KNEWSEEN™ is a great site I found on KALIBER10000. Josh has a pretty large collection of art for under $20. Especially interesting and worth spending some time with are his “Instant Series” Polaroids. I managed to get my hands on a series of four that I think will go nice together. As you browse the images (I concentrated on the ones that were yet unsold) you start to pick up on themes. For mine, I chose three that were taken from the interior of an automobile – notice also the bird motif – and one that just struck me because of the composition (a burning hillside). Here are the ones I chose:

Instant Series #14

Instant Series #32

Instant Series #36

Instant Series #41

Spent the afternoon doing very little other than a two hour excursion to Koreatown to meet some friends for kim chee delights at lunchtime and working on updating my resume on my site.

A Day in the Life of an Advertising Account Supervisor:

Running through Chinatown, between the cramped just-waiting-to-be-crushed-in-an-earthquake stalls inside the Dynasty Center, looking for a velvet Elvis painting amid the tonnage of cheap Chinese manufactured clothing and barking toy dogs. Turning a corner I think I spy a new corridor of yet unsearched stalls. In my haste – I have to get back with the painting in time for Fedex – and to my horror, I think I’ve run into and knocked to the ground a small child.

No. It was a Latina dwarf.

So now I’ve become one of those bloggers whose parents have discovered his blog. They even give advice on blogger.com as to how to handle this phenomenon. I’m just going to keep (start, I should say, I’ve been away since starting my new job) writing the blog.

I’ve been so swamped in the new job that I haven’t had time to focus on writing for the Blog. And you’d think with the new 45 minute commute EACH WAY I would have something to say about something.

Right now it’s almost 8 o’clock on the west coast, and I’m watching the final orange glow of a beautiful California sunset behind the Santa Monica mountains from my office window. The flourescent lights just timed out and I suddenly woke up from my workFor those of you in the know, I’m watching it from the west side, seventh floor, of the World Savings building at Wilshire & San Vicente in Brentwood. The few strung out high clouds in the sky are glowing an intense orange pink. There’s something remotely sad about the end of the day, but still I’m in bliss being able to see it.

From an email from my sister, Frannie. I had no idea we were really this close to the brink. Get out the hot pokers and prepare to blind thyself if you should be witness to this horror:

“I was both frightened and dismayed to be flipping through channels this

morning only to discover Mariah Carey on VH1 singing her rendition of

“Bringin’ on the Heartache” by Def Leppard, with Dave Navarro playing

lead guitar with what appeared to be a smile on his face. What is going

on…is the world getting ready to explode? Are we all about to die?”

Last night I went to see WWE Raw at the Staples Center, courtesy of one of the ad sales guys I work with at WWE. The show ended with bad-guy wrestler Kane, who last week set JR on fire – don’t ask me who JR is – slamming Linda McMahon, middle-aged mom-esque CEO (I think) of WWE, on her head with the devestating Tombstone Piledriver (check it out here). I was going to try to write some cultural assessment of an evening of WWE Raw (such as the swearing ability of the 12 year old boys), but why? The event was summed up when D., a fellow invitee who works like I do in interactive media, turned around to my WWE friend and just said, “how the hell do you sleep at night?” I have to say it was brilliant fun: loud as hell and fake as hell. The tone for the entire evening is set with the opening match, the WWE Divas in a tag-team match. Nothing like a bunch of hard body women fake kicking the shit out of one another to get you in the mood for, uh, a bunch of oily guys in bikinis fake kicking the shit out of one another. Rick Flair was there with who I suppose is his son, but unlike the chivalrous wrestlers of my youth (ha ha), he attacked the hot announcer.

Later we went to the new Palm downtown, the steakhouse of conspicuous consumption. Steve Goldberg was there with (vermonting) David Arquette and Dennis Haskins, who played Principal Belding on Saved by the Bell. While Steve Goldberg worked the room like I’ve never seen a celebrity work a room (it really still is all about the fans with these guys), our table started yelling “Mr. Belding! Mr. Belding!.” Thrilled to be recognized, Dennis came over to the table to say hello and shake hands. Meanwhile Steve Goldberg was shooting pictures with a bunch of over-the-hill ladies who were spending their husbands’ pensions, sucking down martinis and gorging on lobster. We think he may have given one of them full tongue.

Additional vermonting: Erkel sat a few rows in front of us. Erkel!

I live in Hollywood. Steve Martin lives, I presume, somewhere in Los Angeles or one of the mitochondrial cities, like Beverly Hills, that contribute to the existence of the former.

I have a website. Steve Martin has a website. My web site is better than Steve Martin’s. I even think some of my writing is funnier. If I ever see Steve Martin in a restaurant or a car wash or shopping for underwear at Barney’s, I’m going to walk up to him and tell him that I think my web site is better than his.

Then, hopefully, he’ll say something like, “That’s nice. I have more money and have dated far better looking women, and many more of them, than you ever have.” Because if I were Steve Martin, that’s what I would say.

Also, Steve Martin has hosted the Academy Awards. I hosted the Reid Ross High School annual beauty pageant. Steve Martin was on Saturday Night Live. I was on a stage in North Hollywood doing stand up comedy once, and was booed off the stage for a huge bomb of a joke about the Discover Card.

It’s nice to know that there is someone in L.A. with whom I have so much in common.

I have a new job. I’m leaving the world of the movie studio to jump to the world of interactive advertising. Still in Los Angeles, though. I can’t say that I’m all that sad to be getting out of this ridiculously cloistered environment.

I’m sitting at the office waiting for my bald friend Tang to call. Tang got his name in Vegas after the antibiotics he was taking for his – let’s just call it skanky wee-wee – turned his piss bright orange. He’s getting a haircut even though he has no hair. He has a pool which I am requiring the use of tonight. Then it’s catching up on The Amazing Race to which I am thoroughly addicted. And now that I am no longer going to be working for Viacom, I will be eligible to send in an audition tape for the race. I think I should do it with my father, the retired Green Beret. I’m pretty sure he’d kick some ass and probably piss everyone off along the way (which on that show would be a good thing).

I need to find some writing time to catch up here. There are some good stories to tell. They’ll probably need to be fictionalized anyway. I’m rambling.

Tom Cruise’s flight suit from Top Gun is being auctioned off by Christies. It’s in Lot 37.

Later.