Rev.Speats'Blog Cabin

Wednesday T Shirt Gratification!

While walking to the Whole Foods moments ago, a well-to do BMW driver took a gander at my contraband Johnny Cash t shirt (featuring the iconic Johnny flipping the bird photo), and yelled "Love that f*ckin' shirt!!"

Even in Beverly Hills, a four year-old Johnny Cash shirt still rules...come to think of it, this Johnny Cash shirt rules the whole regoddamn universe!

Is it really a reunion?

Van Halen announced they're reuniting for a summer tour with clown shoes model and tequila shill Sammy Hagar handling the vocals.

Are they playa-hatin' David Lee Roth? Did Eddie see "The Passion of the Christ" and decide having David back in the band would set him up for the ultimate betrayal?

A Van Halen reunion without David Lee Roth is like eating an egg without salt.

Can't we all just get along??

Might as well jump...

Postscript:

Only in LA would you spot famed '60s Brian Wilson collaborator/Mike Love agitator Van Dyke Parks and urban media franchise Queen Latifah walking down the same stretch of Larchmont stripmall on a Saturday afternoon.

Welcome to the week that will last seven days...

In the news:

Telephone sanitation exists!! I saw an official payphone-sanitizer cleaning off one at the the corner of Santa Monica and La Cienega this morn!

Mario Machado and my father to colloborate on a radio show!

My dad barks at my neighbors for honking their car horn during the dinner hour. Fear is struck in the hearts of dozens...

"Eternal Sunshine..." boasts the performance Jim Carrey has always wanted to give but Charlie Kaufman delivers something you've seen at least twice now.

Tom Wilkinson is to be delivered a kick in the keester for ruining my movie watching hours with his pretentious drivel.

Only four days to go...

Mario Machado wants to give my dad a radio show!

I can't top that. A pleasant Friday to all...

The world is shrinking like badly made t shirts in the dryer of life...
Moments away from the meeting that'll last a lunchtime...My Meal With Mario (Machado that is...)

How many folks can boast they dine with a man who's appeared in "Oh God" and "The Brady Bunch"?? Wait, don't answer that.

Random Coincidence No.68:

A recent downsized casualty of the island I was voted off was greeted by a door to door salesman last week.

When she explained that she'd be laid off from said label and had no money to spare, he said "Do you know Jeff? "He was laid off from there a year ago..."

She said she did, and then the salesman identified himself as "Ted", but his real name is Andros he then revealed.

It got me to thinking, Who the hell uses a pseudonym for door to door sales? The Pope wouldn't, neither would Willy Loman for that matter, nor those wily Jehova's Witnesses.

Then I thought about it...Andros would.

Preparing Excel spreadsheets is truly the shortest road to complete and utter insanity...Oh well, tis a small price to pay for the privelege of lunching with TV and Radio legend Mario Machado tomorrow afternoon!

Stay tuned!

Walked by a parking meter this morning that was flashing "dead" repeatedly...was it trying to tell me something? Was this the begining of the endtimes? Was this message for my eyes only?

Or do parking meters feel pain? Was this meter breaking up with Lovely Rita Meter Maid and succumbing to a broken heart? Do I need a hobby?

Tuesdays, I really have no use for them.

The day my dad got the Queer Eye Make Over:

I mentioned a while back my dad took in a homeless man named Reggie who now resides in my old room....Time for a little update:

Friday I call home and my dad (aka The Buzzard, Archie Bunker of the Northwest San Fernando Valley) and he puts Reggie on to discuss their latest adventure (mind you I've talked to this person only once before via a somewhat awkward telephone introduction).

Reggie then with great enthusiasm recounts taking my dad to West Hollywood (Reggie is gay, which makes my Dad's friendship with him all the more improbable given my dad's Bunker-esque stance on most things progressive) for lunch at the French Market Place (one of the more fabulous dining establishments on Santa Monica Blvd).

After my dad making the entire waitstaff double over in laughter by consuming a piece of kiwi fruit (skin and all, my dad's experience with kiwi fruit is quite limited, hence the chorus of chuckles), Reggie declares that he "must take my dad shopping" and in effect gives the Buzzard The Queer Eye Make Over.

He gets fitted with an entire new ensemble (shoes and all...new non-Wal Mart shoes??? My dad???), Reggie then tells me "your dad came in to the shop looking like Alan Spector and left looking like Mr.FooFoo!!"

Mr. FooFoo??? Who the hell is Mr.FooFoo??? Is he Isaac Mitzriah's well-dressed uncle? Liberace's dog?? I'd like to know who this FooFoo guy is and see if he in fact bears a resemblance to my pops.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but one thing I do know is Reggie ain't heavy, he's my gay adopted brother.

A conversation heard on the MTA en route to Santa Monica last night around 9:45 pm:

"I don't know why you said that Del Taco was the best food in town..."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did..."

"I said it was pretty good."

"You said it was the best!"

"You must be high..."

"I wish".

God bless the humble and slightly pungent riders of this disjointed burg's public transportation and their discerning palates and to all a good Friday.

Look out for a parenthetical deluge!

A pseudo-homeless man approached me this fine morn' (a heavily tattooed gent looking like a downtrodden version of the guy from Sugar Ray...Think a 2006 episode of "Behind The Music") as I waited for the people's limousine (the bus to you and me kids) to whisk me away for another 50 minute/5 mile journey from West Hollywood to Beverly Hills (we won't get into the high Pinter-esque absurdity of that estimated travel time).

The gentlemen of ravaged-skin and less-than-Crest breath asked if he was close to "Larry Flynt's building".

Now thinking back to last week's encounter with the chauffeur who questioned me about where the adult videos are shot around SoCal I began to wonder if I'm some sort of sleazy-information magnet (those who know me well just might agree, but that's a whole 'nother story). Perhaps I exude some sort of invisible infared "Sleaze Google" that certain locals pick up on. I don't really understand this gift/curse, so I just pass on the information to the best of my ability.

I directed ol' Sugar Ray Hardluck to the Flynt Publications building on Wilshire Blvd. and went on my merry way, safe in the knowledge that another man's sleaze query was satiated by Speats.

'Twas one of those mornings: An oversleeping-shaving-accident-having-getting-shoved-on-the-bus-not-enough-coffee-way-too-much-to-do-at-the-office type of affairs.

I almost went Tony Perkins then caught myself as I saw a homeless man having an arguement with his musty dusty blanket as I exited the bus, I really don't have it that bad.

As Mose Allison once said, "I don't worry about a thing / 'Cause I know nothin's gonna be alright..."

The legendary voice of Los Angeles jazz radio and a folk hero of mine, Chuck Niles passed away yesterday at the age of 76.

One of the few Jazz DJs to get a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Chuck was the pope of the Cool, a man that could make even Weather Report records sound palpable just by way of his droll 60-Marlboro-a-day hipper-than-dry delivery.

His was a voice that was as much part of Los Angeles as the Hollywood Sign and the Tail O' The Pup. The voice of the wee small hours no matter what time of day he was on the air...

Radio has lost its cool and just became a whole lot colder.

For more on the career of Chuck Niles visit www.kkjz.org

Good Mundane to y'all...

So this past Friday afternoon whilst sitting in a park-ish area near ye olde office during the luncheon hour, a chauffeur approached me and inquired whether this was the part of town "where the adult videos are made".

Explaining he was a "connoisseur" (and from San Diego) and judging from the aesthetic appeal of the women on the street (this being Beverly Hills) he figured this must be the ' burg of pornography he's been seeing night after night on Skinemax.

The driver then asked me if where we were was Hollywood and I dutifully corrected him, saying that we were in Beverly Hills and that the Hollywood he was looking for (the one where the videos are Vivid and not Warner Home Video) was just over the hill in "The Valley", specifically Chatsworth, my home town.

Doing my part for duty and humanity, I said goodbye to the salacious chauffer and headed to the local Whole Foods for my turkey reuben and requisite head scratching.

No cold shower required.

From the dept. of miniscule miracles:

Discovering you have, in fact, not left your wallet at home after convincing yourself you have (and the world you know and love will come to a grinding, screeching, violent halt as a direct result and that you're doomed to a lunch-time fate of the office kitchen's peanut butter and jelly sandwich).

Now that I have my trusty musty wallet chock full of old receipts, ticket stubs, student IDs and small dollars I can afford to go out a get myself a professionally made peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

'Tis the little things.

Confessions of a recovering IM-Aholic.

I'm weening myself off the instant messenger (aka "email crack"), it is a tool of the devil like acid rock and sugar flavored toothpaste. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the IM (too much it seems), but it sucks away afternoons and productivity (at least in my case) worse than the daytime television and role playing games.

I started my recovery earlier this week by first turning my default away message on (the IM equivalent of methadone) for the first couple of days and now have graduated to keeping it off most of the day. I think its working...if it ain't there it's hard to miss, y'know?

It used to be the near-instant gratification of getting new email that would satiate my need to be loved by the outside world during business hours but the Instant Messenger really changed the rules on how to make the least of my day.

Former employers now restrict their subordinates on their IM usage partly because of my rampant desire for that little blinking rectangle in the bottom left corner of my Compaq computer monitor.

So if you don't see me in your buddy list today its not because I don't love you, its because this Robert Downey Jr. of the IM set wishes to find his own private Betty Ford Clinic.



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Apparently Kerry may pick John McCain as his running mate, I think that combo would put the smackdown on Dubya...rendering him and Darth Cheney impotent like the long lost 1980s Burger King spokesman "Herb".

Wednesday Randomness: My boss took one look at my "Frank, Dean, and Sammy" T-shirt this morning and said "Isn't that a piss????" about three to four times. That's basically pseudo-Yiddish for "That T-shirt is the bomdiggity from bom-bados!!"

I gave a homeless man some spare change this morning while waiting for the people's limosuine (aka The Bus) and he repayed my generosity by reaching into a nearby trash can and pulling out a discarded "adult" (one might say pornographic) periodical.

He then opened it to a well-illustrated passage and displayed the magazine for all the commuters on Santa Monica Blvd to see, gesturing like a stressed investment banker giving a Power Point presentation.

Ah the human race, nature's clowns.

In my continued defiance against Itunes, the Ipod, and other suspicious pagan devices, I've gone further into my hifi past and dug out a few mix tapes I made in the '80s (god bless the TDK D60, the perfect hour of blank-tape-power) and brought them into the office. Why? Because I have a boombox at my desk, and by golly who doesn't want to listen to a mix entitled "Music of Pink Floyd Vol.1"!??

Turning to other thoughts: two friends have departed to Asia this week, neither of them Asian. One to live, the other to play, and my turtle sense tells me that both parties will be returning stateside round about the same time. Stay tuned friends...

And apparently Hannah has the power to vandalize H2s with her mind, I said it before and daggummit I'll say it again, I'm marrying the coolest gal on earth.

Another construction worker near the office offered up props on the Dylan T-shirt...

Never underestimate the power of a cool t shirt! Power suit my ass!

A street worker near the office I work at complimented my Bob Dylan t-shirt this morning, that's what I call "Street Side T-Shirt Gratification"...How does it feeeeeeeeeel? Like a rollin' stone! Which Rollin' Stone would I like to be? Why Mick Taylor of course! Why Mick Taylor? 'Cause he played on the Stones's coolest records and 'twas cool enough to LEAVE the band when he said all he had to say as their guitarist. They've been sucking shite ever since.

In other news: My meshugga Dad plans to rig an electric fence at a local valley bank to help save some homeless cats and thinks nothing of it. God bless retired folk!

This weekend the future Mrs.Speats and I committed to wedding invitations without having to have me committed! For the full story see Hannah's blog. . . I'm marrying one cool chick!

"Let me tell you how it will be / There's one for you, Nineteen for me..."
-Taxman (George Harrison)

H & R Block can suck it!

They wanted to charge my po' white ass $220 for a refund that would make a grown man cry like Tammy Faye at the Surreal Life nudist retreat. Are they serious?

And to think I put my tax man's picture eating a red vegetable on my fridge...H & R Block and I have broken up.

So kids, the lesson here is go elsewhere and tell H & R Block to put there fees straight up there corporate McAsshole!

Hurrumph!

On "Greendale", the new Neil Young film:

The best damn home movie ever set to a Neil Young record!

I could wax philosophic about this masterpiece/horror show set to his current album and shot in glorious Super 8 but being hungover severely I'll just save the review for a more sober and alert time.

In a parallel universe I'm still pushing the snoozebar...

Random Thoughts:

Filling Excel spreadsheets with numbers and formulas I could honestly care less about 'til my eyeballs fall out of my earlobes is the penance I pay for all those unpaid Columbia House bills of my youth. I'm certain of it...

According to today's L.A. Times its trendy to be Jewish. Jew knew?

My parents (who've defined the term meshugga since I can remember) have recently taken in a 42 year-old homeless man (well I guess no longer since he's staying in my old room) named Reggie...does anybody else think this is stranger than fiction?

If you knew my folks (especially The Buzzard), you'd agree.

Today I cast my vote for John Kerry.

At this point I'd cast my vote for a discarded sesame noodle container than have another four years of Howdy Doody's retarded brother in office.

All y'all who don't vote today (but are able to) deserve to have George W.Bush as your President.

TV legend Mario Machado told me a dirty joke this morning!

I have to say that the best thing about Oscar night were the snacks that the future Mrs.Speats made.

The entire folk music community should protest the snubbing of Mitch and Mickey at the Academy Awards. "A Kiss At The End of the Rainbow" is a song of timeless beauty that was usurped by the Enya-drones of that half-baked Eurythimics retread.

Pete Seeger once got into a near fist-fight over Dylan going electric, Where the hell was old Seeger last night?

His folk-purist ire would've been welcome at the Kodak last night I tell you whut!