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7/30/07 Talk Talk
Hey Okay, three in one month. or three times for ten minutes each, whichever perspective you prefer, here's yet another NL in July. Enjoy . . . or don't, fuck it, I'm tolerant. The mail bag's been pretty quiet the past few weeks, no recent attempts at amateur psycho analysis- (PSYCHOANALYSIS IS ONE WORD) -not the way I mean it, just a couple minor questions to address, the first one asking "are the pants you're now wrestling in the same ones your wore on the canoe trip last fall", well, I had to go back and look at the photos to check, myself, and yes, yes they are. It never ceases to amaze me, the things you people notice. Although I'm thinking about going back to the black singlet for the legit wrestling matches, and wearing the BDU's for the hardcore shit, like next month's barbed wire boards match for that crazy Ohio Fed. The second question was, "where do you come up with the titles for the NL's", well, all places (have I answered this one already, seems familiar), a lot are from songs or movies, like this issue's, some just come to me in visions, last issue's title is my personal mantra, fuck that "om" shit, whenever I start feeling really down or pissed, like, you know, every twenty seconds or so, I close my eyes and soothe myself by saying over and over "I shall destroy all the civilized planets, I shall destroy all the civilized planets" and that gives me the will to go on. Cos I SHALL destroy all the civilized planets. Rachel and Sarah are both back, Rachel from Eastern Europe- her group had some trouble gettng into Russia- there's a new cold war brewing, believe it- she saw the new Harry Potter movie in Latvia which I have to say probably tops her Daddy seeing Night Of The Living Dead in Madrid, and Death Race 2000 in Picadilly Circus, she had a good time but was glad to get home, I can appreciate that, she got me a drinking horn in Vilnius, so now I have a Lithuanian drinking horn (do you?), it's probably lined with lead based paint so I'll drink from it and go even crazier, and a bottle opener in St. Petersburg (I'm sensing a theme here), Sarah is back in WV from her sojourn in Baltimore, she had some minor surgery while there, they replaced her brain with that of a chicken, all went well, she came back with You're Gonna Miss Me, a documentary on Roky Erikson, we'll talk about it some more later in the what's Bill been watchng column. Al hasn't been up to anything funny since last issue, but we did get a photo of him today, so those of you wanting to know what the homophobic old pants shitting machine looks like, here you go. No funny stuff from my Mom either, not humorous funny, anyway, she continues to drive me out of my fucking mind- I had to have her twice this week to the cardiologists at SIX FUCKING AM IN THE DAMN MORNING, motherfuck me, they can't check her heart out after fucking sunrise?! She asks me what time I'm getting up both days, I tell her 5:30 cos we just have to go to South Charleston, we can be there in fifteen minutes, and all I'm doing is rolling out of bed and getting dressed. So I set my alarm, I hear hers go off at 5 am, first thing she does is come in my room, "Bill, get up, it's 5:30". "No, it's not, it's 5 am, I'm looking at the clock. Why the hell would you come in here and tell me it's 5:30?" "Well, I thought you'd need more time to get ready than you did." So what's she's saying is number one, I fucking know better than you do, a sentiment that has always driven me clean out of my mind, and number two, I'm quite prepared to lie through my teeth to get you to do what I want, another sentiment pretty much guaranteed to send Bill around the bend. Fuck ME. I'm trying really hard to take the high road, damn near impossible though that is for me, I didn't snap at her the other morning, I just said, "I'm getting up at 5:30 and it'll be fine" (and it was), anymore when she gets on my nerves I tell myself she's a sick, uinhappy old woman, and she's your Mom, so just grit your fuicking teeth and keep your mean ass mouth shut, and I do. But it ain't easy. Don't know if there's any connection to this high road nonsense and my stomach, but it's just been on fire lately, to the point where I'm back on the damn oatmal for breakfast out deal- (DAMN, GRANDPA. WHY DON'T YOU JUST ORDER THE SENIOR FRUIT CUP AND BRAN MUFFIN?). My bad stomach offends you, doesn't it? (IMMEASURABLY). Well, okay then, next time Al and I are at IHoP I'll tell 'em, crack me every damn egg you got in the place and fix me the biggest- no, fuck, don't fix me anything, put 'em all in a bucket for me and bring it out here, I'll drink 'em raw- (NOW YOU'RE TALKIN'). -and instead of bacon, just bring me a goddamn wild boar and I'll wrestle that fucker to the floor and bite him in the throat and drink his damn blood. Would that make you happy? (YOU HAVE NO IDEA). You got it. And all of you, never, NEVER let me say my knees aren't hurting me ever again, my left knee has been straight up killing me the past few weeks, that damn broken glass on fire thing, to make matters worse I cracked it on this concrete floor last Monday while filming, more on that later, it was really swollen so I took one of my Dad's old (never used) syringes and drew a bunch of fluid out of it myself, took a lot of the swelling down, but none of the pain. Sucks. In the "It's a small world after all, it's a small, small world" column- (WHY DON'T YOU JUST SING 'EM THE WHOLE DAMN SONG?) -I think I just did, it's a small, small song, anyway, last weekend Danny and I stop in Bridgeport on the way to Mannington (more later) to see an old college roomate of Danny's, I mention to Danny's friend (who looked way old) that I went to Europe in '72 with a girl from Bridgeport, Cindy Hixenbaugh, did you know her?, he says, yeah, I still do, she lives right next door. For fuck's sake, why do I WASTE this stuff, why couldn't I have thought to ask, "Hey, do you know time warped Barbara Eden from 1966?" Went next door to brighten Cindy's day but she somehow inexplicably must've anticipated my stopping by cos she'd gone to her camp at Canaan Valley, Tim, Danny's buddy, says Cindy's doing well, good for her, I was anticipating a serious shock seeing this person who I'd last seen when she was a good looking 17 year old kid (we didn't hook up on the Europe trip, but she had to come to Charleston for a week for some reason the summer of '74, she stayed in the old Daniel Boone hotel and I took her out twice while she was here and showed her a good time both nights, you betcha, took her to a Charlies game one night, I can't remember what we did the other night- first, I mean) as a 50 year old matron. but I'm strong, I could've taken it. And it would've been fun to introduce her to the Death Falcon. So, what's Bill been up to? Well, like I said, went to Huntington to shoot the big fight scene last Monday, they're not filming the rest of the movie till next month, we had to shoot this scene early cos the abandoned warehouse where we shot is about to be knocked down. The shoot went well, and I'm pretty confident this movie will get done and released, I like the guy I'm playing- Clint, whatever- cos it's a real easy role to do, he's a big prick- (ONE OF THOSE KIND OF MOVIES, HUH?) -I said is, not has, and they're letting me change some of the crappier dialogue to more like what I'd really say, so that's cool. Last week's shoot was fun, I hope the rest of them will be as well. No matter what you do What's Bill been reading? Read the offical biography of Dusty Springfield, I always liked her music, "I Only Want To Be With You" and "Wishin' And Hopin'" are purely excellent pop songs, I thought Dancing With Demons seemed kind of an odd title for what I figured to be a fluff piece, turns out Dusty had a pretty rough life I'd never suspected, she was very much in the closet gay, and had major drug problems, and overall she seemed to be someone who, no matter what happened or what she had, just couldn't seem to be happy-
-yeah, me too. So, it was kind of a sad read, whcih I wasn't expecting. Also read a biography of DeForest Kelley, he was a legit nice guy so the bio was sometimes a bit slow, no drunken orgies or epic fist fights, but it was still refreshing to read about a guy who was exactly like the character he portrayed on Star Trek, a genuine good guy and old school Southern gentlemen like they don't make anymore, who was cordial and charming and decent and loyal, not cos he was trying to impress anyone, but because that was how he was raised and what he believed. Here's to him. And also to those of you who say I hate everything, anymore, I read two good mysteries since last issue, Bangkok- (MY NEW HOMETOWN!) -Haunts by John Burkett, and Avalanche, by Patrick McManus, liked them both, so there. Also picked up another paying writing assignment myself, only problem is I'm picking up on something somebody else didn't come through on, so I've gotta have it done by the end of next month, it's gonna be tight, but if I do come through, the pay will be real good. So guess what? Exactly- I'm gonna come through. TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN I, Roger (Roky) Erikson, do hereby declare that I am not a member of the human race (not an earthling) and in fact am an alien from a planet other than earth. I hope that this will prove to the persons who is putting electrical shocks in my head that I am an alien. I am declaring this so that I am not in violation of any world or international laws of the earth as I am showing by this admission that I am in fact an alien. The above from an official document, signed and notarized in the Travis County, Texas, courthouse, June 13, 1975, by Roky in a futile (I simply cannot imagine why this didn't work) effort to get the persons putting electrical shocks in his head, to quit. And people wonder why I love this guy. Sarah and I had movie night here earlier this evening like we used to out on Harmon's Creek (missed you loads, Rachie) with jalapeno poppers and mozarella sticks and Frito scoops and Tostitos southwesern ranch dip- unadulterated junk all, but traditional for movie night. We watched You're Gonna Miss Me (also the title of one of the Top 10 songs fucking EVER) about certified nut job Roky, it was either sad or gut bustingly funny depending on your views on mental illness, I laughed till I fucking cried, don't know how Roky got so damn nuts, the over 300 acid trips he took, or all the electroshock "therapy" after he was committed, or if it was just inherited- his Mom is batshit crazy for true- but our boy is out there. No, not there . . . way over THERE. What's amazing to me is that the same lunatic who can write something like the total wack job "I Know The Hole In Baby's Head" can also write somethng so moving and profound as "Goodbye, Sweet Dreams". Bizarre. She lies like she means it And she does at the time What's Bill listening to? Haven't gotten any SSSLB CDs in a couple months, I got out the turntable yesterday (Saturday) and listened to some old records, like the Music Machine (I was also reading about them in Ugly Things), I like the MM a lot, they played a hard, dark garage psych, pretty complex for the time and not a lot of peace and love going on in sound or lyrics, they did the fuzz guitar and organ thing I like so well, trippin' at the roller rink type stuff, you should check 'em out. Thing is, I've never seen a Music Machine best of CD that can touch the Rhino LP I've got, I remember I got this and the Strawberry Alarm Clock best of (among others) from Loretta for Christmans '85, it was on a Wednesday that year (our first Christmas in our new house on Carriage Way, yeesh) and I took the next two days off and stayed home listening to these two records, tie dying t-shirts in the kitchen sink (some of you may remember the orange and purple tie dyes I wore back then, this was right before the re-emergence of commercial tie dyes, I might add) and drinking beer from pretty much the moment Loretta left the house to go to work, till she got home. Good times. Some of you may also remember me saying, "Fuck next year being '86, I'm going to pretend it's '66", even back then I was already looking to the past to try and find my happiness, pathetic, really, and Chris saying "that sounds like a good idea", but whether he was serious or just humoring me, I don't know. What's Bill drinking? Green tea. Been a dry spell, partly cos I've been really busy, and partly cos my stomach has not been good. Had a Cherry Bomb before, and drank some beer after, the show in Mannington, drank three draft Harpoons Friday after the show in Rand, drank- the bottles are right here, let me count them- 16 Rolling Rock yesterday afternoon and night while reading and listening to music, and that's been it for the past two weeks. What's the DF been up to? Too much, really, he wrestled 28 times combined in June and July, that may have a lot to do with why my knee is so goddamn sore, I'm only working three shows next month, and I'm sticking to it. As mentioned earlier Danny and I worked a show in Mannington last weekend, I'm thinkng, shit, we're gonna drive over 150 miles each way and I bet there won't be twenty people in that damn gym to watch us. Again, shows what I know. There were five hundred fans there. Yeah, you read that right, five hundred people, 500, I could not fucking believe it. The show was actually promoted by this local guy, Mike White, a total mark, with the condition that he be in a hardcore match in the main event. At first I was like, "Jesus Christ, get him in the ring and kill the son of a bitch", but when I saw he'd put 500 asses in the seats, (and my pay reflected it) it was all cool. Still, I didn't like him and his dumbfuck mark buddies being in the locker room, until they brought in two cases of beer for the workers, and even better, Mike's really hot girlfriend, and two of her really hot friends. The girls were mixing some kind of drink pretty much right in front of me, so I went over to introduce myself, girlfriend, who said her name was Nitro (?), immediately got on my good side by looking me up and down, comparing me to the rest of the locker room, and then saying, "You're one of the real wrestlers, right?" Oh yes, as real as it gets, baby doll. Then she asked me if I wanted a drink, I startd to just say no automatically, but then asked what they were drinking. Cherry bombs, which are Red Bull and cranberry vodka (or these were, anyway) I thought a minute, then said, sure, I mean, one drink never hurt anyone, and I'd already gotten my match and finish from Johnny (a double count out of the ring with WVWA Appalachian Champ Wildcat, so I knew it was going to be an easy match that I was calling) so I figured what the fuck. Not a bad drink. And the price was certainly right.
I got one of the other girls cell phone number- I didn't ask for it, she volunteered it, not sure what I'm going to do with it since I'm not in Mannington much, had an okay match, the crowd liked it, drank two beers as fast as I could right after I got back to the locker room, watery Bud Light, but agan, the price was right, two more, more slowly while I was cooling down, and getting showered and dressed, then took two with me for the ride back home. Might have been the drinkng, I don't know, might just be cos I'm a prick, but I went off on this little Fatty McButterpants mark who's always at these NBW/MWA shows whining, "I want to DO something", always pissng and moaning about not having a spot in the shows, they let him do some ring announcing, or sometimes manage someone, but it's never enough for this guy, he's always crying that he's not appreciated and shit, its not just me, he annoys the fuck out of Danny too, in Mannington I just got tired of hearing his crybaby act and sat him down and explained the facts of life to him as I see them. Didn't do any good in the overall sense, he was still crying like a little bitch at the next show- but at least he now avoids me like the fuckng plaguie. Had a fairly lackluster match with Wes Lynch in Rand Friday- DFZ over with the OD- but something good still came of it as, after an absence of far too long, I couldn't be happier to annouce the return of the Falconettes. Or, Falconette. Nikki's just another mark wanting to get involved, to "do something", just like our boy up north, but in her case, she's also a damn cutie pie double plus. She came out with Wes on Friday cos there was really no one else for her to come out with, but once I saw her, fucks sake, I pitched her on the idea of coming over to the dark side and being a Falconette, and she was all for it- even after I explained to her about the initiation. It's good to be the Death Falcon, and it's good to be the champ. Check out her photo this issue and see what I mean. I'm gonna shut it down for the night, I know it's amazingly early, but for one thing, I'm not drinking, which as we all know gives you energy, also I'm still feeling rough from all the beer yesterday, didn't get much sleep last night, plus I got to get up early tomorrow and go to the bank before I go to Al's- not to mention I have to be up in time to get the seniors early bird fruit cup and bran muffin special. Your final words for this issue? (I GOT YOUR FUCKING BRAN MUFFN RIGHT HERE). Anything else? (HARE KRISHNA, OR SOMETHING). Hare Krishna or something to you. And to you. Absolutely, positively Later Bill
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Here's my situation 
(I'VE HEARD OF PEOPLE LIKE THAT)
I'm standing there drinking with the girls when mark Mike comes in,
kind of gives me the hairy eyeball, I tell him "Brother, I'm keeping
an eye on your girl for you, this is a wrestling locker room, some of the
guys in here . . . you know" and I rolled my eyes, he bought it,
"Oh yeah, thanks buddy", he says, sure man, anytime, and goes
off to worry some more about what he's gotten himself into (he needn't
have, Johnny Hard was very good to him in their match, too good, I think,
he may have given us all a nice payday, but Johnny still should have
smartened him up a little).