From the Roof of Alcohol School
Tues. Sept. 17
The Dodgers and Padres have been tied in the standings for weeks now. They have been within half a game of each other for 11 games with eleven games to go. It's raining in Denver as I chomp down the last crust of a honey peanut butter and boysenberry jelly sandwich. I wonder if it's not the remnants of hurricane Fausto. I belched cilantro.
It's a commercial now. The Adventures of Jim Crack is written for channel changers.
Streamlined head.
Wed. Sep. 18
From the roof of the building where I do alcohol school at Franklin and Highland. A hazy view across Hollywood to Los Angeles' pathetic skyline. I'm sure Camus would be unimpressed. Even though I couldn't afford it, I had a beer and the hot turkey sandwich over at Musso and Frank's on Hollywood while I read the paper.
Hideo Nomo threw a no-hitter in Denver last night. It was a great game. I taped the third installment of the latest Ken Burns documentary, "The West". It was about the 49ers and the rush to gold in California.
I wish I had a joint up here, but what would that change? Would I be any more imaginative? Would it give me any ideas? I'll walk to the ledge of the building and look down.
There's a Mexican kid in a wife beater tank top at an unused lot by himself practicing his wind-up, throwing a ball around.
-Sometimes you think if you lived in New York, life would be more compelling, easier to write about.
-
There's something old-world about the way the houses are set into the hillside, rubbing shoulders with their Spanish tiles and porticos, Greek and Italian balconies.
I say we take those donut-eating CHPs into an army of drivers to drive us drunks home. The elimination of those accidents will lower the body count and save the tax payers money.
The Dodgers and Padres have been tied in the standings for weeks now. They have been within half a game of each other for 11 games with eleven games to go. It's raining in Denver as I chomp down the last crust of a honey peanut butter and boysenberry jelly sandwich. I wonder if it's not the remnants of hurricane Fausto. I belched cilantro.
It's a commercial now. The Adventures of Jim Crack is written for channel changers.
Streamlined head.
Wed. Sep. 18
From the roof of the building where I do alcohol school at Franklin and Highland. A hazy view across Hollywood to Los Angeles' pathetic skyline. I'm sure Camus would be unimpressed. Even though I couldn't afford it, I had a beer and the hot turkey sandwich over at Musso and Frank's on Hollywood while I read the paper.
Hideo Nomo threw a no-hitter in Denver last night. It was a great game. I taped the third installment of the latest Ken Burns documentary, "The West". It was about the 49ers and the rush to gold in California.
I wish I had a joint up here, but what would that change? Would I be any more imaginative? Would it give me any ideas? I'll walk to the ledge of the building and look down.
There's a Mexican kid in a wife beater tank top at an unused lot by himself practicing his wind-up, throwing a ball around.
-Sometimes you think if you lived in New York, life would be more compelling, easier to write about.
-
There's something old-world about the way the houses are set into the hillside, rubbing shoulders with their Spanish tiles and porticos, Greek and Italian balconies.
I say we take those donut-eating CHPs into an army of drivers to drive us drunks home. The elimination of those accidents will lower the body count and save the tax payers money.
posted by johnz at 8:18 AM
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