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7/10/02 I00,8
"Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese- toasted, mostly." Robert Louis Stevenson I acknowledge it's gonna be all downhill after that. Hey I'd like to get back a little to the feel of some of the earlier Hipolars & Bendovers, or whatever the hell I used to call this thing, not so much gut spillage and angst (although we Bitners are mostly made of angst, it's what makes us plump when you cook us), and more Bills' guide to food and drink and groovy media. Firstly, though, dreamdipper, you have my respect for showing you can take it, and with a sense of humor (I guess you were kidding, anyway) besides. I also appreciate the naked picture you sent me, ostensibly of yourself, but if you think an old horn dog like myself doesn't recognize Tera Patrick, once again, you're crazy. Nice choice, however. I've actually gotten some recent requests for me to post some nude photos of myself on this thing (and for the last time, Joe, I said NO, dammit). Something about, you bare everything else, why not your ass. Well, even if I were so inclined, I don't have any. I was prescient enough several years ago to hide the videotapes, so I still have those, but when shit went in the crapper this last time, I found Loretta had beaten me to the photo albums. I said okay, just give me back the ones of me- which she won't do. I like to think that late at night, when Shriveled Mohandas is there open mouthed snoring after his 10 seconds of glory, she slips off to the bathroom with those old pictures of me and gets a little busy. Even if that's not why she kept them, it brightens my world to think it. To anyone not convinced we're living in the end of days . . . "A church in Zillah, Washington, has gained notoriety by having itself designated the Church of God-Zillah. A metal dinosaur has been erected outside the hall of worship. Pastor Gary Conner hopes the connection to the famous monster will inspire children to become more interested in attending church." From G-Fan. Maybe it'll get 'em there, Pastor, but all those kids are going to be plenty pissed when they find out God's not a giant atomic dinosaur. I know I was. Hear my faith, seal my fate. Haven't had the Death Falcon flapping around in my face lately, not sure what's up with him. I think the fucker's sulking cos I've decided not to take Staci up on her invitation to visit her (and her allegedly aroused roommates) this summer- call me gutless (and nutless, he certainly did), I just figured the potential for expensive disappointment, if not outright disaster, outweighed the potential for things working out as fantasized. He was last seen throwing himself down a flight of stairs, over and over, to see if he could take it. Ate like little Takeru Kobayashi this week, who once again won Nathan's hot dog eating contest on the 4th with a fucking unbelievable 50 hot dogs and buns (Sarah heard it was 61 and a half, dear God). If you get a chance, watch the special, Big Eats, on the Food Network, it shows him winning last year, it's incredible. Personally, I don't think this little guy is human. If you've never seen him, he's 5' something, not much, 130 pounds, he's got that sallow skin tone that made people in the old days call Asians "yellow", spikey bleached do, and these elfin looking eyes and ears, in fact, that's what I think he is, some kind of eating elf, there's no other rational explanation. He's also funny as shit, they asked him if he had any words for the American people, he says, "Let's fight." So anyhow this week past I've eaten (among many other things) ten pounds of raw steak, and attendant bacteria, got a merlot to drink with it, didn't like it really so I won't recommend it, wait, I could recommend against it, too late, I already threw away the bottle, but it was some kind of Bay, Gossamer Bay, I think, two loaves of French bread with about half a bottle of olive oil, 4 pints of different Ben and Jerry's (no specific recommendations here, they're all good), 2 dozen eggs (12 boiled, 12 poached), a gallon of orange juice with protein powder, about a bushel of fresh produce, got on the scales last Sunday at my mom's- and I weigh 205. Damn, maybe I'm sick (free straight line there, go ahead). You know, I really haven't felt . . . right, for a while (yeah, there's another). I've always been really in tune with my body in a way I'm not sure other people are, maybe it's just my terminology, but when I say to someone, "you know like when you feel your body going into attack mode?", or when I talk about the difference between ocean sweat and, say, butter sweat- I personally have 6 distinctly different sweats I'm aware of, not counting possible combinations thereof- usually all I get is a roll of the eyes. Lately, say the past year or so, it's been weird. Some days, like today, I feel dense as a damn brick (3 in one paragraph). Other days I feel positively ephemeral, like a fucking bubble, like my feet aren't even touching the ground, like I'm not even here. Not mentally, physically. Like I said . . . weird. I think I'd like to donate my body to science. That would be Victoria Science, who starred in . . . oh, never mind. Hell, that's probably my problem right there. Too much stress, too little Vitamin P. 220 is near the top end of the scale for weight for me anyway, at least, fit weight. I'm actually built a lot like my mom's side of the family, who were all these, tall, thin Irish folk, some really recent, one of my great granddads was born on a ship in Charleston (SC, obviously) harbor, his parents just over from Londonderry, NI, it's my dad's family that carry the bulk, all built like these squat Germanic tanks, with shoulders like apes, in fact my dad walks like an ape, seriously, I used to walk behind him in the store when I was younger and imitate his walk and make little monkey noises till one time he caught me. You know, you could beat kids in public with impunity in those days. So there you go, guy, Irish volatility and German aggression, and they both like to drink like motherfuckers, whiskey and beer, see, it's not my fault, your honor, it's genetics. Like to get the weight back up, though, I'm in serious negotiations with this horrid pissant wrestling league here in Nitro (which basically means I'm trying to get a hold of the guy at the video store) to start working for them. Me and Death Falcon Sean (he's GOT to come up with a catchier name) were going to work for them last spring when they started, but their "talent" SUCKED, it wasn't just me, Sean thought the same, so we passed (actually, they passed on us, cos I ran my mouth to 'em, imagine that). Most of that bunch has cleared out now, don't know if the new bunch is much better, but if I get in I'm gonna import my opponents anyway (can you say Falcon Arrow, Big Daddy?). Still running, knees still hurting. Had a nice run the morning of the 4th, here by myself, got up a little earlier than usual, it was still nice and cool, came across two snakes lying in the road. One was a really big black snake, 4 feet, easy, I just did the Crocodile Hunter tail drag thing with him to get him off the road cos I didn't want him getting run over, but the other was a king snake, maybe 2 feet or so, he was near the end of the run, near my house, so I picked him up and played with him a while. Snakes are one of my favorite animals, I think they're beautiful, actually, and I love the way that they feel, particularly their belly scales, some snakeskin belly scale boxers would be just the ticket. What's Bill drinking? Just green tea. Usually try to push Kroger cos of my buds that work there, but stay the hell away from Kroger brand green tea, it really sucks. Tastes just like linen, like you boiled the damn bag with no tea in it. Gone through about a dozen bags (just 84 more to go) and they've all been the same. I usually get Lipton's, much better than Celestial Seasonings, but all they had Sunday was this flavored shit, goddammit, if I want to taste mango I'll eat a fucking mango, keep that shit out of my green tea. What's Bill listening to? Actually, nothing right now, kind of headachy and groggy. Been running Sarah all over this week to play practice- her latest, Boxes III, or Son of Boxes, or something, starts tomorrow night, that's the one Rachie and I will be attending for any who want to meet us there, runs through Saturday night, then for the next 2 weeks it will be their production of Pink Floyd's The Wall, then a blessed break for a month (except for the week of theater class she signed up for at U.C.). Sarah's director sent her an e-mail the other night praising her performance in rehearsals, hopefully that means she's becoming one of the in crowd. This guy is a flighty and petulant fuck, I avoid him cos I don't much care for him and I don't want to smart him off and spoil Sarah's chances to climb the theater ladder with this crew Don't forget Bastille Day on Sunday, slap a Frenchman for Bill. Had a quiet weekend last, Sarah had her friend Dusty over (both girls bailed on Baltimore, didn't stop their mom from giving up her weekend with them and going anyway) Friday night, we watched John Carpenter's The Thing, and The Little Mermaid, I didn't intrude, I swear, they asked me to join them. Got into the beer, and the Infernex, Saturday night, just recording up a damn storm, put down versions of "I Quit", which isn't about leaving your job, it's about blowing your fucking brains out, an acoustic version of Pink Floyd's "Cymbaline", and something that used to be called "That's What I Want," but is now "I00,8." because I was pretty messed up by the time it came to enter the title. Dave, I tried to get a mix of that stuff I promised you, before I started drinking, couldn't get it to work for me- I don't call it the Infernex for nothing- I'm gonna get Joe out here in the next week or two, we'll get it done. Watching videos with a bunch of kids, and drinking alone and recording a bunch of demented folk songs- not exactly busting heads and wrecking beds in the exciting reading department, but like we said last issue, it is what it is. As for exciting reading, 4000 words on Drains, and counting, which I guess is cheating, since I already had most of that done. I've got the novel blocked out into 20 different scenes, they all should run about 4-5,000 words, it's all already in my head, just put it on paper, and it's done. I said I was going to put the first chapter on the website, but I've changed my mind, I don't trust it not to get stolen. I know Joe put that thing at the bottom saying everything is copywritten, but that's like a restraining order, it's only gonna stop someone who wasn't going to do it in the first place. There may be some way to make it more secure, if so, I'll post it later, if anyone is just all dying to read it, get in touch, I'll e-mail it to you personally. Got an e-mail from Doug last week, he's been not smoking for- well, he had it down to the second, I tried to bring that up to now, but being the body conscious type that I am I could sense my brain starting to swell dangerously, so let's just say he's been without cigarettes for 2 months and 3 weeks, all the more incredible if you know Doug and the smoking machine he used to be. I'm damn proud of you, son, and I'm going on record with it. Bill is proud of Doug. Guys. Reign Of Fire. Movie Club. More evidence pointing toward the end- flipping channels the other day to hear some guy on a hunting show (it's that same guy that can't speak English most of the time) saying "There's nothing worse than some fool out fumbling around when I'm trying to work my big gobbler." Not sure if he was bragging or complaining. Shorter one than usual this time, I'm tired (and sober). Holy shit, it just hit me. What if dreamdipper really IS Tera Patrick? Reality's a dream, a game in which I seem I don't mind Later Bill
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