Amoeblog

The Strange Case of the Jimmy Dean Doll

Posted by Job O Brother, June 11, 2007 12:06pm | Post a Comment
Something I didn't discuss in my blog about our trip to 29 Palms was Logan's unaccountable fetishism of a James Dean doll she purchased at an Amoeba Music auction*. With each passing day, she seemed to become increasingly devoted to this figurine.

At first, it was a funny prop with which to take our pictures. No harm in that.
But then she started taking snapshots of James around the house, or landscape pictures. The final photos here are ones I took when she was simply playing with the doll, unaware that someone was watching her.

I'm considering staging an intervention...


STAGE 1: Fun & Games





Stage 2: Come Back to the 5 & Dime, Melissa Logan, Melissa Logan




(In which the group's adventures come to a close.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 11, 2007 09:14am | Post a Comment
Everyone awoke a little gloomy. It was our last day, and check-out time was only four hours away. Logan in-particular was not okay with this and sought out the front desk to plea our case. The result was a new check-out time of four o’clock, at no additional charge.

I’m not sure what Logan had to do to get this sweet deal; knowing her, they were probably just charmed, but that makes for a boring blog, so let’s pretend she seduced the owner’s wife, or at the very least threatened them with rad karate moves.


"Hit me with your best shot" - Logan in control

With only half a day left, the majority agreed that the best thing to do was give me a haircut.

Uh, wha...? Really? It’s that bad?

What I saw as my sexy, shaggy mop – so hip and suave was, unbeknownst to me, something akin to Eric Stoltz’ hot look in the movie “Mask”. Apparently I had been unwittingly turning Greek adventurers into stone with my mere hairdo. Who knew?


Bad hair daze: Eric Stoltz, Medusa, and me

Carrie was adamant. She was going to cut my hair. My boyfriend immediately switched to publicist mode, yelling demands and controlling events from his chaise lounge. “Short!” he kept shouting, “Short… short!”


BEFORE: Carrie assesses the situation


The Master Hair-stylist can adapt to any situation


Beauty and the Beast

My own opinions were merely tolerated as flights of fancy. I had been reduced to a pre-Suffragette woman with hopes of one day earning a living for herself, winning the right to vote, or at the very least, opening her own door without being seen as a dangerous lesbian.

(In which horror shows its many faces... most of them silly.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 4, 2007 12:52pm | Post a Comment

Last night, Carrie and Logan returned from their hike all a-glow. Logan in-particular seemed moved by the adventure. A woman of few words, the gleam of her face and twinkling blue eyes told a story her voice did not.

I presented my friends with the meal I had prepared only to learn that both women hate bell peppers. Hate bell peppers? But they’re so… innocuous! That’s like hating celery or Saltine crackers or Jane Pauley. I mean, I can understand not loving them, but they’re not dramatic enough to warrant hate!


"I just wanna be loved!"

After some bell-pepper picking and grumbling, dinner was served. The ladies had stopped on the way home and bought Slurpees to mix with the fancy rum that Corey had bequeathed. Between the two ingredients, I concocted an elixir that made you tipsy just by smelling it. Carrie and I fought over who would get the cherry-flavored, and as usual, she won.

We re-arranged the furniture in the living room and created an impromptu theatre, then popped in a DVD of Wes Craven’s “The Hills Have Eyes,” which had been recommended to me by Kirk, one of the VIP’s of the Amoeba Music DVD depot. I asked for a desert themed horror film and, like a computer, out came his suggestion.


Just one of many heart-warming moments from "The Hills Have Eyes"

I’m not a fan of horror films, per se, though I’m not opposed to them. I just never find them scary. Like, ever. My idea of a horror film is “Bowling for Columbine” or “An Inconvenient Truth”. Or, if you really want to see me sweat, tie me down and force me to watch “Dumbo”. I will pee.

[insert sound of Job screaming here]

What I am a fan of is seeing horror films with sexy chicks who shriek, hide their eyes, and clutch my arm; Corey, Carrie and Logan all fit this description.

(In which the group sees a vision of Jesus, stoned.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 3, 2007 11:22am | Post a Comment
Today I awoke to the housekeeper barging into my bedroom. Upon seeing two naked dudes fast asleep, she uttered a cheerful “Eeek!” and slammed the door, ne’r to be seen again.

So much for fresh towels.

I brewed a pot of coffee for my friends and they rose like zombies from graves in search of caffeine and tobacco.

Corey and I went to the restaurant for brunch where, thank God, a totally normal person waited on us. The food was rad. They have an organic garden here from which they harvest their vegetables. More importantly, our waitperson understood what it meant to WANT COFFEE.

Growing up north of the Bay Area, I was spoiled by coffee service. Up there, you usually don’t get to the bottom of your mug before someone fills it. In LA, you have to f**king launch a g*ddamn publicity campaign signifying that you want another cup. And then you need to get your agent to find you more cream.

The ladies joined us later, both feeling much better after a night of sleep. Corey went out in search of a hammock, and Carrie, Logan and I settled by the pool, making sure we kept hydrated by knocking back beer and Bloody Marys. (I watched the bartender make them and I swear they contained a dash of everything you find in the condiment aisle of a supermarket. I’m pretty sure I saw her add mayonnaise and microwave popcorn to the shaker.)


Carrie & Mary, poolside.

Basking in the glow of the midday sun, Carrie, looking beautiful as always, suddenly sighed, breaking the contended silence.

“I never get my knees totally shaved,” she said sadly, “I even tell myself to get them, but I’m afraid I’ll cut myself.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

“I’m putting that in my blog,” I announced.

(In which Job enjoys theatrics at a new West End.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 2, 2007 06:11pm | Post a Comment
We were maybe fifteen minutes outside of LA when Carrie first chirped, “Are we almost there yet?”

Logan shot a look that said, “I love you and you’re very dear to me but so help me God I will cut you open.”

The drive to 29 Palms was mostly uneventful. Bathroom breaks inevitably took us to greasy spoon diners, where guilt over utilizing the facilities without purchasing food caused us to orchestrate elaborate, timed infiltration.

“Okay, you and Carrie go in first. We’ll hold back a few minutes then enter.”

At some point it was decided that Logan should be nicknamed “Blimpie”. [In the original writing of the trip's blog, Blimpie was the name used, until Logan found out and used a tone of voice that caused me to subsequently re-edit everything. -Ed]

We had been at the 29 Palms Inn almost five minutes before we agreed it was love at first site. Ours is the most isolated cabin, located at what they call the West End, which I guess makes Carrie and Logan “West End Girls” for the weekend.


 We've got no future, we've got no past; Here today, built to last.
Amidst a constant stream of jokes about the many, grisly ways in which we would all meet our doom in the desert (snakes, sunstroke, redneck slashers) we staked out our bungalow and heartily approved.

Next, we trekked the walk across the desert sands and brush to the pool and restaurant. After a quick dip, we settled into a dinner table.


Feed us.


We were soon being served by a complete and total psychopath.

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