|
5/13/03 2003 ...(A Death Falcon I Should Turn To Be)
Hey Since he was so damn prominent last issue, I've decided to give the Death Falcon a rest this time around. Besides, he's off sulking somewhere, the People Magazine 50 Most Beautiful People issue just came out and he wasn't on the list. (THOSE DAMN IDIOTS WOULDN'T KNOW BEAUTY IF IT BIT THEM ON THE ASS). Let me guess . . . you bit them on the ass. (YEAH). Boy howdy, what the hell's wrong with them? Any way, the DF is off for a well deserved rest. What's boring old Bill been up to? Being boring, mostly. Been very lethargic and listless of late, sometimes I'll come back home after taking the girls to school and lay back down and not wakeup till noon- and still be tired. I'm a big advocate of sleep, I think it's good for pretty much anything that ails you (except sleeping sickness, HA), but I don't like sleeping tons and not feeling any better for it. The stomach acid thing is better, in the sense I don't have it every day now, but not gone, when it's here, it still HURTS. What's Bill drinking? Green damn tea, and I'm not real happy about it. Off the beer bad, right now. Couple here or there, but I can't remember the last time I got pounded. The rat pack must die. Man, I'm not kidding, I know I'm in a spell of (more than usual) ill temper, but those little mother fuckers are living on borrowed time. Twice in the past fucking week, on school nights, they've woken me and Rachel up in the middle of the fucking night (Sarah does that comatose sleep thing I used to be able to do) with their damn yapping. We're talking 2:30 am the other night, 4 am earlier today. This is nothing unusual, from spring through fall every couple nights, at least, they wake us up barking at their own shittin' asses, but it's really grinding on my ass right now, and it's especially pissing me off they're waking Rachie up. Pissing her as well, I think, that most sweet of children was encouraging me last night to go out and take the bat to them. They're just vile little shits at the best of times, I heard this funky noise out my music room window last week, looked out to see one of them regurgitating great hairy hunks of road kill right under the window- I was praying for all I was worth he'd choke to death, we see what the prayers of heathens come to, he walked away smiling- that stunk so horrifically that even after I closed the window, I still had to go out and throw dirt on top of it. Joe, don't be surprised if you get an e-mail from Mary, "We're kicking Bill out because he killed our dogs." Hell, it's summertime, I'll move onto your back porch.
In my experience, the worst social workers I ever knew were the ones that talked the most. By that criteria, Jack would be the worst social worker that ever lived. I'm not trying to generalize over much, but still, many of the people I've dealt with as a SW have not been the highest IQ nor most educated people, nor do they have the longest attention spans. You've got to be real specific and to the point. Instead of saying "You gotta quit stealing cars, dammit," Jack would launch into a history of the internal combustion engine by way of why there's no life on Mercury, but if there is it's definitely vegan, and here's why. If you've never met the guy you'll think I'm joking, but that's exactly the way he talks. I had occasion to ride to town with he and Mary last Monday, and he started off talking about something quasi-relevant, I quit listening when he started to drift, when I tuned in again he's going on about cannibalism- I swear- and the soccer team that crashed in the Andes. I asked, as it seems I end up doing every time I talk, or more accurately, half listen, to Jack, "What the hell are you talking about now?" and he goes "Well . . . " followed by this extended pause. Mary laughed and said, "If he knew, he'd tell ya." Exactly. I hoping this SW thing will run it's course and Jack will decide he wants to be a brain surgeon or double naught spy next. Got a bunch of books at the library last week to take to South Carolina with me, some Bill Pronzini and Joe Lansdale, I'll let you know if they were any good, I like both guys, but like every one else, they seem to hit and miss a lot with their books, those are mysteries. by the way, picked up a bunch of SF as well (Cross Lanes library has a lot of good stuff for no bigger than it is), about halfway through Burning The Ice by Laura Mixon, it's kinda slow for my taste, but I tend to be something of a slam banger (cf. Drains). Finished the Dana Stabenow mentioned last issue, much better than her last few, she's reprieved for now, although there's still the alarming tendency to stray toward romance novel crapola in the sex scenes. At least she's not as bad as William Tappley, read one of his novels a few weeks ago, he's an okay author and I like his late Dad, who used to do "Tap's Tips" in the old Field And Streams that I used to read religiously in my younger and more innocent days- but his sex scenes- holy shit, they suck. He does that horrible, "and then we went to a higher plane" style non specific horse shit where every lay is like this damn cosmic experience that NO ONE can pull off, sorry. It's not just bad writing, it's painful and embarrassing- "good lord, a grown man wrote this?" For better or worse I prefer stuff like "She had this way of rolling her hips when she was on top riding me cowgirl style that got me off like a son of a bitch." It ain't poetry, but I can relate to it (cf. Staci). The above quote is from the PI novel I'm hard at work on, and brings me to the touchy subject of Drains. I'm pretty sure Tor responded to me well over a month ago, and my dad threw it away, thinking it was an ad from some book club. My mom has really been asking a lot of questions about Drains lately, particularly who I sent it to, to the point where I started smelling the rat, and after some direct questioning, she told me the other day my dad thinks he saw something from Tor in the mail a while back addressed to him- it shouldn't have said Raleigh, it should've said William, so the fucker should've put it in my pile, but since he opens every piece of mail that comes out there regardless of who it's to- he rips first, checks who its addressed to second, and then only half reads the damn thing before he decides it's trash- it could have happened. I got him to promise me over a year ago when I started getting most of my mail out there that he wouldn't throw ANY mail away unopened, but- who the fuck knows. If I haven't heard anything by the time I get back from SC, I'm just gonna mail the rest of Drains to Tor and say, "Here it is, like you asked" and if they didn't ask, fuck 'em, they should have.
B: You know, you have really turned into a big damn pussy in your old
age. Long pause D: What can I say. When you're right, you're right. Later Bill's mom: Are you the reason your Daddy cancelled Chemlawn?
I guess that brings us to my upcoming trip to South Carolina. We're leaving Thursday morning "after the rush" whatever that means. If my dad will just stay sort of subdued it could be tolerable, I really like Rock Hill and have some great childhood memories of the place, the Bell's are all just wonderfully hospitable good southern folk, Aline lives on Lake Whylie and I can lay out on the dock and tan and fish and read my books and drink beer while my parents go about their business, Aline's an absolute cooking machine in the kitchen, grits and spicy home made sausage and eggs for breakfast, fried chicken and collards and that good vinegary Carolina barbeque for dinner, I'll get to see the very pretty Denise again even if it is a look only and not touch situation- I was dreading this trip, but it could turn out okay. I'm wrestling right there in Rock Hill Saturday night, on a card at Winthrop College, that should be cool, I'm gonna invite Denise down, show her I can still work it. I would say, have her husband pulling at his collar and going, "You, uh, never went out with that guy, did you?" but since what little I saw of him I liked, we'll leave that part out. I say that I'll be wrestling, cos preliminary indications are that I'll be jobbing, and the Death Falcon doesn't job. (I DON'T JOB). I just said that. Taking the DF gear just in case, but Bob gave me these black vinyl martial arts style trunks and black boots to use, very nice of him, but man. Let's just say the trunks are a little snug, and way damn revealing. Be no bags of salt hidden in there, let me tell you- hell, there's no bag of Bill that's hidden. I don't mind working without a shirt, in fact if the mat is clean I prefer it cos it gets really hot in the ring, but going out with essentially a coat of black paint on my ass- what the hell, maybe I'll get lucky. At least they won't be in for any surprises. Travis, who fancies himself a pretty boy (wait'll his tables match with the DF in August, the DF'll fucking pretty boy his ass) brought a video thing to tape our workouts yesterday, and I honestly have to say, after watching mine and Kris' training match, the DF throws an absolutely lovely exploder, every bit as good as Akiyama's. Bob loves it, which is good, cos he's gonna take it on June 1. Yep, it's gonna be the DF and Bobby Blaze at Apocalyspe II or whatever he ends up calling this one, should be a DAMN good match, I'm really looking forward to it. Oh yeah, someone asked about Bucky, aka The Prodigy Bucky Lee, he dropped out well over a month ago, not long after I'd commented on how much he'd improved, actually. Said he couldn't take the pounding anymore. No guts, no glory, little buddy. The Juggulator (I know) stopped by while we were working out yesterday, think he's gonna start working our shows, me and Travis are gonna start working for his promotion out of Portsmouth, he was a bit taken aback by our work outs though, he was like, "You guys are stiff as FUCK." Coming back from SC on Sunday, I have to take my dad for more (MORE) testing the 22nd, he has to be there at 6:45. He's still having gut trouble, so they have him scheduled for another ultrasound (this is like his third in little over a year) and, I swear I'm not making this up, a nuclear stress test. Don't know what that is, but I think I'm gonna wait outside.
Shame how it turned out. As a historical note, this Sunday would've been our 24th wedding anniversary. The title of this issue, (#67 by the way, holy fuck, what started out as a drunken whim has become an institution, isn't that always the way)besides being a take off on Mr. Hendrix (whom I'm listening to right now), is also the title of the second DF video script I finished last night. In it, the DF catches the undead committing welfare fraud, and he's none too happy about it. We need to get started on the first one, Laura, let's get together with your buddy Mike and figure out a time we can all meet and try to put together a shooting schedule (all you folks with your scripts, start brushing up on your parts). I think I'm going to go ahead and get this out, it's early enough in the afternoon Joe may be able to get it on the site before he leaves work today, I always really enjoy checking out all the visuals and links and shit he adds to these newsletters. I used to enjoy writing these blind drunk, so I could read them the next day just as fresh as you guys do, with no idea what I was going to say next. Maybe again someday.
(YEAH, RIGHT. LIKE I'D GIVE A FUCK). That attitude is why I love you, big guy. Of course, it's also why I hate you . . . Love you folks, though. Later (and think a good thought for my messed up dad). Bill
|
Hurray,
I awake from yesterday 
On
a related note, Jack has gotten it into his head he wants to be a social
worker. He mentioned it last week sort of in passing and I gave it my all
trying to discourage him, but he said something about it again the other
day when he brought down the mail. Jack retired early for a couple of
reasons, neither of which seem to be relevant anymore, and I think he's
bored. He's got like 250 college credit hours (I'm not making this up) and
he's been checking to see what specific social work classes he'd have to
take to get a BSW. That's just about the worst idea I've ever heard.
Loving my dad (more on him later) doesn't stop me from taking the piss out
of him, and liking Jack doesn't stop me from taking the piss out of him.
My
dad can't cut the grass out at the house any more, hasn't for a couple
years, bad arthritis in his hips, and he can't keep a grass cutter- Tom's
staying in Huntington this summer, him cutting the grass out there never
worked very well anyway, he didn't really want the job, so he wanted to
cut it every three weeks or so, while my maniac dad was up his ass to cut
it about every other day- and he's run off all the grass cutting
companies, so, guess who's cutting the grass out there now? Tom (and the
company guys as well) do have my sympathy, cos every time my dad's seen me
since I took on the job (which I do gratis, by the way), it's "You
come out to cut the grass?" "Well, since I just cut it
yesterday, FUCK NO."
The
above attitude is what made me the darling of the Carriage Way Homeowners
Association all the years I lived there, but fuck it, these people that
are all about their yards make me want to hurl, get a fucking life, IT'S
JUST GRASS, GODDAMMIT.
Sarah
has a new boy friend, Patrick, he was by the house last night, he's some
muso plays the violin (I asked him could he play it with a drumstick and
he said no, so I'm not impressed), but he's not mentally ill, and he
doesn't look like something the rat pack just puked up, so he probably
won't last long, As for the unlamented Space Monkey mentioned a while
back, he lasted the one date, during which he confessed to Sarah he wasn't
20 like she thought, but 26. Let's see, 26, not in school, no job- give
him twenty years and he could've been me. Sarah dropped him without any
prodding from daddy, she said he was a loser, and if Sarah says that,
trust me, you are.
Patrick's
19, which is acceptable, although I remember her mom and I got together at
16 and 19 (although Loretta turned 17 soon after) and it gives me a
moment's pause. Loretta and I used to fuck like rabbits. I mean even by my
standards, it was insane. The physical attraction was just damn near
overwhelming- at the risk of sounding like Mr. Tappley, we were like two
adjoining pieces of a puzzle, I've never, before or since, found someone
that our bodies just fit together so perfectly, it was like what both of
them were made for. Laura mentioned a while back something about Loretta
and I dating and Joe said, "They really didn't date. They went out
once or twice, and then it was like they were married," and it's
true. You really shouldn't go looking for your true love in the bedroom,
but after the first time she and I made love we just looked at one another
and said "This is IT."
They
also put this in my face 