Blog Jam

I have several topics on the back burner that, so far, haven't gelled to my demanding standards.

These include:

My parents selling the family business. Reflections of Zen and the art of aircraft maintenance.

Walking into giant spider webs on otherwise tranquil summer nights.

My review of Sicko.

Larry King and Marlon Brando kissing on YouTube, not that there's anything wrong with that, or is there?

Standing in line at Trader Joes and being subjected to "Philadelphia Freedom" by Elton John.
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Any requests?

New Car Smell Update

Back in March I blogged about how the used car I'd purchased had been sprayed inside with a "new car" smell and how terrifically annoying that was. Since then, thousands of letters have poured in expressing concern for my discomfort, offering a bosom to rest my weary head on. Some months and many bosoms later I can say that most, but not all, of the new car smell has subsided.

I'm hard-pressed to think of a single artificial smell that I cotton to. I just don't groove to colognes, perfumes, scented soaps, smelly detergent or stuff like that. Ewwww.. yuk! Then again, while the smell of Coppertone, crayons, Playdoh and Elmers glue may have nostalgic power, it's not exactly what I'd call enchanting. I've heard people say that they like the smell of gasoline fumes but they're all dead.

"drooper-scented" car

My cursory investigation has revealed that the smell inside a freshly made car comes from the epoxies and adhesives that bond interior panels together. People are indeed drawn to these odors in some sick Pavlovian way but the chemicals have an deleterious effect on the human body. So now that we've all been made sick beyond repair, there's a push to discontinue the use of these compounds. So I guess that cars in the future will be held together tongue and groove style.

Hooray for that.

A lot of Esoteric Hooey for the Developmentally Stunted

Last night I saw one of several films from the "Mods & Rockers" series assembled by the American Cinematheque in Hollywood. Yes, HOLLYWOOD!!! It was a documentary called "Who is Harry Nilsson and Why is Everybody Talkin' About Him?" --actually, everybody isn't talking about him, which is why they can't find a proper distributor for the film.

unrelated cow etching

After the movie, there's was a live discussion with filmmaker John Scheinfeld who said that "the cracks were beginning to show" in terms of Harry's alcoholic spiral and tendency toward self-destruction on his Son of Schmilsson album. There were a couple of additional remarks generally downgrading the quality of work on that record. I would assert that they are wrong and that Son of Schmilsson is Harry's finest release. Perhaps the alcoholism actually made a positive creative contribution in this case.

Without the cracks there wouldn't be a story in any case.



There I said it.

Still, the only reason that I'm mentioning this at all is because I was fleeced 10 bucks just to park in a lot off Hollywood Blvd.. So naturally I have to blog about it to justify my folly.

Dead Arm Chronicles

The other morning I woke with my right arm positioned in a Benny Hill salute above my head. Somehow I'd lodged it where the circulation got pinched off and the whole length, from my hand to my shoulder, was paralyzed and cold. No feeling whatsoever. Any sort of grazing vermin could've ambled up and feasted on it, chewing up sinew and veins, and I wouldn't have felt a thing. I had to use my other arm to position the cold appendage down and coax it back to life.

I experienced a mild panic wondering if maybe it had been without circulation to the point of no return. What of gangrene or amputation? Or what if a different extremity had gone numb like, say, my head? Then what?


Well, the old arm did finally come 'round with some rallying slaps and a victrola playing John Philip Sousa marches full blast. I scolded it to never venture so far from home again, as I'd discovered it clutching a knapsack and a mini travel-sized bottle of Jim Beam. I mean, who knows where it had been in during its wild sojourn?

master blaster

Everything seemed OK and I'd pretty much forgotten about the whole episode, until I noticed that my right arm seemed hairier than the left and the opposable thumb was positioned on the reverse-side like a second left hand! It began spontaneously writing ransom notes and threatening letters to somebody named "J. Edgar Hoover".

Should I be concerned?


Signed,

"Lefty" The Icepick Jones

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