Verifying Site for Google Apps.
… This isn’t really a post. I’m just dealing with the fact that I’m such a shitty blogger.
I’m sitting at the table in my suite on the 59th floor of the Wynn, finishing off my room service latte and trying to decide exactly how to balance the demands of the hotel gym and pool deck this morning. With a commitment to convert the desert’s solar radiation to skin pigmentation, it’s a challenge to figure out how best to make the most of this three-day junket to America’s Gommorah.
For a guy who quit his job over 9 months ago, I’m making remarkably entertaining use of my limited financial resources (and virtually unlimited temporal ones). A week ago, I was wrapping up the ski season with a pair of days at Squaw and Alpine. Five days ago, I was sweltering in the heat of a Napa wine teasting bacchanal. Today, I’m midway through a 3-day trip to Vegas for the National Association of Broadcasters show. I don’t know if you’re wondering how I’m pulling off this string of holidays – just call me grasshopper – but I can’t deny the fact that I’m sweating bullets wondering from where the next paycheck will originate. Still, I am enjoying the hell out of the fact that I’m here, that I’ve been winning at blackjack, and that I don’t deserve one miserable awesome second of this vacation.
I think I envisioned sharing more details of the past week, but then I realized just how obnoxious this post is in the first place:
I’m here; you’re not.
With that, I’ll leave you to do your hating on me, and head to the gym for some cardio, abs and deltoids/biceps/triceps work. …that or the tanning.
The Russian Hill Handyman had the chance to help install a pair of new, top-of-the-line LG washer/dryers last week. While it was nice of BEST BUY to deliver the new appliances and cart away the rusting relics whose place they took, I was stuck finding an approprate vent pipe and installing it in this mud room. Conforming to nearly nuclear-submarine-tolerances, it was no easy feat to get these things in place, after which I tricked out a nice pair of shelves for detergent and for drying – the latter of which also nearly ensures that the homeowner will not be dropping every other sock behind the units (which is important, because if she does, she’s never getting them back).
Anyway, these things are INSANE. They both operate with a steam feature, meaning that her ironing board and dry cleaner are pretty much out of business. The 1907 builder of these homes couldn’t have imagined how well these things fit in place, nor do I imagine that the engineers at LG were constructing their appliances with the needs of the century-old-home owner, so it seemed surreal that these things should fit in place as astronomically well as they did. Serioulsy, any question about whether or not I’ve turned 40 have been answered by just how jazzed I am about installing this washer and dryer. Even the homeowner – herself, a notorious procrastinator when it comes to any kind of housework, particularly laundry – reports that she’s evaluating her clothes as “dirty” more often than before, just so she can throw another load into the STEAM WASHER.
With the economy in the shitter, Best Buy was eager to play “Let’s Make a Deal” on the purchase price, so feel free to rock out with your best Persian Bazaar imitation when you head down there to make all of your laundry dreams come true.
I keep a key to my apartment in a hiding spot in my building, because – in 2005 – I lost them at Dana’s Silverado wedding and spent almost half the next day sleeping in my own hallway until my landlord got back from the beach to open my place for me. It’s a spot that appears on each of the 7 floors of my building, and I finally got the bright idea to move the key to another floor, so as to limit the liability that someone would know that it was mine if they stumbled upon it. Moving it from the 2nd floor to another, I found THESE in the hiding place, too.
First, please pardon the low resolution of this photo; the iPhone just wasn’t made to enhance close-up detail. Now, I don’t know which is more remarkable: the fact that someone felt the need to hide a trio of condoms in the general-access area of my apartment building, or that someone did it back in 1995 and I’m the first person to find them. (The expiration date on these prophylactics is November, 1996 – which, as luck would have it, is the exact same month that I moved to San Francisco! You bet I’m playing the fucking lottery tonight!)
This must be how Howard Carter felt when he first unearthed Tut’s remains – or when Dr. Jones put the bag of sand where the idol used to sit.
Can you believe it? Condoms that were purchased during the first season of Friends! From before the proliferation of e-mail and cell phones! Condoms from Clinton’s first term! So many memories…
Continuing a nearly unbroken streak of former employers going tits-up, Los Angeles CityBeat – a newspaper I helped to found and ran as its publisher for most of 2003 – has finally met its death watch in the ongoing decline of printing ink on dead trees. Announcing its closure with a press-release last week, I found out about the shuttering from a fellow alt.pressman and read about it a blog post from LA Weekly. CityBeat now joins Leap Wireless, I/PRO Corp., Technorati, and SF Weekly as former employers in the last decade who either declared bankruptcy, shut down, performed layoffs and paycuts or got the ever-loving shit sued out of them by their primary competitor and lost.
L.A. was fun – a lousy place to live, but a place I’m glad I can navigate with a local’s insight. Too vast a place ever to call home, there’s plenty of fun shit to do and no shortage of vapid, flighty, insipid women to do it with. In the space of 10 months, I met a trio of truly fabulous women, all of whom I remember fondly; the other 4 million are trainwrecks.
And Megan Fox is one of them.