2/14/05

The Love You Save

You'd better stop
The love you save may be your own

Hey

Since this is turning out to be a Valentine's Day issue, (surprisingly, the first one in four Februarys of doing this damn thing) by virtue of again coming out in the wee hours of the morning, let me open by saying that if you're lucky enough to currently have a Valentine, I want you sometime during the day to take them in your arms and kiss them the absolute best you know how, and tell them truly and from your heart how much you love them. Do it for me.

And if you think Bill giving advice on love is akin to him giving driving lessons (along those lines, Allegra sent out a song week before last, "90 Miles An Hour" cos she said it reminded her of me {"90 miles an hour down a dead end street"}, about this guy who either drives like a crazy man, or who loves neither wisely nor well, or both), let me remind you that a person can learn as much- if they’re smart, that is, which I've never claimed to be-by doing the wrong thing as they can by getting it right. And I've got doing the wrong thing down to a fucking art.

I got another car Friday, bought Allegra's brother Ben's- something, it's a Volvo with some numbers after it. Joe said it was a good buy, so that was good enough for me, pretty much all I can tell you is that it's maroon (and doomed). Still feel weird in it, like I'm driving someone else's car, and I still don't know what half of the controls inside it do- that big circular thing that's right in front of you when you get in, what the fuck is that?

I did figure one thing out on the drive home this evening- I went to Huntington with Kat to see Al- it doesn't SMELL like my car, it had some kind of freshening bulb like thing in it, I pulled that out and gave it to this homeless looking guy standing by the pay phone outside the 7-11- seriously- where I stopped in to buy some much needed beer, and when I cracked a beer for the rest of the drive home, I first poured some of it on the floor mats. Ah . . . that's better.

Man, it was definitely time to get another car, I had to give the rental back (or start paying for it) so I'd borrowed my Dad's car some last week to get down to Al's, and that wasn't working out at all. He's been real crazy mean lately- my Dad we're talking, here- hatefully so, not amusingly so, which is why there hasn't been many funny stories about him recently, one, cos he hasn't been funny, and two, cos I've been avoiding him. Oh yeah, his version of it is that I'M being hateful.

He's off the "Bill wrecked his car just for kicks" thing and has decided I'm just a bad driver, he told me the other day "Your problem is you drive by instinct, like a damn animal". Yeah, those damn driving animals, you gotta watch out for 'em, especially them fucking wolverines (and Death Falcons). He did crack me up the other day, I came into the room in the middle of his rant, so I don't know who he was talking about, but I guess he was calling the guy a thief, cos he hollers "That son of a bitch would steal a hot stove!" Where does he come UP with this shit?

Al had been doing real well lately, January was about the best month he's had since I've known him (maybe it was going to the Aristocrat, who knows? Fuck them meds, just let him get his face wet every now and then), so, no recent stories about him either, he's kind of gone down hill the past week or so, he's started saying "Holy Minook! (which just cries out to have "Batman" tagged on the end of it) a lot lately for some reason, that's an expression I'm not familiar with, I ask him, "Al, what the hell does 'Holy Minook!' mean", he's like, "I don't know, who said that?"

What's Bill been up to? Went out with some friends for a birthday dinner at Tidewater Friday before last, I had Bass Ale for my appetizer, entrée and dessert, it was damn good, we went over to the Vandalia Lounge afterward, the place itself was nice, but way too fucking crowded for my taste, they do have an excellent beer selection, and, incredibly, twice I'm standing there and I hear, "Hey, it's the Death Falcon!", once it was David, the DF movie producer, and at a very opportune time, I might add, and once it was some friend of Danny's who has something to do with Mountain Stage, I think he's the engineer or something. Pretty cool.

Went into Staples to buy some ink cartridges for my printer, ran into Mr. DF fan who works there, same guy from last issue, he gave me his employee discount on the cartridges, I said, "If you're such a big fan just give 'em to me for free", he laughed like I was kidding, so I said it again, he said "I could get in trouble for that", I said "What's that to me?", he laughed again, sort of uncomfortably this time, rang me up and said "I have to do something in the back now", and bolted. Okay, whatever. Thanks for the discount. More on the DF, wrestler and movie star, later.

Went up to Chris's for Movie Club the next night, Ron and George were there as well, Deb never came down for some reason. Anita was invited but unfortunately had made previous plans, hopefully next time, dear.

We watched "Sky Captain etc", it had a great look to it (if they didn't credit those opening flying robots to the great Max Fleischer Superman cartoon, they should get their asses sued off) but I couldn't really follow the plot, such as it was, we talked a lot through it as well, which didn't help. This is the same process they're going to film the upcoming "John Carter of Mars" in, that could be great. Speaking of great, Angelina Jolie was her usual hot looking self, I kind of liked the eye patch, we were vulgarly speculating as to how she lost the eye, but I wasn't buying it, there's no way you could miss THAT mouth.

Also watched another Zatoichi film, "Blind Swordsman's Revenge" I LOVE the series, Ichi is a very engaging protagonist, and a stone fucking killer once the swordplay starts. Then we watched a couple Fireball XL-5's -"I wish I was an astronaut, the fastest guy alive/I'd fly you 'round the universe in my Fireball XL-5". And I would, too, especially if you were pretty, and or gave me beer. I can see it now, "Jesus, Bill, careful, you almost flew us into the sun", "I can't help it, I'm flying by instinct". I love the old Fireballs, I always associate them with rainy Saturday afternoons, cos when it came on when I was a kid, on Saturday afternoons, if it wasn't raining, I was outside eating bugs, or shooting my baby sister in the head with hard rubber bazooka shells or something.

Lastly, we watched an episode of "From The Earth to The Moon", Tom Hanks series about the Apollo program. I said it up there then, and I'll say it again now, in total sincerity, it's stuff like that- putting men on the fucking MOON, for Christ's sake- that makes me goddamn proud to be an American. Who else has done THAT? Okay, them fuckers from Atlantis ten thousand years ago, but since then? Just us. America, FUCK YEAH!

Went over to Joe's the next night and watched the Super Bowl, mostly just cos it was on, I haven't given a shit about pro football in a very long time (and Super Bowl III was FIXED, I don’t give a fuck whether you want to believe it or not). Drank a couple of his English Bitters home brews, the ones we bottled there a while back, they were really good. He gave me a catalog to pick out the next bunch to make, I'm picking Pike's IPA, cos I like IPA's very much.

As for my girls, they're both doing well- although if they don't start getting along better with one another I got a spot across my knee reserved for both of 'em, and don't think for a minute I'm kidding- they both have new boyfriends (Lord love a duck) so all is right with their worlds at the moment. They're like their Daddy in that respect, I guess. Sarah's finally taking driving lessons (the school is run by WITCHES, how fucking hilarious is that, make up your own joke here, it's easy) so she may be behind the wheel soon, (unless she's flying up above our heads on a broom) you've been warned.

What's Bill drinking? Well, beer, and lots of it, Bud 40 ouncers to be exact, third TOO drunken weekend in a row, but I'm getting ready to cut back, gotta start buffing back up for the upcoming trips, and filming. Or so he says, anyway.

What's Bill reading? Got some (but not all) of the stuff I ordered, including bios of Bo Diddley and genuine 50's wild man Gene Vincent, Race With The Devil, no shit, but I haven't started them yet, been pretty busy.

What's Bill listening to? Well, I finally broke down and bought "The Best of The Cowsills" solely for the inanely titled "The Rain, The Park, And Other Things", which I've always called "I Love The Flower Girl". Now, if you think this song is sappy and horrible I won't argue with you, but I love it like I do very few songs, and this is why.

Last issue when I mentioned falling in love on the dance floor, this was what I was talking about. It happened with me and Cindy Gates, a child of rare beauty and substance, my first real love, and the fact that we were both thirteen makes it no less real, believe me. I'd been head over heels for this girl since fifth grade and we'd finally started "dating" in seventh- our parents driving us to the movies and stuff like that- and at a school dance that wonderful spring of '69 we had our arms around one another there on the gym floor, not really dancing, just sort of swaying to the music- "The Rain, etc." was playing- and living in that incredibly sweet moment when there is nothing else in this fucking universe but the two of you, and again, if you've never been there, I pity you- for all the shit that's been dumped on me in this lifetime, or that I've dumped on myself, I've lived moments of pure transcendence that I don’t think the normal person has ever known, or can even fathom- and she whispered "I love you, Billy" in my ear, and my knees just went to water. I've been as happy again in my life as I was at that moment, but I've never happier. I love the flower girl even became our code for saying I love you. Jesus CHRIST, I loved that girl.

We were so in love that we were going to run away together that summer instead of me moving to WV with my family, which sounds silly now, but was very real and intense at the time. A cooler head (it wasn't mine) prevailed, and I moved away. I stayed true, wrote her continuously, her letters to me got shorter and less frequent and finally stopped altogether ("I turned around, she was gone"), but I am Bill Bitner- the one and fucking only, thank you very much- and you very much DO have to hit me in the head with a 2x4 to get my attention, sometimes that doesn’t even work, so that next summer- yeah, THAT summer- when I went to stay with Bobby Davis, that very first day I walked to Cindy's house- over two miles one way, and through a particular neighborhood chock full of guys who hated me and who would've dogpiled my ass with gleeful abandon had they caught me- to find her entertaining company already, one Scott Einbinder.

Now, Scott was a really nice kid, one of my best friends before I'd moved, he was smart, and good looking, and just a genuinely good guy, I had no problem with all of that, but- what about Bill? Cindy, my true love Cindy, gives me this really cold look and says, "You left. He stayed." Put that way, it's simple enough, I guess. So I threw myself headlong into teenage Gomorrah and never looked back.

Also got another Marshmallow Overcoat- stupid name, good band- CD, this is sort of an odds and sods thing, lots of covers, but I have to say their taste in covers is impeccable (and damn similar to the Tang Spoons)- Music Machine, Pretty Things, Love, Who, Sonics, Kinks, Doors, Standells- good stuff.

Anita and I continue to exchange CDs, she lent me The Corn Sisters- Neko Case and Carolyn Mark- where "90 Miles An Hour", mentioned at the top of the page, comes from, and which I thought I'd somehow lost one way drunken night last weekend, but in actuality had just stuck in the freezer for some unfathomable intoxicated Bill Bitner reason, I found it just the other day, so I've only listened to it once, and I don't really remember that. It does have the great "Fist City" on it, I'll listen to it soon and get back to you.

I gave her the entire Sabres catalog the other day- "Candy" 45, Under The Influence cassette, and Heavy Planet Man CD, she said she likes it- of course, I don't know what else she COULD say, considering, but she did remark she likes my singing voice, said she found it, among other things, "soothing". I could make a comment here, but it would only get me in trouble, so I'll refrain.

Also got both Walking In The Shadow Of The Big Man and Jamboree by the criminally underrated Guadalcanal Diary for ten bucks (SSSLB). Walking has the wonderful "Watusi Rodeo" on it- I read in the liner notes that it was used in the second Ace Ventura movie, fucking yuck, but I hope GD got some good bucks out of the deal. It's not very PC, with lines like "Warriors are standing with spears in their hand/Wondering what's next from the crazy white man", but it's doubly appropriate considering what I'm about to spring on you.

DEATH FALCON ZERO IN AFRICA. Let me run that by you again- DEATH FALCON ZERO IN AFRICA. What a fucking concept. Danny and I (and Curtis, the DF director) got shit pounded drunk last week after class- the problem here is that Danny's as big a drunk as I am, "Let's just drop in for a beer", yeah right, six pitchers later they're closing the bar down around us and we're going "What the fuck just happened here?"- in that old CCIL watering hole the Goal Line, he comes up with this great idea, he and Robin have to go back to Tanzania to finish up some shit from their previous movie, how about I come along?

B: Well, I can't really afford it, Danny, not after going to Prague.
D: How about we film some Death Falcon movie scenes there, and charge it to the fucking film, that way you can basically go for free?
B: You are the smartest mother fucker I've ever met in my life.

So it looks like I may be going to Tanzania in May to do some filming, on somebody else's dime. Life is fucking sweet. I'm just a little concerned the Death Falcon may go native, head upriver and do a Colonel Kurtz- hey, who better to know the REAL heart of darkness than me and him (although my heart is not as dark as it once was).

"Hey, man, I'll wrestle you for your village. Yeah, man, your village. Nah, you can keep the goats, I just want the people and the huts. Wait, are they really attached to the goats? Okay, I'll need the goats too. C'mon big fella, two out of three falls, what do you say? Really? Okay, great, you're a fucking DEAD MAN."

Then, sometime not long after, once I've assembled my rebel army, there'll be the headlines, "Attempted Coup Fails In Tanzania- Death Falcon Zero, Leader Of Coup Attempt, Hung".

(NO FUCKING SHIT).

Braggart. Although I have to say, while in the Czech Republic I plan on doing all I can do to promote international relations, if you get my drift, even the Death Falcon is going to keep it in his pants in Dar Es Salaam. Not a racial issue, purely health related.

In more local DF news, some Mexican goof, El Fandango, had the temerity to show up at XMCW this Saturday wearing a mask.

(I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO).

Exactly. The DF insisted that they immediately be booked in a mask versus mask match, and even though he was damn big for a Mexican- 6' 2", about 250- and threw a pretty mean suplex, the DF handily beat the shit out of his sorry bean eating ass and, after choking him out with the Oxygen Destroyer, unmasked him there in the middle of the ring, which, since he was Mexican, means the DF also took his manhood.

(YEAH, BUT I GAVE THAT BACK. I GOT NO USE FOR IT).

True. The DF was ably assisted in this pure evil endeavor by Falconette Anita- even if she did clock the DF in the head at one point with a folding metal chair that was intended for Fandango. The ring announcer this time around was in totally love with her, the crowd hated her, to the point of one old grandma calling her a "see you next Tuesday" as Anita put it, (I've never heard that used as a euphemism for cunt, I need to get out more) which she says is what distracted her and caused her to hit the DF with that fucking chair. No real harm done, it's not like she smashed my head through a rolling car window or anything. We got an offer to come up and work NWA-Tri-State, the two of us. Sounds good to me, I'm there if she's there, straight up.

No Falcon Death Drop this show either, I don't think it's gonna happen, the DF can't get a decent match anymore down there (XMCW)- pretty sure I'm gonna drop the belt soon- and I'm not throwing away the FDD on a shit match. So don't come looking to see it.

After the matches, Falconette Anita, Joe, Charlie and I went up to Danny's for a small party- actually, me and FA slipped off for a couple beers before that, what the fuck- it was a nice time, some of us stayed too late, I didn't get home till 5 am, but then again, I live at the end of the fucking earth. Danny (Boyd) is talking to Adorable Danny Ray- he should be called I Can Talk Nonstop For Four Straight Hours, Just Watch Me Danny Ray- about doing a wrestling TV show out of Williamson, Danny Ray is one of those WOW guys who just doesn't like me for some reason- my attitude toward that whole bunch has always been FUCK you useless dicks, you know, I don't like them any better than they like me- but Danny B., God love him, has said he won’t do any wrestling shit without Bill, so he had Danny Ray there at the party so he and I could bury the hatchet.

I guess we did, I just asked him straight out what he had against me, he said nothing- pussy, I've heard he has lots against me- so okay, I guess. So I suppose the DF is good to be on his wrestling TV show, if it ever takes off. Cool, but I'll believe it when I see it, we all remember the "chair-isma" guys from Ohio with their big promises that never materialized.

Class continues to go well, but things have sort of flip flopped since last issue. My movie going partner Abby comes into class two weeks ago looking just STUNNING, all made up and dressed to kill, and I'm thinking, no, shit, she's far and away the best looking girl in this class, and she WAS, that damn night for sure, we sat together and had a nice, if superficial, conversation, Danny continues to wave me off, I think it's that whole "focus" thing, but he's going "You really don't want to hook up with THAT girl", I'm saying "Oh yes I fucking DO", then she drags herself late into class last week looking like something the cat wouldn't piss on, she takes her usual seat to my left, we again talk some, and I realize very quickly that her idea of "partying", and mine, are not really compatible, and that Danny- this time- was right.

I'd still fuck her senseless, though, given the chance.

Crystal, who hated my stinking guts last issue, has now warmed up to me some, and in fact invited me to go to church with her Sunday before last. I told her I was never done puking on Sundays till about one, so that wouldn't work, but thanks for asking, and instead of being pissy, she actually sort of laughed and gave me an open invitation to join her if I ever felt like it. This is a strange fucking world we live in, boys and girls.

And that's as good a segue as we're going to get for this last part here. While I said last issue there's been no spiritual awakening since that hellish wreck last month, I'm not so sure that's entirely true. I've been spending a lot of time since then late at night talking to my ceiling, not exactly praying, just asking lots of questions, like, "If you've got something special in mind for me, could you at least give me a fucking CLUE?", and things like that.

From hanging out with some of the people I did last weekend, who were there when it was all happening, and a lot more privy to the real shit than I was at the time, I've had Loretta- yeah, Loretta, no more Yoko, or Satan- and all that crap wedged up my ass again, and keeping me awake till way late into the night.

To the best of my knowledge, not a single one of the bastards Loretta fucked around on me with showed her a single shred of respect, from her boss at the time who used to take her on business trips with him and screw her in exchange for a promised promotion she never got- I still cannot believe she fell for that one, probably the second oldest trick in the book- to the local guy who used to actually physically abuse her during sex- she attributed all those bruises on her tits, when the drooling idiot she was married to at the time questioned them, to some drunken girl jumping her in the bathroom one night when she was out bar hopping with "friends", and he believed her, which is another case of Jesus looking out for our boy Bill, cos if I'd known the truth at the time, I'd be in jail forever for a class one felony, cos I'd have ripped it off and fed that mother fucker his own cock, all the way up to my goddamn elbow, and then strung his guts from the fucking trees, and that's not hyperbole, even to Paul- yeah, no more Gandhi, fuck alla that shit, it's OVER- who will let her live in his house and share his bed, but who won't marry her cos her credit isn't good enough.

Anyway, I've lain all night awake in bed most of this week with that shit just eating at me still, even though it's truly ancient fucking history, back there with the Atlantean moon shots- "How could she do that to me? How could she do it to HERSELF?"- and since I'd gotten comfortable with talking to my ceiling, I started asking, "Could you please just take this shit off of me? Honestly, please, can you just TAKE IT OFF, cos I'm so tired of it. Not to mention it's FUCKING KILLING ME. I mean that seriously. It's killing me. Will you PLEASE take it off."

I've been doing that all week, except last night- actually early this morning- when I slung my beer soaked ass into bed and passed out. And had this dream.

In it I'm talking to my Dad- and this was one of those very vivid, ultra- realistic dreams, and- this is hard to describe, but I wasn't looking at him, and then all of a sudden I had this feeling like there was someone else in the room, and I look back at my Dad, and he's now got these almost luminous blue eyes, and I realize I'm now in the presence of God.

Now, I'm not trying to say it really WAS, as in I think I actually spoke with God last night, it was just a dream, but again a very vivid and real one- and trust me, the idea of God incarnated in my Dad scares NO ONE more that it does me. But he looks at me and says-

G: Let it go, Bill. It's time.

Of course I knew what he was talking about.

B: I know it's time. I think it's fucking past time. The part you're not getting is that I just don't know HOW to let it go.
G: Forgive her.
B: Loretta?
G: Yes.
B: I fucking hate her.
G: I know you do. You have to let it go.
B: FORGIVE her?
G: It WOULD be the divine thing.
B: Yeah, which is why I've never even considered it.
G: I know.

I think about it for a bit.

B: And if I forgive Loretta, I'll be all right?
G: You'll be halfway there.
B: I don't get you.
G: I think you do. You also have to forgive yourself.
B: MYSELF? I don't fucking hate myself.
G: Bullshit (yeah, God said bullshit).

And of course, he was right. I DO hate myself, tremendously, and with damn good reason, I hate myself for not being husband, and man, enough to keep Loretta from going out and doing the things she did, I hate myself for denying my precious children a stable and loving home life, I hate myself for- well, let's just say that there's a LOTTA hate there, even more than I have for her.

B: I'm not sure I can do that.

Then God, looking like my Dad, put his hands on shoulders, and looks into my eyes- and this may sound very corny, but in my dream it was very moving- and says-

G: I love you very much, and I want you to be happy. But I can't help you if you won't help yourself.
B: Yeah, you've said that before, I hear.
G: You really ARE a smart ass, aren't you?

But he was smiling as he said it, and he pulled me into this hug that just felt so very loving, it was SO NICE, and then in the middle of the hug he turned into someone who'll go nameless, and then she said "I really do love you, too" and I was like ALL FUCKING RIGHT, and I went to kiss her and there was no one in my arms at all, but I still felt good.

And then I woke up.

And so I went with it. I lay there and said, out loud, "I'm letting it go." And then I apologized, again out loud, first to Loretta, for all the shit I did wrong while we were married, and then to the girls, and then to me. The problem with how Loretta and I ended is that it was so ungodly hateful and vindictive, there was no space for the healing things that we could, and surely should, have said to one another, especially that simple phrase, "I'm sorry". We were all about, "Fuck you", "No, fuck YOU", and that's sad.

Then I forgave her. For real, not just the puny lip service shit I've half assed at before, this was real and true and sincere, and it was like a goddamn anvil coming up off of my heart. And then I forgave myself, and I felt better than I have in YEARS.

Now, for those of you out there going, okay, who the hell are you and what have you done with Bill, FUCK YOU! Satisfied it's me now? If not, I got a goddamn barbed wire ball bat with your name on it, come get it.

Do I now think that what Loretta did was okay? Of course I don't. Do I now think she's a good person? Not in the slightest- not from any past conduct, but because of the way she conducts herself now. Am I suddenly happy with myself? No way, I fucked up, BAD. Is any of this shit EVER going to rule me again? No fucking way. NO FUCKING WAY. We're DONE, me and that shit, and I miss it like I miss that time I had the fucking mumps and couldn't swallow for a week and damn near died of dehydration, but I'll get over it.

Happy Valentines Day. I love you, and the Death Falcon loves you.

(I'M GOOD WITH THAT).

I'm good with that as well.

Later

Bill

Bill