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3/21/03 The Harder They Come I was here, but I disappear Hey Been a couple weeks, thought about waiting till after the events of this weekend to put this out, then figured I might not be in any shape to, so here we are. What's Bill drinking? Green tea. Gotta get up early in the morning to go to Cleveland for TV wrestling tapings. Wish I was drinking Jimmy Jump Up's Pea Green Muscle Juice, but, oh well. That's hard to come by. We'll talk more about wrestling later. A couple of you wondered who sent out the last f-word and l-word less newsletter. One person actually complained about the lack of profanity. Crazy fucker.
One final shit bomb, and we'll move on. During that conversation she stated that other than her mom- I'll say that again- other than her mom, she doesn't give a shit about anyone still in WV, once the girls move on, relative or former friend. I mentioned someone, who doesn't get this, but her boyfriend certainly does, who Loretta used to say she still liked, her response was "she was okay, but she never made anything of herself." WHAT? Guess that means she didn't find some ugly rich bastard to whore for. Whatever, we got more interesting fields to plow. What's Bill listening to? This CD I got with Uncut magazine, it's sort of a sub-Mojo (which if you even give one tiny shit about music you should be reading, fuck my diet tips, except if you're a good looking female you should consume at least one BB seminal fluid protein shake daily, got it right here for ya, hell, I'll let you drink out of the tap- shit, and I'm not even drinking- follow my media tips), this Bowie tribute thing, really very, very good, he's gone through some goofy phases, personal and musical, but the fucker can write a song.
Some more bon mots from these Brit mags, Bowie called his early singles "daft as a brush", that cracks the living hell out of me, how funny, mild (or so I thought) Robin Gibb was asked by his dad to reconsider rejoining the Bee Gees after quitting them in '69, his response? "I'll fit you with cement shoes"?!? Of course, he was speeding his brains out to maintain the hellish pace he was under, and speed will make you mean.
The Harder They Come. Been reading about it for ages, it put reggae over the top in Jamaica in '73, when the Brits got a hold of it a year or two later it started the big reggae deal over there. Knowing my antipathy for reggae music, which has been discussed in these electronical pages before, you may be surprised to hear that I liked the movie very much. Cool songs (The Harder They Come, Johnny Too Bad), I think a lot of my problem with reggae overall is the dire "oh my brudda, oh my seestah, Jah and Babylon" psuedo-uplifting/whining type lyrics- Bob Marley to this day bores me to fucking tears, except "pop" stuff like Is This Love, (Is this love? Is this love that I'm feeling?) I dunno Bob, but I like that sentiment a hell of a lot more than your preaching, get the fuck offa me, you know?- and a neat, believable story, Jimmy Cliff makes a good protagonist. Some of the actors patois is so thick it's subtitled, even though they're (ostensibly) speaking English. Won't go into detail (I HATE when someone wants to tell me all about a movie I haven't seen yet, there's people I know who I simply avoid if I know they've seen something I want to- "Just let me tell you about this one part" "NO, God damn it!") but I will quote a line- Bad guy- Dis your bicycle, come take it. Also, the Jamaican police and army seemed to be interchangeable in this, and they all carried these FN (not effin) automatic rifles. Couldn't shoot 'em worth shit, and I'll bet that was accurate. What else? Well, before we go the wrestling route, was killing time in Taylor Books today (all you Charleston area folks please try to patronize it), read most of this book, Depression Is A Choice by A.B. Cooper. I'm with her. You're depressed, I'm depressed, all God's children are depressed, just look around you. There's this whole cult of depression going in this country, people want it use it as an excuse for everything from not wanting to get out of bed, to blowing someone's head off. Bull goddamn shit. There's not a mother fucking thing wrong with the chemicals in our brains, we're just pussies. I mean it (this is me talking, not Ms. Cooper, who made a few good points but waffled way bad for my taste). YOU'RE NOT DEPRESSED, YOU'RE A PUSSY. Our grandparents and those further beyond them lived lives that would break our fucking backs. BREAK OUR FUCKING BACKS. They got up each day and lived them. No pills, no psygoddamnchiatrists, no props. We, somehow, got it in our heads that life was supposed to be fun, and easy, and when it's not, we want to buckle and say "I can't take it, but it's not me, it's- something else. It's- DEPRESSION." I look around me and all I see is weak. Makes me sick. On to wrestling I guess. Supposed to go to Cleveland tomorrow for the TV stuff, have NO idea what's up. My right shoulder is still sore, and swollen, but it works, fuck it, I can take it. (I CAN TAKE IT) That's a good thing, cos it's you who's gonna have to. Some of you have gotten forwards of the stuff I've gotten from Bob about the mess we got going in Ashland. We'll get it up and running again or I'm not the Death Falcon. (YOU'RE NOT THE DEATH FALCON). Whatever. Hoping like hell me and Bob can work our match, it ends bad, with the DF getting brain busted, but he makes me look way good up to then, I block his super kick, into a DS leg whip, into a STF. He won't go the plachas and topes with me- "Is my name Pedro?", man, he cracks me up- but I guarantee if they let us work it, we'll steal the show. This shit kills me, cos even without the Mexican stuff, I got a great repertoire. Over the top rope leg drop. Sabu style back flippy thing. Power drive elbow. Exploder suplex. Yakuza kick. Dragon screw leg whip. Oxygen destroyer. Falcon arrow. This is GOOD STUFF, and I do it SO WELL.
The harder they come Bill
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I was gonna try it again, but I have to discuss Loretta to bring things
up to date. The girls are moving to Baltimore to live with their Mom and
Mohandas. I've seen it coming, the girls have been picking out the
furnishings for their new, and apparently quite damned spacious, rooms,
for the past few weeks now, more power to 'em, I'm just glad they fucking
owned up so we can move the fuck on with things. Seriously. If they can go
there and be happy, great. I had a long talk with Loretta about my
concerns over supervision, and lack therof, and if she actually does what
she says she's going to, I'm not nearly as concerned as I was. That's a
huge if, though, and I'm not just sniping, Loretta's lied to my fucking
ass more times than she fucked me (and final count on that one was over
6000) so . . .
The Brits are TORE DOWN about losing Joe Strummer, man, Mojo and Uncut
just wailing, tons of sobbing reader's letters. I liked him, liked the
Clash, I still have my copy of their first album, bought somewhere in
London when I was there in '79 with it's 3 pounds 75 price sticker still
on.
Hey, this just in. Thanks to the tireless efforts of upstanding citizen
O.J. Simpson, they've finally caught the bastard who committed the murders
he was so unjustly accused of, and have him in custody at this time.
Picture included.
Lots of good movies this month, once again I'm doing that after instead
of before thing, but these are on TV a lot, jot down the title and watch
for it, dammit, you won't be sorry. Kagemusha, by Kurosowa, not his best,
but very, very good, that epic type thing, very colorful (and Chris, Akira
Kurosawa's Dreams came out on DVD the 18th, it's split into eight
segments, some are based on traditional Japanese ghost stories and I'd
like to see it very much, why don't you buy it, and while I'm here, do you
have any of the Baby Cart DVDs?), also Asphalt Jungle, a classic film noir
I caught on TCM (which they are very good for, check your listings) about
this doomed jewel heist, wonderful cast, Sterling Hayden (and all you poor
young fucks going "WHO?", he'd pick his goddamn teeth with any
so called current tough guy- Vin Diesel? My fucking ASS.) as this
genuinely intimidating "hooligan" (I"M NOT SCARED OF HIM),
James Whitmore, who does this wonderful, crazed chimpanzee attack trying
to get to this informer in his cell- excellent movie, very engaging.
Also, Heaven Knows Mr. Allison, with Bob M. as a Marine stuck on an
island with this nun (HEY!), no, it's not like that at all, in fact it's
sort of sappy in spots, or touching, considering your outlook, I watch it
cos I love Bob M., and I really like the part where he tries to catch the
sea turtle, I can see me doing the same thing. Trio has had this thing
going this month about 60's films, tried to watch Caged Heat, sucked, also
Wild Angels, fairly well known as one of the first biker movies, again, it
sucked, Peter Fonda, fuck him, man, I've always hated Peter Fonda,
privileged rich bitch bastard playing at being a rebel, FUCK HIM, MAN,
only biker movies worth a damn had the incomparable Bill Smith in them,
he's the fucking real deal, real bikers knew better than to fuck with him.
A couple people have asked about him, Joe, if you can find a good
picture of him, put it on the site. 
Wild Blue Angel, Hendrix at Isle Of Wight, last performance, kind of
sad, I thought, but I was one of those who never rated him live, thought
he was sloppy and stupid, heresy, I know, still LOVE his studio shit, like
Mr. Bowie, he could write a song. He pulls out a nice black Flying V for
part of this, as well.
Going to bed, I love you all.