5/6/02

that smell

It's that smell. That . . . smelly smell, that smells . . . smelly.

Hey. After the longest break in H&B history, 2 weeks and a day, We (that's the royal We) are back. What's been up? Well, let me tell you, if it hasn't happened in my car's front seat or my bed the past 2 weeks, it hasn't happened (and yeah, those used to be two real happening places back in the day, I always used the front seat for automotive intercourse in my old Mercury Montego cos it had a lot more room, but still not enough, I think my current, recurrent neck troubles can be traced all the way back to banging my already jammed up neck into the passenger's side door all those times, but lately all it signifies is driving and sleeping, or trying to).

Also want to apologize for all the grammatical errors in the past couple of issues, "reign" for "rein", Jesus Christ, I'm mortified. I been tired, but that's no excuse.

Since the last letter there's been 1 doctor's appointment, 2 counseling sessions, 4 softball games/practices (thank God for rain) and 9, count 'em, 9, play practices. Yeesh. My dad, and Loretta's mom, have both been good about helping out, God love 'em, but that's still left a shitload of driving for yours truly. Actually, I've enjoyed watching Rachel's softball games, she's old enough now so that they have actual games, not 4 hour 39-38 everyone bats every inning torturethons, and Rachie absolutely crunches the ball when she hits (she's got her daddy's batting stance, I could always hit like a motherfucker, when I wasn't getting tossed for throwing at guys in the other team's dugout, hey, it slipped out of my hand, sir, I swear). She's still swinging just with her arms tho, I'm trying to get her to get her hips into it, if she does, don't go outside when she's at bat cos you just might get hit in the head with a softball dropping back from space.

As for Sarah, she went back to her mom's today with Rachel, and for all kinds of reasons, many of them selfish, I hope she stays the week. She's got to be at the Capitol Theatre every day for the next 7 for either rehearsal or performance, and God help me, I really don't want to have to get her there.

Haven't gotten the photos from the Hagerstown match yet, but I've got a couple of beefcake promo photos I'll be putting on the site (hey, I ain't above it) as soon as Joe comes out here and helps me do whatever fucking voodoo it takes to do that. Also, got a proposition from El Atomico to join up with him and reform Los Hermanos Sangre, (The Blood Brothers, The Luchadores from Hell). He's got a pretty cool mask, himself, so I may take him up on it. El Falcone Morte? I dunno, if I go back to being Mexican I lose all the "Kiss the slanted crack of my Chinese ass" crowd baiting that revved them up so in Htown. We'll see.

What's Bill drinking? Boring old green tea, sorry. I'll tell you what, though, since I went off the coffee and onto the green tea a couple years ago, that horrific acid stomach burn thing I used to always have has almost disappeared. And my temperment is so much better as well. Not much time for alcohol, lately, my liver is so fucking dry it's starting to itch. Had a couple Molson's week before last, a few more than that Foster's this weekend, that's been it. The Molson's was good as always, the Foster's really wasn't, I've noticed the past few times I've drunk Foster's it's had this sweet aftertaste I don't remember it having, and I haven't really cared for it. I realize I've been slacking really badly lately in the beer/drink recommendations and I'm sorry, truly. I'm going to stop by the Farmer's Market this weekend and pick up a dozen or so singles of beers I've never tried (if that many exist) to report back on to you, my loyal readers, as well as getting out my handy Bartender's Guide and whipping up some brand new drinks (green apple martinis? where did you get that from??) to give the Bitner thumbs up or down to.

What's Bill listening to? The Monkees, goddammit, and I make no apologies. Back when Ray Parsons was working for CCIL we traded tapes, one of his gospel group's for the first Sabres cassette, Under The Influence. Asked him later what he thought. He gave this kind of smirk and said "It sounded like the Monkees." Now, Ray could be a nice guy, but he could also be one of the most condescending pieces of shit you'd never want to be around, and I could tell by his demeanor he thought he was putting me down. I wanted to punch him so motherfucking hard his goddamn hearing aids would fly out of his fucking head and imbed themselves in the wall, but I figured I was on Jesus' bad side enough already, and punching out a gospel singing religious deaf guy would only make it worse, so I refrained, beside the fact that then Ray would probably go home and pray for Moses to jam a burning bush up my ass or something (don't even try to tell me Christians don't pray for bad shit to happen, too much of it goes on for someone not to be asking for it) so I just said "Thanks" instead. I mean, they had all those killer 60's session guys (and gals) playing on their records, Hal Blaine and Tommy Tedesco and Carol Kaye, and they had those killer 60's songwriters like Neil Diamond (yes, Neil Diamond, we went through this once already, you write a song as good as "I'm A Believer" and then we'll talk), Goffin/King, David Gates (Saturday's Child, my favorite Monkees song ever, cos it was Cindy Gates'-no relation- favorite Monkees song in 6th grade, and I still have some wonderful memories tied to that song, and that girl, wonder what she's doing now, probably driving her grandkids to daycare, but I bet she looks hot doing it), Mann/Weil, John Stewart, Boyce and Hart, and the Monkees themselves weren't bad singers, Peter was a little flat, we had a Sabre who shall remain nameless who was sometimes flat, but it wasn't ME, and you can call Loretta a lot of things but flat would never be one of them . . . 

In other words, FUCK YOU, RAY, the Monkees were great, sorry you're too fucking Ray to realize that.

Really sorry I didn't get this out before yesterday, cos there were 2 movies I would've strongly recommended you do your best to catch last night, they came on back to back on TCM, running from 8pm to midnight, "Kiss Me Deadly", the best Mike Hammer movie ever (okay, I realize that's not saying a lot, in and of itself) with slob king Ralph Meeker as Mike (who cast HIM?) and Albert "Death by Autoerotica" Dekker as the bad guy, followed by, get this, "Night of the Hunter"! with Robert Mitchum doing that crazy mean-ass guy thing that no one could do quite like him. Bob, as you'll recall, was one of the Best Tits of the 60's, no he wasn't, I mean he was one of The Holy M Trinity, and he's fantastic in this movie. I, unfortunately, was not home for either, fucking imagine that, wish I'd gotten in touch with one of you all to tape them for me, seen them both but I'd love to have copies, and my tape player . . . well, it's complicated.

Look into my eyes, they are alien, my eyes are ALIEN . . . sounds like something my dad would (or should) say, but it's actually from Not Of This Earth, first version, which is a decent 50's science fiction b-movie in all respects, a lot better than a lot of the crap (and I say this as a fan) that Roger Corman cranked out back then. Watched the '88 remake the other night, with Traci Lords, the last movie she made before she decided not to do any more nude scenes. The original is a better movie, the remake had Traci without her shirt on for most of it, you take your pick. I have to admit, even though she comes across as a sleaze bomb, Traci's always gotten me worked up. Did I say, "even though"? I meant, because.

Speaking of my dad, if you ever ask him to take your car and get it inspected because you forgot, and/or were too busy and it just got away from you, and the Poca cops snagged you with an expired sticker as you were dropping Rachel off at Poca Middle, and you needed a new sticker by tomorrow, and he let you borrow his to drive to work, and you have to see someone in Naoma, and you decide to just come on across Route 3 through Boone County to come home cos it's quicker than going all the way back to Beckley and then coming up the Turnpike? If you ever decide to do that? Well, when my dad's car's fuel gauge reads a quarter tank, it means EMPTY! If you forget this, and end up walking 6 miles along Route 3, in new hard shoes that rub blisters on your feet so that you end up wringing the blood out of your socks (no exaggeration)- well, then you'll be just like me last Thursday. I also saw a road kill raccoon as big as a steer.

Here's another stupid sign for ya, BD, at the Exxon at the Cold Spot end of Roxalana- Free Lays With 10 Gallon Fill Up. I swear, please somebody else drive by and see this before they change it. Went inside, saw the truck stop girls working there, was goddamn relieved when they handed me those potato chips. 

So much for what we wish. I just got an IM from Loretta's laptop to call the house, so I did, and Sarah and Loretta are back at war, and Sarah's wanting to come back out here. One night. They can't get along for one fucking night. THEY ARE DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY. 

My thoughts all seem to stray,
To places far away
I need a change of scenery

Don't ever say the Monkees didn't have cool lyrics.

I'm going to bed and pulling the covers over my head. See you next time.

Bill