so i’m sitting on a plane from l.a to toronto getting ready to drink some of that extra-special airline orange juice. something about orange juice on an airplane always tastes considerably different than orange juice at sea level. maybe it’s the altitude. maybe it’s the airline ice. maybe it’s the squishy plastic cup.
i was on a plane earlier from salt lake city to los angeles. i was flying with earth, wind & fire and the members of kiss. needless to say it was an odd experience. and gene simmons from kiss told me in all earnestness that i was ‘powerful and attractive.’ so for about 10 minutes afterwards i felt powerful and attractive and i think that for the first time in my life i walked without a slouch. but then the slouch returned and the old feelings of low self-esteem kicked back in. maybe i should have weekly self-esteem boosting sessions with gene simmons.

oh, they’re showing curling on the in-flight monitors. in all honesty i think that curling is my favourite olympic sport. in some ways it’s the antithesis of all of the other sports in the winter olympics. every other winter olympic sport is about speed and endurance. curling is almost zen-like in it’s languidity. is ‘languidity’ a word? if it’s not, then it is now. at least here. but watching curling is almost meditative cos everything (apart from the guys with the brushes) is just soo s l o w. and peaceful.
some multimedia artist should do a split-screen presentation with curling on one side and hockey on the other. the tempest and the tea-cup. they both involve sliding inanimate things around on the ice. and they both involve very specific placement of the inanimate thing. but they accomplish this specific placement through very different means. equally viable, but very different. fuck, i’m talking about sports. don’t worry, it won’t happen again.
sports and music, never the twain shall meet. one makes a choice at an early age (or at least i did). that choice is: play sports or play music. i chose music.
and for good reasons. reason 1 was that i loved music. reason 2 was that i was utterly inept when it came to sport. i’m a functionally mediocre tennis player, but in everything else i was always chosen last and for good reason, i sucked.
i never resented the team captains for choosing me last. if i were a team captain i would’ve chosen me last, too, for i was always an athletic liability.

i could spend the next 4 hours and 40 minutes (remaining flight time) just writing about what they’re showing on the in-flight monitors. happy canadians dancing on top of a bus, george w. bush looking like a tight lipped cartoon character, dick cheney talking out of the side of his mouth, etc.
i had a dream last night wherein i took ecstasy that was licorice flavoured. do they make flavoured class-a narcotics? why not? why not make peppermint flavoured crack? or orange and lavender flavoured vicadin? oops, i guess vicadin isn’t a class-a narcotic.

there is so much space in the american west. hours pass and you’re still flying over mountains and deserts. ok, enough rambling. i’ve got important in-flight things to take care of…like, uh, this article in the new yorker about al sharpton. yeah, that’s important. and at some point i should probably go to the toilet and look at my teeth in the mirror.
see, i’m not wasting my time here.
i’ve got very important stuff to do.
have a nice day,
moby

if i lived in l.a i would become:
a-fat
b-insufferable.
for those of you who aren’t familiar with the word ‘insufferable’ let me say that it can easily be replaced with ‘unbearable’ in the sentence of your choosing. what’s that, a homonym?
fat in l.a because the vegan food here is so good. insufferable because the life here is so comfortable and there’s so much ego stroking to be done/had.
or if i moved here i’d cultivate a drug problem and start mountain biking, but i would bring my cell phone with me while mountain biking and do lines of blow while drinking specially balanced electrolyte water and yelling at agents.
then i’d go home to my model/actress girlfriend and listen to her puking in the bathroom while i arrange a tryst with her best friend. then i’d go to the trendy restaurant of the moment and yell at the maitre’d for not giving me a table close enough to kevin costners table. then i’d go to the bathroom and do blow with a columbian guy who wants to start a modeling agency and i’d say that it sounds like a great idea and could i have a piece of the action?

yup. l.a is a lovely place to visit but if i moved here i’d become a grade-a disaster. which might be healthy, who knows? oh, i’m rambling. pernicious rambling.
the kind of rambling that should probably be done in an un-public forum.
for in my mind i’m just trying to be funny, but then i’ll probably open a gossip magazine in 2 weeks and read that i’ve moved to l.a and i’m dating a columbian model and she and kevin costner are selling mountain bikes filled with cocaine to maitre’d’s.

see, i’ve been here for 2 days and already i’m a self-involved nightmare.
a fat self-involved nightmare. time to get the rag-on-a-stick and clean myself. ‘you know better than to talk to momma when she’s watching her stories’ name that quote.
hi. have a happy monday.
-moby