|
7/19/02 They Call Me Lazy They call me lazy, God knows I'm just tired Hey Talked to some of you since last time, real or, e-. some of you I fear have dropped off the face of the earth, you've all still got the blessings of this heathen, for what they're worth. What's Bill drinking? Bud, but cut me some slack, it's Friday, been only hitting the beer on the weekends for 3 weeks now, seriously been trying to get a little healthier, at least in body. The weight's going back up, that's good, definitely what I want, though I've stopped the overeating thing (still, Tuesday night I ate a whole coconut cream pie, Thursday night a whole Boston cream, got 'em at KROGERS, they were both excellent). I don't think I need to overeat, so much as just eat. Many, many days, even when I'm not drinking, I'll eat a can or two of tuna and some carrots during the day, and that will be it. Just not hungry most of the time. It's been over a year, you'd think it would at least be starting to scab over by now, but I don't know, still feels raw as fuck to me. Maybe because I keep picking at it. What's Bill listening to? Well, until a couple minutes ago, I was trying to listen to Little Feat on this download thing that popped up, cos they've reissued their old live double album with more stuff as a 2-CD set. Just can't do it anymore. First tried listening to them back in 79 or so on David's recommendation, couldn't take 'em. Spurgie used to love 'em when I played bass with him in 93, he used to play them some at practice. Couldn't take 'em. Greg wanted to cover one of their songs with the Tang Spoons back in 96 (Fat Man In The Bathtub, listened to 'em then, couldn't take 'em, told Greg I couldn't sing it, let him think it was because it was out of my range, but I just couldn't sing that shitty song), but it's always bugged me, I mean, these guys all have really good taste in music, and they love this band, so I keep going back and listening to them every so many years thinking some day I'll catch on to what they're hearing, but so far it ain't happening. To me, they still sound like this smarmy west coast white boy funk shit- I'm not even indifferent to 'em, shit, YUCK, I fucking hate 'em. They don't even jam well, but listening to them made me think about some of the Spoons long jams, that's one thing I'll give the fucker Bobby credit for, he got me and Joe into playing these real long jammy songs (the Sabres used to just bang it out, 3 minutes or bust, bam bam, goddamn, we're the UFF, another fine organization- actually, I shouldn't say that, someone reading this might actually know what the UFF is and think I'm serious after the Northern Irish thing last issue, I'm JOKING, I don't support terrorist organizations of any stripe) we used to do some KILLER jams, but only when Bobby was on keys, we did some 10-15 minute "Orangedrivers" out at Bobby's cos that was his girlfriend's favorite song we did- she was a fucking trip, she deserves an essay all her own, and right there at the end "White Sky" was getting longer and longer in a good way (Hello ladies), but the best jams we did were out at Greg's in the middle of the night on "Heavy Planet Man". The original Sabres version, captured for posterity on the CD of the same name, was 3 minutes, pound, pound, pound, over. We used to play that son of a bitch out at Greg's for a half hour some times, and I'd give my left nut, or better yet, both of Joe's, to have recorded one of them. I can say without equivocation that the best guitar lead I ever played (which as we all are aware is hit and miss with me- I know where to start on the fretboard depending on what key the song is in, but after that, it's Katie bar the fucking door, whatever happens is whatever happens- I personally love the sense of adventure that comes from not knowing where I'm going, but it's not always easy on those listening) was one night out at Greg's at probably 2 in the morning, been a really good practice, played HPM last song, and it just took off, everybody was killing it, Bobby played some of that great keyboard shit that got him in the band, that HE NEVER PLAYED AGAIN after he got in the band, and then I went into this wonderful, extended, psychedelic lead like I've never played before or since, I'm serious, fuck Jerry, fuck Jorma, fucking JIMI would've been proud of it, somehow ended up playing "Smoke On The Water", then into this feedback thing, then into that deliberately breaking the guitar strings thing I was prone to, but this was on the SG, which I normally treated better, and I forgot that the strings are what hold the bridge on, so halfway through the string breaking the bridge comes flying off, to this fantastic sound, so I grabbed it and yanked on it for a while, getting these wild electric SPOING sounds, then I put the bridge in my mouth and tried to play it like a harmonica, which wasn't too successful, it just being a chunk of metal, and me not being able to play the harmonica anyway, so I broke the rest of the strings, and we were done. Would love to hear a play back. But that was then, and this now. What's going on now? Well, Bushisima died this week, he never got over eating that big wood chip. Hated it, he just quit eating (hey, wait a minute . . . ) and he wasted away and died. Here's to Bushy, he's gone to a better place. He tasted like chicken. Went down to Joe's last weekend, ate, Laura made some fine semi-sweet chocolate brownies, told you I'd plug them, then Joe and I went out in his driveway and sat in his boat and drank beer. Damn, if it's that much fun in your driveway, can't wait to get it in the water. Think we're going to have a huge party at Joe's next month- he didn't know it either, he's finding out the same time as the rest of you. I may be Batman, and he may be Robin, but he definitely owns the Batcave (and the Batmobile, and the Batboat- my utility belt's bigger, though, way bigger). I am serious, we're going to party, everyone getting this- and I don't care how you're getting this, I don't give a fuck if we know you or not, I'll be putting the password in the H&B before the party, if you show up and you know it, you're welcome). Details to follow. Ordered a bust of the '60s version of Captain Marvel from www.bowendesigns.com, it's fucking fantastic, check it out. This was when he was a badass, in his silver and green Kree uniform, fin on his head and Saturn on his chest. Talking superheroes (here we go into the past again), back in 90, this lady I worked with whose husband was like the original computer/comics geek of the world, had worked up this program where he was taking all the people he knew and was turning them into Marvel comics characters. He compiled a list of over 400 (!!!) characteristics- smart, dumb, good evil, etc., only obviously much more complex, which he assigned to all these Marvel characters, then he had this questionnaire type thing printed up which he'd give to people to fill out about SOMEONE ELSE cos he figured he'd get a truer picture of the real person that way, he'd have 3-5 persons fill out a form on each person he profiled, then he entered them into his computer, and those characteristics would match up with what he had in his computer, and voila, you were matched up with a Marvel comics character that supposedly reflected, if not the real you, at least how people perceived you. Did I mention this guy was the geek of the world? To cut to the chase, this guy had some people fill out a form on me, and I'm sitting back, I'm thinking, Captain America, maybe, yeah, I can see me as him, or, I don't know, Iron Man, he's cool, or maybe Cyclops of the X-Men, or Giant Man (ahem). I came back as Doctor Doom. Doubt if I'm going to get into the Nitro wrestling league, as they all seem to be a bunch of po' faced little worm eaters. Went in the video store last night, still couldn't find fat boy, but the guys behind the counter were talking it, I think they might actually be "talent", so I tried talking to them, but it was pretty much a waste of time, there was definitely a generation/communication problem, as I doubt that both these guys ages put together would equal mine. Of course, both their biceps put together wouldn't equal one of mine, and for that matter, I bet both their . . . whatever. What else has been happening? Went and saw Sarah's play last week, was very proud of my girl and her monologue, she didn't like it (neither did I, it was about the WTC and 9-11), so she came out and put her hand on her hip and just spit it out with a ton of attitude, which was exactly what it needed, it came across so great because it was real. I swear to God, I look up at my baby all alone on that stage, standing there like she fucking owns it, and I feel so proud. I feel so proud. I saw her perform Thursday, her mom and SM went to the Saturday show, and Sarah said Dan (the auteur of this stuff) said to her after Saturday's performance, "You're mom's a very extreme woman, isn't she?" Sarah asks why, he says "She went from Stone Cold Steve Austin to Gandhi." Maybe she did, and I guess, to be fair, Gandhi's got to be easier to get along with. What else? Well . . . that girl, Sharon is her name, that I mentioned an issue or two ago, that I had coffee with in Books A Million, has been e-mailing me rather persistently, wanting to get together again. I had nothing else going tonight, so I agreed to meet her again at BAM for another coffee (big spender, I know, but it has nothing to do with money). So, we meet, I got another one of those sweet vanilla milky things, like I said before, it wasn't too bad, but I don't see how they get away with calling it coffee. Sat talking for well over an hour, and I was enjoying myself, she's very bright, and engaging, lots of similar interests, including science fiction, and her taste in movies was great, though her taste in music stank, and I just went over there casual, but I start thinking, I don't know . . . Physically, she's a little heavy for my taste (and I refuse to apologize for saying that, you like what you like, I like what I like) but not unworkably so, 20 pounds, maybe, very pretty face, I'm not going out with them even for coffee if I don't think they're pretty, and again, no fucking apologies, she looks a lot like, well, someone else I know that maybe you don't, who I also think is quite pretty. I went over there basically to kill some time and get out of the house and be around someone new, but I'm starting to think, there might be possibilities here, to the point where I'm about to ask her out for real, I mean the words are literally on my lips, when she starts into this- I don't know what. Starts telling me how she's never met anyone like me (okay), but then starts piling it on about how fucking fantastic I am, this and that and the other damn thing, and how we're meant for each other (what?) and how she knew from the moment she first saw me blah, blah, blah, and just coming on about 1000 times too strong. Now, the bad angel on my left shoulder immediately says, "Damn, Billy, we can nail this shit" which up until that point had not even entered my mind- okay, it entered my mind, but not as a realistic possibility. We talk on a little more, and it becomes apparent, this girl is looking for a man, NOW, I don't mean A MAN, that'd be cool, I'm right there, I can fill that order, but I'm talking a steady, a boyfriend, an eventual, but inevitable, mate, and I'm thinking, we've had coffee twice, I was getting ready to ask you out, and you've got us fucking planning how we're going to decorate the kids rooms. It's not even like I didn't like her, cos I did, but too fast, man, way too damn fast. I felt really uncomfortable. On the one hand, bad angel is telling me, say the right things (which would morally- at least my morals- be the wrong things) and you can ride this shit all night, and I'm certain he was correct, hell, she pretty much said as much, I could've just said, yeah, babe, whatever, and gotten over, and then never responded to her subsequent e-mails. But the intensity of her need, while it scared me and put me way the hell off, I could also understand, and I just didn't want to take advantage of it. And I'm not looking for a pat on the back here, now that I'm here back at the house all alone I'm feeling like a fucking sap. There's something to be said for flesh on flesh, no matter how it comes to be. But I passed, got out of there soon after, her wanting to know when we're getting together next and me putting her off . . . shit. Maybe I should feel flattered, but actually the whole thing left me a little depressed. I don't think it had a thing to do with me personally, I just think there are a lot of lonely people out there. The Death Falcon says, put it to her like this, "I'm not ready for a relationship of the type you're proposing. I'd be very happy to continue to meet you for coffee and we can see if something mutual develops from that, or else we can get together and just fuck one another into the hospital with no strings attached, and if you're so sensitive that that offends you, you're not the girl for us- I mean, me- anyway." DF makes good sense, but he wasn't there, he didn't see that- I don't know, void, that she was looking to fill. With me. I don't think just friends or just fucking is going to satisfy that. A few other things before we put another issue to bed. Pushing 10,000 words on Drains, and they're fucking prime. I'm proud of me. Rachel and I went to see Men In Black 2 last Friday. Jesus. I'm not going to preach, I swear, but it drives me fucking MAD to think of the jillions of dollars that were spent on something so motherfucking slight. Fuck artistic vision, fuck integrity, fuck trying to make something that can stand on its own merits, lets get some pictures on a McDonalds cup Almost done. Shaved my chest the other night, in anticipation of possible ring action to come, got kind of distracted (I was looking in the bathroom mirror, singing "Cathy's Clown" into the clippers), eventually ended up catching my left nipple in the clippers. Holy fuck, did it hurt, guys, we're talking catching your stuff in the zipper. Ladies, I don't know, I guess we're talking nipple in clippers for you- Traci, hey girl, is my use of the word nipple embarrassing you? Nipple, nipple, nipple. Anyway, don't do it, none of ya. IT HURTS. Sad fact- what lives must die Bill- Ulster Freedom Fighter Later
|
