I don’t know how often I’ll be able to update the site in the next few days - I’ll be off with the other writers of Lil Bush on a writer’s retreat, thinking up new ideas. My boss hasn’t told any of us where we’re going yet, so it’ll be a complete surprise. I’m excited and a little nervous. I think this is how bodies end up in the desert.

Also, the All New Years keep coming. The fantastic Steph F. has started her own recently, and she’s blogging about it too. Check it out, it’s pretty hillarious. When I get back, I’m going to start a new section of the site devoted to the Spawns of All New Year, so if you’re doing new stuff, let me know.

–opus

I drive a Ford Focus. It’s got the kind of windows you roll down by hand, and a sticky ignition. It also smells a little like stale farts. But it gets me where I need to go.

My friend Josh, however, writes reviews of cars for the Los Angeles Times. So when he told me he’d have a new Lamborghini to test drive for a week, I pretty much forced him to let me try it out.

The car was bright, look-at-me orange and slung so low to the ground it looked like it was speeding when it was still parked. And the doors rotated upwards like something out of Blade Runner.

Josh explained to me that the car cost around $380,000. For that price, you could buy 38 crappy Ford Focii. The leather on the inside cost $35,000 alone. I felt like I would damage it just looking at it. But we went for a ride.

I turned to Josh and said, “I really think there should WAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH!” The scream was when Josh decided to hit the gas pedal and send us thrusting forward. My head flew backwards into the seat, and I’m certain my cheeks rippled like those of a NASA test pilot. We jumped from 10 to 50 miles an hour in just a few seconds. It was like a roller coaster, on a roller coaster you’d have to buy if you broke it.

Josh explained that it went from zero to sixty in three-point-something minutes. I couldn’t hear him very well, my heartbeat was thundering.

People were staring. As we drove past a group of blonde women, each one turned and gawked. I guess that’s part of the allure of the Lamborghini, but for me, it was awful. Because I’d be looking too, except I’d be going, “Who’s that tool in the ostentatious car?” And now that tool was me. Nobody stared at me in my Ford Focus, which is good because I’m usually either singing along to the radio, or picking my nose, or both.

Josh pulled the beast over and offered me the wheel. It was, quite frankly, terrifying. I was driving something worth more money than I’ve made my entire life. I kept hitting the gas in tentative, jerky bursts, afraid that if I stayed on the pedal for too long the thing would lurch into overdrive. It was only a few blocks back to Josh’s house but I was terrified the entire time. I drove that car like I was a grandmother out for a Sunday drive.

I think one of the things I like about having a crappy car is that, well, it’s crappy. I don’t have to worry about it. I can hit the curb while parallel parking. I only get stares from strangers if it’s emitting any particularly malodorous smoke. But it’s a simple car. I’m a simple man. And I will never let Josh drive me anywhere again.

I had another thing planned, but an old college buddy of mine got into some trouble, so I went to visit him. Out of respect for his privacy, that’s all I’ll say about the subject.

Warning: Incredibly Not Safe For Work!

Thanks to Jennie CC and Zabeth Russel for being brave and hilarious companions.

I still feel dirty.

My name-changing party was a lovely success, with thanks to all that came. And it turns out that there were two other parties at the White Horse that night, and both of them had people I knew. One was a guy named Maxx (the two x’s were not yet legal, so he told me he was thinking of changing his name as well). Maxx offered to give me another All New Thing for Friday - a Steve McQueen.

The Steve McQueen is a drink of Maxx’s own invention, and is only served at the White Horse. My memory is hazy, but I think it consisted of two parts scotch, one part gin, a splash of lime juice, a splash of tonic, and a cocktail onion. At 1:30am, it tasted just dandy.

Thanks, Maxx! And thanks to all that showed up, including Jennie CC for my Huge Cookie:

Today I woke up early, headed downtown, and picked up my paperwork that makes my name change officially official. You are reading the blog of Opus James Shattuck Moreschi.

I went to a desk, that sent me to a window, who sent me to another window, who had me fill out a form, who sent me to another window, who told me to wait for my number to be called. But they didn’t call my number, they called my name. “Opus…?” the elderly lady behind the counter shouted. She gave me some papers and began to walk off.

“Is this it? Do I need to get this certified or something?” I asked.

She looked at me for a minute and broke into a huge smile, “Baby, that’s it.” she said. “Your name’s changed.”

If you’re in LA, come celebrate with me at the White Horse on Western at around 9pm. Hoorah!

To submit to the sublime website, Bad Spock Drawings, I present to you my own bad drawing of Spock.

I’ll keep you updated if it was bad enough to get accepted.

PS - Don’t forget to subscribe to the Taco Tuesday Video Podcast!

Hello folks,

On Thursday I am picking up the final paperwork for my Name Change on Thursday morning. So if you’d like a chance to share a drink with Opus James Shattuck Moreschi (legally), come join me at the White Horse on Western between Sunset and Hollywood at 9pm. We will enjoy each other’s company and the free snacks provided by the bartender.

Join me, won’t you?

Sincerely,

The soon-to-be-official Opus Moreschi