Falling From Cloud Nine
Sickened to the point of semi-upchuck by a Katy Perry song while driving the 405 one day, I decided to make the leap. No, I did not decide to Tony Scott all up in this place. The leap I speak of is a conceptual one. From radio to Podcast.
As the city of Angeles is Life-by-Car, it is only natural that radio becomes the consistent link to sanity in a sea of the insane. The car radio takes on heightened value. It is the guiding light of truth amidst a sea swamp of salt-water traffy. A one-colon-king in the land of the constipated. The tie that tethers and binds like a Kardashian on holiday.
I inhaled the humid fumes of taxic gastronomic backwash that drifts down from Mulholland like so many creative scraps from the enlightened overlords of film and television.
Red brake lights snaked in front of me like a million rejections in a sea of a million more rejections. Just another day in the concrete jungle.
Podcast it was.
The lame pseudo-comedy of the Sports Guy was an immediate nix. Carolla never had me back on his Podcast, so I felt a little sheepish about skipping that one.
I gave Nerdist a spin. Chris Hardwick plays the “Aw shucks” vibe well, and part of me wonders if it’s an act. But he’s a solid interviewer, and knows his nerdgasms. It was adequate entertainment for L.A. traffic. If the roads were clear, however, I would pee on his face.
Then I tried the James Urbaniak Podcast. But the hipster poo began flying, and as I have no interest in handlebar mustaches and vinyl, I failed to make the cut.
Up next, the Kevin Smith podcast, called the “Smodcast.” I appreciate Smith as he not only knows he has no discernible talent, but he also knows that you know. And he knows that you know that he knows. But he doesn’t know that you know that he knows you that you know. So lots of references to the 1990s later, and I snoozed my way along that proverbial multi-platform road.
I had to check out Marc Maron’s WTF Podcast, as it’s required by internet law. I was mildly impressed. Self hatred and misanthropy in one’s late 40s can have career benefits. Good for me to know. I’m a younger Maron without the comedic chops or talent. Hmm. Maybe that isn’t good for me know.
Misanthropy. It can be pronounced two ways. Either way ends in getting those kids off my lawn as the Depends soak up my incontinent poopie.
Finally, I have the very talented and woefully underutilized Riki Shubart a listen, she of the blonde half of “Garfunkel and Oats.” She’s a talented one. Bears watching/listening to see her career develop.
But then, after six hours of driving across town, I ended up at my destination. Vic’s Car Wash and Butt Fondle.
It’s off La Brea and Fountain.
Ask for Roxie.
Waldo at Church
Remember, amidst the chaos of our lives, no matter how bleak things sometimes seem, somewhere there is a pigeon blocking Waldo’s head in front of a European church.
And that puts it all into perspective.