Nothing cleanses the palatte like chasing the dragon Part 1

Way too much crazy action has gone on today without making a formal record of it. On the tame side of things, I saw the rough sketches of the first actually published Sweater People comic, and it looks badass. It's based on a story I ripped off from the venerable comic store veteran Chris Brunn. Working at Mile High Comics is worth nothing if not to yield many insane true stories of geeks gone wrong, and this comic is such a tale. You'll have to check out the latest ish of 213 Magazine to see it for yourself.

If it comes out, that is. Max and Ben wrote and inked an effing brilliant piece of work that apparently will never see the light of day. The delightful folks at 213 were unable to publish a whole mag initially and at the last minute used the existing one to use as a pitching tool to get some well deserved greens. We understand. We just hope it isn't repeated.

On the not so tame side, some real insanity went down with a friend of mine who will remain nameless. It's a story fit to print, but for the sake of decency and privacy, suffice it to say that what Nancy Reagan said in the 80's is stone cold good advice. Just Say No. Especially to the Keith Richards Special if-you-know-what-I-mean. (This is one of those things we can discuss in private, so next time you see me say, "Nancy Reagan, wink wink" and I'll tell all. Until then, mums and poppies are the word(s), and say a special prayer for "Josh's friend" and God'll know who you mean).

On the business side of things, I interviewed with a place called Music Plus Tv. I found it on Entertainmentcareers.net and I was incredibly excited about it. That should have been my first clue it was a sham, second only to the fact that they actually called me the day after I applied. The key to internet job searching is: don't take any job that actually calls you. They're probably a cult, a pyramid scheme, or a weird ghetto place that can't even afford to pay free interns.

To start things off, I was wildly late. 50 minutes late. Retard late. The kind of late that says, "You're really low on my priority list. Somewhere between a Martin Lawrence movie and a pap smear." To be fair, it wasn't my fault. I mean it was completely my fault, but to be fair to myself, I won't put any blame on the guilty party. I have to live with myself. Could you imagine the arguments I would have with myself, if I didn't just blankly defend myself whenever I do anything flagrantly stupid? Forget about it.

But to defend myself, Mapquest gave me 15 minutes to go from my work to this joint. 15 minutes. Since I'm a frequent patron of mapquest, I did my realitymath and doubled it. 30 minutes, 12 miles; that sounds about right, right? Wrong. Add an hour to it.

I pulled out of work at 3:30PM and the freeways were locked. Aha! There they are! I never saw these assholes before, because I was always at work, but here they are, millions of a-holes sneaking away. Who are they fooling? Surely the employees and the employers have passed each other on the freeway on a Thursday at 3:30PM, and I'm sure they simultaneously mouthed the words, "don't tell anybody!"

So, I', locked in this constipated load of glass and metal until finally I eek my way to Alvarado and the 101, where I found Music Plus. Almost a block away from the freaking freeway, with masses of humanity seething outside, there it was. The sign shares space with a bankruptcy lawyer, and as I found, they share office space, too.

I was seated by a nice Latino woman in a lobby shared by bankruptcy folks and music video folks alike. Which is to say, a dank couch in a grey room with no distinguishing features save for a pennysaver type periodical dispenser filled with info on Music Video Plus, and a kid playing Gameboy Advance SP.

I asked the kid what he was playing and he told me, "Robots!, can you beat it?"
I told him, of course I could, but was unable to make do on the promise, because I was called in by Stuart The Girl.

What a curse, right? To be a girl named Stuart. The girl who came to talk to me was darn cute (I can say this because my wife never reads anything I write) and I could only feel sorry for here because a) her name was "Stuart" and b) she worked in this dump. I asked her later what brought her here, and she told me that she was originally hired as a host. Which makes sense. Totally hot, doesn't know shit about music. She asked me those bullshit preliminary questions, "So, what kind of music do you like?" And I would have got a better response if I had just shat in a pie tin. Instead I said nonsense words like, "I'm a big Bright Eyes fan, but I also like the new LCD Soundsystem, actually that whole DFA Sampler I'm into, Black Dice is cool, not so much into The Rapture..."
"Yeah, sometimes the best CDs are samplers, right?" she said, and of course I said Yeah, because I need a job.

to be continued...