substitute: (Default)
I own a strange object. It is a plastic ball about the size of a baseball, with a hole in it, a dial, and some lettering identifying it as a "treat ball." Like other such objects, it's intended to amuse animals by leading them to poke at the ball and get treats. The twist with this particular one is that you can record your voice (or other sounds) so that the ball, when batted about, plays a short sound clip. I'm not sure what effect it's supposed to have on the pet.

This particular treat ball was given to me by a friend. The voice recorded within is that of her ex mother-in-law, who is a unique person in that she's a series of DSM-IV codes. I won't go into it. However, the sound that issues from the ball is a breathy high woman's voice, pleading with you.

The final effect is similar to that of the glowing-pulsating-red-heart ghost bride at Disneyland's Haunted House, calling you back, back, back to the grave.

I had it around the house for a couple years at least. It was on a little used desk but sometimes I bumped it and the voice came out. A couple of times it went off unexpectedly, which was a treat. My cat just looks at me funny when it makes noise.

Recently I put it in my car's trunk. I am not sure why; maybe I meant to take it to someone's house and make them afraid. Anyway, I would hear it when I braked or took a hard turn, or went over a bump. For a while I didn't realize what the sound was and kept thinking it was the stereo or maybe my phone having pocketdialed someone. I found it in the trunk again today and thought I should remove it because constant use would run down a battery.

Anyway I camvideo'd it:

embedded video )

You're welcome!
substitute: (asphalt)
Car Wash WIndshield

I talk back to the car radio a lot, particularly when it's not making sense. Today I heard a commercial shilling for a local supermarket chain's loyalty program. The pitch was that you were supporting local schools because they'd give the kids a pencil for every 400,000 cucumbers sold, etc. The ad was pure SPIN selling, starting with "Education is so important. Our schools need new books and new computers all the time so children can progress. And there's something you can do to help!" At which point I yelled "YEAH, YOU COULD PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES!" That's when I noticed that my window was opening and that the motorcyclist next to me was grinning at me.

Dinner: Chilled poached salmon with mayonnaise and dill; toasted pita bread with a dollop of hummus and fresh ground black pepper; caprese salad with fresh tomatoes on vine, fresh ovolini mozzarella, fresh basil, and good olive oil. Time to prepare: 15 minutes.

I was at Kéan for just an hour or so today, to cool off and slurp a cold coffee beverage. Rich unhappy people have such scrunched-up, sour faces even when they're experiencing pleasures most of the world will never see. Looking dissatisfied when you're having a dark chocolate mocha milkshake in an air-conditioned cafe in Paradise just after buying an iPod must be difficult, but they manage it.

At Trader Joes a plastic surgery disasters woman in her fifties was dragging her husband around hectoring him about their purchases. She'd perch angrily next to some item and pick it up: "Do you want these? Do you like yellow mustard? I like Dijon mustard. Do you want it? Are we going to get Dijon mustard?" He was a tired Tommy Lee Jones who didn't say much except "Okay," or "Go ahead."

90 degrees and humid means that all the beautiful people were showing flesh today. Including the very genuinely beautiful ones and not just the ones who had purchased the standard of beauty as an aftermarket option. A six-footer surfer boy, all tanned abs and long bones and bleached hair-mp, was looking at frozen food next to a hourglass-figured blonde beach goddess with honey-colored skin and shockingly bright blue eyes. They were unaware that they were a Guess! ad because they were trying to figure out which kind of peas to get.

The flower shop next to Kéan has an appropriately fancy name, but their sign with their url on it looks like they're selling the flowers eaten by a demon rather than those painted by an Impressionist. It's not as obvious as "powergenitalia" but they should have realized.

I am currently maintaining crushes on at least three unavailable women. Go me!

In musical news, I'm going to see Steve Wynn this Friday night. It may well be a real Dream Syndicate reunion show of some kind. I have an extra ticket if you're interested and can go with or meet me at McCabe's Guitars in Santa Monica.

I have "Percy's Song" as done by Fairport Convention in my head.

Profile

substitute: (Default)
substitute

May 2009

S M T W T F S
      1 2
3 456 78 9
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
31      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags