I decided to write up a blow-by-blow account of my day. Monday, December 1st. Why? Why not, more like. Why the fuck not.
7AM
I'm not the one who sets the clocks in the house. I would be, were it not for daylight savings time. D.S.T. vexes me. So for years, Stacey had my alarm clock set for this dentist-drill buzz that consistently woke me in a panic. I finally asked her to change it to something more soothing. I dunno what kind of crazy radio station she put it on, but this morning I woke up to Scooby Doo singing Jingle Bells.
8AM
I drove Stacey to work and, on the way, we listened to a podcast. I've recently added a bunch of new ones to my I-Pod, so we were trying one of 'em out. It was called Paper Bag Radio. It's a pop culture podcast. That's what I usually listen to: podcasts about cult movies, horror, comic books, weird news. The usual bullshit. So, this one starts out ok. There are two hosts: one's an angry gay guy, the other one is an aggro chick with a raunchy mouth. They spend the first half yapping about TV shows they hate, and the guy talks about some teacher he had who might've touched him in a weird place at one point. Pretty good. But then they mention that they're recording this particular episode on election night, and they decide to give their opinions on it.
And this is where things go wrong.
First, the woman mentions that she's not so much into Obama because her husband makes "over six figures", so Obama's going to double their taxes, because he wants to "spread the wealth around." And then the guy goes "There's only two reasons to vote for Obama: because you're racist, and you just want to vote for a black guy, or because you're a socialist, and you want big mommy and daddy government to take care of you."
..
I don't know what they said after that, because I almost drove right into the Charles river.
I'm sure there's a goodly amount of right wing podcasters out there, but you don't expect to hear that kind of Kool Aid gulping on a show about fuckin' Batman . Maybe it was satire? Who knows. All I can say is that shit was bananas.
8:30 AM - 11 AM
After I dropped Stacey off, I came home and pitched a bunch of stories. That's what I usually do early in the week. I pitch stuff and hope my editors bite on something. If they do, I get to work on the next assignment. If they don't, I think up more shit to write about. So I did that, got a couple of small assignments ( I have to review Beverly Hills Chihuahua!), answered some email. That took a couple hours.
11AM - 2:30 PM
I figured I'd put in a good three hours worth of work, so I decided to take a break. Started reading a couple issues of The Black Diamond, a 70's drive-in movie-esque comic book series about a superhighway that goes from LA to DC. I'll write about it in the next installment of the Week in Sleaze. I fell asleep on the couch after the first issue and napped for four hours. Somewhere in there I started dreaming about something, I forget what, but all I remember is that one point I was screaming at Stacey Keach:
"It's a death match, man. It's a fucking death match!"
Who knows what that was about. I hope it doesn't come true. I don't feel up for a death match.
2:30PM - 4PM
Then I lost a couple hours. I don't remember what I did. I'm guessing nothing.
4:30 PM - 6:30 PM
By then it was time to pick up Stacey. I drove her home and then I went to the gym, where I read the latest issue of Rolling Stone. It has a terrible interview with Britney Spears in it. They mentioned it was the 8th time she was on the cover. What's up with that, Rolling Stone? Britney Spears is the patient zero of this whole celebrity obsessed idiot culture we've been enduring in this country for the past ten years. It's enough already. It's because of the media's stalker-y obsession with her that television has become this voyeuristic wasteland filled with shows about mentally ill people in halter-tops spitting on each other. I dunno, maybe I should fire an email over to Rolling Stone, try to straighten them out.
6:30PM - whenever.
What was I talking about?
Oh, my day.
Well, it went on like that.We ate chicken, watched Attack of the Show. I played Bioshock and then I googled "Mad Scientists" to see if there were any real mad scientists. My research was a dead-end, but I think that's just because scientists probable keep that shit hush-hush. Stacey's boss is a scientist, I keep bugging her to ask him if he knows any mad scientists, but she has so far refused to do so.
Anyway, I passed out around 3AM.
Not a bad day, as Mondays go.
More later. In the meantime, don't stop believin'.
PS Paul and I are starting a new slop-culture blog on Blogger as an addendum to our Week in Sleaze column. Stay tuned. It will have boobs and blood and all kindsa cool shit.