Go ahead. make my bed...


The phone rang. I couldn't find it. Scrambled around the house, looking for the remote phone. By the time I got to it, they'd hung up. I star-sixty-nined them. And got a bank. A financial insitution in Pasadena offering me low rates on-- I may be lonely, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I wanted it to be someone else.

For the past several nights I haven't been sleeping alone.
I have ants in my bed. Ants. Those wondrous, strong, colonized, annoying little crawling bugs that I smash and flick and curse. And spray. And set up little booby-trapped homes for. But they like me, so they keep coming back. I have to burn incense at night to cover the smell of the Raid. (And I wonder where my headache comes from...?) They're all over the house. I sat down in the living room to watch a movie and eat a little dinner, and I was suddenly covered with ants trying to get to my Chinese food before me. Little shits. You can have the bathroom.
Once you have ants, all spots move.

Footprint of an american writer

Return of the bump this weekend. New people. Old people. It's going to be interesting. I keep using that word "interesting." Which is not interesting. I want to laugh. People writing under pressure, starting from an unexpected place write funny stuff. And sometimes great stuff. And then we'll do some sort of project.

Why doesn't "America's Sweethearts" work? John Cusak? Great actor. Katherina Zeta-Jones. Sex-zy. Julia Roberts, Billy Crystal. Even Christopher Walken is good. But they made the wrong movie. And they tell you they made the wrong movie by showing a piece of the right movie, the film within the film. Someone wanted a summer romance, and they decided not to make a work of genius. Or at least a movie with some balls. Someone, somewhere along the line must have said, why don't we make this movie? The romance, the break-ups, the relationships all could have played out better in the other movie. After the innovative "Being John Malkovich" and the fast, wild fun of "High Fidelity," how could someone make John Cusak do a pos like that?

I had to debong the offspring this morning. I thought we'd been through this. We had a lovely chat. I found myself having to explain the role of a parent. I thought I'd been through that, too. But, no, life goes on. Bra. La la, how the life goes on.

I STILL want more yard sales.

all material ©2001 iguanaking