Make Mine Mike

I was comparing prices on the DVD of Seinfeld. Order from Amazon, where it's cheaper but you pay for shipping, or sign up for the bookstore first-time (for the 10th time) discount, or risk it being scratched from the second-hand audio-video store where all the high school kids spend their summer job trying to look shockingly weird, yet I just wanna tell Pierce-Fetish Girl with the pincushion face and Tattoo Boy with the scrawny gangrenous arms not to waste their minimum wages on frivolous body adornments.

Then it occurred to me -- fuck Jerry Seinfeld. I'm not giving him any of my money. He'd just blow it on another car. So what if the fourth season was when it got really good? I can see the reruns on every stinking cable channel for free, or whatever travesty Adelphia is charging me now.

But back to Seinfeld -- fellow Long Islander transported to LA, but he spends his fortune on a stupid car collection, buncha hunks of metal and fiberglass that sit in his airplane-hangar-sized garage and just get rubbed with a diaper. His Maserati can't go thru a bottleneck on the 405 any faster than anyone else. Might as well drive a Ford Fiestavus like the rest of us. Shit, if I had his money, I'd buy me a big ass hoopty and pay some out-of-work actor without a SAG card but with a clean license to chauffeur me around so I could sit in the back with a laptop and work on my TV pilot (but more likely blog) from the road.

Or I'd buy up all the land around my apartment -- I wouldn't move out of this rent-controlled place -- no, I'd just bulldoze the neighbors so I could look straight out at the sky and palm trees. No obstruction from other rooftops, covered with antennae and satellite dishes reminding me of the poorly-serviced utilities, getting rich off of reruns of Seinfeld, and putting residuals in his pocket too, while I'm debating about a lousy 35 buck DVD set.

Man, I hate the first of the month. Too many bills to pay.