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9/1/02
Editor's note- this was done late last night/early this morning, but the Bill hating Internet wouldn't let me send it out for some reason- insert obligatory anti-computer rant here . . . ) Hey Jeez, eight full months of this spew, and it's coming out harder than ever. Sort of like- ah, never mind. Okay, you all know the drill by now. What's Bill drinking? Well, the usual suspect, Bud, but these are chilling beers tonight, not pissed off beers like last newsletter. Actually, been behaving myself for the most part for some time now- it's just that when I don't, I really don't- and as proof I offer the fact that when I was at my parents earlier today I jumped on their scales and- 220, stark raving nekkid. The Golden Mean. Remember last issue when I said I felt in rude health? Feeling ruder. What's Bill listening to? Well, I got the new MOJO, which had a free Trojan's (not what you're thinking, it's an old Jamaican record label) 20 Reggae Greats CD in it, so I'm struggling like a man to get through it. Fucking hell, I hate reggae. Slow, boring, "oh my brudda, oh my seesta, Babylon go down, Jah provide," aaah. Godamighty, I mean, Jahamighty, it's trying my damn patience here. And as we all know, I don't HAVE ANY FUCKING PATIENCE. Well, shit, once again, I'm probably being too harsh, there's actually a couple semi-okay songs on here, this Bob Marley one about some demonic crow (what it sounds like to me, anyway) and a version of "I'm So Proud" that's not butchered too badly, and that I get to sing along with in my falsetto voice (which is one higher than my girlie voice- dogs howl their throats bloody, and bats fall from the sky like rain, when I sing falsetto). Some really fine organ sounds on some of them as well, my thing with the organ is well documented, even people who hardly know me say, "Yeah, that Bill, he's a big organ man." This is just such shitty beer drinking music, it's made for that ganja scene they got down there. MOJO is still a mofo of a magazine, though, and Kat, although you probably don't remember it, you brought me back a MOJO when you were in Blighty (and what did YOU bring me back from Britain last time you were there, Joe, I'll tell you what, nothing, you motherfucker, not a damn thing, last time I went to London to be a fucking rock star, I TOOK YOU WITH ME- I know, and you still haven't forgiven me) when it was totally unavailable here, issue # 2, in fact, which I've been offered $60 for and turned down. Cheers, luv. Joe, you can kiss me. I'm square up with the ganja thing, though (we're back into reggae now). Never was huge into it, cos, not being a smoker, it hurts my chest ("Don't inhale so deep." "Then what's the fucking point?"), and I don't really like getting laid back just for the hell of it, though I have to say that giggly stoner thing is probably preferably to that beered up "you talking to me?" thing, but I absolutely adore it as a sex aid, cos smoking dope makes me horny as hell. I know, breathing makes me horny as hell. Maybe it's just that I'm a child of my times, but give me a head full of dope, a dark room, candles and incense, and I'd do your grandma, sandpaper snatch and all- for like six hours. That reminds me of a story they tell in the Huntington office, two of 'em were doing a home visit on this batty old thing, they walk in and she's got some potpourri going, one of 'em says, "Oh, something smells so good." Grandma says, "That's my cootch." I'd have busted my damn guts. You know, the best reggae song I ever heard, far and away, now that I think about it, was that one of Dwayne's, remember it Dave, best song he ever wrote, in my book, cos while I always liked his singing, never much cared for his writing. "Keep On Working". We used to play it a lot that summer we were hanging out with him, which was- 10 years ago, God bless, this time thing FUCKS WITH MY HEAD. Keep on working for a better life Keep on working, till you get it right Ordered some CD's from www.musicmaster.com check 'em out if you like
old heavy rock stuff. Among others, got CDs by both the Deviants and Pink
Fairies, what my pal MOJO calls "essential speed freak aggro".
Essential in this house, anyway. Also been reading a book about Muddy Waters, Can't Be Satisfied. Did you know the first song he learned was "I Don't Want No Black Woman To Charly Ham My Bones"? No fucking shit, Mud, I thought that went without saying. Wouldn't you just love to HEAR that song, though? Ordered some videos from- this place- Best Ofs of Hypatia Lee (RIP), Christy Canyon, and Savannah (also, RIP). Don't know when I'll get around to watching them, cos I find watching videos of this type- unaccompanied- an exercise in sheer frustration, but they were priced, as a threesome (ha), too good to pass up. Missed out going fishing with Chris and some of his buds this weekend cos I've got the girls, and I'm not trying to sound self righteous, though I easily still might, but they get enough of, "I got a better offer, I'm giving up my weekend with you", from their mom (who got a better offer, and gave up this weekend with them, and is out of town again). Though damn, this one's sort of hurting, cos I really did want to go fishing. Not much to recommend media wise, wish I'd thought about it earlier so I could have let you all know, TCM was showing surf movies at 10 on Sundays all this month, not that Beach Blanket stuff (Annette's Got The Hits, you know, I saw an interview with her once where she said she was offered a million dollars when she was in her early 20s to do a slow strip out of a Mouseketeer costume, to a raunched up version of "The Mickey Mouse Theme", goddamn, sorry, just fell outta my chair), but documentary stuff from the 60's. Love the time frame of the movies, love the subject. I spent a couple weeks the summer of '74 at Ocean City, MD, not usually a big surfing spot, though they try, but there was this offshore storm shit going on, kicking up huge waves- for there, we're not talking pipeline or anything- and I tried it, and found out I fucking LOVE it. Surfing is SO fucking cool, I'm talking the whole experience, I love the ocean, I just hate the dangerous shit that lives in it, and it's not all that hard, if you can skateboard, you can surf in your sleep, it's much easier. And girls like surfers. Tried to stay up Tuesday night and watch Hand Of Death at midnight, but school's back in session, and that extra hour getting up in the morning makes a difference. It's not that great a movie, I guess, it's from '62, but I've never seen it because the print was lost sometime in the mid 60's and just rediscovered, mostly wanted to watch it cos the immortal (even thought he's dead) Jack Kirby allegedly stole his design for the equally immortal Ben Grimm, The Thing, from the monster in this movie. Starring John Agar, who you'd know if you've ever seen an old monster movie even if you don't recognize his name, and who just died this spring, unfortunately. Filmfax just did a piece on him, including explaining his divorce from Shirley Temple (yeah, that one), with "Agar was a drinking man, and they're often difficult to live with amicably." True, how true. Speaking of comics, found a great website, www.dccomics.com/dcdirect with an unbelievable amount of cool stuff. Only problem is, they only sell to comic retailers, a pain in the ass, but not insurmountable, I still keep in touch with Comic World Greg, gonna stop in sometime soon and have him order me a bunch of posters, gonna decorate the living room in early Justice Society of America, they've got some incredible Alex Ross JSA posters for only $8 each. Tom, they also got a great Hal Jordan GL. Love (been using that word a lot this issue, I'm actually in a really good mood tonight, got a couple e-mails earlier this week that brightened my world considerably, among other things) the JSA, their powers are so retro (Dr. Midnite, this blind guy, his schtick is the blackout bomb, so the bad guys can't see either, so they're . . . even. No superpowers at all, just this bomb that makes you blind like him. What the fuck?) and their uniforms are just wonderful, this old school looking stuff, and incredibly colorful, Dr. Fate's (awesome helmet) blue and gold, The Spectre's green and black and silver, Hourman's (who's Miraclo- Miraclo!- pill gave him superpowers for an hour, but if the hour ran out while he was in the middle of fighting, say, Solomon Grundy, then he was toast, and guess what seemed to always happen?) black and gold. Great characters, great costumes, see them soon on a wall near me. Gotten a few requests since last issue for more recipes (again!). Jeez, I don't see Martha Stewart sending you pictures of her with her head split open. I'll try and come up with some next time- here's some food advice, for now. Eat lots of yogurt- I do, and between that and the green tea (and not staying up nights anymore wondering what the fuck someone is up to) I've pretty much eliminated that hellish stomach burn thing I used to have. Don't buy that sugary Yoplait and its ilk bullshit, get some plain, nonfat yogurt, put some fruit in it, tons cheaper, tons better for you. Gonna be kind of tart, but if you want to eat ice cream, then fucking eat ice cream. Had lunch with Jason Friday before last, his 27th birthday. I sort of see him as the little brother I never had (even though I'm the same age as his ma), we spent a couple hours at it, put a hurting on the Pizza Hut buffet, I enjoyed it. He shares his birthday with the completely edible Barbara Eden, I think she may be my favorite beautiful woman of all time, I know she imprinted on me early (her VOICE gets me hard, and if I had a dime for every time I've fantasized her saying "And what do you want me to do now, Master?", I could buy the fucking universe), she has to be the most unbelievably preserved 68 year old in history, I'll have some of what she's having, no, fuck that, I'll just have her. Looking forward mucho to yer 80's party, Mr. Spurlock, appreciate the name check in the official invite, I'll do my best to live up to expectations (and Chris K, hey dude, looking forward to seeing you there, you too Mark). Not sure if I'll enter the break dancing contest, since break dancing is an insipid 80's yak, but I figure to shake it at some point. Your boy Bill, as some of you already know, is a dancing, dancing, dancing, he's a DANCING MACHINE. Let's see, Joe's seen it, Kat, of course, Rosa, whoo, remember Pipestem in '86 (don't tell Doug), Jason, we had an excellent time dancing with those nice girls from Summersville, Angie and Lena, at Cedar Lakes '98, woulda danced with you, Amy but you weren't there, Erin, you must've been there but I don't remember seeing you, probably a combination of my intake and your having the sense to stay away, particularly if you were at all warned about wrestling madness '97, where among other things, at one point I did a flying cross body block- got major air, too- on dear, departed Flo (that's not what killed her, by the way), and Diana, that could have been a mistake, I'm lucky I didn't poke my eye out on her- well, never mind, but I'll bet it's hard as a stick, and pointed. When it comes to dancing I have 1 step, 3 speeds- slow, fast, epilepsy- and 2 positions-vertical, and horizontal (figure it out). All I've ever needed, all I'll ever need. GBHF Tom's off at college, Marshall, to be exact, and there's a very tangled connection there, sort of like me and Marshall is to Tom, what my dad and France was to me, I'll explain it later, anyway, hey Atomico, I'd say find me a college girl, but I think I've already got one. Staci has been e-mailing me since she got back to Shepard. Give her points for persistence, as well as path finding. Finally figured out who she looks like. I always thought she looked familiar, saw an old picture of Michelle Phillips from the very early days of the Mamas and Papas, again in the new MOJO, the picture is on page 129 of the August issue, the one with Bob Marley on the cover, if you're cool enough to have it in your home (although you're probably saying by now, why buy it, you've about damn read it to us). Staci looks exactly like MP in that photo- or she did when I last saw her, and she wasn't wearing my mask. Not sure exactly what I'm gonna do about Staci. Part of me's a little- I don't know, perplexed, why's such a good looking young thing like that chasing after me, I mean, I know we did the deed, and I know it was a damn fine evening, but dear God, even I'm not gonna tell you I'm THAT good (once you've gone Bill- I don't know, I can't think of a rhyme right now, you know what I'm trying to say), and says just leave it alone, there's got to be some catch, but the Death Falcon's breathing so damn heavy I can hardly hear myself think, and sometimes he gets hold of the car keys. I guess we'll all just have to wait and see. Jack told me earlier tonight Joe's finally got his boat in the water. My heartiest congratulations, Popeye. That has to be the most expensive, both time and money wise, free boat anyone's ever gotten in the history of the world, and I sincerely commend Joe for being such a damn good sport through it all- I'm being serious, here. I'd have been a raging demon with a fraction of the provocation. Doug, on the other hand, wants to drive me crazier than I already am. He sends me this e-mail saying you need to check this book out, it's perfect for you, it could change your life- okay, a slight exaggeration, but that was the drift. Except, he didn't tell me what book. Doug? While I'm on the subject of Doug (hey, I saw Nosmo slinking down the street the other day with your boot print on his ass, you're the fucking man- uhm, after me) check out the website for his rocket launching group, www.wvsoar.org what's it called, Doug, The Mad Scientist's Club? Doug's the VP and Webmaster and you'll get to see a neat picture of him wearing his rocket club hat. It's scanner time, figured you might be getting bored with nothing but pictures of me, in my various incarnations- someone e-mailed me asking who the butterfly man was last issue, dear God, it was ME, who's newsletter IS this?, by the way, blue butterfly man is ahead of psychedelic butterfly man by two votes, if you haven't voted yet, it's not too late. Was gonna send out advice on being a strong man (hence this issue's title), but it didn't scan out so well, so instead, I'm sending out proof that early 60's comics guys were all on drugs (Red Kryptonite is my guess). Not sure how they'll come out, the JPG resizes look a little funky, but you know what, nothing ventured . . . Think I'm gonna go, the old clock on the wall says it's time for all good little Death Falcons to be in their beds, they need their sanity sleep. Space Will Be Their Palestine. No, I don't know what it means, it's the title of an old Hawkwind song, I just thought it sounded cool . . . Later. Bill
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