Hollywood Nights

"Players only love you when they're playing..."
— Dreams
Fleetwood Mac

I sat on Steve McQueen's motorcycle today. It was a Triumph, and it was kinda a religious experience, if you get my drift. I would say it's a perfect metaphor for Hollywood, but hey, I always get metaphorical when I have a Hollywood Day. Stage, lights, scripts, excessive displays of wealth, '50's diners, Kate Beckinsale's stunt double from the Underworld movies and "Crush" from American Gladiators...I swear to god, every time I come out here to play Hollywood I smell brimstone and see some shapely hand with razor-sharp fingernails holding a contract and a smoking Cross pen dripping with red ink that looks suspiciously like blood.

Maybe I should just stick with fish taco places and Dos Equis.

ME: Give me some idea on techniques to avoid bad situations...
CRUSH: Hit them in the face.

Anyway, while I'm sitting here waiting for the Hollywood Hills to catch on fire, you can check out David Petzal's soliloquy on why synthetic stocked rifles have no soul and Ahab's intelligent essay on why pro-gunners are willing the overall fight. I had a chance to go out with a bunch of Steel Challenge guys tonight, but I knew the whole evening would degnerate into an intense, increasingly acrimonious discussion on Outer Limits, and I'm just not ready for it yet. Maybe I'll download Underworld...