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3/17/02 All About Bill
Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty Whoa, sorry, that's for the OTHER newsletter, the highbrow one, Champagne and Novacaine. Okay, how about this- You think you've got it all set up Well, I've got news for you, baby And I'm gonna tear your play house down Much better. Keeps getting longer and longer between issues, sorry (though you all may not be). Man, I'm fucking tired, so tired I'm starting to sometimes hallucinate (I'm not kidding) which is basically a good thing, but not when I'm driving. They're going to find my charred and snoring corpse somewhere off the Turnpike (and over the rainbow) if things don't break pretty soon. Just in a constant zombiefied daze, stopped at Southridge the other day on the way home for blank CD-Rs, magazines, and Xenadrine (I was planning on making soup) then had to bust into my fucking car cos I thought I'd locked the keys in there when I'd actually left them at Books A Million when I'd used my discount card, then when the cops showed which they never would have if it had been some motherfucker really trying to steal my car, I DIDN'T HAVE ANY FUCKING ID, and had to backtrack to Office Max where I'd left it when writing a check for the CD-Rs. Damnation. And for all of you out there shouting "Just quit, ya fuckin' goober!" I'm going to, but every 2 weeks I can hang in is another month I won't have to work. And while I'm on the driving thing, what the fuck is it about the pay toll ahead sign that turns all these Ricky Rednecks into little Earnharts? I'm serious, we'll be driving along, everybody's cool, and then one of those toll signs comes up and 90% of the cars with WV tags suddenly floor it. "I'm gon' beat yore ass to the toll booth, hyuk." Jesus. And any of you all who have to take the Turnpike, watch yourself, it's absolutely crawling these days with my enemy (and trust me, yours too), Mr. WV State Trooper. As for the exhaustion thing, maybe that's why my love life isn't taking off like I thought it would, maybe that old Bitner spark isn't coming through the fog. Still no weekend dates, she bailed on me last Friday (argh) she swears we're good for this coming Friday, man I fucking hope so. The problem is, I really like this girl. Been trying to figure out if I'm more lonely, or horny, and God help me, I think it's more lonely. I miss being in love, I miss being loved, though trust me, this ain't no love thing I've got going here- you know the old saying, once savagely mauled half to fucking death, twice shy- but still, I could use a little romance in my life right now. By the way, I think Stephen Stills is a fatass numbfuck, and "Love the One You're With" as puerile a shitbag of a song as you'd ever want to hear. (And aren't we in a good mood tonight, William. What did Mr. Stills ever do to you?) By the way deux, if you're wondering why Mr. Whiney I'm so tired is getting this out to you in the middle of the night, I stayed in bed, and for the most part slept, all day, got up about 9pm. So there. Got up, watched Reptilian on Sci-fi channel, horrible down the line, script, acting, fx, sometimes called Yongary on video, avoid like the plague. What's Bill drinking? Vodka and cranberry again, I'm starting to get a taste for it, I think. Some good beer recommendations from my buddy Steve (who if he picks his beer as well as he picks his women is someone worth listening to) are Pilsner Urquell, which I've never heard of but can you see that geek on the label?, Pete's Wicked Ale, which I've seen infrequently around town but never tasted, and Killian's Red, which has always given me the shits. Of course, tap water gives me the shits. Some magazine recommendations of his which I also endorse are Horror Garage (they have the only story I've written in the past couple years in their slush pile right now, remember the one I wrote at your house that morning last summer Joe when I'd had the nightmare about- well, the rest of you will have to wait and read it, and if they don't print it, I'll run it here), also Outre and Filmfax, the first more a pop culture mag (some of which are dire, but this one is good), the second is about my favorite movie/tv magazine right now. Had some good eats the other night, got some salmon fillets, marinated them in olive oil, lemon juice and fresh (not dried) rosemary, grilled them. The French are the ones who say rosemary goes good with fish, and who should know fish better than a fucking Frog? Don't even get on me about the epithet, I hate the fucking French, every goddamned man, women and greasy haired child of 'em, was going to get into it here, had about thirty paragraphs when I decided to just make it a separate essay, so sometime in the next few weeks look for about 10,000 words on the theme Why Bill Hates The Fucking French. I do, I swear. And this was old before I was born, but I'm going to pass it along for those of you who may have missed it- The French they are a funny race/They fight with their feet, and fuck with their face. Ha. Trying to get some stuff to new subscriber Chris K (howdy) the other night, I first sent it to elitist bastard Chris by mistake, and when he got back to me, you know what he was drinking? Cranberry juice, which is cool (try some vodka in it next time, dude). What was he listening to? Flatt and Scruggs. Chris went ahead and took the piss out of himself before I could do it, spoil sport. Flatt and Scruggs are actually pretty fucking awesome musicians, but Jesus, Chris, my mother listens to them. Dave saw The North Mississippi All Stars at Mountain Stage, said they were really good, I've read a lot of good things about them, sorry I missed them. The new Hittin' The Note (you'd probably like this mag, Dave, it's a lot like the old Relix- the new Relix sucks donkey dicks, and I told 'em so- used to be, only Allmans focused instead of Dead, but it's kind of hard to find) had an article about a band called Bloodkin, which is a couple guys from Ripley, WV, been around almost 20 years- anyone ever heard of them?- they went to Marshall in the early 80's and talk about what a waste of time it was trying to play out in WV cos there's JUST NO PLACE TO DO IT, relocated to Athens, Georgia in '86 and were able to play out every fucking night with the shit no one would listen to here-talking club bookers, not crowds- and have consequently made a career, if not millions. On a related note, our buddy Mark's not playing this weekend at Escapes cos the owner dicked them- not the first time I heard this, my sister's boyfriend runs sound for a band, Halogen, who refused to play there a couple weeks ago for the same reason. Hybrid Zero are playing the Stoned Monkey in Huntington soon, and have a website- www.hybridzero.8m.com. Rock on, Mark. What's Bill listening to? The mighty Wipers. If you never take my advice on another band, take it on this one. Basically Greg Sage- guitar, voice, songs- with a drummer and bass, this guy does some of the best shit you never heard in your life, sounds like Jimi Hendrix playing with Nirvana. A weird guy, my age or a little older, which would make him what, Joe's age maybe? Chris's age?- never married, lived with his mom in Portland, Oregon where he was playing the Nirvana type stuff 10 years before Kurt C. made millions off it, moved to Arizona when she died where he insists he not only sees but communicates with UFOs over the desert at night, ripped off by all his old record labels, he's selling CD-Rs of his stuff at www.zenorecords.com. for the truly bargain price of $7 a pop. And you know what's the coolest thing about him? He may soon be a subscriber. Seriously, I e-mailed him when I ordered the CDs I'm listening to now- "Youth Of America" 10 minutes of feedback and reverb over this relentless, pounding rhythm- I figured what the hell, told him how much I liked his stuff- if you ever saw the Tang Spoons, we always used to do "Land Of The Lost", hell of a song, that was his-and he e-mailed me back, saying he appreciated the good words! I asked him if he wanted the newsletter, he said, not quite yet, but I'm working on him. If anyone wonders how someone got over on me for so long, this should help explain. I ordered a Danelectro 12 string the other night, sparkle blue finish- should go GREAT with my new red Wipers t-shirt. In other words, I'M A SUCKER! On a semi-related note, some people- no subscribers, I might add- have been expressing dismay, and actual disappointment, over the fact that I didn't piledrive the ex's new boyfriend upon meeting him, using words like chickenshit and hypocrite, sometimes to my face, sometimes not. Well, sticks and stones and all that, but it's been a lot of people, actually, the most recent earlier this week, to the point where I feel compelled to explain here in the letter a little bit, in case any of you have had similar thoughts but have been too nice to express them. If any of you say I didn't gut him because I've become a mature and sensible human being, I'll never fucking speak to you again. Likewise, it has nothing to do with forgiveness- any of you married or with a significant other, think of someone screwing them behind your back for 2 years (and for those of you who think that's just speculation on my part, it's not, it's fact, and I could prove it irrefutably to any one of you, but I refuse to for a lot of reasons, so believe it or don't as you choose). Anyway, you know how you'd feel about that person? That's how I feel about this guy. It's not because I'm a wimp. This next is macho posturing at it's worst, and I know it, but I'm going there anyway. There's more than one son of a bitch out there right now who's gotten his shit plowed under by yours truly in the past five years, for the obvious reason, and there's subscribers (gotta come up with a cool name for you guys and gals) who can back me on this, and every goddamn one of those bastards was bigger than me, and younger than me, and saw me coming, and they all ended up on their fucking backs. So it ain't that. It wasn't because the girls were there, cos I could've come back alone the next day. It wasn't because I was afraid of hurting his scrawny ass and getting in trouble for it, because when I'm pissed consequences mean absolutely fucking nothing to me, and hurting someone's ass it what jumping them is all about. I JUST DIDN'T WANT TO. I can't explain it any better than that. I walked in on that scene and there was just no passion to it at all for me. I was pissed they'd upset the girls, but for my own part, it was just like what the fuck ever, you guys aren't worth my fucking time. So. If any of you happen to be disappointed in me, or think I'm just a guy who's all fucking mouth but who doesn't have the balls to back his shit up, I'm genuinely sorry, because your opinion of me is important to me, but I just wasn't going to stovepipe his ass to prove a point, or to impress anyone. If you can't kick ass with rage and intensity, then don't do it at all, is my motto. And it just wasn't there. That's it for this go round. Hopefully before the next one (Raleigh's Rag it'll be, I think I'm going to go to individually naming them for a while) I can have a truly exciting experience to share ("come outta that saucer and fight like a man!"). And maybe get my dick wet somewhere other than the shower. Billheads. THAT'S grandiose as heck, and rhymes with pillheads for good measure. The Mole Men want your eyes, Bill
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