Guess I'm Doing Fine
09.28.05 (7:25 pm) [edit]Thinking about Sheryl right now as I listen to Beck's Sea Change. She's having surgery on her ankle tomorrow. I wish I could help her feel better somehow. I still care for her very much, think of her very often, and hate to see her hurting. And a Beck song (no, not MTV Makes Me Want to Smoke Crack, you assholes) is making me think of her right now. I hope she's doing fine too. Or will be soon.
There’s a blue bird at my window
I can’t hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don’t look the same to me
I just wade the tides that turned
Till I learn to leave the past behind
It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine
All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Got no time to watch them grow
Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me
It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine
Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that I’ve been missing
Missing all this time
It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine
My Shit List
09.27.05 (8:55 pm) [edit]Currently working on tunes for my supposed solo act, coming hopefully soon to a shithole vaguely not too far from you, or somebody. Or something.
Here's the poop I do:
1. Neil Young - Heart Of Gold
2. Neil Young - Revolution Blues
3. Neil Young - Rockin' in The Free World
4. Neil Young - Powderfinger
5. The Rolling Stones - Get Off My Cloud
6. Buddy Holly - Words Of Love
7. Buddy Holly - Not Fade Away
8. Buddy Holly - Well All Right
9. Bob Dylan - Tangled Up In Blue
10. The Beatles - Nowhere Man
11. The Beatles - Something
12. The Beatles - You've Got To Hide Your Love Away
13. Pink Floyd - Pigs (Three Different Ones)
14. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
15. Pink Floyd - Mother
16. Johnny Cash - Delia's Gone
17. Kevin Gilbert - When You Give Your Love To Me
18. Mike Keneally - Ankle Bracelet
19. Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend
20. Matthew Sweet - Evangeline
21. Adrian Belew - Inner Revolution
22. XTC - Scarecrow People
23. XTC - Dear God
24. Warren Zevon - Lawyers, Guns, And Money
25. Warren Zevon - Reconsider Me
26. Jethro Tull - Mother Goose
27. Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over
28. George Harrison - Beware Of Darkness
29. George Harrison - Blow Away
30. Bob Dylan - Lay Lady Lay
31. Bob Dylan - Simple Twist Of Fate
32. Bob Dylan - Idiot Wind
33. Jimi Hendrix - The Wind Cries Mary
34. Jimi Hendrix - Little Wing
35. King Crimson - I Talk To The Wind
36. Tom Waits - Get Behind The Mule
37. The Allman Brothers - Melissa
38. Talking Heads - Psycho Killer
29. Shirley Bassey - Goldfinger Theme
30. Toad The Wet Sprocket - Fall Down
31. Cracker - Low
32. Robert Cray - Bad Influence
33. Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth
34. Velvet Underground - Rock And Roll
35. Frank Zappa - Idiot Bastard Son
36. Elvis Presley - Little Sister
37. Neil Diamond - Cherry, Cherry
38. The Darkness - I Believe In A Thing Called Love
39. Tenacious D - Fuck Her Gently
40. Prince - Raspberry Beret
41. The Smithereens - Blues Before And After
42. Boston - Amanda
43. AC/DC - Rock And Roll Ain't Noise Pollution
44. CSNY - Almost Cut My Hair
45. Radiohead - Karma Police
46. Warren Zevon - My Shit's Fucked Up
47. Alice Cooper - Only Women Bleed
48. Beck - Guess I'm Doing Fine
49. XTC - Then She Appeared
50. Todd Rundgren - Compassion
51. Spinal Tap - Sex Farm
52. Spinal Tap - Gimme Some Money
52. Incubus - Drive
53. Chuck Berry - Maybelline
54. The Cars - Just What I Needed
55. John Hiatt - Have A Little Faith In Me
56. Tom Waits - The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me)
57. David Bowie - Ziggy Stardust
58. Doug Boucher - Failure Is My Best Friend
59. Doug Boucher - The Way It's Done
60. Doug Boucher - I Apologize
The list is open to modification. A few songs are fairly ambitious (either instrumentally, vocally, or both) and might not end up making the final cut. A few other songs are completely insane. (No, I'm serious. I'm working up a solo version of Goldfinger. Really.) The Boston song is a blazingly obvious attempt to get laid that goes against all the principles I hold dear, but what the fuck. The final three are originals (the first two a few years old, the last written a few days ago) that are still in need of decent vocal meldoies to fuse the words with the somewhat absurd chord progressions I tend to write.
If all else fails, I've got about 60 more Neil Young tunes I can fill the holes in with.
And I have to be nuts to put myself in the same room as a Jeff Buckley song, let alone attempt to sing like that. So don't expect to hear that one anytime soon.
So, whaddya think?
Dougie
Monday
09.26.05 (7:41 pm) [edit]1.) I offered to take Katie for all this coming weekend to help Sheryl out, and get more time with our girl. Sheryl has several people helping out, but she's going to need all she can get for a while. I'm going to go into work early Friday and get out early to get right down there. I hope she can heal up well soon. I hate to think of her having to go through this, but I'm glad it worked out as well as it did. The way she described the accident, it could have been far worse.
2.) Looks like extra time at work this week. I was by myself today, since Bob had an interview for another job. If he goes, I'm going to have far more responsibility dumped on me than my current pay is worth. They're going to have to hire me on permamently and pay me at least another dollar an hour (he's making more than two bucks an hour more than me, though he's been there a while) or I'll be asking the temp agency for another job. I'm almost enjoying this gig, it's not particularly difficult but requires more actual thought than the other jobs they'd ran me through. Which is helpful. But there's still things that haven't been explained to me after nearly two months, or not explained thoroughly. 95% of what I do is no trouble now. Unfortunately, the other 5% can really be a nightmare. I got a lot done today and had a couple nice comments about my performance, but I also totally fucked up a shipment because I haven't seen one like it in a month and it was quickly ran through at the time. We got it together, but I was a bit disturbed that the supervisor seemed to be having trouble with it for a couple minutes as well. I think he made some shit up. I'm apparantly going to have to get this shit down fast, because I might be the only guy there who knows how to do it once I do.
3.) XTC's Nonesuch is making love to my head right now.
4.) Fun times at lunch.
Me: "Hey, sweetheart. How ya doin'?"
Her: "Hi there! Hey, I'm sorry, but I'm filled up and I have to seat you at another girl's table."
Me: "I,,,I,,,
Her: "Hehehe. (Looks away, probably trying to re-adjust her Bullshit-O-Meter for the gigantic flood that just hit it. She'll take good care of you."
Other Girl: "Yeah, I've got you. And besides, we're twin sisters. But she has the blue eyes."
Me: "Oh, I've NOTICED that. Definitely noticed that. Oh, yeah."
Her: (Really big grin, nothing to say, probably trying to process the devastating mix of true flattery and absolute Damn-This-Goofball-Really -Wants-To-Get-Laid bullshit.)
Other Girl: "I've got the brown eyes."
I barely paid attention to her. Her eyes could be maroon with chartreuse polka dots and I wouldn't give a sideways shit and a half. Not sure what she meant by the twin sister thing, but actually, they do rather look alike. But she doesn't have NEARLY the vibe Amanda does. Not nearly as fun. Very good waitress, though. But I sitll gave her half the tip I give Amanda.
It's nice to flirt so openly with someone who seems to enjoy it so much. I'm not sure why I decided to try this approach, but it beats anything else I can think of. (Hell, I didn't decide anything. It jsut happened this way. Which I think is better than trying to force it too much.) I'm not going to hide my bullshit, I'm going to throw it right out there and make it as funny as I can and hope she is at least entertained. Which seems to be working. Ain't getting my dick wet, but it's entertaining her, and that alone is pretty damn cool to know I'm able to pull off.
5.) Just started reading Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast Of Champions. Why does it take me so long to discover this stuff that people much cooler than me already know about? I've seen two references to Indianapolis landmarks so far, and it's interesting to note that such an interesting writer came from this part of the world.
6.) The complete lack of a sense of humour some people exhibit (often in a gratingly obvious self-serving way, and certainly with no attempt to understand where one is actually coming from) is beyond my ability to understand.
7.) Wednesday I call the guitarist in Cincy. Talked to him yesterday and he'll have info for me then on upcoming gigs. The northern band is likely dormant for three weeks straight after Saturday, and I can't afford that right now. So it's back to the grimier, more metallic world of the other band for a bit. After the killer weekend up north with people not likely to land me in jail for being within 100 yards of them, it's almost a bit sad. Then again, playing in Cincy is more financially sensible, it's easier to see Katie, I get a real day off on Sundays, and the beer is better. And besides, nobody up north has ever offered to show me her tits if I play ANYTHING, let alone some fucking Journey song. Some trade-offs are worth making.
8.) Katie will be able to see me again on Saturday with the band. This Eagles has special nights when they let kids in, and it happens to coincide with this very Saturday. I'm pretty happy about that, and she'll have the same extra ladies along to help out as last time, which I'm sure she'll enjoy. And I intend to utterly corrupt her with a new MST3K when we get back here. I now have a copy of Santa Claus Versus The Martians on DVD, and she simply HAS to see that. One of the true classics of a show I wish was still on the air. Just to hear Crow sing A Patrick Swayze Christmas makes it all good.
9.) I don't see Jenny quite as much these days. Which is probably good. The massive chemical rush has finally gone away, and has done so without fucking me up. Both the band and focusing on Amanda has helped there. I still can't look away when she walks by, but the few times I've talked to her recently have been much, more more controlled. She's amazing, but she's also in a world I can't, and probably don't really even want to be a part of, when I'm honest with myself. And you know what? After having her gazing off into the computer screen chewing her gum like I'm not there while I'm trying to ask actual work-related questions, it doesn't matter much anymore. I've already seen that one, sweetheart. But she sure is a beautiful lady.
10.) New Neil Young album out tomorrow. Prairie Wind. I saw two videos from it on Amazon, and though it's obvious he'll never learn another new trick ever again, I was surprised once more at his ability to take things I've heard a thousand times before and make them feel so good. It's supposedly in the Harvest/Harvest Moon vein. Which is certainly not a bad thing. But here's to hoping that his next album is really friggin' weird on a level approaching Greendale. And hey, he's again talking about the massive Archives sets. Not that I'll believe a fucking word of it until I'm rubbing my weiner up against the actual discs in a tantalizing rush of orgasmic Rock Nostalgia Box Set Joy, but hey, it's nice to hear him *mention* it again for the millionth time in over fifteen fucking years. I love you Neil, probably BECAUSE you are such an infuriating little tease, but you are.
Try not to think too much about that weiner/CD thing. You might go blind.
Love,
Dougie
Something About The Way The Clouds And Her Mixed
09.25.05 (8:41 pm) [edit]Serious stuff first.
I just got off the phone with Sheryl. Our friend Tal is visiting from Europe, and they were on the way to taking him up to Michigan when they were in a car accident. Tal and Katie are fine. Sheryl has a broken ankle.
Katie talked to me, but sounded very sad and tired. What a wretched day for all of them. I wish I was there to help. I'm fairly useless to them here.
My own day has been very uneventful, which is exactly what I wanted. This is the first day I've had off in over a month and a half. With the crazed band/Katie-visit weekend schedule, Monday back at work is almost a breather. Since I just had this three-day festival to play in, and they were supposed to be in Michigan tonight, I had to give up my Katie-time for the week. Which sucks (especially now that they've had this accident), but I really, really needed the time to do nothing much.
I did a bit of shopping for half an hour, but haven't left the apartment otherwise. Some cleaning, some CD organizing. Lots of fucking off doing next to nothing. Thank Christ.
The past few days have been great. I left work at lunch time Thursday. (They were great to me about the time off.) I went to Steak & Shake, had lunch, and invited Amanda up to Fairmount to see the band play. She looked very interested, though she had no idea where Fairmount was. Of course, no one else does either. I gave her directions and she said she'd try to make it up Saturday. I was buzzed out of my head. and spent the entire weekend having far too many unrealistic dirty little daydreams about coming off stage to my current favorite little wish-she-was-my-groupie.
"Oh Doug. You are the greatest bass player ever in the history of everything. Let me 'serve' you."
And of course, I never saw her. But I didn't really expect it. I just wanted it too bad.:)
I got there a bit late Thursday. But still ten minutes ahead of the fucking STAGE. Kinda hard to set up when there's nothing to set up on. So we got it together and finally played an hour and a half. Being Thursday, the night before the festival really began, we were mostly playing to locals. Probably 150 of them. Nice little turnout, and we played well if not great. I spent the first three songs feeling like I was in some weird version of ELP because our guitarist was completely inaudible, but that got fixed.
We dealt with a few minor annoying post-gig issues (more to do with local politics than anything that a normal human being would give a shit about) and i went back to my parents' to sleep.
Friday morning I manged to fit in a quick genealogy trip to the courthouse in Marion. I went with the intention of looking for land records, but my curiosity over the last thing I found there led me upstairs to another room. When I was there last, I found the paperwork for my grandparents' divorce, which mentions my mother and her two brothers. I'm glad my divorce ended up the way it did and we're working with each other so well on when I can see Katie. My grandfather had a set schedule down to what time he was allowed to be there, and exactly when he was expected to bring them back.
But Mom told me that Grandma had taken him back, then left him again. I'm not sure how this worked exactly, because I haven't found any indication of a second marriage.
Not to HER, anyway.
My trip Friday included three women in the office looking at me like I was out of my fucking mind when I started laughing my fool ass off at what one of them brought me. He remarried almost immediately after the divorce in 1956 and was divorced within a year. No kids mentioned in the papers, but who the fuck knows. Trying to put the pieces together from what Mom told me, it would seem that Grandma "took him back" while he was married to another woman. I'm not sure about this. I have no idea yet. My Mom recognized her name but knows nothing else. And I'm not even going to think about asking Grandma. I would like to clarify the timeline though, because I'm still confused how all this happened.
It was kinda entertaining to me, actually. I drove to the library to look up more records (Marion's library has one of the finest, maybe even the best genealogy collections I've seen in any small-town library, and there's loads of stuff microfilmed there that you'd normally have to dig through a courthouse for.) and was chuckling a bit. My image of my grandfather at that time is of a real bastard. And you know what? I wish I could go back and kick his ass for passing some of that shit down through my mother to me. I think I have more of him in me than I know what to do with, and I hope that if I have grandkids they don't think the same shit about me. Fuck, I'm trying hard enough now not to screw up Katie's head with my bullshit.
I zipped out from there to Gene's funeral. Got pulled over for speeding on the way, but didn't get a ticket. He saw my bass in the back, the clothes I was wearing, and asked where I was headed. "To a funeral for my cousin. Then directly to play music over at the James Dean Festival." He told me to slow down (I was going 61 in a 50 zone) and let me go. I was driving about 52 when he passed me like i was standing still. Cops in that area always strike me as being highly bored.
The funeral was cool, if such a thing can be said. Lots of people. Over 500. I sat with my cousin Gloria Jean, who I'd last seen before Christmas when we were at Grandma's house. Katie played with her grandkids. Gloria Jean is two years younger than my mom. Her mom left home when Dad was 8, and my aunt was always distant from the rest of us until the few years ebfore her death. My sister spent a lot of time with her then, and was very affected by her death five years ago. Gloria Jean has always been around though, and has been closer to Grandma than any of the rest of our generation. I spend very little time around my Dad's side of the family,so it was good to be there with her.
I knew Gene was a biker, but I had no idea how seriosuly he took it. half the people there were in Harley shirts and had rode their bikes in at the family's request. The preacher (in a Harley jacket) said that the town of Sims had called him the Sims 7:00 alarm because they knew they'd hear his bike then. He worked in an auto plant. Very typical Indiana kinda guy. With a big heart, and it was encouraging to see how many people had loved him. At one point, I saw a guy and his little girl (about 8 years old) walk outside. It took me a minute to remember that it was another cousin's daughter with her Daddy. They were outside hugging, and she was crying. And I sat there knowing that I knew him far less than most of the people there, and was kinda sad about that. I looked at the pictures that had been put up everywhere and had a strong flashback to the mid-70s when I saw one. I remembered him looking like that - long blonde hair, somewhat resembling Kerry Livgren in the early days of Kansas. And I remembered April's funeral when I was eight. He lost his little girl when he was only 21 years old.
He leaves two other kids. In their mid-20s, great-looking kids who now have no daddy. They rode their Harleys out to the cemetery. The ones he'd given them.
It was sad, but it was also a celebration of his life. I'm glad I was there. I hugged his kids and my cousin Pam on the way out. I had nothing worth saying to them. Who the fuck does right now?
At the graveyard, I talked with Pam's mom. My aunt Margaret (married to my Dad's older brother John) and I had what must have been the first true conversation we've had in 20 years. I see her at Christmas and say hi and bye and that's about it. She's always been very kind, and in recent months, I've been wanting to go see her and John, and talk to them about family thigns that I wasn't there to know. Uncle John would remember his grandparents (my Dad was born after thety both died) and though he was young himself when they died, he might be able to fill in my knowledge of them. My Uncle Neil is the oldest (now that Aunt Ellie is gone) but his memory seems to be more scattered, and frankly, he's so fucking nuts that I don't beleive a thing he says. That's not a bad thing, by the way. I LOVE my Uncle Neil. He's absolutely BATSHIT in a way that only a balding toothless dirty old man can be. The crazy bastard was walking around outside the funeral home showing everyone pictures of his mannequin. A fucking MANNEQUIN he bought an an auction. "Jeannette came out one morning when it was in the front room and screamed her head off. Scared the shit out of her! She yelled 'Get that damn thing outside!' Hehehehehe."
He's fucking insane. I want to be just like him when I grow up.
I should have tried harder to talk to my aunt Roseanne, but it seemed everyone else already was. She found out last month that she has emphysema. Same thing that killed my Mom's father. Roseanne goes through two lighters a day, as Bill Hicks might say. I've never seen a woman smoke that much. She's one of those great country women that comes off like a total hardass, but is actually veryloving in her way. She was writing me often after Katie was born asking for pictures. She's on a machine now, but seems to be mostly doing well.
It took half an hour to get out of the cemetery. It was jammed full of cars and bikes. And I seriously hope that the girl in the Mustang in frony of me was on Gene's side of the family and not mine, because I was wanting to have some good old barnyard lovin' with that fine piece of country-girl ass. Holy SHIT. Twenty-something moody-loking girl who probably knows all the words to the complete Avril Lavinge catalog. I really have it bad for emotionally-damaged girls with long straight hair.
I didn't have time to go back to the church for the dinner, so I drove into town for a gyro sandwich and int Fairmount. Picked up my bass at my parents' and restrung it. I've been on the same set of bass strings for two years. But I boil them soemtimes, and I had a nice clangy tone for the gigs.
We got our shit set up on the somewhat-dangerous stage (basically a bunch of heavy-duty folding-leg tables stuck together, and I thought a few times this weekend thatI was going to go headfirst off the stage when one of the legs collapsed, but it never happened) and prepared for the gig. Ran through I Fought The Law for soundcheck. For the first time since I've done this (Ten years? That long? Holy shit.) we actually sounded good onstage. I usually can't hear half of what I'm supposed to hear, and get four thousand decibels of drums in my ear at all times. I know this is rock and roll sacrilege, but I'm thrilled that our drummer plays electronic drums. They usually sound good, and they don't DESTROY MY GODDAMN HEARING. Voume fucking control, bitch. Volume fucking control. I definitely appreciated that.
We played well. We wore the "gay shirts" again. (See a previous post for that story.) We've played better, btu I was very happy with it.
Then the main events.
Mitch Ryder beat my goddamn head in. Holy FUCK, that old guy rocked. He came out and I kinda laughed. Yeah, he's from Detroit, he looks like he just ogt off shift at the auto plant. He opened with Lou reed's Rock And Roll, which the band BLITZED through. I guess this isn't his usual band (he told our keyboardist that if you really wnat to see him, see him with his band back in Detroit) but they rocked like all fuck. Laid out the riffs like they weremade of steel. Pounded the motherfuckers. Mitch didn't move around much (I found out later that he recently had a double hip surgery) but vocally he delivered wonderfully. Doesn't sound like he used to. Sounds fuckin' great anyway.
Several years ago we had a wonderful time opening for the Crickets. But Friday was the best time I've ever had at the Dean Fest. To play as well as we did then be followed by a true fountain of driving '60s rock and roll, still hammering it out better than guys a third his age, it was one of the greatest experiences in my 19 years of bass playing, An absolute fucking honor.
He was in our keyboardist's car within 60 seconds of coming off stage, back to his hotel. I shook his hand, told him that he totally kicked my ass and it was a thrill to open for him, and thanked him for playing Jenny Take A Ride. I sorta wish I'd pushed harder earlier in the day - it was originally supposed to be me taking him back to his room, but somehow Steve ended up behind the wheel. I'm glad for him. He got to talk football and auto manufacturing with a rock legend. I would have probably drooled on myself.
Next up was Lou Christie. I should ahve stayed, but I was flying so high from seeing Mitch, and from themix of adrenaline and sheer exhaustion, that I needed out. I heard two of Christie's songs, and quite enjoyed them. My parents told me I might have ended up liking him even more than I did Mitch. Maybe. I wish I'd stayed.
When I got home, I took a call from my friend Tim. he lives in Michigan and was back in town visiting in-laws and going to a Phil Keaggy show in Ft. Wayne.(Dammit! I really need to see Keaggy again.) He wanted to get together Saturday morning.
so he got to witness Gig Three for the weekend. We got to our singer's house at 10 AM and setn up for the weirdest thing I've ever done. We were in the parade. Our drummer's Dad pulled us on top of a flatbed tralier. Since our band name is derived from The Wizard Of Oz, we put up a background of the Emerald City, and our guitarist's wife put together severalcostumes for people to dress up in and follow us in, throwing candy to the kids on the sides of the street. She was Dorothy, and she NAILED it. My God, she's cool. Matt (who is one of the finest human beings I know himself) got damn lucky with her. She's got a great sense of humour, she's smart and quick and funny and fun, and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. She did a WONDERFUL job of putting this together with the singer's wife (who is also fabulus, and was a very good Scarecrow) and visually, it was extremely cool.
Musically, I wasn't sure it would work. It did. We crammed into this tiny space on this trailer, and hung on for dear life. When Denver first took off driving, I nearly went ass first itno the drums. I sat down for a couple songs, but sitting on the side of the thing also hurt my ass, so I stood back up. And nearly went face first itno the amp. We were only going a couple miles an hour, but it was rather unstable.
But it worked! We played the simplest stuff we know, and there were a ton of people along the whole route who obviously really enjoyed us. Tim and the drummer's mom followed along taking pictures. The only way I could be comfortable standing up for most of the 25 minutes (five hours total time into a 25-minute parade) was to be in a position where I was holding my bass straight ahead of me, turned to the side. I either looked like a rock god, or a total fucking poseur.
Afterwards, Tim showed me pictures of his recent trip to England (he was in Liverpool the day the London bombings happened) and took off for the Keaggy show. We've talked and emailed some, btu it was the first time i've actually seen him in nearly four years. It was nice.
Tim and I recorded a bunch of Neil Young tunes together some years back. We did a version of Come On Baby, Let's Go Downtown that you can find here:
http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/comedow ntown.mp3" title="http://www.geocities.com/eraserhead667/comedow ntown.mp3" target="_blank"http://www.geocities.com/eras...
Yeah, it's still Geocities (I'll take the time to get a real page soon, hopefully) so you'll probably either not get it at all, or it will take a few tries. Sorry about that.
I'm doing the lead vocal. Tim is doing the lead guitar and backign vocals, and the nasty grungy gutiar in the back doing rhythm and fills is me. I'm playing bass, Tim is manually playing a drum machine. Neither of us can play drums worth a shit. This track was harder to record, and I was sick of it by the time we were done, but listening back, it's one of the best things we've done together. We might get around to more sometime.I'd like to.
I ran home for dinner (Mom boiled some chicken for a few hours and made tacos, and I ate WAY too much of it, which destroyed half an octave off the top of my vocal range, which I found out on the way back to Fairmount singing in the car) and got back for another set-up and soundcheck. There were TONS of people down there. I've never been there on a Saturday, but it was packed, and we really wanted to keep them there for the gig. There was a Dean look-alike contest before us, and we'd be going on late.
Back home for a shower and to pack my shit up to come back to Indy right after the gig. And I loaded up myself too - I hadn't drank at all for a few days. But this was the end of the weekend, and I felt like letting go and really enjoying myself.
My little plastic bottle of orange juice and no-not-anything-else-at-1 00-proof-all was half empty when we hit the stage. There was a shitload of people, but it was well past 10PM and many left right away. But we hung on to a lot of them for most of the hour and a half set, until the end when we were down to less than the first gig twonights previous.
We opened with Cheap Trick's version of Ain't That A Shame. I rode a B note for a long time, and was a complete poseur. Didn't care. I gave up any thought about anything other than playing as well as possible and looking as good as I could for any of the bazillion young ladies out there who would just love to have a fat hairy bass player....uh....be anywehre but near them.
As I said before, I figured Amanda wouldn't be there, but I was still somewhat hopeful that she was there somewhere. I dug in hard and I've probably never been more animated onstage for an entire gig. I do it for a song or two, not for a whole hour or two. I played my ass off. Not a lot of subtlety - I'm lucky my wrists aren't a fucking mess from trying to break strings like I was - but right in the groove and just the right amount of flash. Matt told me afterwards that I looked like Gene Simmons. Which I would have punched him for if it wasn't pretty much what I was going for. Hey, I'm playing rock and roll here. It's no longer of any use to me to pretend that anything I'm doing is truly anything more than entertainment created for the purpose of making drunk white people dance. Why take it seriously anymore? I've never felt like I was playing bass for money or pussy, but here I am. I need the money, and if I don't get the pussy soon, somebody is gonna get a Squier P-bass in their ass.
It was fuckin' fun as hell.
Even breaking down was great. A guy came up with a sack of burgers for us, and were were greeted by young women asking for autographs.
Very young. Goddammit. If they were 15, I'll eat my E string. But hey, they dug us. Mark said "Well, you've gotta play to the teeny-boppers for a while and move up from there." Fine, but I don't want to go to JAIL. Where's my waitress???
There was a fairly nice looking redhead there too, probably about my age. She seemed to know a couple of the guys. And barely looked at me. Fuck.
I drove home happy. Stopped in Muncie at La Bamba's for more late-night food.Got home at 2AM. Went right to bed and woke up at 10:30 this morning. It's been a great weekend, and even with all the insanity (and back pain that came to hit me like a motherfuck this morning when I got up, payback for three days of running my ass off and trying to be Jack Black) it was all the proof I need that I'm heading in a good direction lately. I'm broke, my weekday job is hardly going to keep me going, and I'm still working through a lot of inner shit from watching my utter failure as a husband finally bite me on the ass, but you know what? I take very little of this seriously when I'm doing what I'm here to do. Which is to be the obnoxious low-end for a rock band, apparantly. It's a great job. I'd love to do it every night.
I do miss my girl, though. Going two weeks without her hurts. But I know she's safe with her mommy, and is probabyl trying very hard to help Mommy out now after the accident. She's such a great, thoughtful kid.
Last week, I took her to Dayton. We had lunch with friends and went to the Air Force Museum. As we were pulling itno the museum's parking lot, I was listening to Warren Zevon's version of Raspberry Beret. Singing along. Katie was in the back, just sitting there. Halfway through the song, she asked, "Daddy, is the girl in the song pretty?"
Wha...wha...huh?
"Uh, I suppose so, honey. I guess she had to be pretty for him to want to write a song about her. The guy who wrote it is caled Prince. the guy singing it is named Warren Zevon. He's one of my favorites, but he's no longer with us. He died recently, but I love his music. Do you like it, honey?"
"Yeah, it's pretty cool. I bet the girl in the song is pretty."
"Not as pretty as you, Katie."
She has the greatest little grin when she's eating up a compliment. You should see it.
Love,
Dougie
Too Many Choices
09.21.05 (9:36 pm) [edit]There's getting to be far too many concerts I want to see in October.
I havne't been going out to shows much. Not enough money, not really a lot of drive to do so. But I'd figured on seeing either Al DiMeola, John Scofield, or Alice Cooper. THEN I find out Sleepytime Gorilla Museum are coming, and that got bumped up to the top of my list.
Until five minutes ago. Lewis Black is coming soon. AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!
All this shit is happening within less than three weeks of each other. I want to make at least two, if not three. but goddammit, I've gotta see Uncle Lew again.
"I realize that I say the word 'fuck' quite a bit. And frankly, I don't give a shit."
Dougie
Die, Asshole, Die
09.19.05 (6:05 pm) [edit]I just found an article in the local paper about two clerks killed at a convenience store north of Lafayette. The man wanted for these killings is also wanted for killing a 13-year old girl in her home. Near Cincinnati.
I went to the Cincy paper and saw the address. Holy shit. Only a few miles from where my daughter lives (in a place where everyone thinks they're safe), a grandmother came home and found her teenage grandchild (named Katie, which made my stomach turn) dead. The man police suspect in this and the two other killings already faces two charges of rape and 24 charges of sexual crimes against minors.
If all this is true, this is the place where I part with my liberal friends on capital punishment. I'm no Texan. This country has a hell of a lot of blood on its hands, due to both a bad legal system and the bloodthirst of many citizens who can't accept the many reasons for letting people live - not letting them get away with crime, but not turning society as a whole into a murderer as well. I despise capital punishment more all the time. Especially coming from supposedly religious people who talk the completely fabricted idea of "the sanctitiy of life" (yeah, right, there's a joke on the most basic of levels) but have no problem killing in the name of.
But fuck this asshole. Rape? Child abuse? Sexual abuse? Then he kills a 13-year old girl in her home and two people in a fucking gas station? I think this is a pretty good excuse for capital punishment. In fact, I think it's a damn good excuse for police brutality. I hope he resists arrest, gets shot a couple times, beaten half to death by a hail of clubs, raped in the ass in prison, THEN injected with the tainted piss of an AIDS-infected pit bull. Then shoot him in the back of his fucking worthless head.
But enough about George Bush.
I kid! I kid!
Fucking scumbag. Seriously, I will be very pleased to see this shithead caught.
Dougie
You Know What I Could Use Right Now?
09.16.05 (10:28 pm) [edit]1.) A good rimjob.
OK, that's my intro, and I'm sticking to it. Unfortunately, so would YOU.
I have two readers left. Let's proceed.
2.) Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to? Well, waitresses, biker chicks, and my left hand. That's who. Fuck you, Tommy Tutone. Fuck you in your wrinkled '80s asshole.
Amanda. Sweet, delicious Amanda.
I've got a fucking Boston song in my head. Boston. Courtesy of Tom Scholz. The man who can make 9 million guitars sound like they are coming through a straw.
And I'm probably going to pick up my guitar and LEARN that song, because I am a fucking whore and I want to get laid, that's why. Not that I expect it to work, but a boy can dream, can't he?
I went back to Steak & Shake Tuesday. After two days in a row of chili five-ways for lunch, I'm going to have to eat nothing but vegetables for the rest of the week to make up for the damage I'm doing to my colon.
And don't suggest "why don't you order something else?" It's against my religion to have anything else at Steak & Shake, and I've sinned against my Master maybe once in twelve years. L.A. might see something in this, since he's the one who introduced me to the beautiful world of chili five-ways back in Muncie all those years ago. (Before I moved to Cincinnati, which is supposedly the "chili capital of the world", but as Ron White would say, some Mexican kid with a goat and an onion could probably kick their ass.)
Anyway, I went back. And Amanda, who I would gladly devote my tongue to, met me right as I came to the door, pointed out the table for me, and yelled to the kitchen "I need a five-way!" She's a great waitress. I'd like her even if she looked like Keith Richards on a bad hair day. She always takes care of me.
I needed to go there. I had lunch packed and in the car, but I spent most of the day with the same two really hateful sentences going through my head over and over again (see a recent post about gee-I-wonder-who) and I needed to get that shit out of my head and feel like a decent human being again.
(Note: It's been a few more days: Gee-I-Wonder-Who and I had a talk. It was very nice and productive and took the edge off quite nicely.)
So I decided (it took almost an hour of mentally fighting with myself to do so) to go see Amanda. And funnily enough, I was a total chickenshit. She was VERY nice, more so than normal. And no, I'm not imagining this, more than to anyone else there. She went out of her way to be cool to me. Frankly. I think she was trying to make my weenie wet. And I know she was thinking about what I said to her yesterday, but even after all that, I couldn't think of ANYTHING to say to her. I sat there eating lunch, reading my Lovecraft book, totally ball-less. NOTHING to say or do but smile and say "Yeah, sure" when she asked me if I wanted another Coke.
It's as plain as fucking day by now that I want her to ride me like a cowgirl at at a Texas amusement park, but I didn't say shit to her. Whaddafuck?
(A few days later. Drunk. Dirtry little dreams of Amanda in my skull. I had a daydream at work today of throwing her up on the bar and moistening her hoo-hoo in front of God and eveybody. She screama "I need a five-way up here...oh fuck it, I need a towel!" ) I'm so obsessed with the thought of doing evil, sinful, delicious things with this woman, even the havarti cheese I'm eating tastes like furburger right now. Yes, now that Bll Hicks is gone, *I* am Goat-Boy! You'd think there'd be lines of women with carrots in hand, "Hello, Goat-Boy..."
Just seeing her was enough to made the day better, but I have no idea where my balls went. It's as obvious as all hell that I want to do things to her you wouldn't normally do to a farm animal, but I locked up anyway. I gave her my best "you're cute as hell, my face is your pussy's throne" smile. But that was about all I could do. Maybe I'm trying to keep from moving too fast, but mostly I think I'm still feeling the sting of a recent divorce, and for all my talk of munching pussy like a homeless guy at a buffet, I'm silll scared to death of getting involved with anyone. Which is fucking stupid, but look at who you're reading.
I'm not about to pretend that my intentions are anything but depraved at this point. I want to get my dick wet. Period. As arrogant as it might sound to say so, I happen to think I think I deserve it. But there's always things still lurking in my head. Thinking about how I've fucked up before. Thinking about my friend who just found out that his girlfriend is pregnant. I'm 35 now. Which is just young enough to feel like I still have a shot at having some fun, but old enough to think "Holy mother of fuck, I don't need a lot of extraneous shit in my life." If I have any regrets from recent years, it's letting myself being talked out of having myself snipped. Puts one hell of a damper on your cock, don't it?
3.) Jean-Luc Ponty has an album I'm listening to right now called Civilized Evil with a track called Forms Of Life that sound like it belongs on Tony Banks' first solo album. Kinda ironic, given a couple of fine people who've been reading this blog lately, eh?
4.) I'm trying to be more like Jesus tonight. Which is to say, I'm trying to be nothing like a Republican. Peace, forgiveness, humility. Not very GOP, is it? Not saying I'm actually pulling it off, but I'm TRYING. Which is far more than I can say for damn near every "Christian" I know.
5.) I finally got to see Real Time With Bill Maher again tonight. I admire him for his patience with idiotic Republicans. I also felt strong a wave of sadness seeimg George Carlin, who is lookimg a lot older these days. It breaks my heart knowing that I'll probably live to see the death of one of the greatest, most original minds in comedy. I'd give anything to walk up to him and say "Thank you. For being more honest and more insightful than nearly anyone I've ever encountered, for giving me hours of laughter, and for not only staying true to yourself, but for stiil pushing the envelope at an age when most people are sitting on their asses watching bad television. And while most people are stupid enough to think of you as merely cynical, *I* know that you have shown more true humanity than most. Thank you George. I love you, and I'll never forget the impact you've made on my life. Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits. And tits doesn't even belong on the list. I love you, George. You're my hero. If I can do anything at all to in a small way carry on your work, I'll know that I've been useful in this stupid, hypocritical, bullshit world."
I'm about to cry a little. Shit, I love George Carlin. I want to be more like him when I grow up. It really pisses me off that so few people understand where his newer material is coming from. Dammit, George you need to be with us longer. Please do so.
(Further note: The above is a few days old. I saw the newest Real Time a couple hours ago. Bill was brilliant. His final New Rule is oen of the most perceptive things he's ever written. Watching PJ O'Rourke was painful. I love the guy. I disagree with much of what he says, but he's a brilliant writer, an incredibly funny writer. His book The Bachelor's Home Companion is incredible, and it helped me survive my first few weeks at my new place. There's something to laugh your ass off to in every paragraph. Unfortunately, if you put him in a room with a few people who actually have compassion and decency, he comes off like a constipated man trying to pass a Volkswagon through his asshole. It was a great show, though.)
6.) Being honest with myself - something that isn't very fashionable in this Republican age, but I'm trying - I realize that tonight I've eaten more, drank more, and hated more in the past week than I have in a month. And I'm not happy with myself about that. But I'm letting go of the hate again, which is good, because I thought it had gone, and I don't need it coming back.
7.) No poofters!
8.) On the basis of the cover of the new Guitar World Acoustic, I'd like to shove my face up Sheryl Crow's snatch and play Meet The Clitoris. I know that as a Kevin Gilbert fan I'm supposed to think of her as a rotten whore, but damn, I wish she was MY rotten whore. Holy fuck. Those eyes make my penis harder than Dick Cheney in a roomful of war potesters.
Dougie
Roll Yer Own
09.16.05 (6:09 am) [edit]I've written shitloads of stuff in the past few days, but I've either deleted or ignored most of it. But I've got something new. And it's REALLY stupid. I haven't even seen her for two days, and have (for once) not even thought about her all that much. But a certain two-word phrase shot through my head a couple nights ago, and this amazingly dumb song came out of it. (With a very fine obscure reference at the end I hope someone gets.)
Gotta get me a pee test and boy I'm scared
When they see what drugs I'm takin', I know they'll stare
I've got some shit that'll get you higher than the fucking sky
If ya wanna get fucked up with me, you really should try
Smokin' Jenny
Smokin' Jenny
She's the stuff I need to get a buzz
I'll let you think up your own joke to go with "fuzz"
Smokin' Jenny
If I tried to use a lighter on her, she'd kick my ass
If' I tried to stuff her in a bowl, I'd probably get maced
Won't fit in a needle, she'd try to run
I'd lick her like a Deadhead's frog, hey THAT sounds like fun!
Smokin' Jenny
Smokin' Jenny
I'd like to roll her a time or two
She's the shit that killed Belushi, you know it's true
Smokin' Jenny
Another hit from this and I'll be able to join the Stones
Me and Keith usin' so much shit until we're just leather and bones
If you're going deaf, the doctor makes you listen to tones
Smokin' Jenny
Ten Things Of No Real Consequence
09.13.05 (5:20 am) [edit]1.) For all the money I spend on gas just to see my daughter (one-sixth of my income, the shitty unthinking father I am) I'm rather happy to see that I'm getting 35 miles per gallon. I don't bitch much about gas prices (I see it mostly as our country finally having to pay for years of excess) so I enjoy listening to rednecks in big trucks getting nearly a third the mileage I do bitching about it, but not understanding the stupidity their very vehicles represent.
2.) Ever feel like you have three or four bricks lodged in your colon? I went back from my 15-minute break ten minutes early today just to make up in my own head (nobody else seemed to notice) for the amount of time I spent on the toilet half an hour after I got to work this morning. Usually Thai food has the OPPOSITE effect. What the fuck?
3.) I saw Amanda today. (OK, I ate something for lunch to try to reverse the effects of last night's dinner.) Another waitress sat me down, at one of her tables. Five minutes later, Amanda comes up with that killer smile.
"Oh, I see how you are. You didn't even ask for me, did you?"
"I'm sorry. Hey, I'll never forget to ask for you again. How could I be such a fool?"
"Maybe you shouldn't bother. I'm so hurt that you didn't." (Really big smile.)
"Wow, I'm amazed that you care so much! That makes me feel better!"
"I thought you didn't want me anymore."
"Oh, I WANT you all right, but that's another story........I can't believe I just said that to you." I was halfway between shock and laughter at what came out of my mouth before I'd thought about it.
Her reaction? Doubled over, suppressing huge laughter. And a look on her face that said "A-ha! I KNEW you wanted to fuck me!"
I think I scored a point or two. I waved goodbye when I left and she yelled back "Bye, hon!" More genuine and less typical-waitress than ever. Cool! Damn, I'm gonna go broke and gain 30 pounds eating at fucking Steak & Shake every day from now on.
4.) Just had a voicemail from my northern band's singer (I'd left the phone in the car and just remembered it) about his wife's call earlier today. I was really excited. We had an offer for a gig this Friday night. I was prepared to get out of work early to do it, but it's not happening. Between not getting a set time to start, being offered much less money than normal, and the singer being sick and not wanting to have his voice fucked up on a far more important gig the next day, it just can't happen. Which is fine, he needs to take care of himself first. But man, I was really looking forward to making extra money this weekend. We're already playing a cool gig Saturday (a Vietnam Vets reunion that we're getting paid rather well for a two hour set, they had Iron Butterfly there last year, or all people) but I'm itching to play as often as possible.
Given my financial situation (low-paying job, major expenditures to see Katie, paying more rent than I wanted to in trade for havng a place I really like being at, a maxed-out credit card, my enormous short-sightedness and stupidity over the summer in going through money that should have lasted at least six months instead of the three I blew through it in) I realize that my current pace of one gig a week HAS to continue if I'm going to keep going. I need a lot of outlets to make this happen. The band in Cincy might very well get someone to replace me while I'm out with the other guys for over a month (they might not even exist in a month, for all I know) and the current schedule will begin to drop a bit after the beginning of October. So even being in two bands, I need more.
One of the cool things I got to do when I played up north years ago was doing a project with our singer's brother. We did it with him singing and me playing electric guitar, usually clean with reverb and delay. A very cool sound. I played a bit of keys too, and we even did a couple songs just bass and vocals that worked out really well. We also had a drummer and bass player on a couple gigs, and I did my first-ever performance playing lead guitar with him. It was a riot. My solos ranged from a sort-of Pete-Townshend like rhythm-lead combo, to the one-note Neil Young approach, to wholesale quotes from other people, to a solo on I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry where I basically quoted the melody, but tried to do as good of a Jeff Beck imitation as possible. I very nearly pulled it off, but my tone couldn't possibly match Beck's.
Anyway, Dennis and I are talking about getting back together. He's been out re-living his glory days as a proto-punker (he's nearly 20 years older than me, and in all seriousness, the killer punk-metal shit he was doing in the mid 70s was way ahead of its time) but we're going to do the duo thing here in Indy. i'm calling him in the next couple nights to set things up. He has a gig in NYC right after I do the three-day festival binge next weekend. Then we might be able to throw it all together in a month or two.
I'm probably going to have to do a solo thing too, which I really want to do, but still have massive reservations about. I've been singing brilliantly when all I do is sing. I feel stronger than I have in five or six years, which was about the time I first realized I COULD sing.
But when I sing and play, it's much more erratic. It's worse when I'm playing bass, which makes it hard to force myself near a microphone with the band when I'd much rather just play bass anyway. But this past gig went well for me vocally (not including the somewhat dismal soundcheck) and restored a bit of confidence. So it's something to work on, and I've done more of that lately.
But I'm terrible at self-promotion, and barely competent at talking to an audience. I'm completely incapable of putting effort into singing things I have no feeling for (I can play bass on a Bob Seger cover and somehow come out with a trace of dignity intact, but *singing* that shit? I'd have to live in a trailer for three years solid eating bratwurst and cheese all day to do that.) and though I can do a lot of perfectly accessible material and love it (Neil Young, Beatles, CCR, etc) I don't know if my acoustic renditions of AC/DC songs (sung in something that vaguely resembles a bad Elvis impersonation) will be accepted or greeted with a plague of broken beer bottles through chicken wire.
I've had all sorts of stupid unworkable ideas for bands, (OK Elmer, plug that banjo in and let's blow through Sabbath Bloody Sabbath) but right now I'd love to find a three-piece that would do loads of Cream/Hendrix/Who/Rush/Tr ower stuff, with a guitar player that could do at least 75% of the vocals. I'd like to sing some, it's good for me. But mostly I just want to play bass four or five nights a week without having my soul sucked out by having to do so in the Midwest - shallow culturally-deprived shithole that it is. I enjoy the bands I'm in right now, but it's giving me about 15% of what I need as a human being trying to be musical.
5.) There is a very bad tendency in me to forget that it doesn't matter what others think of me, and go the opposite direction wanting too much to know what they think. I'm trying to kill that, because it's served no real purpose. It's one of my major faults that I'd like to reverse.
6.) I tried five times to write something this evening that could not be written without being far more vicious and self-serving than I want to be. (And I just went back to cut this in half for the same reason.) But I stand by my previous post (I'm not happy about the bile that I allowed to be brought up, but I stand by the basic content) and don't enjoy being made out to be an asshole over something that I know for a fact was barely worth mentioning and blown out of proportion as to what it actually was. Fucking Christ. I shouldn't even have to talk about this, but I wasn't about to let that shit slide, especially coming from where it did. My feelings about THAT person are much better not discussed. I also notice that instead of dealing with my concerns, it's been turned back on me and the issue isn't really being dealt with or even actually addressed. But that's typical. Some people would make really excellent Republicans. Which is all I have left to say, because the other ten thousand words I feel like typing right now are far more nasty than I want or need to be. Yeah, it does still hurt. It hurts me too. Wow, imagine that. Me, having feelings. Fuckin' hell.
7.) I'm still buzzing from Larry and Marty getting in touch again after all these years. I've pulled up so many goofy memories in the past week, some probably shared, some I might have to myself. I drove through Muncie on Saturday on the way back to Marion with Katie, and tried to imagine how many times I must have driven over there for the band.
One big memory is of one of the last times I did so. If I remember right, this all happened on one night, but maybe I'm combining stuff in my head. On the way over,I had to drive myself to the hospital when I suddenly found it damn near impossible to breathe. By the time I got there (and ended up paying out the ass for it, since I had no health insurance at the time, as I don't currently) it was gone, and I felt fine. Years later I was told I have mild asthma. Didn't feel too mild for half an hour that night. I seriously thought I was going to die. Back then, it didn't seem as good of an idea.
I left the hospital to go to the band. They were auditioning new bass players since I'd recently left, and wanted me to come over and help out. Which I took as a very nice gesture. I watched one or two guys (can't remember now, but one had a fretless with nylon strings) and thought "Fuck, why am I doing this to these guys?"
Later, I saw them with the guy they picked. Good player. I remember hating myself as I watched them play Sober, which was the current Tool hit at the time. And some months later, I saw Larry with the next band he played with, and they opened with the Ren & Stimpy Theme. You know, I don't get to do things that goofy anymore. I miss that.
(Well, to be fair to my current band, in our last incarnation several years ago we did Hocus Pocus by Focus, and after the singer did the yodeling part, I did that climbing high part ending in the big scream, all while switching from bass to that wacky keyboard part. That was a lot of fun. but we're not doing that anymore. Dammit.)
8.) Now this year, I don't want to catch anyone not drinking.
9.) The weekend with Katie was a treat, though gas was even more of a dent in my wallet after doing a total of well over 500 miles in two days. (Maybe I shouldn't harp on this so much, but I'm putting out a very large chunk of my wretched income just to see my little girl, and I haven't complained about it, I haven't tried to get around it, and yet I'm apparantly a moron father. I need to let this go eventually, but right now I'd like to pound somebody's empty head. MY fucking father had the balls to tell me I probably shouldn't go see her as much now that gas is so high. "Oh, so that's the message I want to send my daughter. That my wallet is more important than she is. Gee, that sounds familiar somehow, Dad." Shut him up quick, the bastard.)
I drove to Cincy early Saturday morning, then we went up to Marion from there. Five hours in the car. Katie was in it for three, and though she asked a few times after the second hour if we were there yet, she was VERY patient, and very cool. She also ate lunch in the car and didn't make any ketchup messes, which I was prepared to let slide since I fully expected it. Should have given her more credit, she did GREAT. By the way, since this is so important to people who actually think I don't consider these things (when Katie herself can tell you how many times we've talked about saftey, to the point where I've annoyed her about it, because THAT'S WHAT PARENTS DO), she was wearing her seat belt. Damn, imagine that.
I was hoping for more reaction from her at the gig. We played a two-hour afternoon gig at a Harley dealership, of all places. They were having a big barbecue. I was strongly reminded of Hunter Thompson's Hells Angels book noticing the ten percent of the bikers who looked like the real hardcore thing (who also are some of the friendliest people I've met since playing these kind of gigs) and the 90% pretenders who usually drive SUVs. One big bald guy with about 79 tattoos told me he loved us, asked where we were playing next, and told me how cute my daughter was, in the same kind of tone one would usually expect from a soccer mom. The soccer mom/weekend biking pretenders were all gone by then. They left when the food was gone.Twenty minutes before we started playing. Fuck. The people who hired us apologized for the bad timing (there were a couple hundred people there when I arrived, and maybe 20 when we got done, most of whom were people we brought along) and we got paid well for two hours.
Katie actually slept in my mom's lap for a while, only 15 feet from me. We weren't loud, but we sure as heck weren't playing lullabies. She actually fell asleep during the song I was loudest in. We just started playing Mercury Blues (David Lindley's, not the Alan Jackson version everyone knows but me, because I don't listen to that annoying fuck) and I play straight 8th notes nearly the whole time, because sometimes I actually enjoy that. (Gotta get out that little bit of punk influence I actually have.) I pounded it harder, and I got off a little on seeing Dennis out there looking at me like "Shit, that rocks." Turns out I was too loud in the mix on that song. LOL.
She didn't sleep long, and they ended up under the tent across from us. It wasn't terribly hot, but it was enough to keep people from moving around much. I'd really hoped to see Katie dancing around the way she did a couple years ago when she saw the country band I played with. But I was sweating my ass off just playing bass. Mom kept us all very supplied with water, and had a wet cloth to dab Katie's face with a few times. I'm glad Mom actually thought of something in advance that was actually helpful. She's worse than me at that usually, and I suck at it. She was a big help, and so was our guitarist's wife, who is expecting her baby in March. She loved hanging out with Katie, and Katie seemed to really like her.
At first when we arrived, as usual, Katie was pretty shy. She loosened up well in short time, and was very happy to see a tiny frog in the gravel parking lot, which hopped under my car. It's so cool to see how she reacts to animals. Well, she definitely has a problem with bugs. :)
As we got set up and ready for soundcheck, Mark and Dennis made me smile. They were both watching Katie, both with looks of amazement on their faces, and finally Mark said it."I can't believe you are responsible in any way for something that beautiful." Dennis chuckled a bit, obviously thinking the same thing.
To which I replied, "Man, I think that same thing at least three or four times a day."
We went to my grandma's afterwards and had dinner, and got to see Dad for 15 minutes when he came on his dinner break from work. (He's temporarily running two departments at his store now.) He looked older to me somehow, more than I've noticed in some time. Maybe because I've had such a hard time being around him since Katie's incident with the cat. I've finally gotten over it (our last two talks have been pretty good, other than the aforementioned comment) but I went through a period of deep resentment when I realized how much I needed his help a couple months ago. The temp agency wasn't keeping me anywhere for more than a few days, I was out on the days I wasn't working sweating my ass off walking door to door filling out applications for crap jobs, and I was filled with hate for damn near everything and everybody. I don't know how I managed to not be paralyzed by it the way that kind of desparation usually renders me immobile. I think much of it was the intense feeling of not wanting to be beholden to him anymore. It's bad enough to feel hopeless without someone there to do basic shit for you that you find impossible to do yourself. That feeling fucked me up for a long time, and made it harder still to do anything. But when it's a person who you pretty much loathe because they robbed you of any self-confidence you might have had from the time you were able to wipe yourself, there's a really big hole waiting for you to fall in, and I looked at my Dad and said "Fuck this, I CAN'T go there." I'd rather suck a bullet than be tied down to him, needing his help and having to accept the ego-crushing crap he doesn't even seem to realize he's saying half the time.
But we've gotten along fairly well more recently.
Katie gave him a nice hug when he left, and we left soon after. We drove by the house (the back hatch was not closed all the way and I realized it half a mile from my parents') but no one was home yet. We walked back to the car and I told Katie that I had moved there when I was her age. Either 4 or 5, couldn't remember which.
"You were four???" She looked amazed.
"Yes, honey. I was four a long time ago. Now I'm 35."
"Oh, you weigh as much as I do."
That was pretty funny.
She fell asleep on the way home. I'd hoped to spend some time with her before bedtime, but it was really nice to be able to get her out of the car, and hold her as she slept all the way inside and onto the sleeping bag. She woke up two hours earlier than planned, but got back to sleep well. When she woke up again, she ended up snuggling next to me. It's been a long time since we've done that. I felt very close to her, and I knew that I'd do anything to make her happy. Which is perhaps why I get pissed at people who assume things about my parenting abilities that they know little or nothing of. My relationship with my daughter is one of the very few things in this world I've ever done right. Not perfectly. Not very well for the first year or so. But fuck anyone who thinks I don't take her safety very, very seriously. I've given her more love and attention in four years than my father has given me in my whole life. Nothing changes that. I make a stupid decision on occasion. Like no one else ever does. My track record is pretty fucking good, though, and I don't need anyone to tell me that, because I KNOW it. I also know when I do something wrong, and I do my damndest to fix it.
We watched a bunch of MST3K that morning. She sat in my lap for a long time while we watched The Horror Of Party Beach, which is such a hilarious piece of shit on its own. There's a couple places I had her look away at, but she really needed an experience of seeing a movie with guys wearing really stupid monster suits. I jumped right into making fun of that, and finally she was laughing and pointing at the screen. "They're silly!" The absolute BEST part was when the dopey googly-eyed fishy thing (who was killed by SODIUM!) first appeared, coming out of the water. The camera shoots to a close-up of this rubberized misfit, and Nelson goes, "Coooo-kie!"
Katie laughed her tiny butt off. Then we danced around singing "C Is For Cookie" for a couple minutes. Someday I'll record my metal version of that, it currently exists only in my head.
The cable guy came over and we entertained him with some sheer silliness. Katie hid under the sleeping bag and said "You can't find me!" So I immediately picked up the sleeping bag with her wrapped in it and ran out to the front room and back, pulled it off, and tickled the snot out of her. "Do that again!" Crazy nut
She slept most of the way back to Cincy. Before we got.her home, I told her I was going to miss her. She gave me the saddest look. "I'm going to miss you, Daddy." I told her I had a great time with her and we would again next week. (We're going to Dayton to have lunch with friends and see the Air Force Museum again.) I asked her what her favorite part of the weekend was and she said "Seeing your band." Which really surprised me. I almost wondered if she didn't say that just to make me happy. But that was her answer. I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, and I hope I can do it again. She'll probably never see the other band, since they never play anywhere she can go to (shit, I wouldn't take most of the adults I know to these places) I'm very happy this weekend happened, and she got to see me doing one of the few things in the world that gives me happiness when I can't be with her.
I love her more than anything.
10.) I'm tired. And starting to think about Jenny, who was really nice and friendly this morning when I stopped by to talk about my time off next week. More expressive than I've seen her in a while. We bullshitted about some more personal stuff for a moment. After a mention of current expenses, I thanked her again for getting me this job. "I still really appreciate your help." She looked happy.
But it'll never be anything more than that. I'll go to bed soon thinking about her, because that's what I've done constantly for over a month, but I think tomorrow I'll be plotting my next move on Amanda, who I might actually have a vague shot in hell at. I hope so, anyway. The weekends are great, but Monday through Friday definitely needs some more fun thrown into the equation.
Love,
Dougie
In Other News...
09.11.05 (11:08 pm) [edit]It's always nice when emotionally-dishonest hypocrites find love. Particularly a love who will repeat their every utterance like a parrot, which I suppose is what "being there" for somebody is all about.
It's particularly nice when they feel the need to talk about things they do not know about, situations in which they were not involved, using general rules that may or may not apply, and utterly ignore any regrets YOU may have had in those situations afterwards, and then claim that YOU are the "moron". Hypocrisy and bullshit go hand in hand, don't they? If they were THERE, it might carry some weight. They weren't, and it does not.
When you spend an extended amount of time trying to rebuild and put extra effort into being nice to someone, and you see that they repay you the same old way - running off to their monkeys to whine about you (yet everything YOU say is "whining", of course) - you have to wonder why the fuck you even bother with such simple-minded, humourless insecure, dishonest shitheads.
When I put an enormous amount of effort into doing something, and have it torn down by some cocksucker who doesn't know shit about me, and has no say whatsoever in how I do it to begin with, that is irritating. But that's not as bad as taking it from someone who SHOULD have a clue, who SAYS they understand, then goes running off to the aforementioned cocksucker rather than actually dealing with it at the time. But I'm not surprised. I've seen dishonest, hypocritical shit like that from this person for a long time now. Of course, it does no good to mention it, since the faults of this person obviously are so few and so tiny and just so completely not even worth thinking about. And I'm a moron who can't breathe without fucking it up. Yep, that's me.
Fuck them in their asses. They deserve each other. Perhaps they should remove their heads from each others sphincters, stop worrying so much about me, and TAKE A LOOK AT THEIR FUCKING SELVES FOR A CHANGE. But that would be a new thing, and that can be scary to some.
I'm going to try to keep this out of my head now. I've done a lot of interior work to get to this place I'm at now. People who know nothing about what has gone on inside me in recent months and years, or who do know but are too fucking stupid to put the pieces together...I've got better things to waste my time on. And with that, I get ready for what might just be a good day.
Dougie
Personal Ads From Hell
09.11.05 (9:40 pm) [edit]I just turned on something on HBO and there's these girls outside some gay guys' house holding a protest."Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!" When they get chased away, there's one girl left holding up a sign that says "Silly faggot, dicks are for chicks." I laughed my balls off.
Anyway,
Ten reasons to stop reading and go onto the next profile:
1.) If there's 7 pictures, and one of them is a blurry shot from the top of a building at night time with the lens cover on, and the other six are of her dogs.
2.) If the word "Jesus" appears ANYWHERE in her profile, RUN. Go jack off to the newspaper. YOU'LL BE BETTER OFF.
3.) The phrase "no games", or "Don't play games." This is usually a sign of a person fitting another phrase - "emotionally-dishonest hypocritical bitch." Essentially, you have someone who will put up with none of your bullshit, but will expect you to buy the shovel to dig out from under hers. Women have games you've never HEARD of. Don't believe the hype. They're full of shit.
4.) If the word "soulmate" appears anywhere, laugh, THEN run. Fairy tales are nice. BELIEVING in them is another matter. And trust me, if she's in her 20s and she uses this ridiculous word, she MIGHT still be worth the time, because she doesn't know any better yet. But any woman over 35 who uses it will NOT be satisfied by you or ANYONE."I'm 47, I've been married 12 times, and every guy I've met is an asshole. But I still believe in True Love." You know what I believe? You're gonna die really fucking disappointed. The best you can ask for at this point is someone whose shit you can tolerate and who will tolerate yours. Anything else is a BONUS, baby.
5.) On match.com, you can write all this stuff about yourself, then choose from different answers to questions "about my date." If she writes at length to everything else, but gives NO answers to what YOU should be, you might have to be a little scared. The reverse is also true, probably more so.
6.) The first thing I do is scroll to the bottom of that to see "turn-offs." If "long hair" is on there, I'm outta here. Might be a perfectly wonderful lady, but I ain't wasting my time if that's on the shit-list. I've read too many cool-sounding profiles that ended with "long hair" and "sarcasm" on the turn-off list, and it made my hard-on shrivel up like a stack of dimes.
7.) If there's anything in there about "making love to smooth-jazz" (I've actually read that exact phrase once and others like it twice) she's probably a really lousy fuck. Besides, who can keep it up to a fucking Kenny G solo? I'd need to mainline Viagra into my eyeball. Now,on the other hand, if she says something like "I enjoy fucking like a wildebeast to Nine Inch Nails", you might need to send her an email. Too bad I haven't seen that one yet.
8.) Here's one I sent an email to but was scared afterwards. I'm almost glad she didn't write back. Nice sounding profile, and I was intrigued by the intelligent way she discussed being into Wicca. (Usually it's some shit about "I'm a pagan goddess of the earth", which makes me poop myself trying to imagine.) Then I saw the picutres. Really nice looking blonde girl, early 30s. In a black cape in a graveyard. Now, part of me thinks "Damn, that's gotta be interesting." As time went on, I started to think "Damn, I'm gonna wake up with the head of a goat next to me." Part of me is still interested. My DICK. But my BRAIN is saying "Red light! Red light! Psychosis at 12 o'clock!" Hey, I hang out in graveyards sometimes too. I don't dress up like Rick Wakeman and do my fucking glamour shots there.
9.) Red-haired girls who are 23 years old, have 4 kids, and have been married six times. Favorite music - Tori Amos. These chicks often look incredible (oh to have some pale little red-headed white girl for the night), and probably suck cock like God's Hoover, but they will DESTROY YOUR LIFE. They have more emotional issues than a roomful of American Idol rejects. Maybe nail 'em once. Try to do it without giving out your address.
10.) If you get an email from a 24 year old girl from Russia looking to "play around", there's a very good chance it's actually a 54-year old fat guy trying to get you to pay for his porn site he had to coke some girls up to pose for. I've got three of these emails. I laughed, then went off to read the newspaper.
11.) If you want an idea of how boring most this shit is, consider that half the profiles have taglines that read "Are there any good guys left out there?" NO. We killed them all off. All that's left is a bunch of beer-swilling assholes who only want you for your cock-sucking and TV-dinner-microwaving abilities. What the fuck OTHER answer do they actually expect? Go buy a thesaurus, you unimaginative cunt.
There's reasons I'm still not getting laid,
Dougie
Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!
09.11.05 (12:35 pm) [edit]Digital cable and Internet is installed! I'm doing this shit at home again! Finally! But the damn computer is still riddled with spyware and it's slow as fuck! I'll work on that soon! I'm happy! Exclamation mark!
Dougie!
A Burst Of Reality
09.07.05 (5:14 pm) [edit]Written last Thursday:
Holy fuck.
Tonight I was expecting a very strange phone conversation, and it turned out crazier than I ever imagined. I thought I was going to be doing an interview about a really shitty album I played on seven years ago, and it turns out that two guys I played in a band with THIRTEEN YEARS AGO (fuck, I feel old) have been reading this blog for three weeks and pulled a fast one on me just to hook up and talk again for the first time in over a decade. I'm so glad they did.
One of the first bands I ever played in (in fact, I think the first band I got paid more than three cans of beer for being in) was Burst Of Reality in Muncie, Indiana. I met our guitarist Larry and tried to start something with him for a few months. Then Marty, our singer came in, and we actually played a couple times just the three of us with a drum machine. I'm listening now to a tape labelled July '92 from this time.
Later we added a drummer and keyboardist and went on to make no money whatsoever, having lots of fun in Central Indiana. I remember the week I went to my manager at Dominos Pizza and told him I needed a week off, because my band was going off to Rock Island, Illinois. A SHITHOLE we played in for a whole week, staying in some grimy stick-to-the-floor apartment above the bar. I remember doing my laundry one day with the stripper who lived across the hall. She thought I looked like Eddie Haskell. Fucking strippers.
Shit, these guys got me onstage with a stripper for my 23rd birthday. Pulled my shirt off and....I don't remember much other than the tits, to be honest.
I can't believe these guys called. I've really missed them. I've been so goddamn nostalgic for ANY time I played music with other people, and these were the guys I had my first real experiences with playing out.
I just listened to my favorite original song we did. Larry and Marty wrote it before we got the drummer and keyboardist and I had to come up with a bass line for it. It's called Shred Of Evidence. And I TOTALLY ripped off Jack Bruce's bass line from White Room towards the end. I remember one night at practice, somehow fitting the riff from Sunshine Of Your Love into the space normally occupied by that low chromatic stuff Jack does, and Larry about shit himself. I love making guitar players shit themselves. In fact, I think it's really what I get paid for. If I can play some stupid shit that makes a guitarist have to scrape poop out of his pants later, my job is done.
I remember (weird how the brain works) driving around Rock Island listening to the radio. Blind Melon's No Rain was just becoming a huge hit at the time, and I heard it on the radio seventeen thousand times that week. Why is THAT such a strong memory?
ET's in Muncie. Which no longer exists. I would put my bass tone in that room up against anyone in the history of the instrument. I sounded goddamn HUGE in there. Living Colour had put out Stain around this time, and if I played my fucking ass off, it was because I had the massive trebly crunch of Doug Wimbish's tone on that album. It never happened outside that room. Dammit.
June '93 with the full five-piece. My tape has two versions of one of Marty's songs called Feel the Peace. Somewhere, I've got a shitty tape of us putting this song together in rehearsal. Fast rockin' shit. Fun as fuck to play.
But ya know, a lot of my memories with these guys aren't musical. I remember walking through a graveyard one night. They were on acid. I had smoked pot for the second time in my life. We heard another group of people on the other side of the cemetery, freaked out and ran off. Six months later, Larry finds out who the other people were Somebody he worked with, also high out of their minds. I believe we went to see Lollapalooza the next day. Primus headlining. Alice In Chains, Dinosaur Jr., Arrested Development. Holy fuck I remember that pretty well now that I think about it. It was Larry that got me into Primus, and I did a lot of Claypool-worship in those days.
We all went to see Spinal Tap together. I've got a terrible recording of it. We laughed our balls off.
Now the tape has another original. Reality Kills. I seem to remember trying to be funky in a John Paul Jones kinda way. I also remember Larry being the single greatest rhythm guitarist on the goddamn planet. Fuck, I miss these guys.
Gotta stop and listen to this...
Goddamn we rocked. I'm almost ready to cry hearing this stuff again. And now, a song called Or A Guy Named Doug. Written about somebody else, not me. But I took it on myself to come up with a good groovin' bass line (where did I come up with this shit? I was a lot more interesting when I was younger), and I even played a solo. Melodic. Chordal. Excellent. Shit. I don't play like this anymore. At least not with this kind of balls and who-gives-a-fuck attitude,. I came close to it last week in Cincy, doing my Jack Bruce thing on a Trower tune watching some skinny blonde crackwhore dancing around in leather pants. That's as close as I've been in years.
I don't know why I let life beat me down like I did, until I stopped playing and feeling like this. Oh, I have more musical SENSE now than I did then. I don't throw quintuplets into ballads anymore. Or spend as long above the 12th fret. But something's missing. Something I want back. Something that I felt natural with playing with Larry and Marty. Probably also in the short-lived band with my friend Dan playing Zappa covers and 15-minute versions of The Thrill Is Gone. I did it with my current band for a while too, and I hope I can recapture it in the next few weeks with them. But somewhere around 2000, it went on vacation for a long time. I'm not sure why. I think I took far too many things on myself at once, more than my limited brain capacity could handle, and I went from doing 2 or 3 things very well to doing 70 things really badly. The only thing I had felt really GOOD about was playing bass. And it became painful to even touch the fucking thing.
We were young Lots of energy. Hardly a perfect band (rhythmic irregularities abounded), but we had a ton of fun, and I loved them. I hated myself when I left. I don't remember the reason I gave (my job?), and I'm sure it was legitimate, but mostly I was burned out and not having so much fun anymore. I missed the days when it was just the three of us with a drum machine. It felt like there was Marty and Larry on one side, the other guys on the other, and I was in the middle wanting to get along with everyone, but mostly wanting to hang out eating deer burgers with Larry and Marty while they got fucked up on acid and listened to the first Mr. Bungle album. I was only drinking Rolling Rock, but everything they said MADE SENSE.
We once did this bizarre atonal jam, which Marty has a recording of and I haven't heard in years. We called it My Pussy Hurts. And we never played it the same way again once we got the recording. I was doing some weird John Wetton shit. (Keneally once told me I sounded like John Wetton, which has to be about as incredible of a musical compliment as I've ever recieved.) It as about as good as improv got for me.
We played Cop Killer. We played it at a frat party in Muncie. Everyone had disappeared, gone upstairs to fuck each other. but when we started Cop Killer, the room was wall-to-wall human flesh within about 12 seconds. Some girl came up to me afterwards and told me I was "really cool" playing the bass line to Ozzy's No More Tears. Never saw her again after that. I never got laid ONCE being in that band. Fuck it, we had fun anyway.
Getting stoned in Rock Island. (Somebody jumps up onstage in the middle of Paranoid trying to sing with us, I knock him off the stage with my bass; a guy tells me I sound a lot like Geddy Lee; two guys come up and we do the most unspeakably heavy three-guitar version of Man in The Box ever conceived of; the drummer is shredding sticks and breaking cymbals and somewhere in the middle of a really hot version of Evenflow, I get a piece of cymbal the size of the lid off a can of tuna fish right in the side of my head; later I sing Damn Blue Collar Tweakers, really badly.) Going back upstairs and listening to Dream Theater's Images And Words. Falling asleep and having the weirdest dream about being in the Marsh supermarket in Marion and my aunt trying to sell me several cases of Jolt soda.
I felt guilty for months after leaving. I'd played with Larry for a couple months before Marty came in. I loved Marty. But I felt really attached to Larry, both as a musician, and as a person. I loved the guy. I loved them both. And even now, all these years later, I don't think I've ever forgiven myself for leaving the way I did, just losing interest and faking some shit to move onto the next whatever-it-was. We made no money. We played shitholes. I spent more money paying for towing and a new timing chain on the way back from Rock Island (the car died half an hour from Muncie) than I made playing there a whole week. But I loved them. Like the acid-dropping brothers I never had.
So here's to Burst Of Reality. I'm glad you fuckers called. You made my night. Hell, you made my WEEK. (Damn, Jenny, that sounds familiar...) Someday we'll get together again.
Love,
Dougie
Quick Version
09.06.05 (5:33 pm) [edit]Long blog entries sitting on the machine back home waiting to be worked on some more. But here's a few things on my mind:
1.) Great day with Katie yesterday. She told me about an iguana named Squirrely. "He likes to eat squirrels. And popcorn!" She also has the greatest laugh in the history of music.
2.) It cost $30 just to drive over to see her. Having spent $250 on a new starter for the car, I had to sell shit to have gas money. A month ago, I'd be wretchedly depressed over this. Right now, it's just what has to be done. I'm rather surprised at myself.
3.) Jenny heard me make The Noise today. I rounded the corner and she was right there. With her hair down. Best I've ever seen it. It seemed longer, and looked like she'd spent some real time on it. She was STUNNING. The second I took in this amazing sight, I lost six inches on my height as my knees nearly collapsed, and I let out this almost painful "ohhhhhhhh" sound. Totally serious, that's the exact observable reaction I had. TOTALLY lost control. I know she noticed. She HAD to. I was six feet away, for fuck's sake. She acted like she didn't, though. I saw NOTHING change on her face. Just that smile. Wow. We talked business for a mimnute. Then I had to say something. "By the way, you really should leave your hair down more often. It looks great." Her reaction (a bigger smile, brighter eyes, and a "Thank you! I'll work on that!" was somewhere between "That's very nice, thank you so much" and "Wow, you really are a total bullshit artist, aren't you?" Well, yeah. I am. But it's no shit. You look incredible. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, do you ever, you delectable little vixen.
4.) Saw Amanda last week. she was having a bad day. I think I made her feel a tiny bit better. Which was cool.
5.) Met a fascinating lady last night named Nikki. Lives in my apartment complex. A few years younger than me. Rather cute. Recently divorced, just moved in, new to the area. From Wisconsin. We talked for an hour and I felt seven thousand feet tall when I left her. She made me feel cool, and it was just a nice normal human connection. Nothing big at all. She's REALLY cool and I hope I get to see her again.
6.) Fun gig with the band Saturday. The biker chick dancing was the highlight. The guitar player forgetting how to end Cinnamon Girl (my first lead vocal onstage in eons) was not. I didn't reaally play all that well, but not bad either. It was fun, if not special.
7.) Didn't stay at home Sunday. Spent most the evening trying to help out a good friend who needed someone to talk to and is going through a difficult decision-making process right now. I know he'll do the right thing, but unfortunately, the right thing might not be what he wants it to be. I feel for him a lot right now.
8.) I've got three bucks and three gallons of gas to last me until Friday.
9.) There is no ninth thing.
10.) I'm enjoying the living hell out of playing The Game with these lovely women, even though it hasn't actually gone anywhere yet. It's been what's powered me for a month now. And I'm loving it.
Love,
Dougie
A Song In My Shoes
09.01.05 (5:00 pm) [edit]Straying too far in my overused car
Doesn't bring me closer to the plan
Put on that fake smile, you'll even believe it after a while
Then back it goes inside the can
I made believe I loved it
And I didn't know the difference when daylight hit
All the lawyers, guns and money that my money can't buy
Wouldn't have prepared me for this shit
But I'm happy
Yeah, happy
Ain't so crappy
With a song in my shoes
Danced alone in my head, I couldn't have said
So many of the things I'd like to tell her
So I'll park it elsewhere, and not look back (yeah, right)
And she won't even notice
But I'm happy
Fuckin' happy
Don't feel so crappy
With this song in my shoes
Derived from life-affirming blues
Not a hell of a lot to lose
When you're making up all the clues
Ain't got no golden goose
Barely time to snooze
What the fuck is a repbaschooze?
It ain't on the nightly news
Dougie