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10/8/05 Losers Town
Hey First off, let me say something you've never heard me say before, which is that I FUCKING HATE computers. If you've sent me an e-mail in the past two weeks and I haven't responded to it, it may be one of the dozen or so stuck here inside this infernal machine. They seem to be working their way through eventually- one just popped up today, 10/7- well, it's 10/8 now, whatever- that was sent 9/28- so I'll get back to you when it gets to me. If it was something important and time sensitive, you should have called. You say you did? And no one answered? Imagine that . . . Still getting quite a few letters of encouragement, thanks once more to all of you, got one with a very relevant Blake quote from Dick (about a week after he sent it), you, my friend, are bushi.
I don't see any point in trying to go back and fit those photos into the old NL's, Joe, I'd just stick them in this one if it was me. Cos apparently my scintillating prose isn't fucking enough for these plebes, they gotta have the visual aids as well. Not that I blame them. I also received a letter from someone identifying themselves as a long time reader complaining that the newsletter "isn't like it was in the old days". I'm not sure exactly what you mean since you didn't elaborate, and I'm not sure how far back you go with this thing- this is the first time you've written- but I do have an answer to your complaint. THESE AREN'T THE FUCKING OLD DAYS! So, there you go. My Dad . . . Jesus. My Dad is now in rehab at Meadowbrook Nursing Home, out past Coonskin Park. The rehab guy there says he thinks he can have my Dad ready to come home in ten weeks, by which time he'll be able to transfer with little to no assistance, just monitoring, and walking with a walker and minor assistance, and with at least partial use of his left hand. And for his next trick he's going to turn water into wine. Meadowbrook is a nice enough place structurally, and the staff all seem competent, but nursing homes by nature are just one step removed from hell. I counted an even dozen old ladies sitting in wheelchairs out in the hallway today when we went to see my Dad, every single one of them demented as fuck, half of them barking at the fucking moon, and the other half cradling hard plastic baby dolls in a hollow eyed, slack jawed way guaranteed to make your skin crawl. My Dad comes and goes, mentally, the other day when we showed up he was tapping away furiously on his button to summon the staff, my Mom asked him what he was doing- Dad: I'm sending signals in Morse code. Hell, I don't think he thought anyone was actually receiving him, I think he was just bored. At least, I hope. He had some fun with the nurses back at General before he left, my Mom got him these dreadful sweat pants at the Dollar Store- at a buck, she still overpaid, they're this bright blue with red circles all over them with "Dad Is The BBQ Master!" written in them in white, they're HORRIBLE, you couldn't even give them away to a Katrina survivor, I promise, they'd hand 'em right back to you, I told my Mom not to buy them, but you can't tell her fucking anything, so of course she did, my dad fought like a damn wildcat when they went to put them on him, but eventually he wore down, and the sweats went on. All the nurses liked to make conversation with my Dad, so this day naturally they latch onto the pants- Nurse 1: So you're the barbecue master, are you? What do you like to
barbecue? Later. Nurse 2: So you like to cook out, huh? Dynamite. What a card. He'd also been talking shit about me to the nurses there, I noticed I'd been getting the hairy eyeball up there a lot toward the end, finally one of them asked me as I was leaving one day- Nurse 3: Are you the one who's going to be taking care of him once he
comes home? And I walked off. No wonder they didn't want him coming home. I made the mistake of wearing a pair of his tennis shoes up to see him today- mine finally wore out, that would be the pair he bought me LAST time he was in the hospital, as you recall, and I came to see him in a pair of his shoes, for some reason that drives him crazy(er), he spotted them right off- Dad: Whose shoes you wearing? My mom can't understand my Dad very well, I'd say 50% of the problem being she's fucking deaf, and 50% being that she's pretty much lost the ability to comprehend fucking ANYTHING, but whenever she doesn't understand what he says, instead of asking him to repeat himself, sometimes she'll ask me what he said, but most of the time she just hugs him, which understandably, at least to me, irritates him no end. She hugs him now, which just annoys the fuck out of my Dad. Dad: Get offa me! And get my shoes! My Mom goes to hug him again, for the sentiment. Dad: Stop it! And quit listening to him! My Dad makes one last attempt to get through to my Mom, speaking as slowly and plainly as he can. Dad: Bill. Is stealing. My shoes. Well, naturally, this elicits yet ANOTHER hug from my Mom. I think my Dad's gonna bust a blood vessel. Dad: NO! GET AWAY! Damn woman . . . I'm laughing so hard milk is coming out my nose- and I wasn't drinking milk. However, fun's fun, but he's getting too worked up. Bill: Look, I'm just gonna borrow them till you come home, then I'll
give 'em back to you and go buy a pair for myself. Okay? And like that, he's calmed down. Nut. As for my Mom . . . have I already said Jesus? Her mind has pretty much flown the fucking coop, seriously. Her ability to comprehend and reason are practically fucking nil anymore, I could (easily) give you a hundred recent examples, but none of them are funny, just pathetic, and while no one of them are all that big a deal, it's the fact that it's constant, and comprehensive, every single time you have to deal with her, I just want to scream "What are you fucking THINKING?!?", but of course she's not thinking, it'd be like yelling at a baby or something, but being around her . it's like being pecked to death by a duck. And lest you think it's just Bill "he ain't got no patience or tolerance" having this problem, she had Tina out in the front yard chain smoking to beat hell the other evening, teeth gritted and almost in tears. I went out to check on her and the first thing she said was "You're never gonna be able to do this." Even the redoubtable Aline, as good and patient a soul as has ever lived, is struggling, being there. Still, what choice do I have? Joe, Doug, and (hopefully) Chris are coming out here tomorrow with their trucks to help me move what furniture I have either out to my parents or to storage, and I have to say I'd rather be hit by a fucking train. This whole fucking move, it's just- have you ever tried to get into something too small for you? A pair of pants, or a bathing suit or- (A PUSSY?). - shut up, I'm being serious here- (SO WAS I). Fuck you. You know how frustrating and stressful it is trying to fit yourself into something that's too damn small for you? More than anything else, I think, that's what's killing me about moving back into my parent's house, physically, emotionally, spiritually, all that shit, that house, I just don't fucking FIT, there's just no fucking place for me there anymore, and I'm going to lose my goddamn fucking mind living there, you just fucking watch me.
Oh yeah, and while we're on the subject, remember the dick I shoved off the dock? He turned out to be a real shitter, tried to get rough with Chelsea on a date- man, I'm telling you, I saw it in him that day, just the way he walked her down to that dock, all possessive and predatory and shit, I think that's why I had a hard on already waiting for him even before he scuffed Tanner's fish off the dock, the Dad in me knew he was trouble. I'm just sorry now I didn't really fuck his punk ass shit up. (MAYBE IF YOU'D HAD SOME SPEED . . . ). Ha. Yeah, really. So, other than tormenting my poor sick Dad (hey, I could tell you about all the time I spend doing gay shit like sitting by his bed holding his hand, but it'd wreck the image), what's Bill been doing? Well, I stayed up all night as promised in the last newsletter, did that bizarre thing of drinking myself sober, I hate when that happens, but it was probably for the best as I had to meet Danny to go watch Robin race. I was wearing my many pocketed army pants, also as promised, with a beer in each pocket. Danny wanted to know if I wanted to stop and get something to drink- Bill: Nah, I got beer in my pockets.
As for Robin, she busted her seat off about 7 miles in and DNF- she must've gotten too close to me or something, before the race- but she was still far enough ahead on points to win the second half of the season. Congratulations to Robin. She trains up at KSF in the winter, sometimes Danny goes with her, they said they'd get a bike for me and I could go along some time, I think I will, it looks like fun- very strenuous fun, but fun- I'm sure my knees won't be happy about it, but they're not happy about anything any more. I didn't go to the WV Film Makers do up in Sutton last weekend, it
wasn't because I suddenly got hit with a burst of responsibility and
realized I needed to spend that time packing and moving (although I did)
so much as I just didn't think it was a good idea. I'd agreed to room with
someone while drunk, but upon later, sober reflection decided I didn't
want to after all, and I couldn't see a graceful way to still attend and
not spend the night where I'd said I would, so I just stayed home. I
didn't need all that drinking, either, anyway. Although I still got tore
down here on Saturday. Joe and I did our bi-annual (that means Joe likes boys and girls the same) boat trip since last NL, a very fine day as far as I was concerned, beautiful weather, cold beer, quite relaxing. What's Bill been reading? Well, as if I didn't have enough books already, I ordered a bunch more- some art books, Album Cover Art Of Punk, Vixens of Vinyl, Pin Up Nudes II, Japanese Movie Posters, some music stuff, X-Ray by Ray Davies and I, Caramba (CD included) by self important 70's rock "scribe" John Mendolssohn- he did do the excellent liner notes for the Kinks Kronikles, so props to him for that- also one on Arthur Lee and Love, and "complete"- my quotes- guides to the recorded output of Bowie, the Clash, Hendrix, and the Who, there's more, some movie stuff, Sleazoid Express, and one about 70's indie shitbag movie producer/director Andy Milligan, as well as Hardcore From The Heart, by porn star Annie Sprinkle. And to fucking prove SSSLB, I got all this stuff for $53, S & H included.
Also read the Love book- great music created and performed by functional morons, which is apparently not that uncommon, I did find out that a line in the excellent "7 And 7 Is" that I always heard as "Who did this?" is actually "Oop ip ip", did I say morons, I meant Martians- and the Who guide, one of those for nerd and geek things that lists all their recorded output, with a little something about each individual song, and record as a whole, pretty decent.
I guess it's now Alligators 2, Pythons 1. Maybe, I'm not exactly sure how to score this one since, even though the python won the fight and killed the alligator, it exploded trying to swallow it. Now that's a stupid fucking animal. And they've caught 150 pythons in the past two years? That's not just people dumping their snakes in the swamp, that's a breeding population.
Watched the '76 remake of King Kong Thursday night down at Al's, I remembered hating it when I saw it at the theater when it was current, but I've never watched it on TV since, and I'd forgotten what a truly, truly shitty movie it is. Although I was struck by how hot Jessica Lange seemed to me this time around, first time around I remember thinking, cos there was a lot of hype about her, that she wasn't that much. I guess that's the difference between watching it at 19, with way hot 17 year old Loretta wrapped around me, and probably stroking my crotch- if I had a nickel for every time I got a hand job from Loretta in a theater back in the day- well, I'd have a dime, but that's better than being broke- and watching it at 48 with nasty old Al going "Whoeee, lookit them titties!" every couple minutes. Shut up, Al.
(WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?) It means he's been pissing himself a lot at Shoney's. Which experience he likes to share with his fellow diners by standing in the aisle between the booths and, while pointing to his piss drenched crotch, shouting at the top of his lungs, "DAMMIT, LOOK WHAT I'VE DONE!" He's been to the urologist, who's determined the problem is blocked pipes, so his bladder isn't draining properly, hence it'll back up and spew on him at inopportune times- like when he's in Shoney's with Bill. Doc says he can fix the problem with the old rotor rooter up the pee pee hole deal, and Al's scheduled for the procedure on Monday, and yeah, I'm taking him. Should be a fucking hoot.
Al: What are you doing? Al makes a throat slitting motion. Bill: I'm going back to bed. As for the Death Falcon, he's been inactive since last NL, mostly cos pretty much everyone's fucking pissed off at him. (FUCK 'EM). Starting a five week run- after that, we'll see- with AWA-Apex in Oak Hill starting this Tuesday, with Danny managing- The Infinite Body and The Infinite Mind. And if I EVER use the D-word in here again, somebody shoot me. I have taken so much fucking grief over that shit . . . so much for truth in literature. For the record- I've quit taking the Somas, cos that muscle relaxant shit, that's the stuff that'll kill ya. But I'm telling you, a couple of those and a couple- six beers and it doesn’t matter how much your shoulder or your knees (or your heart or your brain or your soul) hurts, you will sleep like a fucking baby. (YEAH. A DEAD ONE. HEY, THAT REMINDS ME, WHAT'S RED AND GREEN AND-) I heard it already. The pain pills- that's as needed. For pain, not buzz. The speed? No comment. What's Bill drinking? Beer. Need to shut it down soon, got moving to do tomorrow. Although, late as it is, I don't guess it matters much anymore when I get to sleep. What else? Well, I've been doing that packing thing, and taking down all the room signs (if you've ever been out here you know what I'm talking about) that Rachel made for all the doors when we- I, whatever- moved in here four years ago. They're all just as fucking adorable as they can be, but I was really taken by the one she made for my music room, a big smiley face with Don’t Worry, Be Happy, and forgive me if I get a bit sappy here, but that sign just summed up that sweet, sweet child, not just her normal (at at time) sunny disposition, but, knowing how sad and hurt her Daddy was, and her trying to cheer him up. Well, now it's four years later and Rachel's not that sweet little kid anymore, in part it's simply the change from 11 to 15, but a lot of it is just all the shit she's had to cope with the last four years, with this hellish split family horseshit that Loretta and I inflicted on both our girls, and it truly brings me to tears to think what's happened to my dear, innocent, HAPPY kid, and the part I played in it. Rachel asked me last time she was in if she could have the Rickenbacker bass to try and learn to play it. I'd been giving her lessons last summer and she showed a genuine affinity for the instrument, and just music in general, she had very good ear, and feel for time, so I can understand her wanting a bass. But the Rick? It's the one we bought for Loretta to play in '79, back when we (or at least I) genuinely thought we were gonna be rock stars. It's a hell of a bass- to me there are Rickenbackers, and then there's everything else, I think it's easily the best bass around, period, and while I'm not about the money, it's also a vintage instrument, it's worth some pretty serious bucks, it's not a beginners bass in any sense. Rachel could get a hundred buck bass that would serve her just as well. Better, actually, cos a Rickenbacker's not that easy to play, got a wide, flat fretboard not conducive to smaller fingers. However, the reason why I told Rachel she couldn't have it- quite hatefully, I'm ashamed to say- is because I couldn’t stand the thought of that bass being back under Loretta's roof again. I don’t think she fucking deserves it. Loretta shit all over those days, those people, those dreams, the thought of her ever laying hands on that bass again . . . well, I swore I'd bust the mother fucker into a million pieces, and then burn it and piss on the ashes first. And by God, I meant it. But I was taking those room signs down today and I've had a change of heart. When she comes in next I'm giving Rachel the Rickenbacker. Whether she learns to play that bass or not doesn’t matter. If it leaves this house and I never see it again, doesn't matter. If Rachel gets one day, no, fuck, one hour, one fucking minute of happiness out of having that bass, THAT'S what fucking matters, that's the best possible use that piece of wood and metal could ever be put to. Rock on, Rachie. I'm going to bed. Next stop, my parents house. Pray for me. Later. Bill
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Gotta get a ticket outta losers town
Also some complaints about Joe not posting any photos with the last
couple of NL's, including the promised ones. Well, he's had the captures
from the Regatta show for a while, and I dropped him off a disc with the
304 stuff on it this week, so don't point no fingers at me. And some guys
bitching cos there was no picture of Jynx/Molly (who I think is going to
turn out to be The Stripper Who Got Away, haven't heard from her since we
had words a couple weeks ago, and she was keeping in touch real regular
before then- unlike some of you- I've thought about getting in touch with
her but I really don't know what to say, I'm not gonna fucking apologize,
so, I don’t know), again, Joe has had her photo for a while, although,
guys, I thought I made it clear, it's not a nude.
Aline heads back south next weekend, it'll be just me and my mom at the
homestead at that point, till my Dad comes home- although taking a little
of the sting off, I may get to see my little buddy Tanner (aka The Flying
Dutchman) when Denise and Teresa come to pick up Aline, it's a little
iffy, I talked to Teresa (Tanner's mom) the other night when she called
the house, she said Tanner is driving her crazy wanting to come up with
them, but she said she'd only bring him if I promised not to talk
"that awful rassling talk to him, it took us six months to break him
of it last time you were in" and I told her I wouldn’t promise-
best I could do was to say I wouldn’t bring it up, but if he did, it was
bombs away as far as I was concerned. But I do hope she brings him, he's a
sweet kid. And according to Aline, even with them living right on that
damn lake, as far as she knows, the last time anyone took Tanner fishing
was when I did, spring before last. His Dad's a genuinely nice guy, but,
Mike, fuck, TAKE YOUR KID FISHING.
I thought we were just gonna stand by the side of the road and watch,
oh no, this was fucking mountain biking, we ended up hiking TWO FUCKING
MILES- man, if I hadn't had that beer with me, I'd have never made it, as
it was my sweat sent up a beer stink you could smell for miles, Danny kept
bitching, "It's like I've got a damn open beer keg following me"
"You do"- up into the woods to watch them. Pretty neat once we
got there and settled in, I've got a lot of respect for that mountain
biking crew, it's some grueling shit, this race in particular, which went
for an incredible, to me, 25 miles. And I like all the colorful jerseys
the bikers wear.
What have I read so far? I've looked at all the art books except Vixens
of Vinyl (CLASSIC shit from the 40's to 60's, it needs to be savored), the
Punk stuff, ho-hum, way dated, but it was like two bucks, Pin up Nudes II,
great shit, I'm not necessarily a connoisseur, but I know what I like, and
I think Gil Elvgren can kick the much better known Varga's ass when it
comes to painting a sexy damn nude (what a great job, too, huh?) Jap movie
Posters, whoever does the art for the DF movie needs to look at this book.
Read Sleazoid Express, not just about those great exploitation movies
of the '70's, but the truly seedy Times Square theaters that the authors
used to view them in, it was very good, and Hardcore etc. which I did not
get just cos it has nude photos of Annie Sprinkle in it, even though she's
buxom as fuck I've never found her particularly attractive, I just figured
I'd blow another two bucks to hear what she had to say, which pretty much
boiled down to that she thinks pornography is cool, and that prostitution
should be legal. I agree, on general principal, as well as that I think it
would take at least some of the slime and exploitation of it's
practitioners out of both of those fields. And knowing human nature,
probably just put it somewhere else.
What's Bill been watching? A bunch of Mitchum movies on Monday, all
four straight through -he's only #3 in the Holy M trinity cos it's
alphabetical- Night of the Hunter, Cape Fear (the original), The Big
Steal, His Kind Of Women (Jane Russell is fucking hot, and not just cos of
her bosom, either) if for some unfathomable reason you've never seen one
of these movies, do yourself a favor and next time they're on TCM- they
rotate through a lot- check one out, and if you don't enjoy the hell out
of it- well, then I don’t know what to tell you, go back to watching
whatever weak and broke down shit you usually watch, something about
"reality" I'd guess.
Al's been having some medical problems of his own lately, in particular
a real serious stretch of public urinary incontinence.
