Thursday, August 05, 2004

A Day in the Life of WULAD
Some of our loyal readers no doubt spend hours wondering, “What is the man behind WULAD really like? What makes him tick? What does he do all day? Can he loan me fifty bucks?”

Well, thanks to today’s post, you will learn the answers to all those questions, and some you wish you’d never given me reason to think you were asking. So, without further justification, we present this insiders-only, backstage look at the Man Behind the Douche, and if anybody reads the whole thing, I’ll eat my phonebook.

7:04 A.M. Clock radio goes off. Instead of hitting the snooze button, I inadvertently, or more likely advertently, hit the “off” button, probably because I was practicing until 2 A.M. last night. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to spend 40 hours a week doing what I love and have trained and studied for, rather than being forced to squeeze it into the paltry scraps of undigested time the “day job” spits on to the floor beneath the table of my weekly schedule? What’s that? Your hearts bleed for me? They should, jerks.

9:08 A.M. Rise and shine, take 2. This means a phone call to the boss and a ten-buck cab ride. In the interval, however, I did have a strange dream about some famous person. I can’t remember. This stuff makes for good reading, right? Right. Should I do this more often? I should? Aw, you’re too kind.

9:38 A.M. Since I’m late anyway, I decide to stop for a bagel at a neighborhood deli which prides itself as being the most authentic “East Coast”-style delicatessen in San Fran. While that’s true—they do have such disgusting-looking but Lower East Side-friendly fare as chubbs, gefilte fish, and shmaltz herring—they still haven’t figured out the New York breakfast sandwich (bacon or sausage, egg & cheese on a bagel, seen here in its natural habitat).

However, I notice that something sounding suspiciously similar has been added to the ‘specials’ menu this morning. After making sure that the egg is fried, and not microwaved into fluffy oblivion as is the usual method here, I order one. The verdict: pretty good. The sausage is weird, though, and really needs to be a patty rather than links.

9:49 A.M. I notice the cab driver is listening to Bill O’Reilly. I think for a second about asking him to turn the radio off, then decide it’s only a ten-minute ride. While I don’t like O’Reilly because he’s usually repugnant, dishonest, and generally obnoxious, this morning he happens to be castigating the people who are running the ads from veterans claiming Kerry lied, betrayed his country, etc., and for once I agree with him. Who knew?

10:36 A.M. Checking referrer stats for the website. More of the usual internet searches—“Joe Rogan shirtless,” “Hilton crotch,” “laura bush naked nude free laura bush naked” and so forth.

Interestingly, I discover that WULAD is currently #2 for “Darya Folsom” (the frothy yenta of a local morning news personality whose fate has, through strange and ineffable twists and turns, become inextricably intertwined with my own). Somewhat more surprisingly, we’re also #5 for “transsexual prostitutes 14” on Google Netherlands.

1:13 P.M. Turkey bologna is just not all it’s cracked up to be.

1:18 P.M.
After perusing some of the more hipsterishly self-referential sites on somebody else’s sidebar, I think of a clever new site subheader, “Blog Will Eat Itself.” But since there is nothing new under the sun, I do a quick check to make sure I’m the first one with this brilliant idea. I’m not.

2:25 P.M. Since I feel it’s important to participate in the greater global community, I try to make time to participate in discussions on other sites. Here’s an example of a comment I left which, I feel, really elevated the level of discourse. (Scroll down.)

3:13 P.M. By the way, I’ve been working all this time—but you knew that, right? I’m always working. I never work on WULAD or read other people’s vanity sites at work. Because I’m just that dedicated to my job. You knew that, right? Right?

3:28 P.M. Some of the important things C-baby has sent my way to examine—not while I’m working, incidentally, which is all the time (see above):

  • Note that this rabbit has “a darling inquisitive personality and loves to explore.”
  • Nice pad, but why did Mr. Mojo here have to mention man-thongs? Man-thongs!
  • British people love Dennis Leary, right? If he got this job, does it mean he might get beheaded? Please?
3:44 P.M. Have you ever listened closely to the synthesizer parts towards the end of Johnny Nash’s “I Can See Clearly Now...”? They’re right strange. If I was real tech-savvy and/or didn’t have a job I’d put up an mp3 so you could hear it, but you’re just going to have to dig one up yourself. Leave me alone!

4:22 P.M. C-Baby alerts me to this spread of the Mayor of our lovely Sodom-by-the-Bay and his pool-hustler wife: “is it just me, or does this smack of Bennifer-ishness?”

4:38 P.M. I just had an idea that will save me and my coworkers scads—I tell you, scads—of time and inconvenience. How about an award? A raise, maybe? No? Nothing? Some donuts tomorrow? A polite nod? Hey, here’s a funny joke: someday I’m going to blow you motherf#ckers all to Hell! Ha, I crack myself up.*

*This really is a joke. Actually it’s a subtle joke masquerading as a crass joke. The bottom line is I did not, nor would I threaten the lives of anyone, except the president.**

**That was a joke, too.

5:18 P.M. You suckers wanna hear some serious lyric writing?
The wild dogs cry out in the night
As they grow restless longing for some solitary company
I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti
I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've become
Papa Hemingway, is that you? Poetry, pure and simple.

6:15 P.M. C-Baby has discovered that the Japanese term for gang bang is “team harem.” She’s more of a cultural ambassador than she generally gets credit for.

6:25 P.M. I’m blowing this Fudgesicle® stand; we’re going to see Jonathan Richman tonight at the Makeout Room. Now, it should not be inferred from this that I’m one of those people who “go to cool clubs” to “see hip bands” or can “carry on a conversation.” This is a one-time thing.

Well, our chronicle ends here; what happens in Las WULAD stays in Las WULAD. But we hope you’ve enjoyed, or at least finished, this exclusive glance into the world of blah blah and no one’s reading anymore. Cheers!