Theresa and I joined the regulars who hung out at night in the Sunset Strip parking lot between the Rainbow and the Roxy. That spot was the late-night nerve center of L.A.’s rock scene. Between eleven P.M. and two A.M., rock stars and wannabes, groupies and insiders gathered there and waited for something to happen, though looking back I realize the party itself was in the parking lot and that just by being there we were where it was happening.
If only we’d known. But everybody who was anybody in music hit the Rainbow. It was the place for exchanging news and information, seeing stars, finding drugs, and finding out where the best party was that night.
If you were a poseur, this was where you posed. If you wanted to pass around a joint or score quaaludes, you showed up there. The lot was always filled with shiny Rolls-Royces and Excaliburs, clues that a VIP was having a good time inside. It was also the best pickup spot in the entire city. Everyone was on, as if playing a part in their own movie.
Carlisle, Belinda. Lips Unsealed
I used to be in the beer industry (selling to supermarkets) and I’d get
“you can just load that pallet into my truck” every day.
Now I’m in the elevator industry and about once a week I get
“I bet that has its ups and downs.”
When I worked at a ski shop setting up snowboard rentals I’d ask how they wanted their stance, regular or goofy, so I could set the bindings up. At least 3 times a week, for the 6 months a year we did rentals, for the 4 years I worked there, I heard from dads “well he rides regular, but he’s pretty goofy hahaha.” By the end of my time there I never even bothered with a fake chuckle anymore, I just didn’t have it in me.
Selling lottery tickets.
I’m like what numbers would you like?
Everyone be like “the winning ones”.
Mail carrier here.
“You can keep the bills !” hur hur hur
I’m obligated to ask those visiting my work place if they have any weapons to declare.
“These guns!” flex
As a church musician, I’ve heard things like:
“How does it feel to have the largest organ in town?”
from September 21’s selection:
Tolstoy, Leo. A Calendar of Wisdom: Daily Thoughts to Nourish the Soul
From Los Feliz to Long Beach, the 1997 classic exposes rot beneath the glamour of Los Angeles
“I remember the first time I got off the plane in LA. I came up to Hollywood, on La Brea or La Cienega, I can’t remember, through the oil fields,” says L.A. Confidential production designer Jeannine Oppewall. “And I thought to myself: ‘What the hell kind of city is this, with oil fields in the middle of it?’”
For Oppewall, who spoke to Curbed LA on the eve of the 1997 neo-noir’s 20th anniversary, the illusory romance of the City of Angels was stripped away in an instant. That’s what the movie does too, puncturing our inflated ideas of Old Hollywood glamour by plumbing the psychological depths of its key characters and (sometimes literally) exposing the rot underneath.
By Chris Eggertsen, la.curbed.com
What Worked –
Uninstalling and Re-installing Kindle App
What Did Not Work –
Closing app and re-opening app
Turning tablet off and then back on again
Settings –> Applications –> Kindle App –> Force Stop
from the footnotes:
8) Somebody has only to spend one term trying to teach literature in school to realize that the quickest way to kill a writer’s vitality for potential readers is to present that writer ahead of time as “great” or “classic.” Because then the author becomes for the students like medicine or vegetable, something that the authorities have declared “good for them” that they “ought to like,” and then the students’ nictitating membranes come down, and everybody’s dead. Should this surprise anybody? We could learn a lot from bored students who hate to read, in my opinion.
Whole article here:
Every autobiography is concerned with two characters, a Don Quixote, the Ego, and a Sancho Panza, the Self.
“Hic et Ille”, p. 96
In societies with fewer opportunities for amusement, it was also easier to tell a mere wish from a real desire. If, in order to hear some music, a man has to wait for six months and then walk twenty miles, it is easy to tell whether the words, “I should like to hear some music,” mean what they appear to mean, or merely, “At this moment I should like to forget myself.” When all he has to do is press a switch, it is more difficult. He may easily come to believe that wishes can come true.
Interlude: West’s Disease”, p. 245
The surest sign that a man has a genuine taste of his own is that he is uncertain of it.
“Reading”, p. 6
The poet who writes “free” verse is like Robinson Crusoe on his desert island: he must do all his cooking, laundry and darning for himself. In a few exceptional cases, this manly independence produces something original and impressive, but more often the result is squalor — dirty sheets on the unmade bed and empty bottles on the unswept floor.
“Writing”, p. 22
A vice in common can be the ground of a friendship but not a virtue in common. X and Y may be friends because they are both drunkards or womanizers but, if they are both sober and chaste, they are friends for some other reason.
“Don Juan”, p. 403
No opera plot can be sensible, for people do not sing when they are feeling sensible.
“Notes on Music and Opera”, p. 472
You remember all those gallows jokes about American cities-like: will the last person out of Cleveland please turn out the lights. And then things got worse-if you went by the numbers and the conversational pall around the basket case of urban America. The white folks left, and middle-class black folks, too; and jobs and business. One of the best of the big-city mayors Ed Rendell of Philadelphia said the cause was lost, because the doctor wasn’t treating a bullet wound; he was confronting rampant cancer, without resources.
So the cities were left for dead, and guess what happened? Paul Grogan says they got vastly better and will get better yet-on the strength of poor-people’s markets and politics, on the further fall of crime rates, and the bust-up of the top-down bureaucracies running public schools and public housing. The really promising secret is that, as the man in Chicago said: “people like it here.” Comeback Cities are this hour on the Connection.
(Hosted by Christopher Lydon)
Paul Grogan, author of “Comeback Cities”
The Levellers were a political movement during the English Civil War (1642–51) committed to popular sovereignty, extended suffrage, equality before the law and religious tolerance. The hallmark of Leveller thought was its populism, as shown by its emphasis on equal natural rights, and their practice of reaching the public through pamphlets, petitions and vocal appeals to the crowd.
The Levellers came to prominence at the end of the First English Civil War (1642–46) and were most influential before the start of the Second Civil War (1648–49). Leveller views and support were found in the populace of the City of London and in some regiments in the New Model Army. Their ideas were presented in their manifesto “Agreement of the People”. In contrast to the Diggers, the Levellers opposed common ownership, except in cases of mutual agreement of the property owners.
The Levellers were not a political party in the modern sense of the term. They were organised at the national level, with offices in a number of London inns and taverns such as The Rosemary Branch in Islington, which got its name from the sprigs of rosemary that Levellers wore in their hats as a sign of identification.
From July 1648 to September 1649, they published a newspaper, The Moderate, and were pioneers in the use of petitions and pamphleteering to political ends. They identified themselves by sea-green ribbons worn on their clothing.
The Diggers were a group of Protestant radicals in England, sometimes seen as forerunners of modern anarchism,and also associated with agrarian socialism and Georgism. Gerrard Winstanley’s followers were known as True Levellers in 1649 and later became known as Diggers, because of their attempts to farm on common land.
Their original name came from their belief in economic equality based upon a specific passage in the Acts of the Apostles. The Diggers tried (by “levelling” land) to reform the existing social order with an agrarian lifestyle based on their ideas for the creation of small, egalitarian rural communities. They were one of a number of nonconformist dissenting groups that emerged around this time.
THE NORTHWEST SOUND
From the sixth annual Northwest Music Directory,
a list of bands in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and British Columbia, in the December 1992 issue of The Rocket, a Seattle music magazine.
Big Daddy Meat Straw
Big White Pimp
Lick the Fat Elvis
Middle Finger of God
Not Your Mother’s Tampon
Running with Scissors
Harper’s magazine – March 1993 issue.
NOTE – The guy never actually pronounces the universally unused language sounds. Misleading title. Otherwise good video.
More on the IPA at Wikipedia
Electricity, it don’t play.
I used to work near a sub-station. People would occasionally try to steal cables… once all they found was a hand and a foot.
I’m a paramedic. We had a DOA once of a guy that got electrocuted trying to steal metals from an electrical panel. This wasnt a residential one either, but from an industrial building.
High voltage guy here, my answer is “steam.”
I’ve worked up to 345,000; you definitely need to be on the ball but it can be done safely.
I would never willingly work around steam systems.
We had one plant with 48″ steam pipes under god knows how many hundreds of pounds and the extent of the safety training was “Always know where your exits are and if you hear water hammer run for your life.”
Garage door springs
Garage door springs. Seriously. Unless you know what you’re doing, you’ll die.
However, if you DO have to fuck with them, there’s a few redneck methods of getting ’em gone that are REALLY effective.
My dad’s got a cabin way out in the woods, and one day we found a big Hornets’ nest just under a window, buzzing with sinister intent. Since the nest was about 15 feet in the air, the usual can of raid wasn’t going to cut it. My dad’s solution was to slam 3 beers before pulling out his wet/dry vac, and duct taping it to a spare piece of ~10ft metal piping (the cabin was in the middle of renovations to get running water, so construction material was all over the place). Then, he took the piece of pipe and positioned it using sawhorses so that the opening was just below the entrance of the hive. And then he turned on the vacuum.
The combined noise and vibration of the vacuum was enough to cause the entire hive to disgorge its angry occupants, who would buzz around around for about half a second before getting THWUPPED down the tube and battered around in the belly of the vacuum cleaner.
Now, unfortunately, this isn’t enough to kill them, which we learned after pulling the top of the vacuum cleaner and seeing a heaving, surging mass of chitin and malice attempting a mad dash for the sunlight. So, what do you do with a plastic barrel full of Hornets? Well, if you’re a 50 year old redneck with a thirst for vengeance, you pull out your trusty duct tape and Macgyver your F-150’s exhaust port to the end of the vacuum cleaner, and then roll enough coal to smoke every last sonuvabitch into a stupor. Then, you take the entire wet dry vac, and dump it into a nearby bonfire as a final “fuck you”.
So yeah, Hornets may be bad, but sometimes the absolute jankiest way to get rid of them ends up being exactly the one you needed.
There were a few different trails in the area. I ended up on Anemone Trail.