The Occasional Blog of Jonah Weiland

Once again, taken at the Abundant Sugar party. One of the performance artists. Freaky ass shiot, yo.

Once again, place that mouse over that freakyness to grow larger. Just the picture will grow larger, nothing else, dorko.

Taken early in the evening at the Abundant Sugar party Saturday, January 29th, 2005.

Make with the clicky to get big.

So, Johnny Carson died. For me, that’s really a sad moment. That’s kind of why I waited a day to write this.

Growing up, I became a fan of Johnny Carson and the Tonight Show as a young guy. I blame Johnny for my being a lifelong night owl. Not sure what was up with my parents, but they didn’t seem to have any problem with me staying up late watching the Tonight Show. Even when I was in grade school. Maybe we had some fights about it and they just gave up, or they figured it wasn’t a big deal. Either way, I ate Johnny up. Watched him regularly.

I recall a story sometime back in the ’80s in which Johnny or one of his producers was interviewed during the time that Arsenio Hall’s talk show was bringing in the big ratings, especially in those “key demos.” Well, the story goes, Johnny was tired of being beat by this young upstart and reapplied himself to his show. If I recall correctly within one quarter Johnny was tied with Arsenio in the key demo and three months later was beating him soundly in all ratings groups. Soon there after Arsenio sang his swan song.

I remember watching Johnny’s final week on NBC. I still have that video tape around here somewhere. I remember the last show was sad to watch. I remember that following Monday watching Leno’s first show as regular host and got even sadder. For me it was always about Johnny and Dave.

For me, Johnny wasn’t just one of the best stand-up comics ever, but also a damn good interviewer. He could switch from heads of states to some grandmother from Texas with ease. He had interpersonal skills far and above most on television. And he had class.

Johnny’s silence following his unceremonious departure from NBC was equally refreshing and sad (read “The Night Shift” for the full story). I would have loved to hear more from Johnny since 1992, but it was also nice to see him go out on top and live his retirement the way he wanted to – quietly and privately. Last week some news stories surfaced about Johnny writing jokes and sending them to Letterman in recent months. Apparently Dave used a number of them on his show. Nice big slap to Leno, the mutant chinned dork.

Johnny’s had a big affect on my life. His humor and wit have been a major influence. His ushering of David Letterman in to the limelight was equally affecting. Letterman is one of my all time favorites and who knows where he’d have gotten to if not for Johnny.

It saddens me to think there’s a generation growing up out there right now that have no concept of what Johnny Carson was and the effect he had on television and comedy.

Goodnight, Johnny. Thanks for the laughs.

I don’t know how many of you know or not, but I drive a 2001 VW Jetta Wolfsburg edition. It’s not a fancy car, nor is it flashy, but it’s my favorite car I’ve ever owned and one of my favorite’s amongst cars that I’ve driven, and I’ve driven a wide variety. It’s a fun car and this Wolfsburg edition has some nice extas including a better tuned engine, improved suspension, a load of other featurs and custom BBS rims. It’s just a little bit nicer than the standard line. That being said, I’ve never “pimped” out my car, that’s what the kids these days call it. Pimping out. It’s not exactly the kind of car you regularly see pimped. It ain’t no Honda Civic of Ford Focus. So, when I saw the following image accompany the definition for “the shit” at Urban Dictionary, I laughed my ass off.

It’s a fucking pimped out VW Jetta. I mean pimped. Yo, as in your mama’s a pross and her pimp slaps her upside the head, pimped.

You know what, there’s just too many jokes to be made. I’m stopping here before I hurt any young children or marine life.

Snapped with the camera phone in the Universal City Metro parking lot while walking to the subway January 17th, 2005. As my friend Steve Gerding says, “‘Love and Hope’ is code for penis.”

Do you ever just sit around and wonder to yourself what it would be like to be a Pimp. No, not some punk ass pimp, I mean a Pimp with a capital P. You know, the sweet ride in metalic purple with little reflective specs in it, the sincere suits properly tailored and the ladies. Some Pimps call them bitches, but me, I’d never do that. That’s for pimps with NC - No Class. Picture Prince without the music skills, but the same amount of game.

Do you ever just sit around and wonder to yourself what it would be like to be a Pimp?

Nah, I really don’t give it much thought. I spend too much time thinking about what it would be like to walk in space. I really do.

You know those trailers the local law enforcement jagoffs use to tell you your speed as your driving along the street? I’m not sure how prevalent these things are outside of major cities, but the PoLeece pull up along the side of the road and drop off this giant box of a trailer that resembles, well, a giant box that has a little digital display on it, underneath which is a sign with the posted speed limit for that area. As you drive by the giant box, it displays your current speed on it’s digital display. If you’re going over the speed limit it flashes you so as to say, “Yo, fucko, keep the speed to the posted minimum or I’ll flash at you a little more.”

I’m sure I’m not alone in my opinion that these are really quite worthless and generally serve to get the opposite response to the one intended, although they’re a fun little novelty as you drive around town. You’re driving in a 35 zone and suddenly the giant box starts flashing “48″ at you. You look down at your speedometer and exclaim, “Hot damn, I am going 48! Fuck you, too, giant box!”

In fact, I’m sure I’m putting myself in a rather large group when I say that those giant box things, telling me I’m driving 13 miles per hour over the speed limit, well, they make me just want to drive faster. I want to see if when you hit 30 miles over the limit it starts flashing faster than ever and men with guns come out of the giant box to shoot out your tires. I want to see if that thing goes tripple digits. Yeah, I tend to hit the accelerator a wee tad when I see the giant box of speed updating information.

You shouldn’t speed, though. It’s dangerous.