Apologies for my time away. I’ve been thinking about a new do-it-yourself book i’m going to write, called Foam at Home. There will be a chapter about different foam mattresses, there will be a chapter about how to insulate your house, one about sound-proofing, one about rated-NC-17-type-stuff, one about, duh, molecular gastronomy, and, i donno, updates to come.
In seventy days, on the corner of Art Poser St. and Broken Promises Ave., near The Mandrake, 90-Day Jane will be hit by a 1999 Silver Volvo Wagon. She will die, and the joke will be on her.
I’m going to rewrite a script I once wrote and direct it under the title The Assassination of Leonardo Di Caprio by the Coward Lucas Haas. It will have really long, luscious composed shots of grass blowing in the wind, and really good sound editing of crickets chirping in the distance, but it will be about Lucas Haas secretly plotting to kill his best friend.
And yes, there will be lots of violence and titties.
So, at some point in the near future, my investment in Mega Millions* lottery tickets is going to pay off in a big way and I’m going to have a big decision to make: do I buy a nice house in Hancock park, which is about five minutes away from everything cool in the world, or do I buy a really cozy place up in the hills, which is quieter, more conducive to lounging around and feeling superior to people who don’t live in the hills, but also a good ten minutes away from any road that could possibly take you to the nearest Katsuya or Katsu-ya.
*Anytime the lotto jackpot goes over 200 million dollars, i buy one ticket. My reasoning is, at some point, I’m bound to win. I was expecting to win the 220 million dollar jackpot a couple weeks ago, but nobody won, and then i forgot to buy another ticket for the 270 million dollar jackpot three days later, so I’ll have to wait another couple months.
A rough idea of what t.a.p will look like
I’m going to open a restaurant called That Awesome Place in Monaco. The lighting will be really really dim, its only source being candles and the enormous fireplace in which food will be cooked on spits and in dutch ovens. The space will be in the basement, or cave, of a 16th century stone building, and the food will taste like sin. When rad people are looking for something to do in Monaco, if they are in the know, they will say, “Hey, you wanna just go to that awesome place again?” Yes. Yes I do.
I have a long, constantly evolving list of hopes and dreams. Regularly, I conjure* up unattainable goals and then, for anywhere between five minutes and twenty-four years, I pretend that they are completely reasonable, that, in fact, I am slowly moving toward achieving every one of them in some untraceable eastern-mindset kind of way.
My friend Nick, on whose website I plan to syndicate this publication, calls the world in which these dreams live “Zander’s Mundo Bizarro,” and today, as I was coming up with a brilliant idea for a restaurant/Weimar paradise, it donned on me: the best way to have ALL of these dreams become reality is to force them into being real by shamelessly publishing them on the internet. So, with neither trepidation nor foresight, I begin.
I suppose my first delusion is that I will actually contribute on a daily basis. The second delusion is that my entries will be varied, interesting, and supported by exquisite photomusicodocumentation. Other than that, let’s rock.
* conger |ˈkä ng gər| (also conger eel)
noun
a large edible predatory eel of shallow coastal waters. • Conger and other genera, family Congridae: several species, in particular the European C. conger and the American C. oceanicus.
ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French congre, via Latin from Greek gongros.
