Finally, I came to a conclusion about what these weekday web entries are. They're not columns in the traditional sense; they're short plotless stories with me acting as both the author, although I have no authority, and the narrator. I guess that that means this five day per week web posting is both useless and boring to all but me. Don't go thinking that means I'm going to stop, oh no, contrarily, it'll never end.

On my way to eagles coffee pub today, I noticed a sign reading, "Pirahna Insurance." And to think that it's been asked even by Shakespeare, "What's in a name?" All right, I'll come clean. "Pirahna was spelled, "P-A-R-A-N-A," but what's in a spelling?

Smawg in the evening isn't nearly as imposing as in the morning. At night I can imagine it's all part of a beautiful sunset, as I am doing now, gazing seaward to watch the sun slowly slip down behind the 'Starbucks/Domino's Pizza' building. Beyond that a neon sign announces the presence of the 'Eclectic Cafe.' Down the street from me is a clothing store offering an 'eclectic selection.' In North Hollywood there is an eclectic array of 'eclectic music,' 'eclectic eats,' 'eclectic art,' and let's not forget all the 'eclectic musicians, eaters, and artists.' Don't get me wrong, I actually love the eclectic fuck out of NoHo. I'm just not so sure what "eclectic" means anymore. "What's in a name?" What's in what is being named? And how can clothing all in one shop and ostensibly by the same designer possibly be called "eclectic?" I guess the clothing is O.K. I mean, it's passable, so I'll pass on it.

I hope I'm not succumbing to Los Angelean ways. It's no great observation to note that nobody can simply order a black coffee out here. There're too many options, from classic capuccinos to double espresso chais to espresso mocha banana shake lattes. There's a whole eclectic world of coffee related beverages out there waiting for me, but I can't quite take the plunge. I'm simply not that daring. Sure I'll pack everything I own in boxes and move over 2,000 miles to be with a woman I've only been seeing for two weeks, but coffee is different. Coffee is much more at the fundament of being than where a person lives. Well.
I did order a black coffee and didn't get fancy on it with sugar, cream or, god forbid, cinnamon, but I did get an add on: a cookie. Not a great deal, true, but the implications shiver my soul like the nightly news or Fran Drescher. I don't know where I'm going with this exactly so I'll simply let it go. Exactitude is over rated anyway. Maybe my objections to eclecticism and the use of the word "eclectic" is related to my obstinance towards self-diversification. It has taken me long enough to come near self-unification to want to divide it all up again. But then again, it was just a cookie. Could that cookie be at all indicative of a future self-fracturing, schizophrenia? No, not a chance. Sometimes a cookie is just a cookie.

I think it was Friday when kirsten and I went to see the new Albert Brooks film, "The Muse." Not bad. Low end for Brooks, with overplayed, overdrawn gags and a bad ending, but wholesome for full family viewing, I think. Albert's wife in the movie, played by Andie MacDowell, bakes very delicious cookies and begins a very profitable business by selling her cookies. The white chocolate, macadamia I had today was my first cookie since the movie. Sometimes a cookie is just a cookie. At other times it's corporate brain-washing derived to bolster cookie sales because the studio holds controlling interest in a flour mill and major manufacturer of chocolate.

What's in a name when everything is deception, double talk, deliberate obfuscation, and being deconstructed on a sublingual level anyway?

Welcome to Eclectic Homogenization, Incorporated. Welcome to Hollywood.

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