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11/10/04 The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Affect
Hey Another one hard up on the last one, and an extremely rare- of late, anyway, although they were fairly common a couple years ago- day time edition. How's Bill doing? Okay, actually. Lots of people have expressed their concern since last issue, which is sweet of you, but I'm doing fine. Had that two day train wreck at the beginning of last week, but I cut it off at that. One of the things that's always gotten to me about my life is how things can go from being so very good, to so very bad, so very quickly. It happens to me all the time. It's that QUICK part that so damn disorients me, one second it's "Top of the world, ma", the next the whole fucking shithouse blows up on me. At least Cagney knew he was standing on a flaming gas tank, I'm always fucking clueless to that fact. Fucks with my head righteously, it does.
But I do, fuck things up, that is, and I was pretty upset about this last one, but I'm getting over it. Trying to deal with the situation maturely, which just goes against my damn nature. Very little alcohol since the last newsletter has probably helped, just six beers and a shot of Wild Turkey at a bachelor party Saturday night, a couple beers with David the other day when he was out here. I hate to say it, but I think I was on to something with the previous bout of sobriety, it was doing my (mental) head a lot of good, sure as hell felt better all around, think I'm going to do the sober (not SOBER) thing for a while. Besides, now that yet another winter of my discontent has begun- it gets so dark out here, physically, this time of year, it can get real dark spiritually as well if I'm not careful, and I don't want to become one of those pale faced scary/pitiful guys, you know the type I'm talking about, with the big hollow eyes and frozen smile. Inside, if not out. I'm really not the type to blow his own brains out- I'm much more likely to blow out yours- but I'm certain that if I ever do for myself, it will be in the middle of some too long lonely winter night. Will this period of trying to be sensible and sober, last? Fuck no, I'll be back on here roaring drunk (now there's an expression I can get behind) before you know it, spouting more bibulous existentialism. But it's gonna do me some good in the short run. Had dinner with Martha, Jean, Geri and Steve at Martha's Friday night, to say good bye to Geri's evil bladder. For those of you who know her, but don't know this, Geri got real damn sick, had her Gall bladder taken out week before last, and is now feeling much better. And for those of you who haven't seen Martha's new kitchen, it is just INSANE, it's the kitchen to end all kitchens, just absolutely beautiful in it's craftsmanship, and it has EVERYTHING, if you like to cook, you've got to see this place. I didn't think about it when I was there, Martha, why don't you send me some pictures, I'll have Joe put them on the site. I'm serious, you've got to see this kitchen to believe it. Wonderful. It's been a while since I've done any drink recommendations, been too busy staring up my own asshole, so here's some. They were all drinking wine Friday- I didn't want to get started, having to work Saturday night- Rancha Sabaca Sauvignon Blanc, a California wine, 2001 vintage, everyone liked it, said it was light, a good starter wine. Moving on to the Mulderbosch, another SB, 2002, from South Africa, the consensus was that this one was even better, crisp and citrus-y they said. It was the only one with a price tag on the bottle, $23.99, I think the others were a little cheaper. Last was an Australian Black Opal cabernet/merlot which again got a thumbs up, only comment I remember was oaky, which I guess in wine is a good thing. Seeing those guys again was a good thing as well, being in the bosom of some old friends was just what I needed. And while I was thinking it, they actually articulated it, knowing that I was feeling pretty dejected, I got that whole "unconditional love" thing, it was really nice to hear. I know I'm a hard person to love, and I'm not being faux self effacing here- facts is facts. Quite often my initial charm tends to obscure my faults, which are many and varied, not the least of which is my hot headedness in all things, and I guarantee you that if you make the effort to care deeply about me I am going to end up disappointing the absolute hell out of you at one time or another. I've been blessed in my life to have a number of dear and true friends, good people who've stood by me during my worst phases of self destructive assholeism- and I can be an asshole like nobody can be an asshole- and who have continued to stand by me, many of them for an unbelievable twenty and more years, and I'm truly humbled by it. I can't find my violin, and I couldn't play it if I did, so I'll just say thank you all for being my friends, and move on. Jean and I- who's had a spiritual awakening of her own, and who seemed more at peace Friday night than I've ever seen her, God love your heart, darling, it was good to see- and I were talking after dinner, and she articulated another thing I'd thought but hadn't said, how this hardcore wrestling shit, with all the barbed wire and gigging (I think I'm going to get a decent scar out of that last job) and thumbtacks and chair shots to the head, really parallels the self injurious behavior of a lot of the clients we used to work with in our careers as social workers. I'd had the same thought myself, and when I think about the timing of my switch over from the old school/strong style type of straight wrestling I was doing for Bobby, to this hardcore shit, I had my last straight match the month the girls moved to Baltimore, since then it's all been barbed wire city. Coincidence? I honestly don't know.
My Dad did something I found genuinely touching this past week. My parents noticed my being even more morose than usual out there lately, kept asking what was bothering me, finally I shrugged and said, "I swung and I missed", (a reference to baseball, not fisticuffs) and left it at that, which went over my mom's head, but which I'm pretty sure my dad, amazingly, understood completely. So much so that a little while later he comes up to me while I was sort of staring out the window there in the dining room, puts his hand on my shoulder, and starts giving me this "You've really been a good son" speech. B: Really? Amen to that. Against counsel, both in person and over this thing, the DF defended his Hardcore title in Nitro Saturday night. I'd thought about begging off, but Allen really wanted me to work, 3 out of the 5 belt holders down there- tags and XIC- were working other shows that night. I questioned at the time the wisdom of putting belts on guys who were committed to appearing in other Feds over XMCW, but it wasn't for me to say. Still, if they'd been there, I wouldn't have worked Saturday. My shoulder being what it is, I wasn't up for much offense, it's a lot easier on my shoulder right now- and the rehab is coming along slow- to take a move than to give it, so the match was basically a two person beat down of the Death Falcon- it was a Hardcore 3-Way Dance (whoopee) with the ubiquitous Smokey C, and The Unholy-redeemed at the end by the DF laying out The Unholy with a folding metal chair, and pinning his unholy ass. I'm not sure the beat down idea was the best one, though, I still ended up sore as shit, Smokey hit me smack damn in the face with his Poetry In Motion- it's supposed to hit your chest- and popped the fuck out of my jaw, they both dropped shit across my stomach, that again, is supposed to go across the CHEST, come on, guys, thankfully I've got abs of steel, still hurt, though, my neck was all jammed from the fucking chair shot to the head/DDT onto metal chair combo- nah, I'm sure the beat down idea was a bad one. On the good side though, my shoulder came out of it not a whole lot sorer that it went in. Which is still real damn sore. I'm getting away from the barbed wire the next couple matches, that shit is nasty, literally, if you don't clean out your cuts right away they get infected, I got some deep puncture wounds in my side the other night from when Smokey hit that Van Daminator he's so damn proud of, I thought my side was just hurting from where he kicked me, I didn't realize I'd been gouged like that till the next afternoon when I took a shower, the damn things were already all red and swollen, and tender as shit. I picked the scabs off- that was fun- and cleaned them out good with peroxide, got some neosporin in them, here's hoping I don't get lockjaw. Well, here's me hoping it anyway, I figure there's folks out there who'd think Bill and lockjaw'd be a good combination. There's this toothless geezer who's always in the front row, who just hates the DF, I kind of avoid working him too much, cos I'm not sure of his actual mental capacity, and I really don't want to incite him into coming over the rail, I can just see the headlines, "Bill In Jail For Piledriving Poor Old Retarded Man, Lynch Mob Forming At 2:00" However, after the match, while working the crowd, I did shove the belt in his face, he gurns at it in his gobstopped way, "What's the matter, grandpa, can't you read?" I holler, "Nawp" he says back. I cracked the fuck up, so did the guys sitting next to him. People ask me why I keep doing this. For moments like that, I guess.
After the matches Joe, Charlie and I went to Huntington for Shawn's bachelor party. We hit a couple bars before ending up at Southern X-posure, which turns out was Charlie's first time in a strip club. You could pretty much tell anyway by his glazed stare, and drool flecked chin, and the awe struck, and down right creepy, way he kept murmuring "They're NEKKID". Some of the girls were typical Rt. 60 girls, which means wildly unattractive, including this poor unfortunate with a truly horrible boob job, I wanted to holler, "Get your money back!" but didn't, cos, you know, that would be rude. HOWEVER- there were also these three young dancers that came out one after the other, looked like college girls, at least they were the right age, that were just killer. I mean, fucking killer. Two were very pretty, and one was straight up beautiful, honest to God, just a stunner, head to toe. I was in need of some new visuals for those, uh, private times, now I've got 'em.
Charlie and I were sitting in the car earlier that night while Joe drained his bladder, and he said, "You do a lot of 'woe is me' in your newsletter, but there's a lot of guys who'd give their left nut to be you, me included'. I can see where being Bill might look good to a 21 year old guy, just drinking and screwing and wrestling, being all insouciant and irreverent, not really having to work, not a 9 to 5 day job, anyway, although hanging with Al is no picnic, not being responsible for or to anyone, staying up all night if you want, writing whatever comes into your head and then inflicting it on people, and if I were still 21, I'm sure I'd be having a time. The fun parts of being Bill are fun, damn fun. But at no longer 21- I got a birthday coming up soon, by the way- it all feels a little empty. Make that a lot empty. And that remark last issue about weddings starting to get to me? It wasn't a reflection on anyone who's gotten or is getting married, it's about my own sorry state. It's very dog in the manger-ish of me, and I know it, I'm not particularly proud of it, but being around a lot of happy people, when I'm unhappy, just makes me feel unhappier. And when what they're all so happy about- love and marriage- is the same thing I'm so damn unhappy about, it just makes it worse. But I'm good for the wedding this Saturday, and looking forward to it. And the girls have hardly talked about anything else for the past month. What's Bill drinking? Green tea. Get used to it.
I watched "Jackie Brown" the other night, it wasn't too bad, especially for a QT movie. I still think he tries too hard, though, and his movies are too long. But Pam Grier still looks good, and I've always liked the very underrated Robert Forster.
Watched "King Of The Kyber Rifles" yesterday afternoon with the very wooden, but marvelously monikered Tyrone Power, I been a sucker for this kind of swashbuckling shit since I was in diapers. The Death Falcon is what he is- an amoral fuck, admittedly with a wicked sense of humor- but I've always seen myself, Bill, as the hero type. A rogue-ish, Errol Flynn hero type, but a stand up hero type guy nonetheless. Shame I don't fucking act like one . . . Al's been spewing out the one liners lately- "I'm not weak, I just don't have any strength". "I don't know all the people I know" (well put). And something he blurted out in the middle of the night last night, "I can't stand it up, and I can't stand it down, and where the hell am I?" I didn't think I could help him there with the first part, in fact, I truly didn't want to know, as for the rest of it, I hollered over from my room, "You're home and in bed, Al." A: Okay . . . who's this talking to me? Don't really feel like reminiscing today, sorry, I'll tell another amusing story from my amusing life another time, but I've been asked a lot since "All Tomorrow's Parties" how I'm able to drink so damn much beer, so I think I'll end with a little self help talk, especially since I'm trying to get out of the business myself.
The first rule is, don't eat. Don't eat anything before you start, and for fuck's sake, don't eat anything while you're drinking. I'm talking the entire two days. All that beer's got to go somewhere, and if you already got some damn pizza, or a box of Oreo's or something in there, I'm gonna tell you where that beer's going to go, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it's coming back out the way it went in. Also, any food in there is only going to delay/dilute the buzz, defeating the whole purpose of abusive drinking. And, it will make you sleepy, and sleep is the enemy. The second rule is don't stop, and it's close companion, don't quit. Don't stop means, don't take any breaks. An all day/night/next day drunk is exactly that, if you've got anything else you have to do during that time period, that you can't do while drinking, either don't do it, or pick another time to get hammered. Don't misunderstand me, you can DO anything you want- I don't recommend driving, something sedentary, like listening to music and reading 15 year old guitar magazines and 30 year old comics usually works best- as long as you drink while you're doing it. Don't quit. That means when you think you absolutely cannot drink one more beer, open one more. Drink it. Then open one more. Drink IT. You'd be amazed at how many more beers you can drink, after telling yourself you can't drink one more. Just DO IT. If you're starting out with a day drunk, don't start before noon. I don't know why, but if you start your first day drinking before noon, you'll never be able to keep it up for the required amount of time. You can maybe drink a lot, a whole lot, but you won't be able to stay up all night with it. I think it has something to do with how the solar system is aligned. If you're doing a night drunk, try not to start any later than 5 pm, unless you're still asleep at 5 pm, then start whenever you get up. And DON'T EAT ANYTHING first. Also, make sure you have enough beer on hand before you start, because you sure as shit don't want to run out before you're done. Imagine in your wildest dreams how much beer you think you can drink in two days. Buy twice that. The first day is just the set up day. It's the second day where we really get down to business. Okay, second day, guess what- DON'T EAT. Your stomach is going to be doing that "Feed me" nonsense, just like that plant in that movie that everyone thinks is so funny. It may even be hurting and cramping, just so you'll pay attention. Ignore it. Start drinking the moment you're conscious enough to, even if it is before noon. If you give yourself time to think about it, you'll never start. Here's where we separate the men from the little boys. Very likely, that first beer's not going to want to go down. Force it, even if you throw it back up. It's easy to get discouraged here, because that mother fucker is going to BURN coming back up, which also means that the next one- oh yeah, there has to be a next one- is going to BURN going back down. But the one after that will be better, and the one after that, better yet, and on and on. Follow the rules for day one, until you eventually pass out, hopefully with a beer at your lips. But before you do, you should reach that stage we're trying to achieve- abusive drinking isn't just some cheap stunt, it has a purpose- which is that blissful state known as feeling no pain. You could step on a land mine at this point and just give it a beery smile. I don't care what's bothering you, enough beer and for a very brief period, you honestly won't care. And if you're into hallucinating- and what right thinking person isn't?- you can see and hear some weird ass shit in this condition. Don't let anyone tell you that you have to take dangerous drugs to expand your mind- you can trip like a mother fucker on nothing but beer and exhaustion, trust me. The best ones usually come after you enter the four and five day regions of this strange and sometimes hostile land, but you can still experience some pretty cool stuff the second day if you're lucky. And don't worry about that alcohol poisoning shit, while it's not impossible, it's extremely difficult to drink yourself to death on just beer. And if you've got a fucking life you're concerned about, why are you drinking like this anyway, dumbass? A little more advice. You're obviously going to be alone during these two days- again, if you have someone to spend time with, why are you wasting it on abusive drinking?- and at sometime during this adventure, you're going to want to communicate with the outside world. Take all precautions to prevent this from happening. Hide your telephone and unplug your computer, because how much you want to express yourself at this point, that's how much you shouldn't. If all worked as planned, you're now out of your fucking nut, and no matter what you say, and who you say it to, you're going to be sorry. Again, trust me. You'll tell people that you love that you hate 'em, and tell people that you hate, but who may not know it yet, that you hate em, and that damn thing that you swore you'd never tell anyone? You'll tell everyone. If you sober up and find out that's all the damage you've done, count yourself lucky. With all the beer, no food, and little, if any, sleep, I imagine you're probably technically insane by the end of the second day- you don't want your barking mad ass out there giving your message to the world. Unless you have your own newsletter of course. If at any time during these two days of excessive drinking- if you can't do at least 50 beers in two days following this program, you're a goddamn pussy, and I'll tell you that to your face- you find you've pissed the bed (cos sometimes you do just have to pass out, and sometimes you can even see it coming enough in advance to try and find a soft spot to land) get out of it. You won't want to, but get up anyway, you'll be glad you did. Sleeping in piss is real hard on your skin, you'll get all chafed and sore in your privates, and that sucks anytime, but especially with the hangover you're going to be looking at when this is over. The same thing applies if you wake up from being passed out, if you've pissed yourself, get out of them damn pants. In the summer time you can prevent this from happening by not wearing any pants, or underwear, which is my preferred method, even though I haven't let go on myself in over ten years, I still often go on these summer binges starkers, don't know if there's any psychological significance to it or not. Sort of goes along with that liberate your mind and your ass will follow attitude. Just make sure you keep your shades drawn, or else are very good friends with your neighbors. Or else want to be. As for the recovery period. Rehydrate. I like Gatorade green, you drink whatever you want. Just drink tons of it, again, buy twice as much as you think you can possibly drink, you'll be glad you did. You won't believe it, but at this point, after not eating for two days, you're not going to be hungry. Strange, but true (if you ever go four or five days like this, you may find that you CAN'T eat- pretty scary). Eat, anyway. Fix yourself something bland but nutritious before you start this, that you can just put in the microwave, cos you're definitely not going to feel like cooking. I like poached eggs, creamed spinach, and potato pancakes, that might make you hurl to your death, so you pick what's right for you. I don't take over the counter pain meds, but if you have a favorite- just stay away from Tylenol- go ahead and take some. If you know someone, like I did in the early 90's, and wish like hell I still did, who can get you loaded syringes of B-12, give yourself a B-12 shot in the ass. I don't know if you have to give them in the ass or if that's just what she said cos she wanted to give me one in the ass, but either way, a shot of B-12 in your bum is an amazing pick me up at a time like this, if you're lucky enough to have access to it. If you're not, just tough it out, you'll eventually feel better, or at least, the hangover will go away. We've barely touched on the multi-day excessive drinking thing, but we're starting to run a little long here. Anyone with a genuine interest in the subject get in touch, I'll assist you in any way I can. It's not easy, but practice hard, follow these instructions, and you too can soothe away- temporarily- any hurt, and see visions not accessible to the common man, as well as wreck your liver, your digestive tract, your home life, the better portions of your brain, alienate your friends, family AND lovers, and if you get real good, sometimes salute the morning (or whenever it is you haul your shit worthless ass out of bed) with a festive spray of blood instead of feces in your toilet bowl. If this blood is dark red, you should probably seek medical attention. If it's bright red, as long as you don't keep doing it all day, you should be okay. (SHOULD BE?!) Hey, nothing's certain in this life, you should know that.
Q: Why did Gaston cross the road? Funny. When you need a monster you will find one. Later Bill
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I'm
telling you, lately, seems I can snatch defeat from the jaws of certain
victory with the best of them. Perversely, though, I can still go into
situations that by all rights should be total shit storm disasters and
come through them wearing a new damn suit, I could've been with Custer at
the Little Big Horn and walked away unscathed. And whistling. People have
asked me my entire life, "How'd you get out of/away with THAT"
"I have no idea", and think I lead kind of a charmed life, but a
lot of them don't see the other side of it, the "How'd I fuck THAT
up?" Again, I dunno.
I
also meant to get someone, Carrie's?- recipe for hummus, it's been ages
since I've put any recipes in here. I used to have a good recipe for
hummus myself, back when I had an interest in things like that, I just
lost all interest in cooking- and eating- when the girls left.
Before
we leave wrestling, Flash Fury- Joe, why don't you run a picture of him-
XIC champ and really nice guy, easily one of the nicest guys in any locker
room, was seriously injured Friday night at a show in Portmouth, Ohio, and
had to be flown to Columbus for emergency brain surgery later that night.
He's doing okay last I heard, conscious and talking, I don't know if
there's going to be any long term effects or not. I've heard the move- a
choke slam- was fucked up, that it wasn't fucked up, the guy just did it
way too hard, and that it was all just a sad accident, so I don't know. I
know the fucker who did it- Tommy Chill- really needs to get out of
wrestling, for his own sake, as well as everyone else's. If I ever work
him he's a fucking dead man, I don't care if it was an accident. Accident
THIS, mother fucker.
Those
of you of the religious persuasion, any prayers for Flash- his real
Christian name is Joe, I have no idea what his last name is, but I'm
pretty sure it's not Fury- would be appreciated. We're also going to do a
benefit show for him soon- I don't think he's got insurance, and brain
surgery's not cheap, also not sure how long he'll be off his day job,
whatever that may be- even you folks who aren't wrestling fans might want
to stop by that one, it's for a good cause.
I
still much prefer the old style bump and grind to this new "Are you
my gynecologist?" style of "dance" that seems in vogue, but
what are you gonna do?
Listening
to? Not much, my books and CD's STILL haven't come, going on 3 weeks,
they're usually quicker than that. In one of my dreams the other night one
of the fight scenes- the Death Falcon was machine gunning a bunch of orcs-
was sound tracked to "Let's Send Batman To Viet Nam". I seem to
remember this as being an actual song from like the late 60's, does anyone
else out there remember it, or have you heard of it? If it was just a
dream song, it was pretty good.
Al
and I watched "Fistful Of Dollars" on DVD the other night, he
likes Westerns, he likes to talk shit to the bad guys on screen, hell,
some of his lines are as good as Eastwood's. "For A Few Dollars
More", and "The Good, The Bad, And the Ugly" (with it's
great slogan, "For these three men the Civil War wasn't hell, it was
practice!") come on back to back on Sunday the 21st, on AMC, starting
at 8 pm, if you've never seen them- which I can't imagine- check 'em out.
How
to drink prodigious amounts of alcohol, over extended periods of time.
We'll do the two day drunk this time. This is assuming you already have a
background in hard, or at least moderate drinking. Light weights and
amateurs can just go home, I think your Mommy has some milk and cookies
waiting for you.
Let's
end with a joke. It's sort of political, it would've gone better a couple
weeks ago, but it just occurred to me. It's a lot funnier if you know who
former governor Gaston Caperton is, rumors of his deviant sexuality kept
the state- or at least me- in stitches during much of his administration.
Even if you know him, this joke leaves a lot of- but by no means all-
people cold. It leaves me rolling on the floor.