RISE

I know. You gave up. Thought it was over. Yeah, me too. Here's how it usually happens: I'm doing something and it reminds me of something else, which I obsess about for a full 10 minutes. I may even mention it to Carrie and say something to the effect of: "Oh, man. I really need to blog about that." 

But I find, sometimes, that my mind only stores information for a short, so when I have an idea, I need to act on it immediately. Or it's gone, usually for good. Only reappearing when I laundry list all things I should have done and still pretend to myself will get accomplished. I make these lists in my head often enough that it actually prompts me to get around and tackle a few of them. 

The moral is just that I don't gestate well. So let's move onward: 

• Should I be writing about politics right now? Does anyone care what I think? Carrie says it's weird that I'm writing about myself when I should obsess, even here, about the election. But I'm a bit overloaded on political media at the moment. 

• What is it with all the middle-aged geeks freaking out over Radiohead? Even fellow parents at our synagogue are losing their lunch about their recent visit to L.A.  Can someone explain what the big deal is? People speak seeing Radiohead as if it's the second coming of Jesus. Yikes. Do we have so little to live for that a marginally-better-than-average band becomes the most important day of our time on earth? I guess for my fellow tribemembers, Radiohead is a last bastion of a previous life, before responsible adult- and parenthood. 

Seems like it's been this way since the beginning. I was working at Spin in New York when OK Computer came out. Being in that office at that time felt like being surrounded by a sweltering pit of fire. Don't even get me started on Roni Size or Cornershop. To me, Radiohead is little more than this generation's Pink Floyd.

• I didn't spend much time at King's Western Wear in the Cahuenga Pass (though I did buy a shirt there), but it breaks my heart that they've packed their bags. It made me sadder, though, when I drove down Wilshire Boulevard in the Miracle Mile area and notice the 5550 Wilshire -- the Auto Club building -- had been razed. I spent nearly four years inside that building working at the old Los Angeles Reader.  By far, it was my best and most rewarding professional experience, and I have a big love for those with whom I worked. It's just gone.  Progress stops for no one, I suppose. 

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