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1/8/07 How Did You Get Like This?
Hey Here we are with the first issue of this year of our Lord two ought ought seven (but not first draft, this whoreson computer is being particularly problematical tonight, don't want to get into it cos it makes me see red, but Laura asked me the other day if I was any happier with my new computer, in a word, HELL FUCKING NO, GODDAMMIT, if it was a person I would have my hands around its throat right now, heartily banging it's head against the floor, while simultaneously stamping on its balls, I'm SO sorry now I wasted my money on this motherfucking piece of shit, which is exactly what it is, and I already had one of those, didn't need to spend a thousand goddamn bucks for another one- then again, what the hell, it's just money, and there's always more money waiting right around the corner when you're as sweet and lovable, not to mention amoral and talented, as me and the Death Falcon)- (WELL, I'M SORRY YOU SPENT THE MONEY. IT'S STUPID TO SPEND MONEY ON NOTHING BUT AGGRAVATION). It's also the story of my damn life. Or one of them, anyway. So- I hope everyone had a good New Year, and let's get to it, or, as my good buddies in Slade would say, get down and get with it. Yes they were so my good buddies. I'm not feeling even a tiny bit well tonight, sick in body as well as mind, and for once it's not alcohol, drug, car wreck or wrestling induced, got a killer sore throat, feverish, every now and then I'll cough up a baseball sized glob of yellow mucous (what am I doing with them? Seriously, don't ask), in fact, now that I sit down here at this hell spawn of a keyboard, I don't feel much like doing a newsletter, all headachey and brain dull, but I already started, so fuck all of us right between the eyes, I'm gonna do one. (THAT'S THE SPIRIT). Besides, I'm well medicated, just waiting for it to fully kick in. Joe was sick with this same shit recently, he suggested I get some decongestant, good idea, you know if you break open about a dozen decongestant capsules- they keep them back in the damn pharmacy now even though you still don't have to have a prescription to buy them, for fuck's SAKE- and snort the contents, and drink some hot Wild Turkey and lemonade, cut about half and half- it's a lot better than it sounds, sort of like a super Whiskey Sour, only hot- damn, that does sound awful- you'll feel a lot better? Just saying. Let's hit le mail bag, which continues to stay full, "keeping stats" got a lot more response than I expected, I just sort of threw it out there while I was trying to think of something else, and YES, I do think only getting drunk twelve times in one month is good. For me, anyway, maybe not for you, but you're talking to a man who more than once in his life has stayed solid drunk for damn close to a year, twelve drunks in thirty one days, that's like sobriety (how do you people do it?) to me. And I DO take care of myself, holy shit, I work out whether I feel like it or not, I watch my diet, Jesus, I eat a two pound tub of plain yogurt every week, gut friendly bugs and all, drink 3-4 cups of green tea a day, I'm sure I consume more yogurt and green tea that anyone this side of Tibet, along with all the brown rice and fish and steamed vegetables, I never put salt or sugar on anything, I bet I don't eat a loaf of white bread in an entire year, bla bl bla, fuck, why do you think I'm not DEAD? (COS YOU'RE AN INDESTRUCTABLE FREAK OF FUCKING NATURE SUPERMAN?) That too. Laura said to me Saturday when I was over there and complaining about my stomach, "It's all that battery acid you used to drink". And still do, sweetheart . . . and still do. Not to mention all that battery acid I produce myself. The "Bill as Mick Jagger's fey-er big brother" photos also drew a lot of comment, divided completely along gender lines, the girls going, "Damn, you were kinda cute", the guys, "You went out in public looking like THAT?!". Absolutely. To both. I'm giving up on the Food Network vote, you fuckers win. The voting has pretty much dried up, only five votes since last issue . . . and four of them were for Giada. So she wins in pretty much a landslide, whatever, you guys don't know from NOTHING. (THAT'S THE POOR LOSER I LIKE TO SEE). Hey, you know what a good loser is? A fucking loser. Fuck that good sport shit, I never did believe in it. (I KNOW. NEVER DID PRACTICE IT, EITHER. TELL THAT STORY LATER ABOUT YOU AND YOUR DAD, AND THAT ONE BALL GAME AGAINST THE JAGUARS). That is a good one . . . but it's too soon, I can't really write about my Dad, and the old days, just yet. I miss him like crazy. (HOW ELSE COULD YOU?) I think my Mom, amazingly, actually put it best, she was in the living room talking to Thelma not long after the funeral (I was in the kitchen getting some- seriously- yogurt and green tea, so I could hear them) and Thelma was asking how everyone was doing, she asked how I was taking it, considering "How Bit and Billy used to fight all the time", and my Mom said, "They actually loved one another so much they had to act like they hated one other, or no one would have been able to stand being around them". I can't believe how perfectly she nailed it. That was it exactly, Ma. Exactly. Shit. I'm tearing up. Give me a minute. Robby, God love his retarded heart, contnues to do his job as nonsense
spewing surrogate. At breakfast the other morning he says something about
"Tweaky Bird"- I'm not sure in reference to what, cos I wasn't
paying attention- I interrupted- B: What was that? Well, when it comes to talking to you, Rob, that's all I can do too, is guess. Tweaky Bird. Sweet Jesus. And you'll never guess who I heard from last month. Long time NL story time fixture, Rick Ramell, swear to God, photographed in all his fag aping glory just last issue, haven't heard from him in AGES. He says he's sueing me for libel. Not really, but it could happen if he ever finds out about this fucking newsletter. Of course, good luck getting blood out of a stone, motherfucker. He'd heard about my Dad- Rick's in Harrisburg, PA, these days- and he wanted to offer his condolences to my Mom, he wrote a really nice letter to her, went on about what a great guy my Dad was, I don't want to wear this out, but my Dad was one of those very rare persons who made a really strong, positive impression on almost everyone he met, Rick hadn't seen my Dad in easily twenty five years, hell, he hasn't seen me in almost twenty, and he was moved to write this letter cos he really wanted my Mom to know how much he thought of my Dad. He also asked my Mom to pass along his contact information to me, cos he'd love to hear from me. He hasn't yet, but he will. Maybe. "Newsletter? I don't write any fucking newsletter, who told you that?" Wow. Maybe twelve capsules is one or two too many. I thought the whiskey would kind of balance it out, but HOLY FUCK. I don't know if you know what helicopter head is- you may not, as I'm pretty sure invented the term- but I got it right now. BAD. Well, I ain't got the heart I also got asked what I got for Christmas, since I never said, thanks for asking (and paying attention), uh, Rachel got me the companion Sandman bust to go with my Lizard one she gave me for my birthday (and if you thnk its pitiful, a man getting a comic character bust for his 50th birthday, you're the fucking geek, not me), this Sandman follows the Lizard's lead in being serious bidness, in the comics he's sort of a joke character, the character portrayed in this bust is no joke, he looks pissed off and deranged and very extremely dangerous- he's been turned to SAND, if that doesn't drive you right the fuck out of your mind, what does? Sarah got me Openers II, a collection of all of Roky Erikson's lyrics- Jesus Christ, you want to talk deranged- great, great stuff, I'm not going to quote any of them, other than to say "I've been working in the Kremlin with a two headed dog" is easily the best song lyric of all time, however, I make no such promise regarding his song titles- "The Blieb" (huh?), "Child In Stein Hyde It's Hidden" (did I already say, huh?), "I Do Wish To Acquaint With You" (nah, Rok, that's not awkward), "You Who Believe In War Would You Please Not Believe In War (at least, not compared to this one)- and these don't even include his multitudinous horror/sf songs- well, maybe, I have no idea in fuck what "The Blieb" is about- like "I Want To Tell Everyone About the Devil" (and you're doing a good job) "You're An Unidentified Flying Object" (no, you are), "I Love The Sound (Of Severed Heads Bouncing Down The Stairs)" (who doesn't?), and- well, I could go on all night, cos this shit is priceless. I'll finish with the best song title ever- "President Ford (Is A Square Queer)". I don't remember hearing that in his eulogy last week, but okay. I also got a hoodie from Kat, although I think that was a late birthday present, my Mom got me a couple Henleys so in five years I'll have something new to wear to get my picture taken at the DMV, and . . . I think there was more, but I can't remember. What's Bill been doing? Sarah left for Baltimore last Thursday- she doesn't refer to it as
going home, so I shan't either- before that sad day, she and I and Evan
met Danny and Robin and PG Tuesday night for Mexican, again, this time at
Rio Bravo II in Spring Hill right next door to the excellently named
Schultzie's, they have a menu identical to Rio Grande, I didn't feel much
like eating (as compared to drinking), and as their special that night was
lime margaritas for $1.99, I got four, very good, strong in both tequila
and lime. They ripped my stomach out by it's gummy roots later that night-
it was the lime juice far more than the tequila- but that's the price one
sometimes has to pay, a good time was still had by all. The next day Sarah and Evan and I went to the Huntington Mall, ate at the Chinese place over by Kohl's, quite good, I like my Chinese, and that rice helped tamp down and mostly put out the tequila/lime fire still raging in my innards. Sarah got an mp3 player at Best Buy, at one point I went back over to the display looking for her, the sales guy there tried to sell me one, "Your fucking head will explode first" I told him, smiling, but judging by the look on his face, still with more vehemence than was necessary. While there, I picked up the orginal Ultra Man series, all 39 episodes, something I love simply for itself- giant robotic Ultra Man fighting a sucession of ultra bizarro Ejii Tsubaraya giant monsters in '66 Japan, magic, I don't care how old I get, I will always love that kind of shit, always- but also cos I connect Ultra Man to two golden periods in my life when it was on televison, sixth grade in DC ('68-'69), and then the winter of '79-'80, when some cable channel showed it around 11 am on Saturday mornings and Loretta and I would get up and watch it together under a blanket on the couch, and even hungover like I invariably was (like I said, it came on Saturday mornings), after it went off we'd conduct our own version of the tussle we'd just seen, and as Ultra Man I'd acquit myself quite well, what a wonderful, wonderful time.
I don't know, I really don't, sometimes I wish I wasn't like this cos this HELICOPTER HEAD is about to fucking wear me out, right now it's 'Nam, '68, and the entire 1st Air Cav is compressed between my ears. Fuck scaring the shit out of the gooks, it's scaring the shit out of me. That also reminds me, Danny was talking about 16 to Life at dinner Tuesday, Chi (the producer, as you recall) was telling him how great it looked, still no release date, they're going to have to go back and pick up a couple lost scenes, fortunately none of mine and Danny's, he asked Chi about how he comes across in the final cut, she told him a little over the top, which bugged him, and I understand why, every scene I saw him shoot, he gave Mandy exactly what she was asking for, so if it's over the top now, that's not his fault. He also asked Chi how I looked in the film and she reportedly said "Wonderful", as she rolled her eyes Heavenward, and sighed. Ha, and hurray. And Sarah and Evan both heard Danny say this, so it's not just Bill shaking his own, uhm, hand. Then Saturday I helped Joe move Charlie into his efficiency apartment in Morgantown, Charlie's moved out on his own, and decided to return to school to complete his engineering degrees, both of them moves I couldn't applaud more, for any number of reasons. I rode up with Charlie, back with Joe, and talking with Charlie on the ride up, I think his head is on the best (not that I have much personal experience with that condition) it's been in his adult life, short though that span may have been
(ME TOO. AND IT'D BE WISE TO KEEP US THAT WAY. LITTLE BUDDY). Yeah, it really would. But I'm not concerned, Joe and I are gonna run up to Morgantown and hang out every month or so, check out the college girls and go to Keglers, apparently their version of Hooters, or so the billboard led us to believe, we found a good beer store up there, in a college town, imagine that, got some Magic Hat #9, which I've never heard of, a "not quite pale ale", with a hint of apricot, good thing I didn't see that before we- or rather, Joe, again, imagine that- bought it, cos it's good, it was the psychedelic packaging that sold me anyway, and as an added bonus, when I cracked my first one, the inside of the bottle cap asked me this issue's title question, "How did you get like this?" Godamighty, when even the fucking beer caps start getting on your case . . . and if anyone's been paying attention, and wondering how many stars there are on this month's calendar, two, the two nights I stayed at Al's. Hey, it's only the 6th . . . no, the 7th, wait, it's after midnight, the 8th. Whatever, I don't care. I really don't. You've painted up your lips Sort of. I mean- (SORT OF). I've been getting some e-correspondence lately from someone saying she wants to hook up with DFZ, I ignored it, as always- I get more of this shit than you'd probably believe, or he does, whatever, without encouragement it normally peters out pretty quickly- but then she started dropping Danny's name, and referencing things that I haven't put in the NL, so I knew she was real, and local, she finally identified herself as some Comm student over at State, I asked Danny about her the other night, he doesn't know her all that well, but promises me she's "cute"- but still I don't know, other guys cute isn't always mine. Frequently, not even close. She says she's really looking forward to getting together with a "big, bald wrestler", so I figure all she's looking for is a fling, fine, not to pick nits, but dammit, I'm not bald, I cut my hair really, really short, there's a difference, and to refer to me as bald offends, not my self image, but my sense of semantics, still, like Joe said, maybe she meant "big balled"- (HELLO). - hey, there you go. So, anyway, expecting absolutely nothing, I've agreed to meet her for drinks Tuesday night, since I have to be in town anyway. I'm trying to decide if I want to try to do a memory lane trip- without stroking myself any more than I already do, even though I get varying opinions on what occurs therein, I have NEVER gotten a negative comment about the reminiscing itself, far from it. Actually, its not a matter of wanting to, so much as being able to, cos you see . . . right now, there's a noise in my head like there's an enormous fan about two inches from my ear, and every minute or so I have to get up and run around the room, cos SOMETHING'S CHASING ME, not literally, cos for one thng, I don't fucking run, it's just a feeling, and it's getting way hard to write a newsletter when one second I'm here typing away, and the next, with no conscious thought or cognitive transition, I'm across the room and pacing- (YOU CALL THAT PACING? YOU COULD RUN UP ONE WALL AND DOWN THE OTHER, THE SPEED YOU'RE "PACING") . I think I may well have overindulged in decongestant tonight, seriously, I feel like Moses in a canoe going down the Nile at 100 miles an hour in a motor boat . . . wait, I already said he was in a canoe, okay, I feel like Jesus- (MOSES) -fucking WHATEVER, okay, I feel like MOSES, in a canoe ON TOP of a motor boat going down the Nile at 500 miles an hour, getting ready to jump Aswan fucking High Dam with my dick hanging out . . . fuck me. I'll need to lay in more whiskey next time. Balance in all things. However, as nothing can kill me, only hurt me grievously, even though at the moment my blood tubes- I believe you humans call them "veins"- are filled with a witches brew of alcohol and drugs and sickness, I'll be fine tomorrow, or if not then, then at some future time, and then, boys and girls, then, the stories I shall tell you, about Susie, and Bill versus the entire Jaguars baseball team, and why social work is not for sissies, yes, finally, and about Grandad versus The Angel, and how I escaped my certain fate, not to mention the origin of my silly grin, and on and on and on, ad infinitum, world without end, Amen, forever and fucking ever. EVER, I said. Either that, or my tired, broken and overworked lion's heart shall explode, as it certainly feels on the verge of doing. Either way, we all win. You tell yourself you're not my kind Later Bill
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Well, I don't really care 
Friday night I went up to Danny's to iron some things out on the DFZ
script- it's finally back in pre-production, thank you, looking to shoot
this summer, God willing- he and Robin got an espresso machine for
Christmas so I ended up drinking a whole pot of wicked strong espresso
myself, four really big cups (why my stomach was killing me Saturday
morning), Danny asked "Why is it, anything that gives you a buzz, you
inisist on doing too much of?"
So, more power to you, little buddy. I'm proud of you.