1/8/02

News, News, I Got News

HELLOOOO!

So, what have we all been up to this past week. I don't know what you've been doing, and I don't care, this is my newsletter. Actually, I do care, but this is MY newsletter, so . . . Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone who e-mailed me back for the positive responses. I'm moved, really. Nurse Martha (who's becoming something of a hotbody herself- she's lost 45 pounds over the past few months through the very simple expedient of not eating- I mean not AT ALL, just supplements. More fucking balls and willpower than I care to think about, my hat's off to her, and yours should be too. And hers don't fit, anymore) thinks I should somehow turn these newsletters into a mystery story. Martha, my life couldn't be a bigger mystery as it is. Got snowed out the past couple days, left home early Sunday because I knew I wouldn't have a chance later in the day, just got back in a few minutes ago, even then got stuck up in my damn driveway. Fortunately my landlord's a care-not kind of guy (I'll tell you about old Jack, sometime), so I drove all through the yard and got turned back around so at least I'll be pointing the right way come morning. This Saturn I've got sucks as a snow car, the first one I had was excellent (and wasn't bad as a crash car, we took on a concrete bridge at about 50 once, me and it, and almost tied). What is Bill listening to right now? Blind Faith. Christ Jesus, I can't help it, I'm OLD. The new remastered double CD with a bunch of jams on the second CD. They're okay, but it's the original CD that's the fucking goods, again, they've got that SOUND, (Humbuckers + Organ = GREAT- and yeah, Clapton mostly played a Tele on this record, but it was a Frankenstein, with a Strat neck and humbuckers), God Almighty, Joe, I wish WE could find a good organ man- no smart remarks, the rest of ya- some fine songs, a young Stevie Winwood's inimitable (and they are- you try it) vocals, the generally overrated Eric Clapton doing some of that nice smooth stuff I'll admit he's always been good at, but still crunching the chords on the harder stuff, with a little mustard on his leads, and some really good ensemble playing on the longer stuff. Sort of like the Tang Spoons on a good jam night, if I could play the guitar, and Bobby wasn't a fucking dickweed. We played a good version of Well Allright at times tho, didn't we guys? (those of you who can recall). And Dave, remember back in 92 when we used to go up to the Empty Glass and watch Rick Magley do that acoustic stuff, he did a very good version of Cant Find My Way home, remember that? That was fun, and I'm a nostalgic fuck. (The past is always safe to look back on cos the bottom line is we know for sure at least we didn't die there) As my third grade teacher Mrs. Oren used to say- I can't remember (that's what she always used to say) She was crazy as a goddamn bedbug, always zapping around the classroom like she was electrified, she spoke to us one entire day backward, or so she said she was doing, it was all Hittitian babble to me, cos she said teaching forward was no challenge- hell, it was for us- and who hung herself at home 2 weeks before the school year ended. Absolutely true. They told us she went to China (?!) and brought in the music teachers mother, Mrs. Hoooooper (that's how she pronounced it) to sit with us the last 2 weeks. She was about 90 and always fell asleep right after the pledge of allegiance and we'd spend all morning shooting and covering her with so many spit wads that when she woke up to the lunch bell she was this Outer Limitish paper machie looking thing that would shuffle off to the cafeteria looking for herself a good fruit cup and a milk. Had dinner at Nawabs out at Southridge with Sarah and her friend, Jason, Thursday night. He's 19, an alleged bipolar savant in math, graduated from GW at 16, is going to UK (Jason S. would be proud, anybody know his e-mail address, I'll fix his little red wagon) and is making excellent grades in some really esoteric math classes, in between hospitalizations to get his nut medications regulated. Sarah's 15 by 2 weeks for those of you who don't know, cute as a damn bug, and they want to date. Not in this man's lifetime. They met through both of their involvement in the Kahde/Scarpelli theater productions- he's a tech, not a performer. They can be satisfied with friendship, or- no, there are no other options. He seems much more philosophical about it than Sarah (of course, it's his life at stake). Nice enough kid, quiet, but well spoken when he did speak, but he looks like Abe Lincoln's maniacal son, has one of those Lincolny nothing but chin type beards, wears a soft stovepipe style hat and a long black coat, and every time I looked up from by lamb saag and curry he was staring at me. Every time. Just staring. Nut. As for the food, it was good. I'm no expert, I don't know good Indian cuisine from bad (tho I know the only good Indian is a dead one- sorry) but I like it. Sarah got the sampler, big old portions of meaty gravy muck and vegetably muck, truckload of rice, Tandoori chicken and lamb, she was happy. And the mango ice cream was superb, darlings. Actually, I should be careful, just because I told Sarah she couldn't read these doesn't mean she won't, and she could get her feelings hurt. So, Sarah, if you are reading this, Daddy is very displeased, but also, Jason was a nice boy, Daddy was just trying to be funny. But he was staring at me. Yes, thanks for asking, my neck is still very sore. Now that it's getting better, it seems to actually be getting worse. If you like Canadian beer, you might want to try Labatt's Blue (what Bill is drinking at the moment), it's about the cheapest, $4.50 per 6, as opposed to $5.50 for Molson and $6.50 for Moosehead- this week Kroger prices, everybody shop Kroger so Dave can get a raise-and while I can tell a slight difference- I actually prefer Molson of the 3- it's not profound, they all have that skunky Canadian taste you either like or don't. Lite beer and decaf coffee are abominations, drink them only if you can't find a beer can full of your own urine. Green tea is real good if you're trying to cut down on your caffeine (about 1/3 of coffee) I drink 4-5 cups a day, supposed to be good for you. I don't know what to tell you if you're trying to cut down on drinking your own urine. Mark (you remember him Joe, we met him at Jason's party) has a new band going (when was the party, Joe, September? We been trying since 19 fucking 97) and they may be playing at Club 812 on the 19th. Let me know for sure, Mark (or else tell me the name of your band so I can check myself), I'll be there. Mark is a subscriber in good standing to the letter, so, let me know big guy, and I'll advertise all your local gigs here, get this, for free. And if you play Escapes again, be especially sure to let me know. Bill is now listening to Nuggets II box set. As you all know, Nuggets was all these great garage band singles from the US circa 65-69. Nuggets II is the same, only British, as well as European, Asian, and South American. Right now I am listening to "I Am Just A Mops," by the Japanese band, The Mops. The chorus is wonderful, "Well I don't care from them/Cos I am just a mops". What defiance. The Japanese are insane. If they didn't have that monstrous sadistic mean streak, they'd be a credit to this world. Of course, then they wouldn't be the Japanese, and I wouldn't have wonderful bloodbath tapes like King Of The Deathmatch. (Hey, Doug, Chinese Death Falcons Rule you Yankee Pussy.) Tho half the guys in that Deathmatch were American. Cactus Jack, who won, got $150 for 3 matches, 49 stitches and second degree burns on his face and arms. Moron. I'm going to try to make a trip to Georgia this summer to eat at Abdullah the Butcher's Chinese Rib house, among other fun things, one of which is not spend a million damn dollars to see a Braves game, I LOVE baseball, but we spent $50 bucks each there one afternoon in 94- I didn't drink one dang beer, so there-and I'm sure prices haven't dropped. Anyone that wants to come along, let me know. Gonna see if I can get a picture of me and Abdullah, one of my genuine idols, swear to God, together, while he's jabbing a fork tines deep in, oh, I don't know, are you coming Joe?- probably Joe's head. Hell, that giant noggin of yours, Joe, he'd probably break his fork. Saw an interesting show this weekend about a maneating tigress in the Sunderband, the coastal region of Bengal, India. I missed parts of it because of this stomach thing I often get from drinking lots of beer and not eating (why does that give you the shits, for God's sake, you'd think it would do the opposite- and by the way, Kathy won last weeks question contest, and I owe her a dollar- if anyone can answer THIS one the prize is again, one US dollar, not one of those don't those damned Europeans read the fucking Bible Euros). Anyway, they were interviewing this guy who'd gotten the shit mauled out of him, had holes in his neck you hide a small child in, but was saved when his father in law attacked the tiger with his woodcutting axe. The clueless interviewer goes, "where is your father in law, we'd love to meet this hero," and mauled guy shrugs and goes, "well, they found his head and ribcage, but I don't know where they buried them." So Bill advice tip of the week is, don't try and save someone from a tiger by using your woodcutting axe unless you love the person very, very much. After that watched a show about food in Spain, mostly cos the hostess was a stone hottie- tall, long dark hair, this exotic, high cheekboned face, slender, but with, ahem, a full bosom- yeesh, who does that sound like-but the show was good. Paella is the fucking bomb. Saffron rice with meat and vegetables doesn't sound that exciting, I know, but if you get the chance, I very strongly recommend you try it. I actually ate it in Spain (well, la de da) so I don't know if it's as good over here or not, but it's worth taking a chance in my book. She also went to the bull fights, as did I while there. They were a smelly, gory mess, and as non-pc as it sounds. I loved them. They sold little bottles of this way strong red wine in the stands, but don't throw the empties at the matadors or you may get asked to leave. Other than that, the most exciting thing that happened when I was there was when this bull just SLAMMED into this horse, drove it all the way to the wall, then hooked his head under him and threw horse and rider into the expensive seats. Unfortunately, no one was killed or even badly injured, but it was still muy entertainingo. After the fights on TV they went out for a big pot of bull ball stew, which Miss Hottie wouldn't partake of, which was fine by me. (Lips that touch bull balls shall never touch mine). That's about all for this time around, hopefully I'll have some wild and interesting experiences to share with you all next time instead of being a version of TV Guide, along with some cool magazines and websites I recommend you check out, as well as some helpful household tips. Gonna try to get some fishing in before the month's out, maybe I'll have a big fish story. Doug's going to help me create a webpage, but don't worry, I'll still keep sending this out direct to all my wonderful friends.

Well I don't care from them, either,

Bill