trashcan) and one of those combination television/VCR boxes, which had deep scratches on its monitor face and looked like it had been dropped. It was a bitch to carry home, and I made a spectacle of myself as I tramped by the curious alterna-chicks who hang out at the funky coffee shop on the corner of Rochester and Centinela. The picture on the television was all kinds of messed up, but it might still be fixable (and the VCR might work also).
I was just thinking about how amazingly featureless the past six months of my life in Los Angeles has been. Sure, there was the period when Kim and I were sleeping on a futon at Goddess Corynna's place, then there were the waning months of the Kim phase and now there's this bachelor phase. But throughout, it seems I've been doing exactly the same sort of work, the weather has been utterly unchanging, and my social life has been a complete non-entity.
I'm sort of wondering what I'm going to do with myself once the lame television show Big Brother runs its final show on Friday. I agree with everyone who says the show is as boring as watching paint dry, but still, there are rewards in developing a relationship with anyone, even if it's only a television character, even if it's entirely unrequited and devoid of edifying qualities. For me it's been a particularly delicious experience watching Jamie the beauty queen from Seattle gradually reveal herself to be exactly what we expected her to be all along. Beneath onion-skin-layers of makeup and lipgloss lies a shallow, selfish, conceited bitch who expects the world to regard her as a goddess in payment for empty pageant platitudes. All of us knew girls like this in high school or college, and though we hated them, we never really got the satisfaction of seeing their bubble burst. That marvelous event always happens in the unseen years between graduation and the ten year reunion, when Miss Prissy Cheerleader marries the professional gas station attendant quarterback, pumps out a gaggle of ritalin-ready rug rats, gets fat and blows all her discretionary income on lottery tickets. With Big Brother's Jamie, though, we got to see her cascading humiliation on national teevee. Unfortunately, CBS really bungled things during Jamie's eviction tonight when they failed to show her reaction to the fact that she'd received 75% of the public's negative votes. Then, in the departure interview with the wooden hostess Julie Chen, I was deeply disappointed by the fact that Jamie's nose was insufficiently rubbed in her fake pageantly dogooderisms. I love the way the term "dogooderisms" looks sort of like "dog odor" on first glance.
