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6/23/02
And what they're hearing down in hell Yeah, well there you go, overblown or menacing, depending on your perspective. Just like me. Good lyric, tho, gotta finish that song someday. Hope everyone's well, got a lot of e-mails this week, haven't been too good about responding, sorry. First off, yes, dear Caroline, whomever you might be, the title of the last H&B WAS a take off on "Thus I Refute Beelzy" by John Collier, how very wonderful of you to notice, and, yes again, I would be very happy to enter into deep, intellectual e-conversations with you about any literary subject you might wish to discuss. Of course, my luck and the Internet being what they are, you're probably some 300 pound male jackoff with about half a pound of powdered sugar and donut crumbs in your huge, hairy navel, but you know what? I don't fucking care. You wanna talk books, we can talk books. For all the whining about the blooding that went on in the last issue, I ended up with this little white scar on my forehead of the "Is that it? No, I think THAT'S it" variety. Just wait, though. Just wait. How's the transfer back to Charleston, with the added transfer to Huntington as well, going? Don't even fucking ask. I'm serious, I tried to do what I saw as the responsible thing (keeping job over quitting job), but this flat fucking is not going to work out. I haven't put a time frame on it, I'll hang as long as I can- it's paying my bills, and putting money in the bank- but this is nothing I'm going to be able to maintain for even a little while. Had a wet week. Not real happy about it, but that's how it worked out. What's Bill listening to? A lot of stuff, lately, decided to reward myself with some CDs when I decided to keep working, so I got on line and found a bunch (I mean a bunch) of stuff for $2.99, so I bought $100 worth. Most of it was just replacing stuff I already had on record with CDs (Cream, Jefferson Airplane, Husker Du) got some live Fleetwood Mac from' 69 when they were a guitar band (unfortunately also a blues band, I'm not much for the blues), got the live Damned, Eternal Damnation, which sucks, if I want to hear drunken louts playing shit badly I'll get together with Joe, got 3 old Traffics, Heaven Is In Your Mind (the Brit version of Mr. Fantasy, which has more tracks), John Barleycorn Must Die, and Low Spark of etc., I find Traffic very soothing, lots of woodwinds by poor dead Chris Wood, and acoustic guitar, and Steve Winwood's lovely voice, spent a lot of time in my room this week with the lights off and candles burning listening to this stuff, trying to chill. It's helped some, I guess. What's Bill listening to right now? The best of Them. For $2.99? You have got to be kidding me. I'll say it again, you have got to be fucking kidding me. 2 CDs, 50 songs, for $2.99! I'll be the first to tell you, there's lots of filler on here, scads of not so well done covers of blues and r&b standards like all the Brit bands of that time did, they do a couple Jimmy Reed covers way too fast, yes, that's right, Bill "I'll race you to the end of the song" Bitner is complaining about a song being too fast. Jimmy Reed, by the way, was an interesting soul, an alcoholic epileptic who used to drink himself into epileptic seizures on stage- not on purpose, he apparently just didn't give a shit- and would regularly fall off of his chair and start kicking and squirming across the stage like a stepped on bug, while his guitar would feedback and squeal- I'll bet old Jim was a damn hard act to follow. Still, the Best of Them should cost thirty bucks, at least, for just these four songs- "Gloria", a genuine classic, one of the Tang Spoons strongest ever covers, in that extended, slow to fast, sexy Bill lyrics, way we did it (She said I like your face/She said I like your chest/She said I like your arms/She said I like your ass), in fact there's 2 of you getting this right now who told me it was the best version you ever heard. "Here Comes the Night," pure, been dumped heartbreak, not artsy fartsy, but real- "Why can't I accept the fact she's chosen him, and simply let them be?" I don't know, Van, when you figure that one out, get back to me. "Mystic Eyes"- Two minute rave up intro, when most songs back then were only two minutes long, guitar and harmonica just tearing it up, then a few lines about walking through the graveyard with this girl and looking into her eyes . . . and that's it. Lyrical minimalism at it's fucking finest, I get ya, Van, you don't have to write ME a fucking novel. Why the fuck the TS never covered this one when we had Bobby in the band is beyond me. Probably because he would have thought it was BENEATH him. I swear, I think the next time I see that motherfucker I'm gonna string his guts from the fucking trees. Whoa, can anyone else tell the tequila is kicking in? Finally, "I Can Only Give You Everything", the best Kinks song the Kinks never did, slamming Kinksy riff, no Dave D. on guitar, but that's compensated for by this great 60's organ, everyone knows I'm a huge organ fan, let me say that again, I'm a huge fan of the organ sound. Another one that slipped by the Spoons, we coulda killed this one. On a continued musical note, Sarah and I put a song on the Infernex Friday night (Rachel once again went to Baltimore with her mom- does anyone see a very obvious schism developing here? Yeah, me too, but as I've discussed with others, eventually Loretta's going to run out of things to bribe Rachel with to get her to go along with her- talked to Rachie today, how's your trip, well, Mommy bought me this and this and this, other than that it's been boring) "Little Boy Lost", fought that song all night to come up with something that's all of a minute long. Like I used to sat to Loretta, "Okay, so maybe it was just a minute, but it was the best damn minute of your life." Sounds really nice, actually, it's this sweet, melodic thing in keeping with the other stuff we've done lately, old song, from like '83. When Sarah was doing her vocal (the child sings like an angel) she was complaining, "Daddy, these words don't make any sense". Well, I originally came up with words out of my ass to hold the melody in my head, like Paul McCartney singing "scrambled eggs" to "Yesterday." Unlike Sir McCartney, I couldn't be bothered to come up with new ones. What's Bill drinking? Uh . . . tequila. And beer. Like I said earlier, it's been a wet week. Need to put the skids to it, was putting in my hour on the aerobic step earlier today, with the hand weights (I look like a fucking cheerleader, but I don't care), even though I REALLY didn't feel like it, felt downright shaky, in fact, but went ahead and did it- I let tons of shit slide on by, but I'm pretty anal about the exercise thing- got done, head spinning like a bitch, went into the bathroom to get a shower, and puked all over the place. So why am I drinking now? We'll get to that. Had an abbreviated Movie Club last night, basically Chris and Ron came down to Joe's (also known as my summer estate). By the way, guys, Sarah informed me Krista thinks you two are a couple. You hear that sound? That's me laughing my fucking ass off. Anyway, we (those of us so inclined, anyway) ate a couple pounds of sushi, I am the master of all chop sticks, drank margaritas and beer, had a good time. I left the fifth of Cuervo 1800 I was supposed to bring to the dance here at the house, had to buy another ($28 a pop with tax, but worth every penny, those are some ungodly fine margaritas), so there's Cuervo here, and I'm here, and I've got that hellish, rat in a barrel feeling crushing my fucking chest, so I'm doing shots of tequila and chasing them with beer . . . I've often been asked why I drink so fucking much. It's so I won't do something worse. Watched a bunch more Lucha Libre this weekend. I swear, Mexico must be absolutely infested with midgets, and they must have some "put a midget to work" welfare type program going down there, cos every wrestler has his own little mini version of himself who comes out with him, which is bad luck for the midget, cos invariably he's going to get abused. The big wrestlers like to throw the midgets at one another, one midget got himself picked up by the ankles, and swung around and around at everyone else, which cleared the ring, and sent me into hysterics. Sarah didn't think it was funny, "Daddy, if that big guy let's go . . . " "Yeah, there gonna be a midget on the moon." Actually, it did get kind of bad, Electroshock picked up little Horneto and threw him javelin like over the top rope at big Horneto, who was on the floor. Big Horneto STEPS ASIDE (I think he was supposed to catch him) and little H goes head first into the crowd. Well, not into the crowd, but into this one guy, poor fucker comes to the matches, pays for his ringside, sitting there trying to drink his Tecate and chat up his girl, gets speared in the fucking gut with a flung midget. May've been staged, but it didn't look like it, and they ended up taking little H off on a stretcher. Been watching Balcon de Veronica also, which comes on right after the wrestling, it means Veronica's Balcony or something, I guess, I can't figure what the hell it's about, it's sort of a Candid Camera/talk show sort of thing as best I can follow, I watch it for Veronica, who's my new fantasy girl, long dark hair, cutie-pie face, and quite a damn balcony on her herself, which is maybe how they named the show, and whoever dresses her is my new best friend. She has these two fat, Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee guys who come out every show (every show, I've only seen two, but they've done it both times) and they all do this chorus line dance thing at the end that's pretty damn exciting. On the local girlie front, was in Books A Million the other day (been buying magazines like a crazy boy, bought all these in the past week- Cult Movies, Devil in the Woods, G-Fan, Grindstone, Hittin' The Note, Magnet, Mojo, No Depression, Outre, Shock Cinema- can't concentrate enough to read books when I'm drinking, and as has been stated numerous times already, it's been a wet week), fell into a conversation with a girl at the magazine racks, offered to buy her a coffee, then I had to struggle to find something there to drink, since they can't actually just sell you a cup of COFFEE, ended up with this half milk vanilla tasting think that was drinkable, but it wasn't coffee. We exchanged e-mail addresses, she certainly seemed nice enough, but the whole thing- I don't know. Also got another e-mail this week from Stacy, my erstwhile wrestling partner, again wanting to know when I'm going to make it down to Key West. She says she's told her room mates about me (excuse me? . . . I guess fair is fair), and they're really anxious to, ahem . . . meet me. And wear my mask. Holy fuck. Taking my dad out to eat for Father's Day wasn't nearly as funny as past adventures. We ended up at Chi-Chi's cos Red Lobster had a 2 hour wait to get in. Tom and I were "cutting up" in my Dad's eyes- just seemed like talking to me- so he says, D. You two should take it on the road. You could be a sister's ack. He makes up for leaving the "t" out of act by putting it in desk as in- D. I'm going upstairs to get my gun out of my dest. You better be
gone when I get back. I'm gone. Everybody knows that I was just kidding earlier about that minute thing, right? Bill
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