Everyting is horrible

No, I ain't stuttering, but I have been awaiting the new internet hookup to happen for days on end now, having lost hours on the phone listening to Wes Montgomery or something very elevator-friendly similar to his guitar noodlings as I await support. I'd prefer a good training bra. But still, even with arrival of the ether net modem on Tuesday, we have been promised the hookup every day since. It is Friday, and only with today's phone chat with THEM is it told that maybe it's the oer-6 foot phone cord that is the devil at play here. Could this have been deduced earlier, and if this is a known interference, why wasn't this dynamic told earlier on to avoid such as what ain't happening here?
What's really awful is that I cannot verbalize much in this whole dilemma due to the source of my new computer guts and whatnot, courtesy of Frank Martin. Lookign this particular gift horse in the mouth entails a lot of stuff I am not eager to get into, even to go so far as to try elucidate on the prevailing conditions at play. Play? Yes, the play's the thing.
So yet another promised day goes undone in the highspeed new world disorder. I am so hungry for it - NOT. This was all accidental by having agreed to assist with the rooftop installation of an antennae for J Mathis' house so as to get him a PBS station that he receives by broadcast. That never came to be as I slowly watched Sunday dissolve into nothing but nothing happening with Frank here - but he did witness the uselessness of my computer - Dude, it's a Dell!
Everything is horrible. That was espied on the dented side of a car just on the corner of Sunset not far from here, as we returned from a haj to return a rental car to LAX that managed to usupr the better part of the day Sunday. Do I seem cranky? Hell, that was Sunday - today is Friday - get thee a grip. I certainly would, Ollie, but this whole internet thing has me by the short hairs.
Tonight I get to go on a "date" with Branden Jay ( www.the88.net ) to see the Zappa kids do homage to Father Frank - a true rock god to me. This is a thrill in many ways for me - and I am really tickled that Brandon asked me to go with him. How sweet is that? Talk about good neighbors! I cannot say enough good as to he and Gwen, who get hitched in exactly three months today - 9/23 - a day easily remembered by me for a couple of reasons already imprinted: Virginia McDowall's birthday is one, and the other being the anniversary of my meeting death on Sunset Boulevard at Wilton on my motorcycle. Revive me and proceed.
Good things. It is summer now also.
Simmer, baby. And I get to take a major leave by train. Choo choo on that.

Chances Are

After seeing pictures and hearing of my friend and former chief engineer's (the lovely and talented Francis Logan Martin -- see him here saving bear cubs from a trashy death high in the hills above Los Angeles : http://ednixon.com/pix/2005/bears ) association with the famed J. Mathis, I get a phone call Thursday evening as I am watching nothing on TV, and I am asked if I can assist with the installation of John's new plasma screen. But of course.
They arrive here at Chez Moi and we shortly leave for the hills above Sunset Strip. As stated, I've seen pix of the place before; years ago. They did no justice - the pad is way more than was shown in these photos.
First, upon opening the front doors, there is the pool, dominating the entire area as you walk into the house. An arched atrium covers this area, with the remainder of the house being pretty much open and exposed, through rabbit warrens and doors. It is lovely.
I asked to hold a Grammy - faux pas, Chuck - he has none- even with a name on Hollywood Boulevard, numerous other plaques and awards, a Lifetime Achievement Award - you name it. He then says to me that he has something over here that he is really proud of -- his Hole-In-One commemoration. And he has a pretty good game, from what little I know.
With the introduction of yet another control wand to figure out, we sit and go through the dance of what does what to what, and there I am watching an old Twilight Zone which then becomes a DVD of some porn from another source. Twilight Zone, indeed.
And I got $50 for being there and assisting. And a burrito later on on the Strip, just across from my old haunt and employ, the Tiffany Theater.
77 Sunset Strip. Kookie, lend me your comb.
Ah, life is good, if not a tad surreal now and then. But that's a good thing.
http://ednixon.com/pix/2006/jmride/
Frank and John with J's new MB.
I so wanted to chime in with some of my James and Carly crap, but that is so last millennium - but a good tale, nonetheless. Shall I go on?
Later. Much later.

sixes and fixes

Cube that. Dice that. Baby needs new shoes... or gnu shoes, if that's the right thing to do. Horse shoes and handgranades - close! Yet so far away.
Ka-fuckin'-BLAM. Hobble to the cobbler. Tinker away, lad.
What's in a name? What's in a number? What in the name of....
Rapture and rupture - be ready to split, in either case. And like so many sausages that have come before, the casings are splitting. Turn the heat down a tad. Simmer down.
6/6/6 magick. Tonight there is a convergence of that bunch that would if they could with all this numerical hoo-hah brings to the table. Hollywood is the perfect place for such, and Hollywood it shall be, although ol' Anton LaVey made San Francisco his home base for so long. SO long, baby. Bye.
Would I attend such? What was that line Groucho Marx had as to belonging to any club that would actually have him? Exactly.
We spin to the past in a San Francisco moment - a Solstice Celebration held at Kirby Cove on the immediate Marin side of the Golden Gate - witches!
Bunkers from wars past made for the unfolding saga of Persephone and her days in Hades - naked, arising from the sea.
Dance, dance, dance - in concentric circles, kissing and weaving. Symbols and methodologies and then some. Let us name names: Rosie (of the River) Danielle and Pat Judge officiated the masses at this Mass of sorts.
And here it is so many years later. Magick and magic. Tricks not for kids.
Oh, to have great friends. There may be a trip by train (Whoo-Hoo!) up to visit Northern California soon - this was offered by Steven Carlton the other day. I guess it is cheaper to ship my bulk up there than to have to dish out the large cash to visit here. Makes sense, and I get to vacate the premises!
Let's see how this manifests in the next week or so as we finalize our Chapter whate'er it may be.
Lord, I want this over and done with, and done with care.
Here's to gettting yer ya yas out.
Paint it black - paint it black, you devil. Rock on!

Hot Hot Hot!

Way over 90 degrees here today. First thing this AM, I opened the front door to a wall of heat. "Do come in."
No - let's be cool now. Maintain, old dude.
Went with Branden to Robeks for a smothie (a preferred spelling in this 'hood) - perfect, even if it meant a drive through the smoldering asphalts of Los Angeles. Gawd, the streets are a mess with potholes, which nearly killed Branden last month while on his bicycle. Not fun.
Good gravy! Yes, I am making my own sauce as I sit here - but that exclamation is for the harp music I have playing - Oceania - almost too much, like as in new ageyness too much. Brainless ambience. Lovely, perfect as I stick to the surface of everything I come into contact with sweat upon. Is this a swoon?
That's all I can conjer up. Gonna go watch a DVD of WonderShozen.
I'm melting, but in a postive, growth-oriented kind of way.