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4/26/04 Time Won't Let Me
Hey For those of you hoping this was going to be Martinsburg III (The Final Chapter), I have to burst your bubble straight off, we didn't go to Martinsburg this weekend, my Dad went into the hospital instead. His CHF started giving him problems, not sure why, he was retaining fluid badly, got all weak and short of breath, he stayed a few nights and got all Lasixed up, pissed off about five pounds of fluid. He's home now and feeling much better, thanks, hell, he was singing himself some made up ditty when I left there today, but the trip was a no go. I'm not gonna lie and say I'm disappointed for myself, cos I was truly dreading it, but I am straight up damn disappointed for my Dad cos he was genuinely looking forward to this trip a lot. Keep yourselves in shape, boys and girls, cos bad health sucks. He's gonna see if they're running that train trip again anytime soon, if so, we'll try to make that one, so it hasn't been done in, just deferred. He didn't act up too badly in hospital, as the Brits say, he did give them a hard time his first morning there about his "brekfess" not coming until 8:30, my Dad's an early riser, and he likes to eat as soon as he's awake enough to swallow, sometimes he doesn't even wait that long, so that every time after that whenever he got out of bed and went out into the hall some nurse would holler, "It's not quite time to eat yet, Mr. Bitner". Yeah, try telling him that.
D: I bet Ernie Banks is spinning in his grave. I spent Thursday night at my parent's house cos my Mom was uncomfortable staying there alone, got up the next morning and put on my Dad's tennis shoes, since they're in about a thousand times better shape (and 13 years newer) than mine. Big mistake. We get up to the hospital, first thing my Dad notices- D: Whose shoes you got on? About half an hour later my Dad suddenly jumps up in his bed- D: HEY! What the hell do you mean, pitchforks?! When I was out there today my Dad- literally- threw this box at me. Inside was a new pair of tennis shoes. D: Now you don't have to come after mine, ya damn vulture. The man is absolutely priceless. The only other mildly amusing time we had there was when he was trying to tell me about something he'd seen on the news earlier- letting him watch CNN or MSNBC or Fox, or ANY damn all news channel is one of the bigger mistakes one can make, cos buddy, does he get WOUND UP- D: They were talking about those damn hummies- I have no idea what he wanted to tell me about those damn hummies, cos I went and found a bucket of ice and stuck my head down in it.
What else has Bill been up to, besides harassing the old and halt (and crazy)? Went to the endearingly sweet Anita's party last weekend, had an extremely good time, behaved myself awfully fucking well if I say so myself- there was this guy there thought he knew fuck all about working out- not to look at ya, dude- and cooking, then said he puts milk in his scrambled eggs, dear God, and I piss in my spaghetti, I wanted to holler "You're a fucking DUMB ASS" about half a dozen times, I even saw Joe rolling his eyes at me once in anticipation, like "Here we go", but I didn't do it even one time, good for me, peace on earth, good will toward men (and dumb asses). There was this Russian mail order bride in attendance (if they're all like her, that'd be something to look into), Illyana. She was cute as a damn bug, looks and actions, with that Natasha style accent, from Omsk, in Siberia, very neat. She kept complimenting everyone on how well they pronounced "Omsk", good gravy, unless you're my Dad, how could you mispronounce it? We're not talking Sebastopol or Vladivostok here. WAY cute girl though, enjoyed meeting her. As for the rest of it, Shawn makes some damn fine pulled pork barbeque, wish I could've eaten more than a taste, but it's a wise man who knows his limitations, and eating and drinking simply don't go together for Bill, wish they did, sincerely, some people seem to think it's an affectation, no, I simply don't want to waste good food, and drink, by puking it all over the party (and I'll cry if I want to). The floor show out in the garage was first rate- I've paid more for less, trust me- and soaking all buzzed up in a hot tub with four totally hot young women is not a bad way to end an evening. I could have done without the fat old man soaking there with us, but what the hell, Joe deserves to have his fun as well, I guess. Paid for it the next day when I went up to Martha's to help finish putting her fence in. Wicked hangover and wicked hot are a wicked deadly combination, drank over a gallon of water there on the job site, but still felt dehydrated and sick all day. The fence is up though, and looks fucking great, by the way. Went over to Steve and Geri's for dinner afterward, Steve is a goddamn excellent cook- chicken picatta, mushroom risotto, asparagus, salad, strawberry shortcake. Steve is the fucking man. He lent me a bunch of magazines-old Filmfaxes mostly- and DVDs as well, read most of the magazines already- did you know total looker Alison Hayes (37-23-36, though on the top there, you also need to check out the letter, at least I do), the original 50 Foot Woman, was born in Charleston, WV? Me neither. She's also long dead, which I didn't know either, RIP Alison. Wasn't home much this past week, so I didn't get to watch any of the DVDs, I'll get to 'em and let you know what was good and what wasn't so good by next issue. "La Dolce Vita" was on Friday night, didn't watch it as I've seen it before, I just watch the part with Anita Ekberg in the fountain anyway, hot damn. I mean really- hot damn. Took my Huntington guy to the VA hospital Tuesday, that was nightmare fucking city, he did as well as could be expected considering our interminable wait there, but some of those jokers waiting with us . . . there was this one fat, Fred Flintstone looking fucker who just wouldn't shut up, told everyone as soon as they came into the waiting room that he was a Viet Nam vet- it's been my experience that those guys who go most out of their way to let you know they were in Nam are invariably the ones who did the fucking least while over there- he was driving me nuts. He did make a couple comments of note, he's a truck driver about to lose his job- more on that in a minute- talked about going up into Canada, said he could get along in all them "Providences" up there except "Quebeckt", cos in Quebec them damn Frenchies have got "an attitude problem". No shit. He said, basically, though not nearly this succintly, that if you couldn't speak French, they ignored you, said he heard two waitresses speaking English to one another in this restaurant, when he went to order they acted like they could only speak French, wouldn't take his order unless he could do it in Frog Tongue (I'd say he'd have done good to get it out in English). Fred said he turned over the damn table and walked out, he was an obnoxious asshole there in the waiting room, but in this case, good for him, he shoulda punched out them two smart ass little Frenchie bitches while he was at it. I don't normally advocate guys punching out women, but you know, if they fucking ask for it . . . and they're French . . As for Mr. Flintstone and his job, the plant where he works in Ohio is closing April 30, all 130 salaried persons working there are being let go. It's being reopened May 1 under a new name but with the same management, and 130 "guest workers"- this guy said he saw the paperwork, with the Presidential seal on it, and I believe his ass- being brought up from Mexico to replace the 130 people being laid off. I'm not an overtly political guy, but this is the kind of shit I hope you think about when you're casting your vote in November. And if you don't vote, don't tell me, cos I don't want to lose my respect for you. And while I'm feeling bitchy, those McDonald's in the 'hood commercials are about to get on my last nerve. Same with that jive ass little clay homey they've got shilling for Sprite. I wouldn't drink a Sprite right now if they were selling it cut half and half with vodka. Well, maybe . . it would depend on the vodka. Is that not politically correct? Yeah, well fuck me, I still hate that shit. Dawg. What's Bill drinking right now? Labatt's Blue, and plenty of it. Been two straight wet weekends, I'm talking brain damage wet, need to turn it down a little, next weekend for sure. Haven't had any water out here for over a week, for reasons too tedious to go into at the moment, but the problem has escalated to the point where a new pump for the well is going to have to be installed, Jack asked if I'd help him pull the old one, and install the new one. Wednesday afternoon. Oh fucking joy.
Listening to? Eno, "Taking Tiger Mountain By Strategy", haven't seen this since I was in college- it's from '74- not quite as good as "Here Come The Warm Jets," but still very listenable, particularly since I got it cheap. Sort of Roxy-ish glam stuff but more poppy, oddball lyrics oddly enunciated. He sings Regina so that it rhymes with, uh, China. Eno got on my bad side (and we all know how hard that is to do) back in '81, when I read this interview with him in Trouser Press where he just pissed all over the US, made me so damn mad that 10 years later, addled drunk, I was moved to write a song about it, me and Joe were out in my garage, told him I was gonna call it, "Motherfucking Eno"-
I eventually came up with "Old Uncle Eno", which was soon changed to "Old Uncle Een", cos somewhere around the third verse I rhymed "Een" with "I'd like to punch you in the spleen", I figured I'd be really clever and put a screw to the fey little Limey twit, steal the music from his song "Third Uncle" and use it, of course as I drunkenly tried to play it for Joe, and he drunkenly tried to follow me, it came out nothing at all like "Third Uncle", or much of anything else, but it did come out good, Joe, if you ever find that reel to reel tape with that backward stuff you did, and that second version of "If We Go Down", it's on there. "Old Uncle Een used to bitch a lot/Didn't like our country, but he liked our pot/Third uncle we had who should've been shot". Preach on, Billy. While we're on bizarro musicians, let's talk about the Boredoms. They popped into my head when I clicked on the pic last issue of "Gas Human Being Number One", that INSANE Japanese syntax. The Boredoms were this late 80's/early 90's cluster fuck of Nipponese weirdos, they weren't just insane, they were insane and vulgar. Maybe. Who knows what the fuck they thought they were saying?
"Born to Anal". "Anal Eater". "Feedbackfuck" (I like that one). "Telehorse Uma". "Heeba". "Cheeba." (I hate when I get them). "Livers And Giggers". (?) "Synthesizer Guide Book On Fire" (been there). "Okinawa Rasta Beef (MockinFuzz 2)". "Boat People Hate Fuck". There's more- boy is there- but you get the point, and I've saved the best for last- "JB Dick + Tin Turner Pussy Badsmell". I bet that one just packs out the dance floor. Jesus.
Also read "Goofy Foot", pretty good PI novel by David Daniels. It won the St. Martin's Press best first PI novel contest, which I did not know existed, but now I do, so I'm sending them "The Search For Simon"- I'm still not in love with that title, but, "Bill Has Sex With All These Beautiful Women, Then Beats The Hell Out Of The Bad Guys, Then Shoots Them All, Then Has More Sex With Beautiful Women, Oh Yeah, Then Solves The Mystery, And By The Way, Buy This Fucking Book, Goddammit" seems a bit unwieldy. Goofy foot is also the way I surf (imagine that), standard stance is left foot forward, I prefer right, I felt like I could control the board better, also, that put my back to the wave, which is why you're not supposed to surf that way, but I was too goddamn distracted looking for things in the water behind me surfing standard, I couldn't stay on the board. Been watching "Band Of Brothers" with Al in Huntington the past couple weeks, even thought I've seen it multiple times, if for some reason you haven't, DO SO RIGHT NOW. Even you girlies who aren't into war stuff, this is so accurate and real and well done, you owe it to yourself to watch this. Seriously, you want to feel proud about being an American? Watch "Band Of Brothers". These guys- they weren't Japanese zealots, screaming "YOU DIE, JOE!" as they came down like fiery rain there at Okinawa, and they weren't some steely eyed German ubermensch, some goddamn Teutonic Michael Myers who, no matter what you fucking do to him he will NOT FUCKING STAY DOWN, these were fucking straight up good old American boys, from the cities and the fields, the best people in the goddamn world, and they went overseas and kicked the absolute hell out of the best army Europe's fielded since the fucking Romans, and they went to Asia and out gutted and broke an army that said "Surrender? I don't fucking think so", and I'm not trying to be facetious here, I look at those guys and I love them, I swear to God, I absolutely from my heart LOVE them, for what they are and what they did, and I could only hope to do as well in their place. Why'd they do it? To a fucking man they say the same thing. It needed to be done. God love their fucking hearts, seriously. And not to get artsy-fartsy, but if you've never read Henry V, you really should. His "Once more into the breach, dear friends" speech- totally inspiring, SO well done- it's where the "band of brothers" quote comes from- is just unbelievable. The Olivier version was on TV just last week if you can believe it, CHECK IT OUT, it's a great version of a great play. Loretta and I saw it when we were at Fairmont, she enjoyed it at the time, the only way you'd get her to a Shakespeare play now was if you told her it'd advance her "career", she and I also saw a rendition of "Othello", at one point there's this scene with Othello and Iago, she goes- L: You'd be good in that part. Got an e-mail from Chris, he's ready for a Movie Club, I concur heartily. "Van Helsing"? Movie Clubbers, assemble on me. He also got only one of his Captain Kirk chairs, blames not getting the other one on the fucking French, I believe it. Fucking French. No wrestling lately, got an e-mail from the Juggulator wanting me to be his "mystery partner" at the big XMCW third anniversary show this weekend, told him I couldn't as I was going to Martinsburg, by the time I found out I wasn't, he was already mystery partnered up with someone else. Oh well. Already got one student signed up for the Famous Bill Bitner's Famous Bill Bitner Style Famous Wrestling School (Famous Bill Bitner Head Instructor). There's still a few slots available, submit your applications now (tuition is negotiable and flexible depending on your looks and gender). School's in! Got a new Music123 catalog the other day, the devil must've sent it to me. In honor of the 50th anniversary of the Stratocaster, Fender has slashed their prices- temporarily- you, or better yet, I, can now get an American Deluxe Strat, best one they make unless you go Custom shop, for the unbelievable price of only $899- with hardshell case! They list at almost twice that, best price I've EVER seen before this was still almost $1200, and the case was $160 on top of that, I'd love to have one, that Ibanez isn't bad for what it is, but it's not an ADS. Besides, that Ibanez is also beat to absolute hell (wonder how that happened). Think I'll send Joe the "Move The Goddamn Car" cover, which has a photo of me (and never forget, this is all about me) playing Dave's ADS. Thinking SERIOUSLY about getting one. What's that you say? Sarah? College next year? No money in the bank? Who the hell are you, and whoever you are, SHUT THE FUCK UP! My thinking on that is, Satan and Gandhi have already told Sarah that they'll pay for her college education. However, they've made me no such assurances about buying me a Stratocaster. Ergo . . . what's THAT you say? Don't I feel guilty about Loretta getting up at 4:30 am each morning to go to a job that gets her ass home exhausted and in bed snoring by 9:30 pm, so she can get the money to send our child to college, while I get up whenever the hell I want to, and spend all my money on books and beer and (maybe) guitars? Yeah, well that sound you're hearing is me laughing my fucking ass off. Does it sound guilty to you? And- WHAT? More? You say it's no wonder that Loretta hates me? Well, you're known by your enemies as well as your friends and if that fucking dog turd that walks like a human had a good word to say about me now I'd know I was doing something very wrong. Now, seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP. Talked to my cousin Joyce to tell her we weren’t coming up to Martinsburg this weekend, she told me Iris was gonna be heartbroken. Iris is one of those immortal drunks, this hard looking bottle blonde who hasn't changed a wit in the past 40 years, next door neighbor and best friend to my dear departed Aunt Helen, (Joycie's mom) who was a fine person and a fine aunt, you also RIP, my dear Auntie. Iris is a good natured drunk, which is fortunate, cos she's always drunk, usually on her beloved Pabst Blue Ribbon. Only person I've ever known whose laugh actually sounded like "Ha, Ha, Ha." B: Hi, Iris. Think it'll rain? Iris is a fucking hoot. Iris had a son, Todd, we'll discuss his sad fate in a minute, about a year younger than me, when we'd be visiting my Grandparents- they lived across the street from Helen and Iris- my Mom used to prod me to go over and play with him cos it was the polite thing to do or whatever. Todd wasn't a hell of a lot of fun as a playmate, but it was better than listening to my Mom bitch -that woman can nag like nothing else on this earth, it's what she does, it's all she does, she just doesn't stop, sort of like the Naginator. One time I go over there- B; Is Todd home? I went in and drank a PBR with Iris- she offered me a cigarette as well, but I turned it down- then left. I came back later- I: Billy, are you still looking for Todd?
When Oxycontin came out I remember saying to my Mom, this is legit, "That shit is gonna be the death of old Todd," and dammit, why is it that only my dire predictions are the ones that come true? Todd had finally gotten a steady job and his own apartment, about 3 years ago he missed a few days work without calling in, his Dad went by and found him OD'd on Oxy in his bed. Been saying it a lot this issue, but RIP Todd, I hope wherever you're at it's better for you than it was for you here. Iris also had a daughter, Jan, a couple years younger than Todd, which would make her Loretta's age. Me and my Dad went up to my grandmother's house the summer of '83- AGAIN, I asked Loretta to come with me, and again, she turned me down, no, I'll just stay home- Joyce was having a keg party, great time, cookout kind of thing, we were all playing volleyball out back and there was this just stunning girl, Gaby Reese Jr., I'm like, who the fuck are YOU, she was all coy, you know me, Billy, no, but I wish I did, it was Jan, I hadn't seen her for ages, probably not since she was prepubescent, that day in '83 she was fucking HOT. Fast forward to '98, my Dad and I are once again in Martinsburg to visit my Aunt Helen on her, unfortunately, literal death bed, we stop to have dinner with Joycie at this Chinese restaurant before we leave town, this- I'm sorry, but this crone, hefty, graying, looking BAD, stops by our table, "Hi, how are all of you doing", knew all of us by name, I couldn't peg her to save my life, I figured she was one of Joycie's friends, I'd gotten to know a lot of them- some Biblically- over the years, but I was thinking this girl looked bad even to be a few years older than me. I doubt you're in suspense, but I asked Joyce "Who was that", she said "Jan". Damn, that's bugged me ever since, how this truly hot- pretty, PRETTY face, trim athletic body- girl could age like 30 or more fucking years over the space of 15. She looked OLD, honest to Christ, shitting old, it had only been 15 years, there's no fucking way . . that family must be cursed or something. Well, I hate to end on a bummer note (or a bummaclot) but I'm plastered, and I can't think of anything else to type. Maybe I'll be there to take your hand But I sincerely doubt it. Later Bill
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Look
at the way I go to bed 
We
were discussing baseball, how Sammy Sosa has now passed Ernie Banks as the
Cubs all time home run leader.
I'm
gonna send Joe some scans of my Dad in Mexico, one of him trying to
shoplift a sea turtle (no, stick it IN your pants) and another, Jesus, you
tell the guy to smile for the camera and this is the kind of look you get,
if that doesn't look like a crazy man I don't know what does, the hand
gesture he's making means "I'm gonna poke this finger right in your
EYE". Also one of me and the girls with old Smiley, cos God knows I
miss my girlies.
Keep
your radios on Wednesday pm, if you hear a news report, "Enormous
Explosion In Harmon's Creek, Run For Your Fucking Lives", that would
be me and Jack at work.
J:
Why don't you call it something we can actually put on record? 
What's
Bill been reading? A Repairman Jack novel by F. Paul Wilson, RJ's sort of
this urban vigilante who fights monsters- not nearly as good as it sounds.
The bad guys are directed by something he calls The Otherness- too fucking
cute by half, please- and the book contains stuff like this- "Abe's
eyebrows sent wrinkles like sets of surfing waves up his brow and into the
balding bay of his scalp to crash on the receding shore of his
hairline." Dear sweet Jesus in Heaven, there is no justice in this
world when they'll print swill like that while "Drains" goes
begging for a publisher.
As
for poor Todd, I've never met anyone in my life with less personality-
dull doesn't even come close, I mean, he was fucking invisible, he made
Joe at his most annoyingly non responsive look like that spazz ass Jim
Carrey at his most bouncing off the walls manic. No idea why, but that's
how Todd was. Along about high school he got into drugs, heavy. Why anyone
living in The House Of Beer would want to bother with drugs is completely
beyond me, and why anyone who already had the energy level of a fucking
house plant would go for downs is another damn question for the ages, I
sure can't answer it, but Todd loved his Quaaludes (sopers, in the
vernacular of the day), and when they disappeared he got into all this
pain reliever shit. Never married, lived mostly with his parents, in and
out of rehab more times than you could fucking count, just a sad, sad
life.
