WND looks to the stars

My birthday, which just passed, is always a day for self-analysis: Who am I? Why am I here? What does it all mean? For nearly 8 seconds, I focus on such universal questions before my brain shuts down and I downshift to a more manageable query: Do I connect with the celebrities who share my birthday, and if so, what can they teach me about myself?

Barbi Benton - Playboy Playmate of the 70's

There's overlap in our ineffable, raw sexuality, but she was a regular on "Hee-Haw," so "source of self-knowledge" isn’t exactly flashing in neon.

Susan Sontag - Novelist and Essayist

Well, I had to write a bunch of essays in high school. I remember hating to do the one about what I did over the summer. I remember lying, feeling the pressure of hiding the fact that I just watched reruns of "Quincy." But really: what's so terrible about chilling out in August? I'm sorry if TV and sleeping isn't exciting enough for class discussion. Looks like Susan's only good for bringing up crappy memories.

Jackson Pollock - Painter

Arthur Rubinstein - Pianist

Mikhail Baryshnikov - Dancer
Could this mean I too am a brilliant artist? What if the magic of the day is only particular to those specific fields? My painting is derivative/nonexistent, I refuse to touch any of the white keys when I play the piano, and the critics universally panned my one-man ballet based on Kofi Annan’s tenure as Secretary-General. Nothing to learn from these guys.

John Banner - Schultz on "Hogan's Heroes"
His most famous line was "I know nothing! I see nothing! Nothing!" Not bad. I can empathize with that self-assessment. A little nihilistic, but also kind of comforting in its simplicity. Don't take yourself too seriously. Takes the edge off getting a year older. I should've known the answer would come from a fictional sitcom character.

Join Jay and me this Wednesday after 8:30 at:

Voda

1449 2nd St
Santa Monica, CA 90401

Cross Street: Santa Monica

Eponymous WND

Finally, a bar that I can feel at home in.

Join Jeremy and me this Wednesday after 8:30 at:

Village Idiot

7383 Melrose Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90046
Cross Street: Martel

[ed. I didn't write my own invite, since Jay's was impossible to improve on.]

WND and two-fifths

You can quit worrying about my living situation -- I finally found a place. My new address is... actually let's just focus on the street number for now since it requires some analysis:

808 2/5

That's 808 and 2/5. As in two-fifths. As in 2 over 5. As in the IQ of the numbering overlord assigned to my street. Apartment #2 would have been the obvious choice, but apparently integers really bugged this guy. Maybe he had some weird experience as a kid or something. I'll admit I'm not crazy about every single integer I've come across, and I do hate when people mispronounce the word "integral" by saying "in-TEH-gruhl" instead of "INT-uh-gruhl," but that's about as much as I can relate.

Here's the conversation I had with my bank rep today:
"Did you say your new street number is 808 and Doofus?"
"No. 808 and TWO-FIFTHS."
"Because 'Doofus' isn't a street number we recognize."
"Yeah, I can understand that. But what I said was TWO-FIFTHS. Like the fraction."
"The what?"
"The fraction. You know, 2 divided by 5?"
"You asking me what's 2 divided by 5?"

I hesitate to stray even slightly from the official designation for fear that my monthly editions of Windplayer Magazine will forever be lost in post office purgatory. So if you're sending me something, be precise. Don't be cute and write ".4" even though you prefer working in decimal form. Likewise, unless you're convinced that my mailman is a math buff, none of that "6/15" or "10/25" knowing that each reduces to "2/5" (s.a.t. math at work, baby). A postcard mislabeled "2/7" might so incapacitate him that he'll be unable to navigate the .114285714286 units to my actual mailbox.

With that in mind, join us this Wednesday after 8:30 at a slightly easier address to remember:

Bigfoot Lodge

3172 Los Feliz Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90039

Cross Street: Glenfeliz