Okay, so I don't have a big, fancy Web site. So sue me.
You know back, oh, a couple of hundred years or so ago, when doctors thought that if you were suffering from an illness, the best thing to do would be to open a vein and bleed it out? Well, I've lived in Santa Monica for going on two decades now, and there's a lot of bad blood backed up by now. If you know anything about this maddeningly contradictory city, you know that there's plenty of good ranting to do about it on any given day. If you don't -- then this podcast is a great way to find out. (Plus I have a totally hot voice.)
If you want to hear my podcast, check it out on iTunes or download it using the links below. I'll have more information and maybe other stuff (like t-shirts nobody will buy) avalable here eventually, but at the moment I'm busy complaining into my digital recorder about something else entirely.
Vampire at the Park (8:42)
Either Buffy's got me on her hit list, or spontaneous human combustion is real.
The lady who bursts into flames in sunlight takes her kid out for a frolic at Clover Park, then spends the whole time screaming into a tiny tape recorder. Why would you smoke at a place like that, anyway? Why would you smoke at all? Because you're a dork. And so's your car.
Fake Chicken, Fake Parties (8:36)
Those three little words no one ever wants to hear: "It's a potluck!"
You know, I haven't heard from these people, or seen them at the park, since I got this invitation and pretended to be sorry that I couldn't go. Then again, they haven't heard from me since they pretended to throw a party when what they really meant was they were too cheap to pony up for a caterer, so they thought they'd just have their friends do the job instead. I'm sure somebody's sending some kind of message here. I'll try to care.
Ten Commandments of Driving (18:21)
Is the Pope a cross-over artist?
Yes, the new commandments have been done to death by greater comic minds than mine, but you just can't say enough about a guy who has the nerve to issue a whole new list of commandments, especially when some of them are repeats. Plus the guy never even drives, so he's got some nerve telling us not to kill people behind the wheel. Let's make him sit in traffic for a couple of hours and a couple of miles on the 405 south, and then see what this list looks like.
Sick of Staying Up Late (11:55)
My neighbors make me scream; I make them run.
Look, I've been sick for, what is it, weeks now? Do me a favor and if you're lucky enough to have a hot date and don't get home until one in the morning, either stay in the damned car or go upstairs and get some, already. Don't stand in my alley and talk for an hour right outside my window, or I'll haul out the heavy artillery.
Sick of Housing Prices (18:24)
Finally -- a constitutional amendment we can all agree upon!
Lizard walkies! Klingons on the front page of the paper! Housing prices in California going down! It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine other than this stomach virus that's been killing me for about a week and a half now.
Weird Science (1:29)
This Week In Science!
Apparently, ranting for my own sheer pleasure isn't enough. I must rant on other people's podcasts as well. This actually got aired on TWIS, which shows you how hard up for material they are.
Heaven at 7:15 (21:12)
If Santa Monica is really Heaven, I'm going to go break some commandments to make sure I'll land safely in Hell.
Even the bad section of Paradise shouldn't be this loud. Seriously, what happened? Did we not tip the heavenly head waiter enough, so we ended up with the table right next to the kitchen, where we'll listen to dishes being washed and sous-chefs arguing for the rest of eternity? I'll bet Mark Twain doesn't have to listen to this kind of crap.
Fourth of July Garbage (6:08)
Apparently the Santa Monica trash collectors don't listen to their own recorded announcements.
You bastards were supposed to have the day off. What happened? I have to get up at a decent hour tomorrow; you couldn't have waited until then to come crashing and banging around my pillow? What's that you say -- you'll be stopping by for Fifth of July festivities, too? Oh, joy.
Fourth of July Weather: You Like? (7:50)
Shiver and burn, kids, shiver and burn.
What can I say? The Santa Monica weather goddess is a bitch. Kind of like that Calypso babe in the last Pirates movie. Oh, and I manage a Vin Diesel reference, too. Don't ask how. Just listen to the damned thing, stupid.
Dustbowl Days (18:46)
Leaf blowers should die, die, die.
If you live in Santa Monica, please, please, please, for the love of toast, STOP with the leaf blowers already! And if you're one of those smug bastards or bitches who's at work all day when the guys come to work on your garden with the tools of Satan so you figure, hey, what's it really matter -- well, I hope that all those people with out of control dogs converge on your house one night, and the next morning all they find of your mangled, mostly-eaten corpse is some of your skull.
Cesar Is On My Speed-Dial (14:13)
I hate your dog, but I hate you even more.
Hey, dog owners! I'll make you a deal! You stop expecting me to believe that your beastie is just the cutest little woogums to ever defecate on my lawn, and I'll stop training my son to steal your wallet! How's that?
Living The Dream (19:16)
Is living in Santa Monica really just like a dream, or has somebody been lying to that poor little Italian girl?
God, I feel like a character from that stupid movie. "What if this is as good as it gets?"‘I mean, I know I should totally reassess my life or learn to focus on the joy and wonder of it all when someone tells me I'm living in the city of dreams, but instead I just kind of get depressed. And irritable. And scream. At you.
Episode One (8:26)
Santa Monica, stage fright, and why my alley sucks.
I figured out how to use this little tape recorder all by myself. I didn't even know how to drive until, like, two years ago or something. I'm mechanically disinclined, okay? Be proud of me for what I've accomplished. Or I'll scream at you. Some more.
©2007 Deborah Markus