I hardly made it out of the house this week. I seem to be in some kind of nesting/laziness mode. Also, it has been a little hard for me to write in my blog lately. I guess I also have a bad case of brain-freeze. It’s a good thing I am not a professional writer or I would really be freaking out.

Tomorrow I have to go back up to L.A. to drive author Kevin Zraly around to some events and tastings. It should be cool – he seems pretty chill and we get to stay at the uber-fantastic Hotel Figueroa. Of course, the famous author gets the Medina Suite and I just get a regular room. He should trade with me! Yeah, right.

After tomorrow night’s tasting and class, I might just have to drag him to Philippe’s, home of the French Dip. Have you ever been to a funky diner with sawdust on the floor and $4.00 sandwiches, but also Silver Oak Cabernet by the glass? I friggin love that place. Whenever my company has a trade show to attend in L.A. we go there, order seven different wines by the glass, and then we get them all mixed up. “Is this the Chimney Rock?” “No, that’s the Chimney Rock.” Of course after an hour or so it doesn’t really matter any more.

I don’t know why people diss on L.A. so much. I kind of love it up there. There are these little gems like Philippe’s and the Hotel Figueroa. Of course, I am the one who is always whining about the L.A. people at shows.

A few years ago, there was another author in L.A. – Tom Stevenson, a really great wine writer and a cool guy, too. This really weird paparazzi guy who loved Champagne (Tom is a Champagne expert) got Tom to have dinner with him and a bunch of his cronies at this incredibly tiny, expensive Sushi place on Rodeo Drive. Well, me and my bosses Elliott and Donna went with him, but they pretty much gave us the boot. Elliott had brought some of Tom’s books because the paparazzi guy asked him to, and then proceeded to SELL them to everyone (did the guy think we were just going to leave them there?) It was all kind of bizarre. Anyway, we left and went right down below the Sushi Place to a steakhouse for dinner. After a couple of hours, we needed to get Tom out of there, so Elliott called the Sushi place and asked for Tom (“urgent call from London” or whatever.) Then we told Tom I’d be up to get him in ten minutes. When I went up there, the paparazzi guy, all smiles now, greeting me warmly and then said, “thank god, you got rid of those AWFUL people.” Meaning Elliott and Donna. So I said, in front of the white-male between 62 and 65 crowd of ten guys, “oh, you mean my PARENTS?” Paparazzi’s guy’s jaw dropped. Tom Stevenson loved that. I hope tomorrow is as fun as that night was.

Things are suppose to slow down in the Fall – aren’t they? But they aren’t this year. The whole year has been one big crazy fun party-type situation. And there is no end in sight. There are a bunch of shows this month – Rolling Stones (that one is going to be interesting), Spoon, Dandy Warhols, and then Super Furry Animals on December 1. Plus by some excellent twist of fate I have been asked to find a place to take the Furries after the show, so they can play some records and hang out with their uber-fans (like me.) This is a tough, and also scary, situation to be in. For one thing I don’t go to downtown clubs that have turntables, so I don’t know where to look, and for another I’ll maybe have to talk to them, and really and truly, I am kind of shy when I am around the bands I love. If I don’t love a band it is no biggie to be around them, I can talk about whatever, but if I love the band then I get all tongue tied and my chest turns bright red and I get all sweaty and nervous.

Thankfully, I played the new Furries CD for my brother Tom on the way to my grandma’s house on Saturday, and he loves it, and he’s really hard to please. So now he is going to come with me and it will all be fine, because he is a musician and doesn’t have these foot-in-mouth problems that I have around musicians. Assuming it all works out the way it should, and if I can figure out where to bring them.

It is really hot here. November 1st and something like eighty degrees. It was insanely hot in L.A. yesterday and I drove home at dusk and it was one of those inky purple dusks that just wraps itself around you and makes you all sleepy.

Sunday, there was another Slowtrav party, like the fifteenth this year or something. It was held at the home of Liz, and seriously, that house made me crazy. Outside of the flat I used to live in with Leigh and Laurie in the Castro, I think this house was the coolest I have been in, ever. Liz loves the same colors as me and she has all kinds of trippy paintings and ceramic ballerina figurines from the ’50’s (I think, don’t hold me to the decade) and other things to look at. I love it when a place can totally occupy me for hours just looking at all the trippy shit. The dinner, people, endless supply of wine, early sunset; a perfect Fall day.

Now I have to write constantly between now and December 3rd for the slowtrav contest. And on the 13th I get to go up and see Baby Ryan. Last night my mom said, it’s like being in love, and it is.

Crazy Fall days…

Pauline made some needed changes to my blog today… now you can check out some of the blogs I read over there—->. Also some of my crazy trip reports and stuff.

Pretty soon, I hope, we will get some Poptarticus TShirt action going. I am sure you’ll ALL want one. What should I put on the back (if anything?) I want to get them made in time for Spoon’s show so I can give one to

WAIT JUST A SECOND. I AM NOT GOING TO MENTION ANY NAME HERE. DO YOU THINK HE WILL PICK IT UP IF I THROW IT AT HIM?

Tomorrow night will be a fun one. Pink Martini is coming! I am going to eat some ice cream tonight in anticipation of burning it off. San Diego sucks for live shows but when bands do come, we often get to see them in more intimate spots. Like, tonight Pink Martini is at the ginormous Hollywood Bowl, but tomorrow I get to see them at the smallish Belly Up in Solana Beach were I can get all in their face and shit. I’m sure China Forbes has heard girls scream her name on many an occasion, but not with the same ferocity as moi. She’s enough to make a girl go whatever. (Laurie Bushman, you’all know what I’m talking about… I’ll miss you tomorrow for sure!)

Are there firemen at a Fireman’s Ball?

I’ll check it out and let you know later.

I love, love, love my good friend Colleen. It’s weird how people show up in your life and then never leave. This is what happened with Colleen, and it is because it is totally and karmically meant to be. It’s so awesome and cool that I am one of the lucky ones karmically connected to Colleen. Lucky me!

Colleen is the best kind of friend. She is totally cool, supportive and fun. Plus she likes to do things like go to Sicily and drink wine on balconies when everyone else thinks it is too cold. Also, she is always, and I mean always, thinking of others. Way more than me, that is for sure.

If I ever move to Northern Spain I want Colleen to come with me, at least for part of the time. But in the meantime, we are going to celebrate her birthday here. That’s right, we’ll be partying with non other than Wayne Fucking Coyne. But who cares about Wayne when Colleen Alley will be on the ship?

Whateves. She probably won’t even read this for awhile but Colleen, when you do, I love you, sister.

Thought ya’all might like to check out some of the search engine requests that drive people to my blog (besides super sexy and sexy blog – those are the heavies.)

willie aames mullet (So I am not the only one who searched!)

women love when i grope them in crowded trains (DUDE!)

whitney houston strung out (OK, this we all know.)

britt daniel sexy. (Again, I am not the only one. Sigh.)

And that was just yesterday. Happy Sunday everyone.

There have been many people and events that have shaped me and made me into the person I am. My parents, obviously, and my brothers; my 10th grade English teacher, Mrs. Elder shaped me in a good way by encouraging me to write, and my newspaper teacher Mrs. Radcliffe in a bad way by chopping my very first newspaper article cleanly in half, making it look totally weird and stupid. That was in 1981 and the article was about Punk Rock. My school just wasn’t ready yet I guess, even though Punk Rock was practically over at that moment in time, for a while, anyway.

The question is, what made me write about Punk Rock? What got me to that point where I have remained ever since? People never really advance past the age of fifteen. Of this I am convinced. Fifteen or even younger.

I had an uncle, his name was Mark, he was nine years older than me, and he was a lot like me. He wore purple pants and wrote crazy stories. He was wild, reckless, bisexual, and creative. He liked to party. And more than anything, he loved music. He had a tattoo that said “Janis Joplin Lives in Me.” She was his dead muse.

Well, I wasn’t TOTALLY like Mark, but there are many similarities there. At a younger age I listened to my mom’s Beatles and Elton John records. But the defining moment of my teenage years – maybe even the defining moment of my life up till now – was sitting in a room at my Grandma’s house with Mark. I was thirteen years old and he put a record on the turntable. It was David Bowie’s Space Oddity. I will never forget how that first line, Ground Control to Major Tom, sounded to my pop radio listening ears. After a steady diet of the Bee Gees and the Grease soundtrack, it was like a whole new world to me. All the while Mark is telling me about David Bowie, about the New York Dolls, about Iggy Pop. He played me Cheap Trick and Blondie and we looked at the album covers together. We always had a bond, but we were bonded that night in a way beyond uncle and niece. It was musical, it was spiritual, and it was religious. That was my entry into the church of rock ‘n’ roll. He was my brother, my mentor, and my friend.

Then, exactly 25 years ago today, we lost him. And I just happened to be visiting at the time.

Every summer I would visit my grandparents at their townhouse in San Juan Capistrano for a couple of weeks. Mark was living in Laguna Beach that summer, renting a room from a famous rock star in a three story house on the cliffs. We had plans to go to the Sawdust Festival together, but Mark had an accident and couldn’t go. Someone was lowering a phone from the top balcony of the house to the bottom, and he dropped it on my uncle’s head. Mark was OK but had to get stitches, so he postponed us hanging out for a couple of days.

The next hours and days were a painful experience that even today is hard for me to think about. The following day, after going to the Del Mar racetrack with my grandparents, I called Mark to make our new plan. There was no new plan, because he was dead.

The rock star was on the phone, asking to talk to my grandparents. I knew something was wrong when my grandma started wailing. I ran to my room, then back down, where my grandparents were walking out the door. They had, understandably, forgotten about me. They looked at me, and at each other, and then my grandfather said, “Mark is dead.”

I went with them to Laguna Beach. It was the hardest drive I have ever taken. My grandma was rocking back and forth in the front seat, moaning and crying. My grandfather was silent. When we got to the house, they told me to wait in the car. I sat in the back seat wondering why I could not cry. I tried to cry, but nothing came out. Two guys pulled up at the cliff in a Blazer, listening to Van Halen. All I wanted was to be in that Blazer and not in the back of my grandparents car trying to cry.

The next few days revolved around the funeral, my grandma’s tears, and alot of casseroles. I remember telling my mom “please don’t cry” and her saying “I have to cry.” Finally, at the funeral, I cried, in the arms of the guy who dropped the phone on Mark’s head. Even though in the end it wasn’t his fault, he felt responsible. For some bizarre reason, I reached out for him in the end.

So what killed Mark in the end? The pain medication. It wasn’t much, but after years of abuse combined with a soul not-of-this-earth, it was enough.

Mark dreamed of his death. He wrote it down several times, and I know because I have read it. In the dream he is laying in his bed listening to his stereo. A dark figure enters the room, and Mark is scared of it. While the figure walks toward him Mark looks at a red light on the turntable. If the light stays on, he will live. If the music keeps playing, he will live. But if figure touches him, he will die.

The turntable was still playing when they found him the next day.

It took a long time for me to cry. But Mark is with me, and will always be with me, because our connection was so strong. Every time I buy a new record, get a crush on a musician, or fall in love with a song, Mark is there. Twenty-five years later, he is totally there. He is my dead muse.

Wine Alert! Wine Alert!

My buddy Steve just started co-managing a wine store called the Wine Room – they do mostly phone sales but do have a physical presence as well. The guy who ran this place before Steve stepped in bought about 80,000 times more wine than he was selling. Hence, the Wine Room has too much wine. Therefore, they are selling a bunch of it off at FIFTY PERCENT OFF.

I called on him last week to say hi and drop off a catalog and ended up walking out with a case of wine. There goes my commissions from this account for infinity, but oh well. This is one of the few bad things about my job – excessive wine purchase disorder.

Whatever. Anyone into good deals on wine should check this out. Of course, you’ll have to pay shipping, but seriously some of the deals here are too good to pass up. I can’t actually list the wines due to the wineries freaking out if they see this. Here is the website. Call and talk to Steve and Jason and they’ll tell you what they’ve got going on. Tell ’em poptarticus sent you (they probably won’t know what the hell you are talking about.)

Wine. It’s not just for breakfast anymore.

It’s that post-trip love affair you have with home.

Fucking A. It’s enough to make you realize you can give up grappa, but let’s face it, you don’t really HAVE to.

On the Carlos D front, I found this most hilarious little ditty from another cult member. How did we ever amuse ourselves before the internet discovered us?

I just bought tickets on ebay to the Doves/Mercury Rev show at the Fillmore in San Francisco May 1. Bastardi, not only skipping San Diego but skipping fucking LA! No they aren’t bastardi, I love them, and I love the Fillmore too. So it’s all good, just a little more time consuming and expensive than normal. Whateves, they are worth it.

In the meantime I’ll just be hanging out in this paradise until I have to head out again for work next week. So indulge me if I post more killer sunsets here. I can’t help it.