Midnight in LA, ain't no Paris, Hilton

 It's late. Round Midnight. It's raining. Driving through downtown LA. Nothing to write home about. These mean streets have seen better days. Haven't we all. Homeless. Broken glass. A bus crosses the horizon  like a film noir ghost ship passing in the night. 

Some down and out dude is cadaver-sleeping on a frozen bus bench, waiting on the Metro 94. Waiting on the gravy train that ain't coming.

I'm working late. Again. Another low budget epic. The budget is tight. Tighter than a fish's ass. I'm a background actor, hanging on with faith, hope and my need-a-manicure fingernails, waiting on some speaking lines. Waiting on my Oscar. My needs: trophy wife, beach frontage in Malibu, simple stuff really.

The rain is worse now. Midnight in LA, ain't no  Paris, Hilton.

It Never Rains in Southern California...

So the song sez. Waiting this morning. Waiting for the marine-layer to burn off, so's I can see the sun. Clouds close to the ocean are called marine-layers. At least here in LA. In the late morning, the sun comes through those clouds and the sun comes out of hiding. I can breathe again. Maybe it's all in my head. I only do what the voices tell me to do. I'm off my sea-food diet, the one where youse sees-food and eats it. Trying to get back to my fighting weight, like when I wuz married. I'm kidding. I drops another 100 lbs. and I'm gonna text Maurice at The old/new Chippendales and see if I can get back on the bill. Miss waking up Sunday mornings with all those one dollar bills in my shorts. Good times. Whatever. Hopes you have a great weekend...

Tem dreams are here again...

                those dreems are here again. I'm on a desert island, marooned with a couple of hundred cheerleaders. Our plane has crashed. I'm the only guy left, as the pilot and his navigator bought the farm when they crashed into the mountain. So's here I am surrounded by hot babes. I figure we better ration stuff out, like water, some airline food packages and candy bars. You gets the picture. Suddenly I realize that being the only person here with a pair, I might finally get some.Suddenly my cell phone chimes off and wakes me and I realize, I ain't on no desert island, I'm awake. I'm in LA and need to get up and go to work as a movie extra. it's 4am and I feel like death warmed over. I better get my derriere in gear, get some java and...gotta go guys.

Remembering the good times...

I'm just gonna be brief and say what eye have to say. I want to wish the guys in cell block B, the best for the long weekend. Guys...return my Barry Manilow CD's for you know whose sake. A deal is a freaking deal. I remember I remember the cell where I was kept, the little window where the sun came peeping while I slept...it never came a wink too soon or brought too long a day, cuz I needed light to dig a hole and make my getaway...opps. Lights out Holmes...

No stinking badges...

We don't need no stinking badges Holmes. Just needs a guitar.Trying to learns all I can about playing the guitar on You Tube. Sorta therepy if you catch my flotsam driff. I'm starting off with an Craaigs List gitar. Acoustic I think the warden said it wuz called. Someday, I intend too take over when Jeff Beck or maybe Clapton snuffs it. Till then I'm working on learnning to play the classic Happy Birthday to you. They used to sing it every year to me when I grews up in that orphanage back in Ohio down near the railroad tracks. Still remember the sound of that  out-bound train whistle at 4am-ish when I was milking those cows, stepping around the cow mannure. Good times...

It's sunny in LA...

It's sunny in LA.
Sometimes I tri to think up stuff to putt on my blog. My muse ain't musing today. Maybe later...

The first blog is the deepest, as the song sez.

Yo, this is my first blog. First National bank, put lotz of money

in small unmarked bills in a couple of bags near the Grey dog bus station.

Thanks. The first blog is the deepest, as the song sez.