I officially {heart} biking in LA.

I was slightly afraid I might hate it -- dodging cars, running out of bike lane, never escaping Doomed Bike Syndrome, etcetera -- but I don't. I love it.

( Yes I do. )

Tonight at work, there was a cockroach that was two inches long.

On my walk home, there were two cars labeled CORONER, a guy with a camera, and a reporter.

At home, there was my kitten shut in the linen closet.




Oops. :/

ETA: http://www.knbc.com/news/13478833/detail.html

Memorial Day, and I've been shooting a film for three of the past four days. Here it is the night of the holiday, finally, and all of my friends are done partying or barbecuing or don't live in this damn city. I feel alone even though I guess I'm working and that's good but fuck if it isn't hard sometimes. Finals are here for the school kids, so I'm juggling substituting -- provided there are jobs as the year wraps up -- with assloads of finals-panicked tutoring and starting this new job at Whole Foods which, again, is good, but worries me because I need to be doing these other things and I don't want to seem like a schedule-fucker-upper right off the bat. And tonight I finally found where the kitten has been shitting and peeing, which is not in the litter box yet, and that didn't make me happy and then I knocked over my bamboo which means a lot of water all over the place. I just want to go to happy hour with my girlfriend and have a beer and say 'War sucks but here's to the soldiers anyway' and finish it too fast and order another one too soon and go home early and fall asleep trying to make efficient use of the evening by watching a movie while cuddling on the sofa. Instead I'll just clean up poop and pee and hair and let my holiday fizzle out.

Here are some kitten pictures.

I went home last weekend and watched my sister open a lot of presents.

Oh, and I went to Joshua Tree with Tea Boy the other weekend. He is now gone to New York.

I think about eljaying everyday and everyday it seems a daunting task and I make myself feel unworthy and I don't know why because it's my own fucking journal.

I'm doing a lot. Life is good, I know. Some days I still...

*wallow*.

I'm having a little epiphanous (which is probably not a word) weekend.

I am tired of not writing in my ElJay, first off. Too much life has happened without my having clickety-clacked it into memory.

(I say "memory" because mine is shittier than a pile of actual shit and is getting shittier by the day. At best, I feel like a bad listener and friend when I can't remember a story someone has told me; at worst, I feel like a good candidate for Alzheimer's research -- as in, "Start watching me now, because I'm a sure-fire bet for Reagan-babble sooner or later.")

I should be typing. Telling my stories. Writing my brain down. Etcetera. So when I'm seventy I can tell my grandkids, "Hang on, let me just Manage My Tags real quick-like, and then I'll tell you all about that crazy-ass time I shat in the streets of Los Angeles. I know it's here somewhere. You're right, I shouldn't say the word 'ass.'"

What else. A hell of a lot.


( Chick'n Nugget is born. )

( Pictures! )

( I call a mulligan. )

( What I meant to say is... )


Of course there are stories. Stories I should tell, and will, upon the morrow. Right now I am 'leepy.

Ode To My Neighbor

No, not that neighbor.
The other one.
No, not that one, either.
Another one.


Ode to My Neighbor #2

My little neighbor got arrested, sent to
a psych evaluation on Monday.
He'd been moving planters like a fiend and
breaking shit and yelling things like
I'll fuck you up! to the world in general
and to his fat neighbor in specific.
Grinning all fay-boy at the policeman,
No, I don't have HIV, I don't have sex!
Shifting his weight and
Do you have sex?
Making woo! WOO! siren noises
in handcuffs, down the stairs -- the copper behind him
was laughing.

Then he got evicted, but I don't know
how long he has.
I came home today and he was talking at windows and railings and
playing robots.
I got that shit on tape.


( Who needs cable? )