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Somehow it was this incomplete response to an interview about Larry David that ingratiated myself as a cast member on his show and score a scene at the end of the episode where everyone looks to me for a line I can’t remember. Being part of the entourage meant hanging out in a mansion full of assistants and extras, and one of the Korean-speaking kids came to ask me if I knew Japanese and could translate for a new arrival, a colorfully-clad pretty young woman. Our awkward conversation went nowhere and next thing I knew I was escorting a Black guest celebrity back home; his flaky girlfriend was ahead on the street and expected us to wait on her, though I turned to him and said we didn’t even have a car to pick her up, what was she thinking, and he understood. When I did obtain one it was a fast and sporty but I took a turn onto long stretch of road without an off-ramp to come back for my passengers. They became a White couple upon reuniting with them and were interested in a thrill-ride where a giant tree trunk laid above a thousand-foot chasm and another was attached to it perpendicularly, released when a hammer struck the top like a nail and let swing in an 90° arc below.

This kid is going places his teacher did not.

Honestly superhero-saturation has gotten to me, too, but I’ll always appreciate any irreverence it explores, not unlike Lynchian disruption, which face it, has always come from the DC side, unconvincing pastiches aside. Why after all, wouldn’t gods be free to say “fuck” or vaunt their sexual prowess?

Speaking of DC characters with potty mouths (but at least don’t all sound the same as James Gunn), I had a dream I was seated next to Dianne Guerrero—I am unable to do more than that nowadays—whose hair was cut short, pixie-style. Our folding chairs were in a line and on my other side of me was a third wheel.

For an extra-Asian sugar high, Yi Fang didn’t have anything on Tea Station, but at least it was consistent between the two Bay Area locations. The camaraderie during a miserable project must’ve sweetened the memory, that’s my lesson from our 50-mile round-trip to Rowland Heights this past weekend. No stamp cards, discounts for buying a refill cup, loyalty programs—they’re just not worth it without them. And the eggs and corn from 辛巴樂 were packed in too much water. Remember how I used to stop by the one in Arcadia for sausages? Worst of all, some dbag Chinese (from the dashcam footage of him unloading his shaved kid and the “GZ FMLY” plate, what other language uses those awful j-sounding z’s in their names) parked their thrashed Model X obscenely close to our car with two empty spaces on the other side, asshole.

I was on a plane, though the velvet decor and roomy aisles were more like a theater’s, and wandering around there were spacious corner sections with luxurious sofas reserved for VIP’s like basketball players. Upon returning to my seat for the second leg of the flight, there was a rush when more of them became available from no-shows, and the woman I had been sitting next to, a Brit named Sandy with long brown hair, got up and made for another across the way, which I took personally as I thought we had developed an amicable relationship; in fact, I had only made that trip to track down someone who had insulted her honor, big Black athlete or no. My loss was consoled by the arrival of another attractive girl.

I just realized that all the links to audio and video files in these shitty WordPress blocks will probably break when I inevitably change things around again and I’ll have to clean them up like I did for years of images (and am still trying whenever I come across more of them, mostly on the old sites), God, I’m an idiot sometimes.

Here’s a B-side from a 45 I sheepishly thought I was the only one who had; dig how the 80’s synth cuts into a beat that’s got to be inspired by 1972 Krautrock masterpiece, I wish a short-run underappreciated BBC series had accompanied this theme music. I got it: three astronauts return from a mission and realize they’re not the ones who were originally sent to space but in fact are alien beings from a distant planet—now they must choose between subjugating humanity with their strange abilities or joining them against the larger invasion force to come!

Abed Nadir was behind the wheel of a 90’s ricer, which he drove us (myself and at least two others—I’d like to think Annie Edison was in the back seat with me) wildly through town, not sure any landmarks were there to recognize but I’m remembering Long Beach, because, he explained, he could only go for as long as he kept it “cool.” The word on an LED where the radio would be confirmed his status, but it disappeared when his breakneck charge relented, and walls of multi-colored spikes rose up before us to hinder any progress, following his desperate right turns. Eventually he realized the game was over and stopped the car, and we stepped out onto the broken pavement in the low light before dawn.