A BRIEF SUMMARY OF MY WEEKEND

Down Low's birthday was yesterday. He and I drove over to his mother's fiancee's house, somewhere in the Encino hills.

Low's mother has been single for the past 12 years. She is incredibly fit for a woman her age, but then again she used to be a ballet dancer. She now works in real estate and has met the man of her dreams.

I don't know what her fiancee does, but he makes a shitload of money. He makes so much money that he bought their house in the hills AND he wants to buy the neighbor's house as well, just to own the land; he makes so much money that he is hiring the legendary Funk Brothers (the surviving members of the music team that basically created every memorable moment from the Motown catalog) for their wedding; he makes so much that he bought Low, for his 27th birthday, a brand new car.

Upon learning this, Low asked me if I wanted to buy his old car, seeing as mine is sitting in my garage, waiting for me to get some free time together so I can have it serviced.

My eyebrows raised. "Sure", I said. The car is in fine shape, and it would save me the inconvenience of having my other car towed to a shop just to diagnose the problem. I can just take it to The Gypsy, who will hook me up with all the eesentials: tires, tune-up, oil change, etc.

By the time the Oscars started, I was driving through the Valley, on my way to The Garage. I met up with Purple Paulie and the gang, and let him know about my luck. He asked me what I planned to do with the piece-of-shit '85 Citation that he'd let me have for free, the one that was sitting outside of my father's house in Valencia.

"Fuck it," I said. "Take it out to where you guys ride your bikes, maybe trash it..."

Paulie suggested taking the wreck out to the desert and trashing it. To do that, we'd need to get the car running first. Then, we could take it out and fill it full of holes-- Paulie's friends are the typical redneck gun-lovers that you'd expect from the high desert. He also suggested making something creative out of the car afterwards, perhaps for some desert party like Burning Man, to balance out our thirst for automotive destruction.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

We barbecued at Paulie's house and discussed the finer points of the animation. Peter, Paulie's brother, brought an outside sound guy aboard to help us smooth out some of the rougher audio moments. The brainstorm session was laid-back and mellow.

I talked to Eve for a short while. She is doing some writing herself, perhaps of the confessional variety. She is still in her hermit-state, trying to balance things in her own life before getting things back on track. I am the sole recipient of her occasional transmissions to the outside world.

I also talked to B___________ on the phone-- she'd sent me a pic last Friday, and she resembled Gwen, a friend of Brenda and Sharky's... and when I heard her voice on the phone, she even sounded like Gwen... that is, if Gwen had a Canadian accent.

Tomorrow night, Arthur and his band play at the club in Silver Lake. I will be there, in case any of you want to meet me in the flesh. And I know there's at least one wannabe out there who thinks they can kick my ass.

Well, I'll be there, watching the show and waiting for any punk-ass marks to step up to the plate and put their money where their mouth is...

Any takers?

None? I thought not. Watch the excuses unfurl like a flag in the breeze.