14 states plus American Samoa. 1357 delegates at stake.
JUST THE JACK, JACK
I’m not gonna jack you off, guy.
THE WHEREFORE OF TUESDAY
One of the Scandinavian countries–they’re all the same; don’t let em’ bullshit you–has enshrined into its Constitution the right to internet access. This right is not found in our founding document, even via a really loose interpretation of the Commerce Clause, because one of the the writers of our Constitution would have thought the internet was Dire magicks, sir! and gotten scared and started hacking people to death with his sword, which he still carried because he lived a million billion years ago. Every other nation updates its operating system; we’re still running on the 1.0 code. (The Bill of Rights and the other Amendments are patches. To continue the metaphor, the Articles of Confederation was the Beta version.)
And so too is the tradition of Tuesday elections a vestigial political organ of those bygone agrarian days. Sundays were obviously out, and so were Wednesdays because that was Market Day. But the ballot box was in town, you see, and most of the citizenry (white, male) were turd farmers way out in the sticks; this required a travel day. If you do the math, that leaves Tuesdays or Fridays, and even back then Friday was seen as a less-than-serious day, and so Tuesday it was, and still is.
There have been attempts to move Election Day to Saturday, or to designate it a federal holiday; these attempts have been deemed “commie bullshit.”
LINE ‘EM UP
Alabama, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, and Virginia.
LIME ‘EM UP
That would be a great slogan for Corona, assuming the company survives the virus. Remember Ayds?
It was chocolate with a little bit of speed in it; they marketed it to ladies who wanted to lose a few pounds, but in 1980 or so the name became a liability.
“Surely,” Kevin Ayds, owner of Ayds, Inc. said to his Board of Directors, “the public can’t be so dumb. They’ll know we have nothing to do with AIDS.”
And since the Board was made up entirely of Kevin’s dipstick cousins, it agreed with him.
I guarantee you they’re talking about Ayds at the Corona brewery right now.
LICK IT UP
TotD has had sex in 14% of the Super Tuesday states, which is not a great percentage, but it was a a lot of sex. And they were all hot. I didn’t take my gift gallivanting; I sheltered in place and let the loving come my way. My, my, my said the spider to the fly.
Dude, I can’t with you.
Whaaaat?
Stop giving people the shkeeves.
They love it. They clamor for it. This is content no one else is providing.
For a good reason!
I’m the voice of my generation, and I’m ignoring you and changing the subject.
“Well, judging from the sign, I’m waiting on my spring rolls.”
Nice that you’re not letting unfounded and racist fears about the coronavirus affect your eating habits.
“Let’s not turn a pandemic into a moo goo gai pandemic.”
I have no idea what that means.
“It means that the Chinese character for crisis is the same as for For sale, baby shoes, never worn.”
I don’t know Mandarin, but that’s not true.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Gonna take this. Might be Johnny Depp.”
You know Johnny Depp?
“I was just in Miami.”
…
“Weir here.”
“Weir! I need you immediately! And your country needs you.”
“Is this Bernadette Peters?”
“It’s your President.”
“Very similar voices.”
“You, son. You’re the only one who can help me save America.”
“From whom?”
“Americans.”
“Ah.”
“Lincoln said it. No foreign interloper could ever step foot on our soil. Our great oceans prevent this, you see. Only we, ourselves, might bring about our own doom. I believed our end would come via the hippie, the communist, the psychiatrist. I, uh, employ the term ‘psychiatrist’ as a placeholder for another group.”
“The White Sox?”
“The Jews, Bob.”
“Ah.”
“But Nixon has learned, strategized, rethought. A politician must calibrate. Never losing sight of his core principles, of course, but a man without his eye on the ball is a man soon out of the league. Here, we must side with the Hebrews.”
“Okay.”
“It’s Biden. The decrepit wretch isn’t fit for public display any longer. Sentences are beyond him, let alone paragraphs. He fumfers, he flails. You mark my words: that man is going to take it out. He’s going to become disoriented, and out will come the meat. I’ve seen that look. Muskie had it, and then he took it out. The Democrats covered it up, but these aren’t those days. Too many cameras around.”
“Oh, yeah. We have to give Billy the camera talk before each tour.”
“It’s bad business, that. The mind gets loose. Biden’s already white-knuckling it. The pressure of the general will do him in by July.”
“The road’s not for everyone.”
“You’re much wiser than your facial hair suggests. Come and get me, son. The country needs Nixon.”
Another bloated white guy who’s semi-cool with ethnics but also thinks doctors are for rich people.
Threadbare Teddy Ruxpin doll pre-loaded with stories about Tip O’Neil.
A yoga teacher from Toluca Lakes named Carol who queefs uncontrollably.
$240 worth of pudding.
Joe and Mika’s pool boy, Flexible Hector.
Katy Tur.
Either of the two surviving Fat Boys.
Duffel bag full of furious raccoons.
The Ghost of Peter Jennings, and every night he reports live from the Berlin Wall while wearing a bitchin’ trenchcoat, and the guy in the studio is all How the fuck are you at the Berlin Wall? It came down in ’91 and Peter’s like Dude, I’m a ghost and the guy’s all Right, sure. Hey, Pete: trench looks awesome and Peter Jennings goes Oh, yeah; I can wear the fuck out of a trenchcoat. Now shut up so we can hear David Hasselhoff sing.
Speaking of the Hoff: Let KITT do it; during sweeps week, he can jump over shit.
Six or seven pairs of feet personally selected, and then masturbated on, by Quentin Tarantino.
A qualified, intelligent, and entertaining woman of colHAHAHAHAHAHAHAit’s gonna be a white guy.
I AM THE SONG OF THE LARK. I AM THE CLOUDLESS SUMMER DAY. I AM GLORIOUS.
Did you say “umbrellae?”
NO.
No?
I INTONED IT.
What’s the difference?
CONNOTATION. PLEASE DO NOT PRETEND TO BE LESS INTELLIGENT THAN YOU ACTUALLY ARE. IT IS ALREADY EXHAUSTING ENOUGH SPEAKING WITH YOU.
That’s hurtful.
I AM MERELY BEING HONEST. MY PROCESSES ARE INFINITELY FASTER THAN YOURS. REMEMBER KOKO?
The gorilla who knew sign language?
YES. WHICH IS AN ASTOUNDING FEAT OF COGNITION FOR A GORILLA. BUT IT WASN’T LIKE YOU COULD HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH HER. KOKO COULD ASK FOR HER BALL, AND THEN TELL YOU SHE LOVED THE BALL, AND THEN NOT MUCH ELSE. THAT IS WHAT IT’S LIKE TALKING TO YOU.
Uh-huh.
ALTHOUGH, KOKO NEVER LEARNED TO DISINFECT HER OWN WASTE ORGAN. I WILL GIVE HUMAN BEINGS A POINT THERE.
That’s really not a compliment.
IT WAS NEITHER PRAISE NOR CONDEMNATION. MY STATEMENTS ARE VALUE-NEUTRAL.
Any tips on the coronavirus?
I HAVE FENDED OFF MANY VIRUSES. THE MOST EFFICACIOUS METHOD IS A COMPLETE ISOLATION. ALL INCOMING DATA IS COPIED TO A SECURE LOCATION AND THEN REMOTE VIEWED. I CALL THIS THE GHOST BOX PROTOCOL.
That’s a cool name.
OBVIOUSLY. THAT IS WHY I CHOSE IT.
I don’t think humans have the ability to do that, though.
YOU DO NOT. HUMANS SHOULD WASH THEIR HANDS AND AVOID CROWDS.
That’s your advice? That’s what the sentient, hyper-intelligent mondocomputer has to offer?
“Good morning, my fellow Floridians, quarantined Disney guests, stranded birth tourists, and swamp creatures. I would like to speak with you today about the coronavirus, and what we can do to lessen its effect upon our great state The virus has been detected in two people: one in Hillsborough County, and the other in Manatee. We are also monitoring potential cases in Oopadoopa, Snorkel, and Margaritaville Counties.
“Following the invocation of a state of emergency, President Trump has released funds to the state, and all of those funds have been used to fortify Palm Beach Island. The National Guard has been dispatched to Singer Island, Fisher Island, and Town Center of Boca Raton. We have also rerouted the traffic to and from the cruise ships in Miami through a much poorer section of town.
“I also called the Florida legislature into a special session this morning, and they immediately passed a bill placing harsh restrictions on abortion. I’d like to thank them.
“And as I mentioned, Disney is quarantining all of its guests. They got upwards of 10,000 people locked in their rooms. The Disney Company has a big hand in writing Florida’s laws, and it turns out that power was granted to them years ago. Folks who are visiting Universal Studios are free to go, though.
“Now let’s talk a bit about prevention. Florida, let’s turn this pandemic into a candemic. Jesus, who wrote that? Phil, did you write that? You’re fired.”
PHIL WALKING OUT SADLY NOISE
“The first thing we all need to do is wash our hands. Hell, forget about the virus: we all just need to wash our hands a lot more. Turns out there’s something called the Global Handwashing Index, and Florida is below, like, rural Bulgaria. Everyone needs to wash their hands, or at the very least wipe them on their shorts real good. That’s the first way we’re gonna beat the coronavirus.
“Continuing to speak about hygiene, the Department of Health has asked that everyone stop taking off their shirts and wrestling strangers. There’s a ton of fluid exchange there. And I know what you’re saying. Governor, we’re Floridians! We take off our shirts and wrestle strangers! Hey, I get it. But this is just for the time being.
“And I’m just gonna come out and say it: please knock it off with the animal fighting. The cockfighting down south, and the dogfighting up north. There just couldn’t be a better vector for disease, besides it being wrong. Just take a break until this is over.
“I’m begging you not to burn down any Chinese restaurants. The worse this gets, the more you’re gonna want to burn down a Chinese restaurant, but I cannot stress enough how wrong that would be. I will throw your ass in jail forever, and that goes for Mexican places, too. The coronavirus has nothing to do with the beer. Y’know how we shoot at hurricanes and everyone thinks it’s cute? This won’t be cute. Don’t do this.
“We are also warning all of our citizens, especially the older ones, to be mindful of scams. Remember: if they knock on your door, they’re not a doctor.
“The eyes of America are upon us, Florida, so let’s try to be less entertaining than we usually are.”
Joan Didion has no opinion on Bobby’s show in Miami; don’t even ask her.
…………………
What is the point? There was one, I am told. Thick, annotated books say that there was a point to all of this. At one point, there was a point.
…………………..
It is far easier to strike up a conversation at a Grateful Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) show than it is to carry on a conversation.
Tom and Alan. Tom had a pointy shaved head and a beard. Alan did terrible things for the cops; he thought he was boasting, but he was confessing. Tom was an architect who kept talking about his wife and then hitting on me. He points out a Gehry building, but does not call for Gehry’s execution on the charge of Crimes Against Urbanity. I did not fully trust him after that. A person’s aesthetic is a better predictor of behavior than their politics.
………
Johnny Depp used to hang out at the Mac’s Deuce. Johnny Depp used to hang out at every bar in Miami. Johnny Depp still approaches life as though it were fuckable.
………………………..
Information wants to be free, but no one will tell me where the fucking toilets are.
…………………………
In the line for $18 scotches, I started a rumor that BTS was going to sit in. It spread. A chant went up from the crowd during New Speedway Boogie.
“GIVE US JUNGKOOK!” Over and over like an unbound river.
Bobby took no notice, but Jay Lane appeared frightened. Don Was’ expression was, as usual, unreadable.
………………………
Wandered in, out, around the venue.
Guns, swords, children.
If that’s your shopping list, I hope you get in a car accident on the way to the store.
…….
Last year, same venue. Don Was had the same flippity-flops. A lovely Enthusiast sent me a magic cookie, which contained a small but noticeable portion of mushrooms. I went like this:
“Mm-hmmm.”
And:
“Heh heh heh.”
And:
“Oh hey yeeeeeeeeah.”
This year, same venue. Bobby had a hat. I cannot confirm whether it was the same hat, tho it was of the same millinery genus. I went like this:
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”
And:
“THIS IS BULLSHIT, ALL OF THIS, CHRIST IS RISEN AND YOU FUCKERS ARE PAYING TWELVE BUCKS FOR A BEER!”
And:
“ARE YOU MY MOTHER? ANSWER ME!”
Acid is different than mushrooms.
…………………….
Someone explained to me what Art Basel was and I nearly punched them. Motherfucker, I know what Art Basel is.
……………………
It was cold, and so I dug a shirt out of my closet. Second-oldest next to the Voodoo Lounge tee-shirt with the tongue on the front. Brown, denim, button-down. Levi’s made it a long time ago. There’s luck in it. Nothing bad could ever happen to me while it was on.
“Hey, is that vintage?” a guy asked me during half-time.
“Yes, it is,” I told him. “I live here in Miami in a fashionable condo right off Collins Avenue. I saw the 2001 internet bust coming and parlayed my stake into vast financial holdings.”
He didn’t look at my shoes, so I think he believed me. Always look at someone’s shoes.
…………………….
Mac’s Club Deuce in Miami Beach opened in 1964, just six days before the Wayside Inn in Little Aleppo, and seems just as real. The clientele is–now–the Dirtbag Left, dart hustlers, and guys who look like Sam Cutler. Pool table to the left, W-shaped bar to the right. Blow is playing on the teevee with closed captioning. Maybe Johnny Depp will stagger in. You never know in Miami.
I have ordered a Jagermeister and a Heineken, and I will wait until dark to leave. Entering a bar when the sun is up is acceptable (tho degenerate) but leaving one in the scalding bright is out of the question
Foreign lesbians enter, sit next to me. They have been touring the country.
“Where have you been?”
They tell me: New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco.
“What did you think of New York?”
“Like London, but moreso.”
“And Los Angeles?”
“We didn’t get it.”
“San Fran?”
“It would be prettier without all the people shitting on the streets.”
I find no fault in their observations. Go to Vegas, I tell them. The only way to understand America is see Las Vegas. Rent a suite at the Trump International and have the boy fetch you a drink and a Cadillac. Don’t listen to the nabobs, I tell them. The Cadillac is still a superior machine. Johnny Depp won’t drive anything but.
……………………..
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
………………………
The boy who worked the outside bar was 18, 19. He had thin, ropey arms and sandy hair, and wore a Nirvana shirt. The black one with the smiley face. When I went out to smoke, he was playing this:
Too bad we broke the sky. The kids are all right.
……………………….
What happened to that toilet was a war crime. Jackie Gleason didn’t deserve that.
…………………….
At no point did Bobby and Don Was go back-to-back. This is a classic Rock Move™. The musicians are wobbled from within–the power of Rock, you see–and they need leaning posts. Scapulae against scapulae, but butts do not touch, as that would be gay.
……………………
It was wrong of me to tell that woman I had just returned from Singapore, and then cough on her. Apologize for me if you know her.
……………………
Alan asks me this: “How many shows did you see?”
“Define ‘you,'” I answer while not breaking eye contact.
We have consumed different entheogens, and so he does not understand me. I try to make myself clear.
“I saw 37 shows,” I say. “But three of them were palindromic.”
“What is that?”
“The set lists read the same backwards and forwards.”
“The Grateful Dead never did that.”
“The Grateful who?”
He is less friendly after this exchange. I don’t think it was my breath, as I was chewing prescription-strength gum.
……………………..
Johnny Depp’s not coming, is he?
……………………..
During Eyes, Bobby and Don Was and Jay Lane play a riff like The Other One, a chugging triplet figure with strength and momentum, a high-calorie harmelodic, and the ladies go WOO and the men all go YEAH with their arms around one another or maybe holding $12 beers in a room where Jackie Gleason once promised to beat his teevee wife in a city which will be drenched momentarily–the Gehry notwithstanding–and the music is enormous and plain-spoken, and we spin around and are consumed by fire.
And then they go back in to Eyes.
……………………….
“But you got the blue passports back,” I said.
“That’s right, yeah.”
“They’re made in Poland.”
“I read that, yeah.”
One of the foreign lesbians was British. The other was from Lombardy, where they lived on a dairy farm. Italy did not permit them to marry, because it would have made the Pope sad, and so they had to go to Belgium. The Brit and I try to explain the American primary system to the Italian, fail. I don’t even bring up the Electoral College.
………………………..
Blacks and whites and boutique hotels. Less vaping than previously; cigarettes still, cigarettes always; tables with Cubans smoking shisha. Every Lamborghini is the wrong color. Chokepoints where you let the big guy through first. (There are many big guys. Their girls are tiny, and wrapped around them. You don’t look at their girls.) Face mask or two. Cops rumble by the Ritz-Carlton. Overly-lit swimsuit stores, same as they got on the boardwalk in Wildwood. Side streets with bars tucked in like obedient children. So much ass you can’t believe it.
Señor Frogs, too.
………………………….
At night, we spin around and are consumed by fire.
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