The Memorial servie for John Schroeder is at 7 p.m. tonight.

I spent this weekend vegetating with my girlfriend.

We watched Vanishing Point a movie from 1971 that is a moment in time crystallized. If you want to see wht the 1970s were really like, this is one flick that shows the decade bare, pure, driven, simplified into an unpretensious seeking and finding.

When i was a little kid, maybe 7 years old, the talk was that there was a movie, Vanishing Point that featured a scene with a naked lady riding a motorcycle. It was the topic of much conversation, but scant evidence, as none of us could get into an R rated movie and this was way before VCRs, PG-13, etcetera. But it was quite the talk among the 2nd and 3rd graders. And of course, the analytical child I was had to ask “Why was a naked lady riding a motorcycle?”

Fast forward 32 years and sure enough, here comes a naked lady riding a motorcycle. It is a casual scene in the film, a break in the speedfreak action, a repose amidst a car chase. And outside of the metaphorical illustration of a pure freedom that a tan blonde on a Kawasaki illustrates, I still have to wonder, “Why was a naked lady riding a motorcycle?”

My cleaning lady needs a Live Journal, she won’t stop talking about her trip to Vegas. Every fucking detail, pause to recall how much the buffet was, more details … and then they stopped to watch the Lakers game … and then it took five hours to drive because her old man was wasted … hey, actually, it is wilder than my life, she is really gambling - they take two hundred to Vegas for slots that is all the money they frickin have and they gamble every damn nickle. YIKES.

But on and on and on about getting the babysitter and getting gas, I mean every detail… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Somehow, in god’s infinite plan, I got the song With a Little Love by Paul McCartney and Wings stuck in my head.

See that they play it at my trial as no jury will convict me. Please make it stop. It is a neurological migraine.

So a big fire has swept through an art storage warehouse in London and destroyed a lot of art, much of it iconic pieces by the biggest names in British contemporary art.

Collector Charles Saatchi lost a hundred artworks alone and some of them were major career touchstones for artists such as Tracey Emin and The Chapman Brothers.

One rich collector was shocked that the storage company (Momart) also kept flammable liquids stored nearby and was quoted in the London Telegraph as saying “Momart holds a royal warrant. Gillian Ayres and I believed our art was being looked after in the same manner as the Queen’s. That’s why I pay top dollar to store it there.”

What the fuck is a royal warrant? In America we wipe our asses with those. Backwards Britain. No faith in anything, cynical, skeptical and stonefaced, but then compliantly tearful once the queen nods and then more bloodthirsty conservative than George Custer when the Irish want a free and unified Ireland.

And do note - she said “top dollar” - gotta wonder why.

Last Alcoholic Drink: Bottle of Miller beer, December, 1993.
Last Car Ride: Today to Pasadena and back with Mark Brandvk driving.
Last Kiss: Tonight, saying goodnight to the one I love.
Last Good Cry: Today. John Schroeder died.
Last Library Book checked out: Astrology for the MIllions by Grant Lewi in 1995.
Last Movie seen in theatres: Kill Bill II.
Last Book Read: Astrology for the MIllions by Grant Lewi in 1995.
Last Movie Rented: Netflixed Mystery Train a week or so ago.
Last Cuss Word Uttered: “FUCK!, to which my girlfriend asked what I was fucking about.
Last Beverage Drank: Lincoln Heights tap water.
Last Word Spoken: “Goodnight.”
Last Sleep: a nap this afernoon.
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Haagen Dazs Mango.
Last Website: www.angelsbaseball.com

I hate being the one who tells people someone died.
But the word must be gotten out.
Sometimes I ask: Is the art world boring or am I?
Went to an art world pow-wow today and had a few chats but no real substantial conversations.
In the words of the philosopher Terence Tyson, Fade-Outs Never Work Live.

I just got a craving for Orange Julius. 2 a.m. in the frickin morning and I get a craving for something I cannot have.

Kind of going crazy with the tastein my mouth but not quite there, maddening, perhaps just substituting the anxiety of desire for the anxiety of loss, which is what i have been kind of dealing with since I heard tonight (read ) that a friend of mine died this afternoon.

Can’t sleep. Upset and awake. That is all the words could possibly pace…

Okay, this has been bothering me for a little while.

Years ago the book Megatrends postulated a theory. To summarize it, news media has a constant of content. In following what is covered in the media, one can see - crystal ball like - what the emerging trends are. If, for example, it is 1987, a few articles about environmentalism - passe since the early 70s - start to pop up. The media pie is only so large, so quantifiable percentages of coverage reveal where the areas of big interest among the population are headed.

So if a topic gets X percent of total media coverage (say a half percent one year, then two percent the next), this is a trend. If it jumps to three percent, this is a megatrend. A story like How to take care of your Elderly Parent is something that is growing every year.

What amazes me is that the interenet has vastly expanded the “content” pie but the only growth itn topics discussed is media analysis. Instead of pursing unique stories or investigations, the internet as a media vehicle turns inward. And the mainstream media increasingly discusses itself and its behavior as a core topic. This has been standard in coverage of major sporting events - you have seen every possible angle once the story becomes the media coverage of a specific story.

The direction of the media, the habits of those working in the field, the ins and outs - these are the most regularly reported features. It is funny, all navelgazing - much like the artworld, always insular and keeping things within a very tight corral.

Which will it be Haagen-Dazs or Ben & Jerry’s ?
How about BOTH.
After eating like royalty for three nights, my lovely girlfriend and i are not in the mood to stop now!
Getting domestic, very close. I can tell because she is having to tell me about little piles of my papers everywhere. We travel well together bu i am a burdern to live with. My pad has become a storage frickin locker.