Red Light House

From The Onion:

Look, when fabulous, kick-ass rock-star me is around, everything else is redundant. Unless you’re into LSD or mushrooms, in which case I say, go fuck a sunset, hippie. I’m my own gateway drug, baby!

Telling someone to “go fuck a sunset, hippy” might become my new favorite thing to say, ever.

From the Northern Police Station community letter:

Saturday, 6:43 pm, Assault Arrest: Officer Dorgan and Officer Robinson were sent to Haight St. and Fillmore St. on a report of a fight in progress. Upon their arrival, they found a bloody mess…officers discovered that some visitors to town had gone into a bar that is proud and particular about the beverages served. When the tourists asked for a massed produced beer, words were exchanged. A verbal argument became physical and the fight spilled out into the street. The main combatants were identified. One man was booked at Northern Police Station.

I don’t know what bar they’re talking about, it’s either Toronado or Mad Dog in the Fog I suppose…but damn, getting beat up because you ordered a Macro-brew?

Scene: Steven Seagal is pitching his record to a studio executive.

Steven Seagal: (mumbling) I’ve got a great idea for an oldies cover.

Record Exec: Great, Steven! I’m still completely dumbfounded that you have a musical side and you’re taking time away from you busy schedule of slowly beating the crap out of people.

SS: (mumbling with arched eyebrows) It’s a hard reggae version of “Lollipop”, the 1964 hit by Millie Small.

RE: Hmmm, Lollipop you say. I think the Spice Girls did a version of that as well. You really ARE changing your image.

SS: (mumbling while slowing putting a death pincher hold on the Record Exec’s neck) I’m going to sing Lollipop, and I’m going to have Lieutenant Stitchie do a Jamacan rap on it as well. You will be enthralled.

RE: St-st-st-stop it! You’re hurting me!

SS: (hissing) One more thing…I’m going to name my album Songs From The Crystal Cave…it’s about a geode I once dated.

Hearing that disembodied voice come out over the loud speaker in a BART station is naturally quite jarring. Hell, it could be anything: suspicious package, a fire, aliens. Only this time is wasn’t. The loud speaker voice continued, “You just bothering people and you NEED to go home!”

We went to Las Vegas to celebrate Clea’s birthday (Clea is Miss Smiley, pictured right). Our obligatory fancy dinner was spent at Nobu in the Hard Rock…and let me tell you, that stuff is good.

While we were eating we noticed these two huge dudes sitting next to us, and we saw that they were keeping very close tabs on a booth a couple tables away from us. We could see some of the folks in that booth but had no idea who they were…and we had other things to occupy us, such as the great food and annoying the two body guards by taking pictures of every dish that arrived at our table.

Finally we asked our waiter who the two guys were watching and he leaned down and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Lindsey Lohan is over there with the Hard Rock owner’s son.” This news definitely gave our table that special charge you get from a star sighting. I immediately text messaged Brunn to brag that we were sitting next to Lindsey…indeed, we might even be invited over for champagne if we played our cards right.

“What color is her hair? Ero wants to know.” was his immediate reply. We all had a good laugh at how not-straight John is and how he lies. We finished our meal with gusto and the knowledge that we were at exactly the right spot in the world at that time. For what, I don’t know. But it was great.

See the Vegas pictures.