6/9/02

Alternative Sex Bombs And Slap Dick Idiots

I'd beg for some forgiveness
But begging's not my business

All right, ya bunch of perverts, I've got your number now. Write about sex, I've got ya coming outta the damn walls. Write about fishing, the collective yawn is deafening.

It's too bad I wasn't churning out this rag last fall, when I went home with that alternative chick I met at Escapes, the one with the dyed black hair, and the black lipstick, and all the piercings. She was a fucking freak (that's a compliment), she almost cracked one of my teeth- a back one at that- with her tongue stud, and damn near put my eye out with a piercing she had someplace else, and if I finally hadn't insisted she take that fucking tongue stud out she could've hurt me even worse. I'd probably have been able to sing the high part in Gypsy Woman like Curtis Mayfield, but I don't think it'd be worth it. She was an older woman as well, I think she said she was 24, and no, I'm not asking any of these girls their ages, they just tell me for some reason, I was raised old school where a gentleman doesn't ask a woman her age (but he does tell everyone on the Internet he fucked her while she was wearing his wrestling mask- strange ethics, I know). But, I wasn't writing it then, and that's all the backtracking we're going to do now. At least now I know my audience.

As for my employment status, I'm still working, goddammit. All I'm going to say about it is that I've been transferred back to the Charleston office effective 6-17-02 on terms so favorable I really didn't think I could refuse them. Why am I being accorded this type of treatment? Beats the fucking corn loaf outta me, boys and girls, I've always thought this company was run by a bunch of slap dick idiots, and this is just another example. Meanwhile, I'm laughing all the way to the fucking bank.

What's Bill listening to? Santana. Don't care for him all that much, cos I have a grudge against a couple of his songs (you don't have grudges against songs? what's wrong with ya?), they remind me of places and circumstances where I heard them that piss me off, really only listening to him cos I'm currently reading a biography of his. Actually, that's a bit harsh, the first 3 albums, the ones I'm listening to, are actually excellent stoner music if you're into that, I like to turn out the lights in my room and listen to them by lava lamp.

I finished the biography of Chester Himes I was reading, (and damn, am I red faced embarrassed, talking about Bill and Sid being in Cotton Comes to Harlem- they were in one of them type movies back then, but it wasn't this one, rented it the other night- amazed I could find it- and Gravedigger Jones was WELL played by Godfrey Cambridge, if you only remember him for the comedies he did back then, you'll be amazed how well he pulls off this bad ass cop, the guy who played Coffin Ed was good too, didn't recognize him, should've looked at the credits while I still had the movie, wait, I think the book has credits in it- it does, who the hell is Raymond St. Jacques?- well, anyway, a tip of the H&B cap to him as well, for a job well done).

After that, read a biography of Jack Kerouac, can't stand his fucking writing, tried to get through On The Road more than once just cos I figured I should, being an English major and all, have never been able to, but I like reading about him personally cos I envy him his life, and how he could just roam around and drink and write and hang out and do cool things, and not have to do all the fucked up shit I have to do to get by, and if I can't be free like that, I still like to read about it, sort of like looking through the bars of your cell at birds flying.

Sort of have a grudge against Kerouac, too, one of my strongest memories of recent years is of taking this big thick book about all the Beats to DC the summer of '00 when the girls and I went to visit Loretta, and this one day it rained real hard and the girls and I just hung around Loretta's apartment all day while she was at work, and I lay on her bed and kept trying to read this Beat book but I couldn't concentrate, and I remember looking out the window at the rain falling on the pool, and it hitting me that it was gone. Loretta hadn't said anything to that effect, but she didn't have to- she just wasn't there with us, not that whole week we stayed with her, not in her heart, it was like we were in her fucking way. For me, at least, she hasn't been there since.

As for Santana, again, what's to say, either you know him or you don't (another humbucker and organ combo). I'm not going to go into the epic Coonskin Soul Sacrifice story, that's an essay in itself, but I remember one other night when I must've been channeling him, I'm trying to remember which night it was, or maybe I dreamed it, that's what my past is like, but I'm pretty sure it really happened. I think it was the very first night we played the Cold Spot, I know I took a lot of extended guitar leads that night, which isn't like me, and pulled them off, which REALLY isn't like me, I'm talking legit leads, not those ghastly feedback ear rapes that I like to call guitar solos, I went ape shit for about 6 minutes in "I Don't Need No Doctor", up and down the fretboard just like those guys who learned their scales, and then up and down again, and then AGAIN, cos what the hell, and afterward Doug from Slaymaker- a real musician and everything- came up to me and told me what a killer solo I'd played, he had no idea I could play that well. Anyway, Bobby kept saying after every song, "You sound like Santana, man, keep it up,"- Bobby HATED my guitar playing, so maybe I was dreaming, but it seems so real- help me out here, Joe, do you remember any of this, oh right, look at who I'm asking, Mr. Sure I Can Drink As Much As Bill- at one point I just stopped playing and stuck my arm up in the air cos I was wanting to channel Hendrix, or somebody else, Santana's okay, but shit, BOBBY liked him, and I remember sort of coming to myself standing there with my arm stuck in the air and everyone else in the band giving me that "What the fuck's he doing NOW?" look, and figuring trying to explain I was hoping to get the ghost of Hendrix in my arm (I've got TV signals in my arm already, happened years ago, they still bother me from time to time) was more than I was up to, so I just started into "Knocking on Heaven's Door" (when in doubt) and that was that.

Went out on a nice date Friday night with this sweet little girl named Sarah (her dad's a fucking wacko, but I don't hold it against her) cos she once again refused to accompany her mom and sister to Baltimore, we had a nice dinner and then saw the CSC production of "Return to Forbidden Planet," Sarah had a couple friends in it, the show itself was a bit on the hokey side for me, but the performances were good. It turns out some big dog in CSC is Sarah's therapist, (yeah, big dog, we ran into her taking tickets) and she's trying to get Sarah and I both to try out for the CSC production of Macbeth this fall. We'll see, might be fun, and if you're going to act in something where you keep your clothes on it may as well be Shakespeare, and if you're going to do Shakespeare, do a bloody one.

What's Bill drinking? Green tea, been nothing but green tea or water all weekend.

OH MY GOD. Sarah was wanting to watch TV together yesterday afternoon (lazy day, no apologies) and couldn't find anything, she's looking through the DirecTV guide and goes "What's Lucha Libre mean?" "It means really cool wrestling from Mexico." "It's on right now." "I don't think we get that channel, it's down below the free bar in the guide." "Are you sure?" "Daddy's sure of very little, actually, Sarah." So she checks. WE GET IT! And to prove I'm my father's son, I say "Turn it up, I can't understand 'em."

Three hours of AAA yesterday, 3 hours of CMLL today (these are like the WWF and WCW of Mexico), holy fuck, I'm going crazy here. It's not quite All Japan, but it's still fucking a million times better than this U.S. horseshit wrestling, it's acrobatic and athletic and entertaining as all hell, SARAH watched all 6 hours with me and loved it, she kept gasping and going "Oh my God, daddy!", have I ever said the Japanese are crazy? So are the fucking Mexicans. And the MASKS! I love my Death Falcon mask, but these guys are over the fucking top. There's this tag team, sweet Jesus, I don't know what they're called, but if it's not The Badass Space Bats From Space Who Look Like Bats And Are Bad, they're missing a trick, they come out in these spandex space trooper type outfits with bat-eared space helmet like masks with goatee cut outs like my DF mask, but their lower faces are painted silver with black lipstick (hmmm), they look like they just jumped out of a comic book, and I love 'em. They also cheat like shit.

There's also a lot of guys U.S. fans should know, like La Parka (he's getting fat, he also took a really stiff chair to the face in this wicked cage match and started bleeding out the eyeholes of his mask, never seen that before), Psichosis, Cibernetico, Los Villanos, one of the Headhunters (I thought they were dead), Atlantis, Essa Rios (he did a suicide dive off the TOP of a fucking cage, he was wasted in the dogshit WWF), Cien Caras, Apollo Dantes, Rey Buccanero, Lizmark Jr., Satanico, some guy called Mascara Maligna (I'm not exactly up on my Mexican, but doesn't that mean Cancer Mask?), Fuerza Guerrera (Juvi's DAD), just great wrestlers, great matches. Those of you who get DirecTV check out Gala on Saturday/Sunday at 2 pm, and if you don't think this is some of the greatest shit you've ever seen- well, first, you're wrong, but second, I'll give you a buck, I swear. That's a buck.

The Who live at the Isle of Wight was on today as well, fucking excellent. Everyone knows how much I love the Who up to about '75, and in '70, when this was filmed, they were the absolute best live band in the fucking world, NO ONE had a setlist near as strong as theirs, and they just blew fire on stage, Townshend in his white jumpsuit and SG days, I LOVE it.

Also watched a really good movie this morning (watched more TV this weekend than I normally do in 2 weeks, ate like a damn pig, too), The Last American Hero, from '73, it's on a lot, I recommend you check it out. It's about real life Southern moonshiner turned stock-car legend Junior Johnson, I don't give a flick about racing, but that's not what the movie's about, it's about Southern hardass pride.

One reason I like it so much is because I have good memories of the first time I saw it, with Marsena Hill (remember her, Joe?), a very nice, if unfortunately named, girl we went to high school with, through steamed up windows at the Valley Drive-In. She and I worked together at the Golden Skillet the summer of '74, and maybe 8-10 times that summer I'd ask, "Wanna go to the Drive-In after work?" and most times she's say "Sure," and I'd smile and go stand in the cooler for a while, and then later we'd go to the Drive-In and it was a lot of fun.

Even if you aren't watching it with memories of Marsena's ample endowment pressed against your chest, and her hot, Boone's Farm scented breath on your neck, it still has a lot to recommend it. It's got a funny, literate script, with howlers like "If you're not busy for the next five seconds, why don't you tell me everything you know," and "If you had gas for brains you couldn't back a piss ant out of a pea pod (!)" and "How's you like a knuckle burger?", a very engaging performance by a young Jeff Bridges as Junior, Gary Busey doing his patented "I'm a hillbilly retard" thing as Junior's brother, William Smith, one of my all time favorite actors as the big dog driver, Bill Smith is so fucking cool, he deserves an essay of his own, Worldly Remains magazine (I strongly recommend you check it out) did a cover story on him last summer, a bunch of strong character actors from the time like Ned Beatty, Ed Lauter, and Eddie Orsatti, you'd know the faces, and last but hardly least, Valerie Perrine as the race track tramp with a heart of gold. I don't know how pretty she is, but I've always thought she was sexy as shit, and for a big star she didn't mind showing her stuff on screen either, as in Slaughterhouse Five, or Lenny, check her out, I went out with a girl when I was at Marshall who was a damn dead ringer for Valerie, we didn't go out for very long, unfortunately, cos she was a very popular girl, as might be expected, but we went out long enough, if you get me.

Gonna take my dad to Red Lobster in Huntington next Sunday for Father's Day, I've already told him if he orders crab cakes I'm out the fucking door.

Haven't heard back from anyone about Movie Club at Joe's the 22nd so I'm taking silence for assent (although don't try this in a court of law), Joe, get 'em the directions.

Gonna go. If you're looking for something to do, send me an e-mail, after the 14th I'm gonna have 20 extra hours a week to fill (I'm sure I'll think of something . . . that's what I'm afraid of).

I want to be a Badass Space Bat

Bill

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