Let us go then, you and I

In the coming weeks, when you head to your local bookshop or library in search of some literary betterment, be prepared. You will likely find that everyone else has the same idea.

The explanation is simple: They, like you, cannot for the life of them remember what exactly they did with their AP English copy of Catcher in the Rye, though surely it is still in their possession. Unfortunately, even before Mr. Salinger's passing this week, this particular opus became (and remained) popular with all manner of crazies who have kept it flying off the shelves for half a century. So all the would-be readers, like you, were forced to move on to some B-list Salinger works, driven by a vague recollection of the tingle of an adolescent intellect that was born during "For Esme with Love and Squalor" and the one about the Bananafish.

And so, dear reader, here we stand, watching as proverbial tumbleweeds slowly roll down the desolate shelves where J.D Salinger used to be. Through some twist of antisocial, final and triumphant irony, he actually managed to take all of his writing with him. Good on you, Jerome, you stick it to 'em.

But do not despair. Just because all of the other nostalgic bookworms out there were quicker on the draw than you doesn't mean you have to go back to Twitter. May I recommend some other forgotten gems from the days of yore: "Winesburg, Ohio" by Sherwood Anderson, anything by Anthony Burgess and, if whiskey and/or briar pipes are involved in your reading ritual, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Take a shot at the end of every stanza. I warrant you will get literated and obliterated at the same time!

Just be sure to pour one out for J.D., who is surely up there enjoying some good eats, good company, reruns of last season's Gossip Girl and some god damned peace and privacy. Here's to you.

El Griffin. (that's Spanish for "The Griffin")

The Griffin should be my favorite bar. It is medieval themed, and I love medieval shit. I even have a useless degree in Medieval European History, the product of four years of dorking out on Latin, dense books, church documents and footnotes, while all my friends got to watch ass loads of movies and make up their own words.

BUT, the Griffin actually kinda sucks. Read on..

Item 1: They turned me away for wearing shorts at 8:02 on a Tuesday in July because "sorry bro, no shorts on dudes allowed after 8pm." Regardless of how your feel about shorts in general, it was summer, it was hotter than Satan's grundle, and they turned down a potential paying customer. Some happy horseshit indeed.

Item 2: Most of the bars full-length-pant-wearing patrons are an awkward combination of Glendale chads and eastside hipsters whose self importance could not contained in the more modestly sized watering holes of Echo Park and headed out to the pseudo-'burb of Atwater for some more room. While its not my place to judge, it is definitely not my scene. Especially with Bigfoot down the road, where the Rocka/Horror/Psycho billy crowd seems to be taking back the joint from the Hollywood overflow. Ratrods? Check. Custom cafe racers? Check. It's like 2006 all over again...

My point? We went there (wearing pants of course) and not only got in, got to the bar unharassed by horny douchebags (that happened there once too) and ordered, but actually scored two stools, where we had unlimited access to bartending service and people watching. Then we discovered their special on Eel River Porter, which in addition to beings 3 bucks, tasty and certified organic, is not a non-achoholic beer. Some things are not too good to be true. And just as we started to entertain the idea that the Griffin doesn't suck, the clock struck midnight and Olympia went on sale for a dollar. A good time ensued.

The score still stands stacked pretty steeply against the joint, but I felt in the interest of fairness I should share our little success story. Now if anyone can find something nice to say about The Brass Monkey, I would like to hear it...

-OSB

Echo Bravo

Through the miracle of the English language, we have discovered that there is, in fact, no "i" in team, and that to assume is to make an "ass" out of "u" and "me". Today, I was forced to come to terms with the fact that I was not going to get a raise. Ever. Just as I did not receive a holiday bump from the old taskmaster. And therefore, without further ado, I give you, from my co-workers and I, that this year our boss, Peter Carlson, truly put the "e" in "bonus"...

Today's victim is...

..."bloggiveways.cob" (name changed to protect the more or less innocent. But I bet you can figure it out if you REALLY want to). This site is a clearing house for blogs whose authors have gotten enough traffic to attract some attention from advertisers who decide that they can curry favor with the blogs preselected demographic by giving away something.

To take a step back in the name of fairness, I have never visited this site, and my exposure to it is only word of mouth. However, let me replay the conversation that led be to decide to "victimize" this site today:

A- So all you have to do is comment on the blog to entered into their giveaway!

B- But only blogs with a huge numbers of readers are selected to host these contests anyway...

A- I know that, so I only chose to enter the giveaways with the lowest number of readers and the soonest deadlines for entry. Clever no?

B- Quite clever. But, I am sorry to say, you should not have wasted those precious minutes of workplace procrastination, since I already own the complete cast of SeaQuest DSV action figures, so the ones you *may* win, will only be duplicates. Plus, mine are in the original packaging. Very valuable. And the dolphin will talk about Cathy Ireland if you put an AAA battery in his belly. Although, if you do, the package cautions you not to use it as a tub toy, despite the aquatic nature of Darwin, the character it portrays.

A- Oh. Asshole.

B- Yeah, just wait 'till we live in a house financed by my limited edition Capt. Nathan Bridger action figure with articulated shoulders for unlimited backstroking. And, if I could even begin to spell Lucas' last name, I would totally post that shit on ebay, since I have two of him, one with the Hawaiian shirt and one with no shirt at all. I could make bank. Serious fucking ducats. Seriously...

A- What? You are such a fucking nerd.

B- Yes.

A- Let's eat burritos.

B- Ok.

This shit is whack. But, if y'all want some free shit, hit it up. I don't even want a cut. Unless you win the 1993 Phillies action figure set. If you do, John Kruk is SO mine...

-OSB

Knives, big fuck off shiny ones.

If you, like me, have never owned proper kitchen knives, do not worry. If you need to cut some shit up so you can cook it, any knife will do and that is that. However, if you want to know what it feels like to enter your kitchen and smell the fear of every legume, feel the shiver running through the seeds of every fruit, and know at long last that even the fucking onion is crying and pissing itself, get a serious cook's knife. Money isn't the point, you don't need a matched set or a fancy wooden storage block. Hell, you don't even have to use the thing if you don't want to, but just having it there brings priceless peace of mind. I don't know about you, but I sleep soundly now, fearing no mango pit, no spaghetti squash, not even a frozen chunk of mock chicken. And if your bitchin' new knife fails to force all of your culinary minions into abject compliance, I recommend a machete from Thailand. They even cut garlic. But that is another story...

-OSB

2010 indeed.

Its obvious that the holiday beast successfully devoured the final months of my 2009, but this little soapbox has waited patiently for my return to At Hell (work) in couple of days and the barrage of assorted misanthropy that will likely accompany it. Until then though, things seem to be looking up. California's extra ten percent income tax is over. Sweet. W-2s should be here soon, meaning taxes are due. Not sweet. The holidays are over, which means that bands are out touring again, and there indeed some good shows coming up. My band, thanks for asking, is soldiering along, writing mostly, debating a name change and forever adding to the list of Things We Will Never Do Again. New Years Resolutions: Be less of a bastard, do more stuff, eat more Moroccan food, sleep occasionally, and generally not "let the bastards drag you down." Yep.