Last night our friends Rosten and Damon spent the night. They’re in town from New York. They are partners in an organization called CUP (the Center for Urban Pedagogy). They’re in town right now teaching a course at the Sundown Schoolhouse, where Sarah is a student.

All of this information is beside the point of my post. The point of my post is that Rosten and Damon were awakened this morning to hear the FBI staging a raid on one of the apartments in my building. As of this posting, they’re still up in the apartment, dusting for fingerprints or whatever it is that FBI do. I’m burning to find out what was going on up there. I will keep you posted.

OH MY HOLY GOD HOW DOES THIS WOMAN WHO LIVES ON OUR HALL MANAGE TO CLOMP SO HARD EVERY MORNING THAT THE ENTIRE BUILDING SHAKES?!? She’s not a large woman. I’ve spied on her through the window as she clomps by. She must be wearing gold bricks for shoes.

I just went to the Rite Aid to pick up some beer. The person in line ahead of me was buying two tubes (don’t know if that’s the right word) of Revlon Pecan Lip Liner. The woman behind the counter rang this woman up. The phone rang at Rite Aid. The customer’s cell phone rang. Each of them grabbed their respective phones.

The customer mumbled something into her cell and looked at the screen of the cash register. “These are supposed to be buy one, get one half off,” she said. “Hello, Rite Aid,” said the employee, in an Apu accent. “These are supposed to be buy one, get one HALF OFF,” the customer reiterated, into her cell phone. “Yah,” the employee said, realizing that the woman was talking to her. “You got half off,” then, into her phone, “yes, we sell batteries.” The employee pointed to the screen, where it clearly showed that the customer had gotten her discount. “These are SUPPOSED TO BE BUY ONE, GET ONE HALF OFF!” the customer shouted, in between muttered mumblings to her phone partner. “Yah!” the employee answered. She smacked her index finger repeatedly against the register screen. “You got one half off!” The customer lost it. “I KNOW!” she shouted, and then stormed away from the counter and out of the store. The employee and I followed the woman out the door with our eyes.

I put my 6 pack on the counter and tried to appear friendly. The employee shook her head with distaste. “What a nahsty person,” she said, still watching the door.

This is what’s funny about this story: 1) the employee made a severe and serious condemnation of the customer’s character while speaking in an Apu accent, and 2) someone called Rite Aid to see if they carried batteries.

I just saw a woman buying a teddy bear at 7-11. I sure hope she wasn’t buying it for a child. That would be really sad.

Over the weekend, I took Sarah to Joshua Tree as an early birthday present. It should only take two hours to get there. We left at 2:30 on Friday, thinking we’d beat the rush. It ended up taking us four and 1/2 hours. Note to anyone in LA looking to get away for the weekend: leave Thursday.

We were originally going to stay in a cabin, but Sonny & Julia were coming up Saturday, and it was difficult to find a place that would accommodate two couples and a baby. So I rented a room at the Pioneertown Motel. According to their website, this is where the movie stars sleep. As we soon learned, they weren’t just blowing smoke.

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Last night Sarah and I went to a bar called the Cha Cha Lounge in Silverlake. It was decorated like a Chi-Chis with a hipster clientele. Tackiness is very much celebrated in LA, way more so than in New York. Grimy in New York is equivalent to tacky in LA.

One nice thing about LA bars is that you can always find a table. It took me about 6 months to get over my habit of bum rushing open tables for fear that someone would snag them out from under me. People’d be all, “chill out, dude, there are like twelve open tables right now.”

Anyway, the Cha Cha Lounge had a vending machine filled with wacky novelty items, including a product I never thought I’d see again: Big League Chew. I can’t believe they’re still making it. It’s really the gateway candy between gum and chewing tobacco.

I’ll tell you what, though … that shit really held its flavor.

During the day, I work at home. Sometimes I’m in my office; sometimes, for kicks, I hang out on the couch in the living room. The back of our living room faces the back of another apartment building. A few months ago, I noticed that there was an exorbitant amount of phone ringing coming from one of the apartments. Since I have little else to do during the day than obsess about things that annoy me, I began listening to the ring very closely and discovered that it changed tone. It was always essentially the same, but it wavered in ways ringtones do not waver. Eventually, I figured out that the ringtone was actually coming from a parrot. It is a pretty talented parrot. Not only does it do a ringtone, it does a very convincing “you have a voicemail” message from a cell phone.