Klipsch Heresey: From the official Klipsch website: “First introduced in 1957, the Heresy, a three-way design, started out as a compact center channel speaker to accompany the Klipschorn® in three-speaker stereo arrays. In 1985, we made some changes and improvements to this model and re-released it as the Heresy II. Today, the new Heresy III has a more powerful woofer, a bi-wire network, and a titanium diaphragm tweeter with a larger magnet assembly. The midrange compression driver also features a new titanium diaphragm.”

I dunno anything about any of that…but damn, do those fuckers sound good in my front room with a Stooges record screaming in the background.

Iggy Pop and The Stooges: Speaking of Iggy and The Stooges, Iggy’s 60, which means in five years he’s eligible for Social Security and Medicare. You’d never guess that by looking at him, though, and this I know cause last month I sat next to Gia Paloma while Iggy and The Stooges tore it up at The Wiltern, which happens to be right down the street from my studio. I dunno if I’ll ever live to see a 60-year-old man do three stage dives into the audience (three in a row, mind you) or have a set of abs like Iggy has. What a genetic freak.

Trader Joe’s: I dunno what’s yummier — the frozen quiches or those tofutti ice cream sandwiches. Or the chocolate covered almonds dusted lightly with coca powder. Or 2 Buck Chuck. Or the organic blueberry waffles. How about those god damned Ritter Chocolate Sport Bars! And the tasty samples at the end of the frozen aisle! The doggy treats are manufactured in the US! Their coffee rules. The Thai Chicken BBQ pizza! The only drawback are the hippy crowds who don’t yield their carts in the often over-crowded aisle.

Miss Wolfe: Miss Wolfe is a smarty-pants teen slut who thinks she knows everything about almost everything, except grammar and punctuation. I’ll admit she’s wise beyond her years, and she’s hot, and she a total fucking slut. I often touch myself in inappropriate ways when she tells me stories like The BJ Train On Frat Row or doing naughty, naughty things during study time at her university’s library. Her blog’s a good read, but it needs more pictures, damnit. Hot ones.

Of you doing naughty, naughty things, Miss Wolfe.

Kush: OK. I’ll admit it. I’m a stoner. But hey, I’m not a social smoker, nor do I smoke out during my work day. Only before beddy-bye time. That counts for something, right? How about this: in California it’s legal, and the way I see it, I’d rather light up a bowl and drink a glass or two of red wine than swallow a Lunesta® or an Ambien® or a Restoril® or a Desyrel® or a Sonata®.

At least I sleep a full night now.

The FJ: I love my sled. It’s a VooDoo Blue Toyota FJ, and yep, it’s an SUV, and sure, I drive a 4WD, even though I never go off-roading, and it’s got Sirius Radio (which is another thing I love) and the sub-woofer extra in the back, and it looks fucking great with Bree Olson sprawled out nude on it. I only wish I could find the pics of Miss Olson sprawled out nekkid as the day she was born across the hood of my FJ.

LC: She’s my internet penpal, even though I don’t hear much from her lately. She just graduated college, and she won’t tell me what she got her degree in, and she won’t tell me what her future plans are, and she won’t tell me much of anything at all when we chat on the phone…in fact, when we do chat, I seem to be the one chatting while she does all the listening, but damn — she’s got great taste in music, and from what I can tell a set of fun bags that look like The Guns of Navarone, and she lives in a city I used to call home (briefly), in the same neighborhood I called home (briefly). And for a while it looked like I had a shot, but I think I dropped the ball.

Right around Iggy Pop time.

Adrianna Nicole: She’s my porno pal, and there’s nothing better that, at the end of the day, after making dirty, filthy movies, sharing a meal with Adrianna. We like to talk about doodies and gossip about porno; we speak of poop and porno gossip; we discuss turds and gossip about porno; sometimes we talk about our families and friends and music and always about boom-booms. When Dogfart edited this gloryhole scene I shot starring Miss Nicole, he told me there must be “something going on” between us, cause the way we talked to each other during the scene.

Nope…only friendship, gossip, and doodie talk.

Vintage Paperback Smut: Fuck the writing, it’s the cover everyone judges, right? And how about those titles! Recent scores from my trip to San Francisco include: 3 Gorgeous Hussies, Sex Goddess, Sin Driver, Sin Cargo, Substitute Wife, Shame Road, and Kill Sweet Charity Kill. God damn right. Fuckin’ A.

Score bonus points for vintage smut that was passed off as a “psychological study”. This was a way to dodge obscenity laws back in the day, and I fucking love the disclaimers these old-fashioned stroke rags come with; for example, on my latest San Francisco book scouting scores include “Wrestling — Female Vice” and come with awesome black and white pics of hot 70’s babes wrestling away in the nude, as well as the following warning: “THIS VOLUME IS TO BE REGARDED AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL WORKBOOK AND A STUDY FOR THE SERIOUS STUDENT OF UNUSUAL ASPECTS OF PSYCHOLOGY.”

Total stroke material circa 1972.

Ace Of Spades: Simply put, the greatest metal song ever written. Since I’ve never really been a metalhead, I just recently discovered the Power of Lemmy and The Boys:

Don’t fuck with me via e-mail and say something like “Sweet Child O’ Mine” or “Sweet Leaf” or “Stairway To Heaven” takes the cake, cause deep down inside you know you’re wrong.

I guess that, on any given night, I can head over to a local watering hole in Los Angeles and catch Lemmy drinking while pulling on the one-armed bandit. What for? So I stare? Maybe bug him? Ask him a stupid question in hopes that he’ll pay attention to me?

Remember The Young Ones? I’d add them to this list, except I watched that show 20 years ago, so that disqualifies it from anything “lately”. My favorite one was when Viv thought he was pregnant, and of course he wasn’t; it was nothing more than a large ball of gas inside him, and once he gave birth, Mike lit up a cigar to celebrate, and their whole house blew up.

I am in France.

Where the ladies wear no underpants.

The hotel lobby is cozy, and there’s Americans all over the place. There’s a nice lady sitting down next to me now, and she wants to know where there’s “good coffee” around the hotel.

I think it would be harder to find a place with bad coffee. Anywhere in Paris has good coffee. I’ve already discovered that.

I’ve also discovered the Latin Quarter, and Super Ass. Gyros, and Shakespeare and Co., and a few medieval churches that are world famous.

I should say I rediscovered all that stuff, cause I was here a decade ago.

And I have no idea what I’m doing today. Just kinda going with the flow, I think. I might actually see if I can find a little porno shop to see what’s changed since the last time I was here: in ’97 it was “barely legals” (age of consent here is something like 16) and Bestiality (dogs and horses and goats Oh My!) as well as movies featuring #1 and #2 (oh! those whacky Germans!)

What will it be in ’07?

Here’s my pal Lorelei Lee. Here’s her blog. She’s showing you her nipple. Right before I shot her doing some black dudes.

But you see that now, don’t you?

(PS: Thanks MQ for all the dandy Parisian ideas…I’m taking you up on some of them!)