pissshiver

Animosity

I say if it's four a.m. and you're looking up either of these words, you're in a little bit of trouble either way, my friend." - Bruce McCulloch

When am I going to learn to let go?

Love (but not nearly enough right at this moment),
Dougie

I'm Drunk And I'm Not going to Fix My Typos

I left Katie with her mother at the Cincinnati airport two and a half hours ago. she slept for over an hour, and I had to repeatedly tap her on the knee from the frotn seat and yell "Katie! We're at the airport!" to wake her up. Took 20 minutes. Littiel booger was GONE. Finally, she started into "Airpot! airpot! Airport! Aiport! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Nommy!"

She sat on my lap as we waited for them to show up. Finally Sheryl and Sean were there, but it was heart-chewing to sit there and feel Katie's emotions dripping through the way she leaned into me. she wanted to hang onto me, she seemed totally unwilling to let go, but she wanted to be with Mommy too. At one point (we were only there less than 20 minutes before they showed up) she said "It's taking too long for Mommy to get here" as she snuggled closer into me.

I think Katie is far more prepared for true emotional complexity at age 5 than I still am at 36. As much as it hurts ot say goodbye, as much as it hurts to be apart from her most of the wweek, I know she's learning thigns now I should have learned three decades ago myself.

We drove to two Egg albums. The Civil Surface and Polite Force. Katie played with her dolls as Dave Stewart wrenched ungodly proggish noises from his organ. I somehow made it home fine, but the drive down there was pure hell, and I kept turning the Egg louder and louder to keep myself awake. Katie didn't complain once.

Sounds like a hell of a weekend was had in SoCal by Sheryl and Sean. He had on a Dog t-shirt, so if I had any doubts before, I know he's cool now. For a while, I thought about the summer of 2000, sheryl and I going to San diego for nonkerstock, sitting maybe 40-feet from keneally as he rpped the sky apart during Kedgeree, and I was sad. for a moment. Then I remembered why it's all good.

I drove home from the aiport with a Brand X bootleg from the Roxy in LA from 1979. Ahhh, Phil Collins bak when he had testicles. As big as fucking watermelons.

When the tape ended (filled out with selections from Inner Mounting Flmae by the Maha-fucking-vishnu Orchestra) I turned on the local high school radio station. This is about three miles from me, and can barely be heard more than 10 miles away. It's mostly 80s shit, but they don't follow much of a real format, and sometimes surprise me with a genuinely cool tune.

Of course, I probably only really listen to it becuase 2/3rds of the people running it are high school girls with nice voices. God, i'm a sick fuck. By the way, this is what wakes nme up every morning.

A great friend - probably the best friend I've had in the past year - is going to be a father probably within the next week. I've tried to be a helpful source of semi-adivce, but I moslty just hope he gets through this in one emotional piece. I love ya, man. call me if you need me.

i love the fucking Pixies. She told me that once back befoe she decided not to write anymore. Dammit, I miss her.

Saw Amanda today. I hand't planned on goign bak, but me and Katie had lunch there on the way back from Marion. She had an even brighter verion of The Smile, and I was reduced to staring at my coffee trying to think of something NON_STUPID to say. I couldnt' think of anything. But I told her we recorded the gig Firday (too bad we didn't record Saturday, whenit was really GOOD) and I'll have A CD for her soon. I'll probably fill it out with songs meant for her. Dammit, I want to win this woman over. I finally feel totallyu in one piece about this, totally in the right place. I want you, Amanda. Everyone else is a mere fucking distraction. The goal is clear now. Amanda. Only Amanda.

Steel Reserve numbing my brain. I need to be awak ein just over six hours. goodn ight, you fkccers.

Love,
Dougie

New Pic From Friday Night's Gig

I Call That A Bargain, The Best I Ever Had

I hadn't even played the damn thing at all in two months, but for my solo spot I whipped out Chuck Berry's Maybelline, for the first time onstage. I chumped a couple lyrics, and my guitar tone was SHIT ON A RANCID FUCKSTICK, but it was fien enough. I think half the audience was off changing their Depends at that point anyway.

A VERY drunk woman, probably in her 60s, came up to me after the gig raving about how good we were, how she'd seen us a couple weeks ago too, on and on. Very cool. Then she asked me if the guitar player was married. Damn, I can't even get groupies among the dried-up grandmas.

Fun day with Katie. She played with my sister this morning, out on the driveway with chalk, laughing at the cats as they played with each other. I went off to video-document a few more cemeteries, then cmae back to take her over to my grandma's for her early birthday party.

Her cousins were thrilled to see her, she got a lot of presents, and I got part of it on video. The look on her face while everyone sang Happy Birthday to her was pricless. If that wasn't a "man, I'm cool" look on her, I don't know what is. Sometimes I think we over-compensated with Katie - we've tried very hard to give her confidence, and it sometimes comes out as a certain kind of arrogance that she needs toned down a coupel notches, but hey, I've got a really happy kid. She sang all the way out there for me, making up songs about cats and breakfast.

After the party, I drove her out to the big cemetery and showed her where my cousin Stevie is at. the one who killed himself seven years ago. (Though I didn't tell her that.) Then I showed her where my friend mike is at, near Stevie, and told her about the ten days I played with Mike in Southern California, and how I met her mommy two weeks after I came back to Indiana. I also showed her the neighborhood my mom grew up in, where I spent time as a kid at my grandma's, and my great-grandmother's house she lived for years before dying when I was in 7th grade, the house which is about to fall over any day.

Mommy herself called, and it sounds like yet another outrageous Keneally show last night. Lots of old stuff. And he - the goofy bastard - played a Judas Priest tune. God, I need to see him again soon. Of course, I'm so totally gay every time I get within 12 miles of him, he's probably going to book his next tour in Outer Mongolia just to not play anywhere near me. Mike, that bit I said last year about having a direct line of sight to your cock was METAPHORICAL.

OK, maybe I'm full of shit there too. That sexy bitch.

Who's Next in the van tape deck. (The van that is going back to Indy tomorrow. So much for me and my bright ideas. I guess i won't have to implant memory chips in my Mom's head detailing every single inch of a trip back from Indy in order to satiate my father's psychosis after all.) We do Behind Blue Eyes, which is one of my favorites, but that whole album is a thing of godlike proportions. I was singing (OK, screeching, I think I blew a fuse towards the end of the gig and my oice went to fuck) along with Bargain and Baba O'Riley when I left the gig. Goddamn, I love me some Pete Townshend.

Went to the bar we played last week and got a PBR and sat there looking at the empty barstools and listened to the Sheryl Crow somebody had put on the jukebox. Then I walked back to the car and ran into the guy who took my place at the music store in town when I left for SoCal the first time. His band was playing down the street. We talked about our bands and gigs, and it hit me very hard just what it is I do for a large percentage of my income now. The drunk woman back at the gig went on and on about how "professional" we were. And we are. Even with a multitude of things i'd really like to change about us, we've got this shit DOWN, and we do it damn near every week. Add in my students and...it's really difficult to use the term "professional musician" about myself, but it's half of what i do now. Finally. Fuck knows I've got so much fucking work to do to get to the point where I can really FEEL I deserve that title, but here we are, playing regularly, starting to develop an actual following, making enough money from it that it would fuck my ass NOT to be doing it.

I made $170 this weekend playing my bass. Even with all the extra bullshit involved, I call that a bargain.

I sit looking 'round
I look at my face in the mirror
I know I'm worth nothing without you
And like one and one don't make two
One and one make one
And I'm looking for that free ride to me
I'm looking for you

I know what Pete meant, but I know what it means to me, I know what it feels like to lock into that when I'm pulling notes from my bass. I've been a shitty excuse for a disciple, I've been distracted, I've even turn away from it, but music has not ever let me down. PEOPLE do every goddamn day. Music never has.

Onward.

Love,
Dougie

I'm Not As Thrunk As You Dink I Am

Just got back to my parents'. Katie is asleep in some impossible position. Apparantly she watche Bambi tonight. Mmmm...venison...

I took the time to thank each and every person that came to the gig during the last set. Took about 14 seconds. We had our usual crowd of band wives and hardcores, and about that many more up at the bar. I doubt if there were ever 30 people in there tonight, including us, and I'm three of them.

This doesn't usually bother me. I'm in this to make money using 14% of the neck of a Fender Precision. Play a tune I like every once in a while. I could give a fuck who's out there unless it's a hot woman. Yeah, I'm a shallow fuck. It's rock and roll, baby. If I was in this for ART, I'd be...working during the day for a fucking temp agency and barely making the rent.

Shit.

It has its perks. Along with a nice supply of Amber Bock and rum, i got to watch a couple lovely young women (band relatives, of course) dance, and when a song came along I cared about and got to sing on, I sang my ass off. One of our better moments is one of the few '80s things we do, Midnight Oil's Beds Are Burning. It's easier to sing something I actually feel a connection to, that I can actually relate to. That's one. Tonight was the second time I nailed the harmony on that.

Did Lawyers Guns & Money and Bang A Gong for my solo spot. I'm having a hard time feeling the latter now. I felt I could sing it for someone in particular, even though she's hours away. Now she's just gone. I don't enjoy that one like I did before, but it's going to be my lead vocal with the full band soon, so I might as well get used to it.

We had lunch at Steak & Shake today. They were busy, and Amanda was apparantly having a very good time screwing around with the other waitresses (I have no idea what was going on, but they were all laughing a lot) and she seemed to be blowing me off for a while. I sat there and ate, with Katie next to me (she likes sitting next ot me in restaraunts now instead of across from me, and I like that too) and just felt a huge pain in my chest. I can't actually nail down in one sentence what it truly is that attracts me to this woman so much. It just hurts to not be able to really come out and say it yet.

But she did finally come over and say hi some more, and talk to us a bit. I love how she interacts with my daughter. Hers is only two years older than Katie. She asked Katie how old she's going to be in a few weeks. "Five? You're practically a woman! You're gonna be fighting thos e boys off any day now."

"Yeah, I'm buying a shotgun", I said.

Said it before, say it again - her smile turns me into fucking jello.

Video-recorded stuff at the big cemetery just down the road from the gig. Ran out of time, so I hope to go back tomorrow. Maybe I'll show Katie around some. She seems to be enjoying that kind of thing more recently.

I told the guys I have another tune I want to sing lead on. Elenore by The Turtles. One of the great "how did they get that past the censors back then" lyrics.

You got a thing about you
I just can't live without you
I really want you, Elenore, near me
Your looks intoxicate me
Even though your folks hate me
There's no one like you, Elenore, really

Elenore, gee I think you're swell
And you really do me well
You're my pride and joy, et cetera
Elenore, can I take the time
To ask you to speak your mind
Tell me that you love me better

I really think you're groovy
Let's go out to a movie
What do you say, now, Elenore, can we?
They'll turn the lights way down low
Maybe we won't watch the show
I think I love you, Elenore, love me

I think that song is fucking hilarious. When I saw the Turtles a few years ago, they sang the one line "you really DO me well." Heavy on the "do." Fun shit.

It was a big place, high ceilings, huge stage to wander around on. With most of our material being what it is , it felt like something fron a 50s teen movie. The fundamental absurdity of being in a cover band is both frustrating and extremely amusing to me. sometimes I stnad up there and think "Oh Christ, not THIS song again", but other times it's so fucking Spinal Tap I have to just revel in the shit.

We sat around a table at another bar later and the keyboardist told us a story about another band, his rig set up on the stage right next to the door to the women's restroom.

"We're in the middle of BTO's Taking Care Of Business when two women in line leaned into me and yelled 'Can we play your keyboards?' So I said 'Sure, you ain't gonna do nothin' to hurt THIS song.'"

I love rock & roll.

Time for go to bed.

Love,
Dougie

My Bipolar Day

1.) I forgot to tell Katie to throw the baby wipes (I stopped using regular toilet paper a year ago, and I'm of the opinion the wipes are far, far better) into the trash. So we stopped up the toilet.

2.) I had to find out if I actually got paid for the first couple days I worked last week. These guys do direct desposit only. Which is fine. So I get on my bank's website and...pffft. Crapped out on me. first it just brought up and error message, then it claimed that my browswer wasn't accepting cookies. It WAS. I tried three times to get on the site. Gave up and went to the bank.

The bank is being expanded. There were seven thousand cars in the parking lot, so we went to the drive-through. The ATM was blocked off. I had to walk up to it. It was out of service. I waited behind six cars (who apparantly were each withdrawing the entire national economy of Trinidad & Fucking Tobago for all the goddamn time they took)to get an aatual teller. Got the the front of the line, told the woman (knockout blonde, I usually like my bank) I just wanted my balance. Then I hit send on the tube. It didn't move. It took what felt like eons (but was probably only 20 seconds) to get the thing to go. What the fuck was THAT about?

They got the money in. Sans the twenty fucking dollars they charged me for their precious fucking drug test, of course. But I can trust them to pay me. Thank fuck for that.

So, instead of being able to do it here at home online, I spent well over half an hour going to the bank just to find out what my fucking balance is.

Oh, my old temp agency called and offered me a job this morning. Starting today. Kinda hard to when I have my kid here. This is the first job offer they've had for me since...oh...1974, I think. OK, it's only been a month.

3.) I remembered when we got back how much stuff I have to cart up to Marion. My gear takes up most of the space in the car already, and we have Katie's stuff too. But my parents' van is still here since they haven't had a chance to come get it yet. So I thought, hey, great idea, I can drive us up in that, then Mom can drive us back down here Sunday.

She thought it was a great idea. Dad, on the other hand, has instructed me exactly how to LEAD MY MOTHER BY A LEASH in order to get her back home Sudnay. See, according to my father, my mother is obviously blind, stupid, lame, has terrible reaction times, can't add 2 plus 2, is susceptible to drooling episodes, can't be trusted with a rectal thermometer, lacks the appropriate skill needed to put one foot in front of the other and WALK, and is INCAPABLE OF DRIVING MORE THAN 30 MILES FROM THE HOUSE WITHOUT A GODDAMN SEEING-EYE DOG AND EXPLICIT FUCKING DIRECTIONS WRITTEN IN TRIPLICATE.

The thing is, he has a point. After 35 years of being married to HIS psychotic control-freak emotionally-manipulative ass, my Mom IS incapable of rational thought. He's beat it the fuck out of her. And she's BELIEVED him. Hey, he fucked me up the cranial asshole too, but at least I SORTA knew he's full of shit. You know, sometimes. Like whenever I'm not trying to TIE MY SHOES without hearing that goddamn "You're gonna fail" voice in my fucking head. Fuck you, voice. Fuck you in the ass.

"She has no business being on the interestate."

These are the fucking fools who raised me. The concept of driving on an interstate highway ELUDES them. Did I grow up with the original Children Of The Goddamn Corn or what?

He has to work that day. So now, in order to get their fucking van back to them, I have to show Mom an alternate route back home and have her follow me half the way back to her house, since she obviously is not able to do it hereself, has no map-reading abilities, and is, in general, utterly fucking worthless at fucking everything. At least according to the asshole who gave me half his DNA.

When I moved to Indy last year, I thought "It'll be nice to be closer to my family." If that isn't evidence for why I need to go into serious therapy and stop drinking, I don't know what the fuck is. AM I INSANE???

OK, now the good stuff:

1.) I picked up Katie yesterday afternoon. Sheryl and I met halfway, which was very nice of her. We came back here and had dinner and turned on the TV. Watched some MST3K and had a lovely time. She heard some noise outside and looked out the window.

"Daddy! There's kids out there! Can I go play with them?"

She's really overcome the shyness she had prevously. Now she wants to play with every single other kid she sees. Which is really pretty cool. I'm happy about that.

I didn't feel like going out, but we did and I'm VERY happy we did. Three black kids who live here in the apartments, ages 4, 6, and 8. The oldest is the girl. The others were boys. They LOVED playng with Katie, and she had a great time. They ran around and played hide and seek and tag. Then they started collecting pine cnes and brought them to me. I ended up playing too. They hid pine cones and told me to find them. Of course, they then led me around and showed me exactly where they all were, which was pretty funny. Then we spent half an hour throwing pine cones and rocks into the little stream by the apartment. They were great kids. I'm glad we got to do that.

2.) Gigs tonight and tomorrow, and our gig next week will be the first with our "alternate" durmmer. I hadn't realized until yesterday that he's playing half (if not more) or the gigs from now on. We're booked almost solid for the next three months, with several gigs scattered through to the end of the year. I'm probably going to have to drive back up to Marion sometime during next week to do another practice with him. We've done three, but I've only been at one, and they've ran into some problems without me there. But the other guys are pretty excited about having him in, and I think he's going to work out great.

3.) Katie woke up before me, and was out playing with her dolls in the front room when I woke up. She had already put on a beautiful pink dress. I feel like the luckiest daddy on earth right now. We're having an early birthday party for her tomorrow at my grandma's, and she's VERY excited. I love watching her get that bouncy happy thing going. She's fun.

4.) Gonna go to my favorite place for lunch on the way up to Marion in a couple hours. Gotta see my favorite waitress.

Bullshit aside, I think it's going to be a fun weekend.

Love,
Dougie

Not Nice To Make Burger From Tarkus Meat

Anyway, I'm sitting here listening to a 1971 Emerson Lake & Palmer show from the big bootleg box set series they put out a while back. And it rocks. And stuff.

Focus, asshole. Focus.

No, not the band with Jan Akkerman.

Amanda. Think about Amanda. Everything else is insanity. Only Amanda.

It's been too long. Friday. I'll see her Friday. I won't have anything for her, nothing big to say. Just let her know i'm still here. Waiting. Waiting sucks, but she's worth it. I hope. I hope I'm not pissing my time away on something that will nevr happen. But that's why I have to go back. I only get concerned about these things when i've been away too long. When I'm there, I feel like it can happen. Until she says otherwise, I have to move forward on that.

Amanda. Pull your mind from the insanity and FOCUS, assbag.

Just was reading wikipedia's entry on bipolar disorder, which I've read a few times. Welcome to my world, motherfuckers.

I think I'm gonna splooge. ELP doing Tarkus in 1971. My love for that piece (taking up side one of the album) has grown steadily over the years. I don't think Emerson ever topped the sheer balls and fearlessness he so ruthlessly displayed on this 20 minutes of prog-powered bliss. I love a lot of his stuff. Nothing like this, though. All three of them at their peak. Maybe my favorite lyrics of Lake's. Certainly some of his finest bass work. This particular version (September 1, 1971) stomps the stuffing from my skull. Ahhh, ELP back before theatrics and complacency settled in. Just pure fuckin' adventure in music. Fuck the naysayers. Lester Bangs can eat my cock. THIS is rock and roll, baby. Rampant unfettered individuality and gleeful rule-smashing abound. Deranged moog-farts, and Lake (who could sing the phone book to the tune of Mary Had A Little Goddamn Lamb and make me love it) spitting in the face of organized religion. How fuckin' cool is that?

Jesus. I have to be up for work in a little over five hours. and go get Katie tomorrow afterwards. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night. Make dinner and sit back and watch some MST3k. I've got three CDs of bootleggy Canturbury goodness to ask Sheryl to give Keneally for me. I love giving him stuff. Last year I handed him a few discs of Tony WIlliams' Lifetime and they way he beamed looking at those discs filled my little black heart with joy. I hope he comes around here soon. I'm gonna have to stick my tongue in his ear, that sexy little man.

Oh fuck. Aquatarkus just kicked in. I get sucked into this, and everything else on the planet is mere POOT. I'm apparantly a total fagmonkey for Keith Emerson, because those synth noises are like taking a big ol' Moog-y bone in the ass, and I'm bending over a little more for him. Do me, bitch.

I'm gonna have a hard time explaining this all to Amanda if I ever get her. LOL.

Love,
Dougie
PS Holy Mother Of Fuck. What is he DOING to that Moog? I just shot six layers of spoo in my undies.

Fuck-Gremlins Eating My Brain

"So, how's the prettiest lady in all of Dollar Tree today?"

"OK" Her voice cracks, she giggles, looks away, turns seventeen shades of red. I just made a woman do that? Cool!

"I just got you really flustered, didn't I?" Big grin.

"Yes, you're making me blush. Thank you. Thank you very much. You're always so nice to me."

"Very easy to do when it's someone as beautiful and friendly as you are."

She tries to regain some sense of composure. Starts ringing my stuff up. I can't BELIEVE the way she's looking at me. When she looks. She's trying not to look. Wow, I just really brain-fucked this poor girl good, didn't I? Cool!

Too bad I'm a degenerate piece of shit for doing it. Hitting on a woman who is married and six months pregnant. Jesus H. Sandblasted Christ, Doug. Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm probably just doing it because I know there's no way in hell it's ever going to go anywhere, but for fuck's sake, does THAT make it a good idea?

Oh my God, she's looking at me again. With eyes that say...they can't REALLY be saying that, can they? Fucking impossible. I have to be imagining this. She can't REALLY be looking at me like...like...oh my fucking gawd.

Every single molecule is burning. Scorching. The hairs on my arms are standing up. How does a girl get that combination of being so pretty, having such a wonderful sweet smile, a lovely voice, a killer body, and an all-around aura of...innocence? Is that it? The word doesn't really fit, but there's SOMETHING in her that suggests that. Hell, I don't know. She seems so...sweet. Nice. Pleasant. Obviously just the kind of girl that should be running away screaming from my rancid pig ass right now. But she's not. Those eyes...holy fuckin' shit, those eyes...She definitely likes the attention she's getting. Maybe that's all it is. But she obviously is enjoying it.

I learned a couple things about her. She's 21. THAT was a surprise, becuase I actually thought she was five or so years older. Beautiful, beautiful woman. I wouldn't have thought she was that young, though.

She's also back in school, getting her GED. That was a surprise too. She seems pretty smart. I wonder what caused her to quit school. She said "Just for some really stupid reasons."

A little more small talk. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She seemed to be making an enormous effort not to look at me. Maybe she thought she'd turn to stone. No...when she does look...dammit H, you're carbonating my brain cells.

I have no business at all flirting with this girl. But damn, she's beautiful. That red hair, those eyes, that...everything. Fucking everything. I only feel dirty later when I think about the fact that she's married, six months pregnant. It seems WRONG afterwards. but at the time, when she's talking to me, looking...it seems really...nice? I don't feel a shard of perversion when it's actually happening. It's not even all that sexual. Just...like admiring art. She's simply beautiful and sweet and I'd love just to look. Oh, I want to do other things too. But only later. When she's there, i feel like a nice guy. I only feel like a depraved swine later, when I remember who she actually is.

She always comments on how often I'm in there. It's not actually because the women are so hot there (OK, it's that too) but I tend to need to pick stuff up there about three times a week. I do my shopping in small bursts.

"I'll see you again in a few days." She said that with expectation. She wants me to come back? Ahh, she just likes the attention. I'm feeding her ego. It can't be...wow...I can't believe the way she looks at me...

This hood ornament is probably gonna fall off and get ran over by a bus full of liquid pig shit. The fact that I'm enjoying the ride so much kinda scares me.

Love,
Dougie

Indeterminate Feathery Thing

Way into Canturbury prog rock, due to a slew of shows available on dimeadozen.org which, if you havne't been there, GET OFF YOUR ASS. It's a torrent site LOADED with killer "unofficial " live shit of just about everyone who ever had a tape recorder or DAT machine within 1000 miles of them.

I'm a huge fan of the REAL Dave Stewart (prog-rock keyboard icon, former Keyboard Magazine columnist, hilarious writer of liner notes to albums nobody buys), not the wanker from the '80s. I came to Stewart via his Keyboard column and his work on Bill Bruford's late 70s albums. He's also semi-known for two of the most outrageously interesting "Canturbury" prog bands, Hatfield & The North, and Natioanl Health. Insanely difficult, mostly instrumental music, but usually with an airiness and oddball sense of humour that fucks my world in half, baby. Stewart's chops as a player and composer are unreal, and goddamn it, it's too bad four people on the planet know who he is. And I'm two of them.

He also played with Egg, sort of a ELP/Nice goes heavier and denser and weirder. And i'm a huge Keith Emerson fan too.

Anyway, go find some of this shit. I just got a slew of shows from these bands, and I'm listening to National Health's Complete, a double CD collection that isn't actually their complete catalog, but is most of it. It's the kind of unrepentedly musicianly thing that I know my readers from proggy/Zappa/Keneally circles might enjoy, so there ya go.

Got a SHITLOAD of stuff at the library today from a psychotic spree of placing holds on their website last week. Loads of Bob Mould - solo, and with Sugar and Husker Du. Also some Pixies, and the guitar tab books from two Faith no More albums, The Real Thing and Angel Dust. I'm a freak for Faith No More, always have been. Got a couple of their VHS tapes from the library too. I love libraries.

I haven't seen A4 at work since that first day. Damn. But today I had A1 on my mind anyway. I REALLY am missing Amanda, it's been a little over a week now. I think I'll go in there Friday when me and Katie are heading up to Marion. I haven't got a clue what I'm going to say, I just have to let her know I'm still around.

I allowed myself a couple hours of serious thinking ahead today, asking some harder questions I haven't wanted to ask myself about what might happen if I ever do get to be with this fabulous lady. It's all absurd, I might not get anywhere with her at all. But I let myself go there for a while, and I've come to the conclusion that I've got a shitload of inner work still to do, but I'm not going to let that hold me back from pursuing her further. I HAVE to. I'm very unsure of...well...most things. But I'm quite confident that it's the right thing to do, that the things I feel towards her are really quite balanced and right. The details I don't know about. The basic impulse is driving me to her.

Another incident this week made me think hard about other things. It's a bit disconcerting to have someone suggest something to you that makes you question their motivation for doing so, but you still know they have a valid point. In my case, I had to hold back an awful lot of nastiness that I knew would be counter-productive (though not without reason), because I knew I had to think about what was suggested to me. I'm being vague, but I'm asking myself a lot of questions about where I'm at in my head, and where I'm going. WHY I'm going there. I don't like all the answers. I feel very strongly that there's a strong, very good part of me. And another part that is really fucking evil. I spend most my time living in the vast expanse of grey between the two, not knowing what the fuck I'm doing. I suppose we're all like this. In fact, part of what I hate about my fellow humans is our unwillingness to ADMIT this shit. I'm goinna admit it. becuase dammit, why not?

But when I think about Amanda it becomes clear again, and I know I'm doing this for the right reasons. I might fuck it all up anyway, but dammit, I've gotta try. It feels like my first shot at a truly healthy relationship with a woman.

That is IF she's not just stringing me along and being nice to me because she's not up to telling me to go fuck myself. I have to accept that possibility. Sucks, but I have to.

OK, we need a dick joke now before my head goes any farther up my ass.

My dick.

OK, there's the joke. Let's move on.

Also thought for a while about A2. Damn, I miss her. I know you're still reading this shit, babe. I still have your picture here. I still care about you, and I hope you're OK out there. I just wish I knew why you left, if I said or did something wrong.

I've been writing a post about something totally unrelated to all this in my head for two days now. It's REALLY disgusting. I'm proud of it, but I haven't typed it up into final form yet. Soon.

Jesus H. Fuckin' Shitbasket. I've gotta be up in five and a half hours. Good night, you fuckers.

Love,
Dougie

Huhuhuh, "stiff competition", huhuhuhuh

For those who don't know, tblog keeps a list of the top 100 "hot blogs." Check it out from the main page.

Anyway, I've been floating in the 20's for some time, which is a nice thing, I guess. However, today, I've come face to face (to put it one way) with my basic inadequacy, the realization that I simply am not DOING MY JOB for you, my fine readers.

THIS blog is four places ahead of me:

asstrafic.tblog.com

Yes, ladies and gents, ASSTRAFFIC (or, a person who can't spell "asstraffic") has "one-upped" me (so to speak), and I am truly humbled.

So, without further ado:

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There. Now I feel much better.

Love (and assfucking)
Dougie

This Place Is Full Of Adventures And Flowers

The highlight of the drive to see Katie this morning (after three hours sleep) was listening to Issac Hayes' Hot Buttered Soul. Maybe I need to stop going after hot girls and let a bald black man make sweet love to me. Shit, that's some good stuff. The bass groove on Hyperbolicsyllabicsesqued alymistic is the stuff hard-ons are made of.

As I type, Zappa is tearing my soul apart with one of the most perfect guitar solos in recorded history, on Any Kind Of Pain. From the Broadway The Hard Way album. As further proof of how fucking incredible Mike Keneally is, THAT motherfucker actually played this damn solo nearly note-perfect on the Zappa's Universe video. He brings the bus ride to a thrilling conclusion.

Also cranked up the first Mono Puff album, the side project from John Flansburgh of They Might Be Giants' fame. There's a KILLER instrumental surf-guitar tune (Guitar Was The Case) at the begining of that album that FUCKS MY SOUL. Holy goddamn gee-tar-bangin' shit. It hit my head. Now I'm left-handed.

Katie and I had an incredible day up at Caesar's Creek State Park, near Waynesville, Ohio. I've gone on at length before about the odd connection I felt to this place when I found out how many of my ancestors lived there, but it truly is a beautiful part of the world to spend an afternoon.

We had a picnic at one of the shelters, then walked down a trail beside the lake. She spent 45 minutes digging in the mud with a stick as the waves came in from the speedboats across the lake. She was VERY INTENT on her digging. I just sat there and watched her. I'd told her about another ittle girl who might have played there back when it was just a creek, before the Army Corps Of Engineers created the resevoir in 1975. "Katie, you know your Grandma? My mommy? Her grandma had a grandma who was born here. I bet she used to play by the river when she was a girl."

For all I know she stayed in a log cabin and ate grubs. But to see my daughter playing at this place was...spiritual? I have no idea how to describe it. I have come to slowly almost accept that I'll never leave the Midwest. I haven't made myself LIKE this inevitability yet, but when I go back to southwest Ohio, I know where I might be able to be happy the rest of my life. Maybe. Something tells me I'll be back there next summer. and I really want to live as close to Caesar's Creek as possible. I feel somthing there that I don't get anywhere else.

We walked through the trees, and back out to the picnic area, then over to another trail. As we walked back into the woods, Katie noticed the wild flowers growing. "Daddy, this place is full of adventures and flowers."

I liked that.

We sat for 15 minutes at a little fishing hole where maybe a dozen people (apparantly the same family) were fishing. We watched a boy let a fish off the hook back into the water. I told Katie I need to learn how to fish all over again. It's been 20 years since I went up to my grandparents' lake place and sat out there fishing. I never got that good at it, but I'd love to fish with Katie.

Later, when we were nearly home, I told her that I was going to talk to Mom and Dad about coming down there so we could all go back and visit together. They havne't been there in a while.

Katie said "And Mommy can come too! And my whole family! We can all fish together!"

"That would be nice, honey." I don't see it ever happening. But hope is alive inside my daughter. Every once in a while she says something like that, something that lets me know she's still thinking about when we were all together. It breaks my heart, but what do I say to her? Let her have her dreams. They're probably much better ones than mine anyway.

We drove into Waynesville and got gas, then over to the old Quaker cemetery. "The little girl I told you about who was born here? Your grandma's grandma's grandma? Her grandparents are buried right here."

She looked at the worn stones. "They must be really old."

"They've been dead for 150 years, honey. But they were very interesting people."

I told her about this part of her family. How they were among the first white people to live in the area, how they came here because they wanted to live in a place away from slavery. I told her about slavery, about Quakers, about what makes me want to visit this place as often as I can, the connection I feel to these people.

"Daddy, did they make the little black kids be slaves too?"

The concern in her voice...

"Yes, honey. But these people didn't believe people should be slaves, and that's why they came here. And slavery is no longer allowed in this country. It was made against the law soon after these people buried here died."

"Are you sure the little black kids had to be slaves too?"

The things you have to explain to a four-year old...

She seemed satisfied when we left. As we drove off, I told her how much I appreciated the way she thinks.

"Ever tell your kids, you're glad that they can think?" - Frank Zappa

"Katie, i'm glad you asked me about the little black kids, that you wanted to know I was telling the truth."

"I believe what you say, Daddy."

Ouch. This kid has a lot to learn...

"I'm glad you do, honey. and I always try to tell you the truth. but that's what I want to talk to you about now. Most people who tell you things are probably trying to tell you the truth. But we don't always know what we're talking about. Sometimes we're wrong. And that's OK, becuase we're all just hmans, and we're all still learning stuff. But we are wrong somtimes. And I'm glad you asked me these questions, because that's what you should always do. Always question what people tell you. they're probably nice people and they believe what they say, but you have to find the truth out for yourself. Don't let other people tell you things without always questioning if it's right. Including me. I don't always get it right either. I'm your Daddy, and you might have to do what I tell you sometimes, but that doesn't mean you have to believe everything I say. I might be wrong sometimes. Always ask questions, honey. Always."

"OK, Daddy."

i wonder if anyone else will ever say that to her. I figure it's my job. i don't know if I can teach her much else, but I can teach her that adults are full of shit sometimes. And it's OK to know that, it's OK to question. Do it the right way. Don't be an asshole about it (like, say, your daddy half the time) but never stop questioning. it's the only way we truly learn anything.

Or maybe not. Maybe sometimes we learn simply from staying still long enough to let it all sink in. Like the way we did by the lake, the way we did when we watched those people fish, the way we did again later by the creek before we left. We said very little to each other. Just sat there and watched. Quietly observing. i don't do that often enough. i figure few of us do. Something else to teach my girl, though based on today, I think she knows it quite well already.

She napped for half an hour after we left, driving back towards her house. We ate at a Mexican place (her idea) and went back home. I'll be with her again in four days. I can't wait. I still feel this huge wall between my life here in Indianapolis and back there with her in the Cincinnati area, but i'm finally coming to terms with it, and i'm learning how to get what I need from both. Being with her is the one truly pure experience I have all week. She's full of questions and observations. This world is still new to her. She hasn't let it beat the hell out of her the way I have been stupid enough to do. And I think i have more to learn from her than i'll ever be able to teach.

As we drove to the cemetery and I gave her the back-history of the area, She seemed to be actually somewhat interested. She said "Daddy, you know a lot of interesting stuff. You should be a teacher. That's what grownups do when they're really smart. They become teachers."

It filled me full of warm fuzzies. But I couldn't tell her what I really felt. That I'm actually dumb as a box of shit about most stuff, and it's a constant source of irritation. I don't tell her that, because she shouldn't have to grow up like that. She shouldn't have to feel the ludicrous need I feel to be better than what I (or anyone) is capable of really being. The self-loathing that comes wit not matching up to something that is impossible for a human being to match up to. I don't want her to ever have to feel like that. I'm having a fuck of a time stopping myself. But as long as I have her to learn with, to observe with, to walk through the trees and watch the birds and throw stones into the water with, I don't have to feel like shit either. I'm back to that newness when I'm with her. That sense of adventure. I can teach her that. That people try to take it away from us, but we shouldn't let them. It never really leaves us. We just sometimes need a Katie around to bring it back out.

It's only been three hours since I left. And I miss her already.

Love,
Doug

Fuck That Shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!

We did good too. We didn't really kick in until late in the night, but it was solid all around. I finally got my voice back after two shitty weeks, and absolutely nailed everything I sang. I only did one solo tune, Heart Of Gold, but we also did Cinnamon Girl, (I sing the high part, and I've never done it better than tonight) and there's few things I enjoy more in this band than singing harmony behind Mark on Jumping Jack Flash. I cranked the treble up on the amp during the last set and really dug in, and we pretty much rocked like a motherfucker.

Lots of women. Few I was interested in, but man there were a few. A couple killer, killer brunettes, probably around 30, both dancing throughout our last set. Another brunette, a rather big but very pretty girl in her late 20s maybe, was there for the last few tunes, and yeah, I like them big asses. Nice, honey. Very nice.

Cool surprise afterwards. The back end of the place looks out across an alley to a factory I worked at during a summer in college, my dad was the corporate pilot for them for years. A block away is a convinience store i used to go to. I felt like something quick to munch on, and when I saw the store, I wondered...

I walked in. Sure enough, there he was.

"Fuckin' Abe!!!"

I hadn't seen him in at least six years. I always thought of Abe as the crazy punk-metal guy. Always in leather and chains, hair everywhere, a really scary looking motherfucker, but one of the nicest guys I've ever known. Fucking NUTS, but a very cool guy. I remember him handing me a tape he'd made me and saying, "You'll get a kick out of this. It's entertaining." My introduction to GG Allin. Pleasant, heart-warming toons from the center of sickness. I need to find that damn tape now.

He's worked at that same damn place on third shift for at least ten years. He used to come into our singer's old record store, and I used to visit him at the convinience store at 3AM after getting off work delivering pizza. I'd stand there by the door until the crack of dawn talking music with him, keeping him company so he wouldn't be alone with the crackheads who came in at those wretched hours. Not that it would have mattered. He carried at least half a dozen weapons at all times, including a shotgun under the counter in case of...uh...emergency? Sometimes I wondered if he was looking for an excuse to whip the fucker out. I don't think he would actually ever try to hurt someone unless they were after him first, but I KNOW that crazy bastard enough to know he'd blow a load in his pants if he got the chance to scare the shit out of somebody. Nutty fuck. If I ever write my novel, he's gonna be a character in it.

It was funny, though. He didn't have the leather on. just normal store-cashier stuff. Still has the biker/punk-approved hair and beard, but now he has glasses. He's gained weight. Holy shit, he looks almost...normal? Nah, he's still Abe. but it has to be as domesticated a version of him as I could ever have imagined. And he was glad to see me too. "I thought you were in Cincinnati! Where the hell you been, man?"

I told him i'd try to stop back in next weekend since we have two gigs in town and I'll be staying at my parents' with Katie. I didn't stay more than two minutes this time since I wanted back home. I'm going to sleep now, get maybe fur hours or so and go down to Cincy. but I sure am glad I saw Abe again. I missed that guy.

Today's drive music was Roy Harper's HQ, the Cure's Standing On The Beach, a Roky Erickson best of, Deep Purple's Machine Head, and Metallica's And Justice For All. Tonight's beer - Pabst Blue Ribbon. Nice and cold. If there's one thing I can't fucking stand, it's warm beer! Makes me fuckin' puke!

In dreams I walk with you,
Dougie

I Wonder Why I Do This Shit To Myself

Melinda left this morning. Kara told me about it. Went to Kentucky to visit family, then she's off for good to somewhere near San Francisco. Apparantly her family is loaded, which explains all the travelling she's done in the past few months. She told me in the letter last night that she's driven west and back three times, and all over the east coast too. Lucky girl. This last time, she came back to Indy the same way I'd told her I came back through Arizona and New Mexico, and she even stopped in Roswell solely because I'd told her how much I liked that goofy place. She described eastern Arizona and the drive through White Sands in New Mexico just like I remember it. Damn, I wish I could go back west again.

I saw Kara outside, went up and talked to her for maybe 25 minutes. She offered me some tea and fruit. For a girl who looks like she's ready to bite the head off the first motherfucker to piss her off, she's really very, very friendly.

We talked about Melinda mostly, and I found out more about the really weird relationship they have. "She's the best friend I've ever had and I love her more than anyone, but I swear, I want to kill her most of the time." I bet these two have had LOTS of fun taking turns with the strap-on... LOL

Some of what she said didn't line up with what I thought I knew, but I'm not sure it matters much. She told me Melinda mentions me every once in a while, mostly she feels like shit because she played wth my head. Yep, she sure did.

After it was done, I felt i understood her a little more. Kara had some interesting insights. I don't want to share them, because...eh, I don't know. I don't feel *I* should know as much about these two as I do, let alone talk much more about them. But I feel bad for them both. Everytime I think I'm fucked up, somebody comes along to make me wonder how I got off so easy in 36 years. Kara's seen some really bad shit too, she just seems to have got through it better than Melinda.

She's moving out too, after she's done with school here, going about thirty miles from where Melinda is going to. Sounds like they still have time for each other.

I wished her well and went on. And yeah, she's pretty hot too. She was out washing her car when I got there, barefoot with short shorts and a loose oversized t-shirt. Long straight dark hair. Hell of a babe. She didn't seem to mind - I HAD to have been obviously two steps from drooling on myself - and she even gave me a quick hug and thanked me for being nice to her wackjob girlfriend. Nice girl.

Then I came home and saw the old retired guy two doors down. He saw me outside smoking. I'm such a melodramatic putz sometimes. I was smoking a Winchester, re-reading the letter. Then I set the damn thing on fire in one of my Guinness pint glasses. Glenn came up and said, "Some girl got you down?" Yeah, I'm kinda obvious.

We saw the guy who used to live next door to me, The guy who's 19-year old girlfriend left him for the 40-year old ex-boyfriend who used to beat the shit out of her. He moved around the corner into a two-bedroom (which is how I ended up with Gay Porn Boy next door) and has a new girlfriend. They came outside together to leave in separate cars, it was the second time I've seen her. STUNNING. Tall knockout supermodel-type blonde. K is a lucky guy, that's two unbelievable women I've seen him with. Well, the first one turned out to be fucked-up, so I guess he's not QUITE so lucky, but damn...he gets to fuck that? Bastard. I'd be happy to LOOK at her for an hour or two.

I spent 20 minutes leaning against the back of Glenn's truck (man, it's beautiful outside today) listening to him tell 40-year old stories. Cool guy. He asked if I knew anything about the neighbor in between us. I told him I know he watches a lot of TV late at night. LOL.

Poor old guy would keel over dead if he saw the shit I've seen next door. :)

Got some decent sleep last night. Had a nice conversation on the phone with Sheryl and Katie this morning. I think I'll take Katie up to Caesar's Creek when I go down there tomorrow. Lovely weather out there.

Playing some bar in Marion tonight, lower pay than usual. But it's a new place for us, so I'm looking forward to it. We've agreed that I'm singing Bang A Gong from now on - we're eventually going to do it as a full band - and I think I'll do Something for my other solo bit. In a George Harrison kinda mood all of a sudden. I'd love to do that with the full band and get to play that sweet, beautiful guitar solo, one of the few I've ever bothered to learn note-for-note. But that would mean I couldn't play that outrageously cool bass line. I love me some Beatles.

Have a lovely day, motherfuckers.

Love,
Dougie

Squeeze Me, Macaroni

Guess who just dropped by without talking to me?

i was cooking chicken and listening to Megadeth's Risk (which isn't that great, but has some cool riffage here and there) and my windows are up. I thought I heard something outside.

A note on the door. Must be from the landlord.

Nope.

Melinda. Everybody's favorite daddy's girl.

Fuckin' hell. I was just thinking about her the other day. Fuck knows why.

I hadn't seen her in at least a few months. (Before Christmas? Just after? I can't remember now.) I won't copy it here, there's a couple things i really don't feel like sharing (bad things that happened to her that she told me about months ago and repeated in the letter, good things about me that would be a huge exercise in ego to repeat about myself, and I don't completely believe them anyway) but it was a tad unnerving. She saw me at the gas station up the road a few hours ago but didn't think she should bother me. But she HAS drove by the apartment several times, trying to decide whether or not to talk to me, hoping i'd come otuside. Is this chick stalking me? Am I being full of my own shit to think so?

She's in town for a few days, getting her things from her old apartment. She's been around the country, but mostly in California, and is moving there. She's mostly lived there for a couple months. She's not living with/seeing Kara anymore. (Kara, the Avril Lavinge-looking roommate/lesbo-lover.) She's living with a guy now. And his girlfriend. I don't EVEN want to know the details of this.

Bullshit. I do too. I want fucking pictures and free downloads of ten-second video clips that'll give my computer yet more spyware. Who am i kidding?

She went to visit her dad in jail a while back. She's "made peace" with that. I hope so. Then again, knowing what that piece of shit did to her, and that he even was able to make her ENJOY it for a while...ick. I'm glad she's happy about things now. But it still makes MY skin crawl and I wasn't even there. This fucker was EVIL to her, and made evil feel like love. Goddammit. And *I* feel like an asshole sometimes? I'm Jesus next to this rotten fuck.

For those who don't know, this girl was around for a few days several months ago. Go read my November 2005 archive. I just did, and it made me laugh and feel ill all over again. There's also some good stuff about Amanda (you know, A1) that made me smile and gave me a good boost. I hadn't read any of that shit in months.

Anyway - Melinda. I look almost exactly like her sexually-abusive father, and I still don't know what the fuck actually happened between us in those few days. It's like a weird blur. She actually kissed me. Right here in my bedroom. That was it, but that was REALLY FUCKED-UP after everything she told me about her father, and I don't think she'd even told me all of it at that point. I managed to keep my brain from going in the wrong head (which, given the details, was really not hard to do, the sick little bitch) but she's VERY pretty, VERY sweet in her wackjob way, fourteen years younger than me, and....dammit, I thought she'd disappeared off the face of the planet. Why did she come back, if only to leave me this damn letter? Christ, she was maybe 20 yards from me an hour ago and I never saw her. I don't know whether to be creeped out or not.

You know how you get some weird paranoid idea in your head that you know is complete bullshit but you can't help but be controlled by it for a while? I've looked out the window about 47 times now, waiting to see Melinda with her baseball bat. The one she TRIED TO KILL HER DAD WITH.

I've been going totally bugshit in this damn apartment for months now, feeling both good about my solitude and utterly alone, often at the same time. There's been two women in here since I moved in. This wacko psychobitch, and that stupid cunt a couple weeks ago who I tried to be nice to because I was letting my dick control my brain again. Two walking festivals of neurosis, and i'm GLAD I didn't fuck either of them. That's pretty damn amazing, dontcha think?

She apologized for "using" me (thanks, sweetheart) and for "taking advantage of your feelings." Yep. sure enough, baby. Gave me wood and everything. Thanks a lot. Bitch.

I don't usually even like using the word "bitch" about women. Even women I don't like. I TRY to be respectful, because I LOVE women. But THIS twisted little girl deserves it. Most of the women I know are either wonderful or at least definitely mean well, or are merely annoying at worst. But it seems I've run into more CUNTS and BITCHES in the past year than at any other time I can remember. I figure it's payback for how much of a FUCKHEAD I've been more than once in my life, but it doens't make it any less fucked-up.

She wrote a bunch of other stuff about how nice a guy I am, which I don't really quite buy. I think she's more full of shit than I am. Imagine that. But yeah, I tried to be nice to her. Considering that I had to take multiple showers to keep from feeling like I'd given myself some fucking disease being around her.

And she was so pretty. Jesus Christ.

Enough of that shit. A4 wasn't at work today, so there was no great ass to check out. We left an hour early, which does no favors for my wallet, but I guess some days they stay late, some days they leave early. Fuckin' hell.

Teriyaki chicken and rice with Steel Reserve for dinner. Another Megadeth album going, Cryptic Writings. I appreciate it more than Risk, but I think the only album I NEED of these guys is Rust In Peace. THAT kicks some ass. This stuff is merely cute.

I just called Megadeth "cute." I really am in the Dark Lord's realm now. LOL.

Oh, fuck this shit. I'm putting in the first Mr. Bungle album. Why hold back? I need something that actually IS evil right now, not this pussy pretend paint-by-numbers Dave Mustaine horseshit. I remember the Jeezo-bangers I used to hang out with getting all freaked out just by the NAME Megadeth. "Oooooh, that's SATANIC!!!"

You know what? If that's the best Satan can do, *I* could bitch-slap that little horned cunt from here to the nearest tit-bar and back. Fuck him in his ass. Mike Patton makes Satan look like James Fucking Dobson. Add in John "I Ate Beelzebub's Cock For Breakfast" Zorn on sax and production, and you've got yerself a fuckin' PARTY, my friends.

GOD BLESS MR. BUNGLE. Don't you fuckin' look at me!

Ahhh...to have a beer with Mike Patton and Dennis Hopper. That might be better than pussy. I DOUBT it, but I'd sure like to find out.

I haven't even written yet about the Chinese take-out shit I took earlier today. THAT is a fucking story. I should have saved it and sold it to NASA. You could glue together a zillion space shuttles and avoid those nasty accidents. Holy SHIT. Literally. New from Touchstool Pictures - H.P. Lovecraft's The Colour Out Of Doug. Yep. My asshole could knock a blasted heath into a Massachussettes country-side. Cthulhu ftagn, motherfuckers!

I'm fucking tired. I hope that bitch comes back. i'm gonna crank up My Ass Is On Fire when she does, hang my head out the window and scream "REDUNDANT!" thirty or forty thousand times, and make that little girl go running back home to Daddy.

Love,
Dougie

Dumb All Over

So the state of Georgia is now giving state sponsorship to Bible classes. Oh, how lovely. I suppose when the devil went down there, he found just a few too many souls to steal and now you fucking fundamentalist Christians want them back, eh? As if Satan doens't have anywhere better to go than fucking GEORGIA.

This is STATE SPONSORSHIP being used for RELIGIOUS PURPOSES. What's happening to this country? And why is it that despite owning the President and a majority of Congress, getting their shit through the FCC, getting more and more attention from the "liberal" (my ass) media and representing most of the fuckers who hold me up in "red state" traffic, they STILL insist that some massive "anti-Christian" conspiracy is overtaking this fine God-fearing nation of ours? Why? Because somebody made a movie in Hollywood about fags kissing? What the fuck is WRONG with you assholes?

Our priorities are SHIT. The Republican party - bought and sold long ago by the Religious Right - are pushing wars with enemies other than the people who actually attacked us, pushing for restrictions on what can be said in the media, going apeshit about homosexuals (as if it AFFECTS them in ANY meaningful way), and continuosly propogating the LIE that this country was founded by people with the same "values" as they. Hey, asshole. The guys who founded this country valued OWNING BLACK PEOPLE. How about updating our approach to MODERN NECESSITIES rather than rewriting history in your tainted fucking image?

One of the things that makes our country great is that you can believe any shit you want to believe. One of the other things that makes it great is the separation of church and state that makes sure assholes who believe one thing in particular don't end up FUCKING THE REST OF US IN OUR NON-BELIEVING ASSHOLES.

Bible classes are not part of the Constitution. In fact, they VIOLATE the rights of those of us who DON'T BELIEVE THAT SHIT. you might want to take a moment to separate FAIRY TALES from REALITY and know that SCIENCE makes for EDUCATED STUDENTS. RELIGION is for church, NOT for schools.

A nation that ignores its poor, ignores education, ignores the poisoning of our air, water, and food supply, ignores a solid and effective infrastructure, and values CONSUMERISM AND JESUS above all, does not DESERVE better than what we are getting. We are perfectly happy to give up some of our freedoms (or, to put it a more accurate way, the freedoms of those who don't think like we do) for the ILLUSION of safety and security, the ILLUSION of a "God-centered" culture. I've got news for you fuckers. your precious leaders don't ultimately give a FUCK about God, they care about OIL and MONEY. This is not even debatable among people who READ and are capable of CRITICAL THINKING.

Further news for you fucking Christians that I know you don't know about. Us nasty "liberals" (I just love being able to call myself that, especially since I'm more truly conservative than the current neo-con fucks EVER will be) ARE NOT OUT TO GET YOU AND YOUR PRECIOUS VALUES. We don't give a SHIT what you believe as long as you LEAVE US ALONE. Making movies about queers is not an attack on you. It's a fucking MOVIE. Stay the fuck home and watch Pat Robertson if you don't like it. We're FINE with that. We don't CARE about the shit YOU do in your spare time. I couldn't give a fuck about The Passion Of The Christ or the Left Behind series. YOU CAN HAVE IT. Good for you. That's YOUR thing and you are WELCOME TO IT. You don't see guys like me picketing bookstores because Tim LeHaye is "undermining my values." No, I'm at home PRACTICTING my values. You know, downloading porn, jerking off, drinking beer, and READING every once in a while. Those are my values. And don't pretend yours are BETTER somehow. THEY SERVE THE SAME PURPOSE. You get to feel good because you've deluded yourself into thinking God loves you. I get to feel good because I got to delude myself for about three minutes that Aurora Snow wants MY dick in her ass. The only difference is that with enough alcohol and a few ropes, MY DREAM MIGHT COME TRUE.

Republicans won an election because they somehow managed to make a chickenhawk fool look "braver" than a decorated war hero, because they managed to get millions of people behind NON-VALUES about gay people, and because they SCARED THE SHIT out of the general public with a "war on terror" that has little to do with what actually happened on 9/11 and a hell of a lot to do with POWER. You fuckers control most of what happens in this country now. But that isn't good enough, is it? Now you have to extend that shit into EVERYTHING, including fucking BIBLE CLASSES in schools that aren't even good enough to teach these little fuckers how to count to ten. Do we need these Bible classes? NO. Our economy and our social structure does NOT depend on some half-wit at a Taco Bell drive-through being able to know that JESUS SAYS SEX IS BAD. It also doesn't depend on the same annoying little half-wit beng able to make proper change, but at least THAT gets traffic moving a LITTLE BIT FASTER, which makes for more time for you people to take the tax money you saved on going to such secular activities as...oh, I don't know...providing decent HEALTH-CARE to sick people (something I think Jesus might show some interest in if he were here today) and spend it instead on SHIT YOU DON'T NEED.

The idea that this is or ever has been a "Christian nation" is NONSENSE. CHRIST HIMSELF might have a thing or two to say to you fat fucking consumers in your fucking gas-guzzling SUVs, spending countless dollars on meaningless entertainment and fast-food and filling your kids full of Ritalin if they don't RESPECT you. (Phewwwwwwwwww.)

There are some Christians who KNOW what Christ was about. Not many, but a few. People who have READ the words of Christ (and don't confuse them with the other shit in that confused, contradictory, source-varied, and utter anachronism known as The Bible) might have values like CHARITY. Like TOLERANCE. Like PEACEFULNESS. Like INTELLIGENCE. Meanwhiie, you fuckers and your continuous support for a lying, cheating, war-mongering, simple-minded WHOREBAG PRESIDENT are obviously more faithful to PEOPLE than you are PRINCIPLES, and THAT is why I say take your fucking Bible classes back to your churches and LEAVE US OUT OF IT. We don't need our children filled with your "values." We need children who can THINK FOR THEMSELVES, can come up with workable solutions to basic life-situations, can READ, and who value "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" (You know, something CHRIST taught?) over "do unto others before they have a chance to do anything that might actually matter unto you.."

You don't need the Ten Commandments, people. Most of those commandments are religious horseshit that have no bearing on the needs of modern civilized man, and the few that do don't need RELIGION to enforce them. You think we couldn't come up with "don't kill, don't lie, don't steal" on our own? Like YOU fuckers are the sole proprieters of that? Take a look at your fucking President and give me that shit, you hypocritical FOOLS.

If you need your centuries-modified, handed-down-by-generation s view of Jesus to be able to make it through your day, FINE. Enjoy it. Treasure it. But DON'T INFLICT IT ON US. A few TV shows or books are not going to bring down your empire. Your influence is GROWING, thanks in no small part to the bought-and-sold leaders of this formerly great nation who have BULLSHITTED you that they "care" about your "values" in order to get your MONEY and your VOTES. Look past their words (which are LIES) and look at what they DO. Then ask yourself what would JESUS do if he were in their position. I guaran-fucking-tee you that the answer is going to be QUITE different than the example given to you by the SWINE who run our government, Republican and Democrat alike. These people are SOULLESS CASH WHORES who have been pushing your buttons for years to make you THINK they are on your side. They're not. You are more meat for the grinder, motherfuckers. While you spend the money they haven't taken away on bullshit and sit in front of the tube burning away brain cells instead of pursuing INDIVIDUAL FURTHER EDUCATION, they are running away with the REAL money, the REAL power, and you are left holding the empty bag. I'd feel sorry for you, but you ASKED for it.

Whoever we are
Wherever we’re from
We shoulda noticed by now
Our behavior is dumb
And if our chances
Expect to improve
It’s gonna take a lot more
Than tryin’ to remove
The other race
Or the other whatever
From the face
Of the planet altogether

They call it The Earth
Which is a dumb kinda name
But they named it right
’cause we behave the same..,
We are dumb all over
Dumb all over,
Yes we are
Dumb all over,
Near ’n far
Dumb all over,
Black ’n white
People, we is not wrapped tight

Nurds on the left
Nurds on the right
Religous fanatics
On the air every night
Sayin’ the Bible
Tells the story
Makes the details
Sound real gory
’bout what to do
If the geeks over there
Don’t believe in the book
We got over here

You can’t run a race
Without no feet
’n pretty soon
There won’t be no street
For dummies to jog on
Or doggies to dog on
Religous fanatics
Can make it be all gone
(I mean it won’t blow up
’n disappear
It’ll just look ugly
For a thousand years...)

You can’t run a country
By a book of religion
Not by a heap
Or a lump or a smidgeon
Of foolish rules
Of ancient date
Designed to make
You all feel great
While you fold, spindle
And mutilate
Those unbelievers
From a neighboring state

To arms! to arms!
Hooray! That’s great
Two legs ain’t bad
Unless there’s a crate
They ship the parts
To mama in
For souvenirs: two ears (get down!)
Not his, not hers, (but what the hey? )
The good book says:
"it's gotta be that way!"
But their book says:
"REVENGE THE CRUSADES...
With whips ’n chains
’n hand grenades..."
Two arms? two arms?
Have another and another
Our God says:
There ain’t no other!
Our God says
It’s all okay!
Our God says
This is the way!

It says in the book:
Burn ’n destroy...
’n repent, ’n redeem
’n revenge, ’n deploy
’n rumble thee forth
To the land of the unbelieving scum on the other side
’cause they don’t go for what’s in the book
’n that makes ’em bad
So verily we must choppeth them up
And stompeth them down
Or rent a nice French bomb
To poof them out of existance
While leaving their real estate just where we need it
To use again
For temples in which to praise
OUR GOD
('Cause he can really take care of business!)

And when his humble tv servant
With humble white hair
And humble glasses
And a nice brown suit
And maybe a blond wife who takes phone calls
Tells us our God says
It’s okay to do this stuff
Then we gotta do it,
’cause if we don’t do it,
We ain’t gwine up to hebbin!
(Depending on which book you’re using at the
time...can’t use theirs... it don’t work
...it’s all lies...gotta use mine...)
Ain’t that right?
That’s what they say
Every night...
Every day...
Hey, we can’t really be dumb
If we’re just following God’s orders
Hey, let’s get serious...
God knows what he’s doin’
He wrote this book here
An’ the book says:
He made us all to be just like him,
So...
If we’re dumb...
Then God is dumb...
(An’ maybe even a little ugly on the side)

From the album "You Are What You Is" by Frank Zappa

When something that "offends" you comes along, learn to look the other way and merely be INCONVINIENCED by it. That's what we've been doing with most of your bullshit for years. But when you make that shit into NATIONAL POLICY, you better expect us to fight back, because this country is for ALL of us. It's for YOU. It's for US. ALL of us. Now get back to your business in this country, and LEAVE US TO OURS. And maybe, just maybe, start making your decisions based on what is best for EVERYONE and not just the people who smell like you do.

Love (no, really),
Dougie

-------------
I just read that our asshole Attorney General is now going apeshit over kiddie porn. Yet another Republican tactic to distract freom the REAL problems. You wanna know how to stop kids from being exploited by pornographers? EDUCATE THEM. Kids who have some degree of self-respect and aren't IDIOTS won't be "victimized" by those nasty porn merchants. And lower the age of consent (and therefore the "modeling" age) to 15. It's the only rational decision.

Today's Post Brought To You By The Letter "A" And The Number "69"

The new job sucks less than it could, but still sucks. But I'm remarkably awake, enjoying black beans and rice (heavy on hot sauce and cumin) with Steel Reserve beer - the dinner of chumpions.

The highlight of the day was undoubtedly the newest addition to my Library Of Fuckable Females. How a 22-year old girl can shoot three kids out in 4 years and still look that damn good...holy SHIT that's a body I want to get to know in the Biblical sense. Great rack, incredible little ass. I want to make friends with that ass.

"Hello, ass. My name is Doug. Can I be your friend? I like you, you are a fun person. Since we are friends now, I have a present for you. It looks just like a Telefunken U-47."

By the way, her name is Amanda.

Jesus jumped-up Christ in a Hummer. I'm gonna have a hard time keeping these women who aren't actually fucking me straight. (You know. ALL of them. Dammit.) Maybe I should just start going after women named Amanda. That way, if one of them finally does succumb to my...er..charms...I can just yell "Yes, Amanda! Yes!" and it won't matter which one it is.

So, now I have two Amanda's in my brain, and two other females with names starting with the letter A. So, to make this all more coherent (or not, as the case may be) I give to you Dougie's Guide To the Women I Want To Fuck With Names Starting With The Letter A. Or, for short, The A-Team. I pity the fool who can't tell the difference between the women in my A-Team!

I'm dreadfully sorry. That was just wrong.

Anyway...

A4 - Amanda, the new chick from my new job

A3 - The lawyer/punk-rock chick

A2 - The girl who I don't get to talk to anymore, but I still think about too much. Because I really like her, that's why.

A1 - Amanda from Steak & Shake. She gets to be A1 because 1.) i've known her the longest, 2.) I've put the most work into her and she's the one i really feel I can actually connect with, and 3.) I want to cover her in A-1 steak sauce and lick it off her.

OK, I want to do that last thing with all four of them. At the same time. With leather. A boy can dream, right?

So I spent all day stocking shelves (it's really pretty easy work) and checking out the ass on A4 whenever she walked by. Rack too. God DAMN those are some mighty fine funbags.

(I no longer feel the slightest bit of guilt over my supposedly sexist terminology given what WOMEN talk about. I was filling out paperwork in the front of this new temp agency's office yesterday, and all the women (no guys there that i've seen yet) were in the back apparantly thinking I didn't hear them laughing when one of them started talking in hushed tones about her new boyfriend. "Oh my god, you wouldn't believe the dick on this guy. You could make a double sausage pizza with that thing. Girl, he's got a COCK!" Then a couple of them started making gagging noises, leading to more muffled CHICK-LAUGHTER. When one came around the corner, I made an over-exaggerated snorting noise and smiled at her. She turned six shades of red and hid behind the counter. And no, I'm not making this shit up.)

A couple other nice looking ladies at work, but most of them were frightening. Including my new supervisor. But she's very nice, thanked me kindly for staying an extra 15 minutes to help with clean-up, and gave me no shit whatsoever about needing next Friday off. I'm going to have Katie for three days while Sheryl goes to L.A. to see a Keneally show. Lucky girl. But I'm a lucky boy, because I get more time with my girl.

So even though I'm still more or less fucked on the end of this month cash-wise, at least I can spend May catching up some.

A run down again of The A-Team:

A1 - The girl I'm throwing most of my hopes into, my favorite waitress, the most amazing smile on the planet, and she's got me so far gone I'm even wondering what a long-term thign might be like with her, despite the fact that nothing at all has happened yet. I'm fucking nuts about this one, and I'll need heavy sedation if she shoots my ass down, which I have to accept the possibility of.

A2 - A lovely girl half my age who doesn't want to talk to me anymore and it breaks my heart, but it's probably for the best, but even if it is, I don't really want the best, I just want to talk to her some more. Dammit. That still hurts,.

A3 - A really cute and incredibly interesting lawyer/punk-rock girl who just wants to be friends, and I'm surprised how fine I am with that considering how apeshit I was over her a month or so ago.

A4 - Some girl I work with who is friendly enough but probably doesn't give a shit whether I live or die, but that's OK, because geting to look at her ass ALMOST makes up for how little money i'm making at this stupid job. Not really, but it takes my mind off it for a while.

A5 - Some road in the UK.

Fans of adventurous proggish-yet-rockin' gee-tar work really need to buy Burning The Hard City by Djam Karet. They've done albums that are probably more fully developed and integrate their ambient side in well with this more rockin' stuff, but if you just want the rockin' stuff, this album kicks more ass than an ass-kicking thing. Bass Player magainze called their bassist "Les Claypool's evil twin brother", so if that doesn't sell you (and I'm not sure it's the best description, but the guy fuckin' rules) just fuckin' forget it.

I just ate a whole can of black beans and a cup of rice and i'm STILL hungry. What the fuck? Oh Lord, I might have to finally break down and get into that stack of Ramen noodles. Gawd help me.

Love,
Dougie

For Someone In Particular

Fucking terrible at writing these things
Might just read like a pile of over-sentimental goo
But I see you're still reading my words anyway
And you can bet I ain't forgot about you

It was only ever a dream
Your life awake won't cross with mine
But since I hoped to fall asleep beside you
Just continuing the dream would have been fine

Go on with yours, I'll go on with mine
Not a fucking thing else we can do
But don't forget, I don't regret
The moments I shared with you

Love?
Dougie

A Puddle Of Jizz

The kid with the hot Teri-Hatcher-like mom was my last student tonight. Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, I have no idea how I keep from just turning into one big puddle of jizz in front of this woman. Doesn't she realize that I would gladly devote my life to giving her multiple orgasms with my face?

then I stopped at the dollar store for cheap soap, hot sauce, and energy drinks (the essence of life, you know) and there was the hot thin supermodel chick who could add seven inches to my weiner just by STANDING there. Then of course she opens her mouth and suddenly I try to figure out how anything that MUNCHABLE could be dumber than a box of redneck shit. Maybe this might work to my advantage. MAYBE she's stupid enough to fuck ME.

A boy can dream, right?

Fuckin' hell, i've gotta be up at 4AM.

Love (and plenty of tongue),
Dougie

The Cable Companies Can Suck My Testicular Region

Just an observation.

Dougie

Fuckity-Doodle

The temp agency has been fucking worthless for three weeks. I'd signed up with a different one some time back, they just found me a joh today. It's SHIT, but I don't have any choice. I'll be making less money than I have anywhere else in the past year, and I have to get up at 4AM to work a really stupid shift. Who comes up with this shit? 5AM to 1:45PM? At last it doesn't conflict with the two nights I teach (I have to be there at 5PM) but this is nowhere near what I've been looking for. Going back on Mondays after the kind of weekends I pull is going to be hell.

I'll be there a while though. I don't have any fucking choice right now. I think I must have filled our 50 applications in the past few weeks, and haven't got SHIT from any of it.

Hopefully the beginning of school come August/September will boost the students back up. I've been shocked at how unreliable a source of income that's been. I've never dealt with as many students dropping out or just plain not showing up as I have since I took this on in January. It's still worth doing since it's still going to be bringing in half as much as I'll make at this new shit job in far less time, but it's not gone remotely as well as I thought it would.

Well, that's all I have on that shit. I've got a goddamn headache now.

Love,
Dougie

-------
Another thing:
If these fucking companies are so uptight about their poorly-paid employees using drugs and they need these damn drug screens, THEY should fucking pay for it. I get to piss away nearly three hours of my first paycheck just so that some fucker who's sucking down martinis and antidepressants gets to feel safer because he knows I'm not smoking that nasty devil weed. I pass the fucking test, that's not a problem, because I don't do the shit they're looking for. But making ME pay for their hypocritical nonsense pisses me off. I hope they use my money wisely - you know, to buy some more scotch for the company president's corporate-sponsered birthday party. Lying hypocritical fucks.

If I Were A Good Man...

It's funny what a bowl of Manhattan clam chowder, a couple old Pink Floyd albums, and writing a long email to a friend can do for your equilibrium.

Love,
Dougie

Brain Stew

Dylan pretty much summing up my day once again. It's been strange these past few days, the sinking feeling that everything is falling apart, even though I know it's probably not true, and there's several things going RIGHT. But the feeling is still there. I'm coping fairly well by my admittdly bad standards, except that the urge to drink is immense.

I'm not good company tonight. The shit in my head wants to be let out, but it can't be. Not here.

It's alright ma, I'm only bleeding.

Love,
Dougie

A Joke

The bartender came over immediately and said, "Look, sir. We've got ladies in here. You can't use that kind of language in this bar."

So the man became quiet and kept drinking. A few drinks later he looked up and said loudly to nobody in particular, "If the furniture business doesn't get better soon, I'm gonna lose my ass!"

The bartender rushed over and said "I told you can't talk like that in here!" and began dragging the drunk man out the door.

One of the women sitting at a table rushed over and said, "Why are you kicking him out? I've got a similar problem to his. If the ass business don't get better soon, I'm gonna lose my furniture!"

Nice Surprise

I'd left her a message last week but had given up on hearing from her again. I should have given her more credit than that.

I've focused on other women since she told me she was seeing someone else, but she had said it would be nice to hang out again sometime, and she reiterated that tonight. She's still seeing him, and really likes him, and I no longer really feel anything there, surprisingly enough. (Knowing me, one would think I'd be a bitter shithead about it.) But she's still very cool, and it's nice to know she still wants to be friends. I'm looking forward to spending time with her again.

I told her about Amanda, and briefly mentioned the other A (the one who doesn't want to talk to me anymore, and I've just noticed again that the three most interesting women I've known lately all have names starting with A) and she wished me luck. We mostly talked abut music (the ex of hers we ran into on our one date apparantly has just got on MTV with his band), and how she'd like to come see the band some time. We've got a gig down this way in July, everything else is up north. Hopefully she can come, and I'm sure she will.

So it didn't go the way I wanted it to, but this one has turned out to be a decent little friendship. When we both have more time (or when she does, I have far too much time on my hands lately) we'll finally do something again.

OK, now I'm gonna go back to thinking about Amanda. LOL.

Love,
Dougie

If Only...

From the Van Der Graff Generator album Still Life, I submit to you one of Peter Hammill's finest creations.

LA ROSSA

Lacking sleep and food and vision,
here I am again, encamped upon your floor,
craving sanctuary and nourishment,
encouragement and sanctity and more.
The streets seemed very crowded,
I put on my bravest guise -
I know you know that I am acting,
I can see it in your eyes.
In the harsh light of freedom I know
that I cannot deny that I have wasted time,
have frittered it away in idle boasts
of my freedom and fidelity
when simpler words would have profited me most...
...it isn't enough in the end,
when I'm looking for hope.
Though the organ monkey screams
as the pipes begin to spit
still he'll go through the dance routines
just as long as he thinks they'll fit,
just as long as he knows that it's dance,
smile - or quit.

Like the monkey I dance to a strange tune:
when all of these years I've longed to lie with you,
I've bogged myself down in the web of talk,
quack philosophy and sophistry -
at physicality I've always balked,
like the man in the chair who believes it's
beyond him to walk.
I've been hiding behind words,
fearing a deeper flame exists,
faintly aware of the passage
of opportunities I have missed.
But the nearness and the smell of you
, La Rossa from head to toe....
I don't know what I'm telling you,
but I think you ought to know:
soon the dam wall will break,
soon the water will flow.
Though the organ-monkey groans
as the organ-grinder plays
he's hoping, at the most,
for an end to his dancing days...
still he hops up and down on his perch
in the usual jerky way.
Though this might mean an end to all friendship,
there's something I'm working up to say.

Think of me what you will:
I know that you think you feel my pain -
no matter if that's just the surface.
If we made love now would that change all that has gone before?
Of course it would, there's no way
it could ever be the same...
one more line crossed,
one more mystery explained.
Now I need more than just words,
though the options are plain
that lead from all momentary action.
If we make love now it will change all
that is yet to be...
never could we agree in the same way again.
One more world lost, one more heaven gained.

La Rossa, you know me,
you read me as though I am glass;
though I know it
there's no way in which I can pass -
though it means that you'll finish my story
at last I'd trade all the clever talk,
the joking, the smoking and the quips,
all the midnight conversations, all the friendship,
all the words and all the trips
for the warmth of your body,
the more vivid touch of your lips.

All bridges burning behind me,
all safety beyond reach:
the monkey feels his chains out blindly,
only to find himself released.
Take me, take me now and hold me deep
inside your ocean body,
wash me as some flotsam to the shore,
there leave me lying evermore!
Drown me, drown me now and hold me down
before your naked hunger,
burn me at the altar of the night--
give me life!

Third Stage, My Ass

Somebody kill me. There's a fucking Boston song lodged in my brain.

Threw money into the bank that still won't cover what I need it to. Drove down to the auto shop to give him ten bucks on what I owe him. Thank fuck I only owe him another $35 and he's willing to wait a while longer.

Then I drove to check on a job I'd applied for. No news there. I called all three offices of the temp agency right at 9:00 to be on their availability list, but nothing there either. i've not worked for them for almost three weeks now. And I'm going to be bleeding from the ass by May 1st, even if they find me something tomorrow. I've applied for at least 30 other jobs in the past couple weeks, and I'll be hitting the trail again in an hour or two. But I'm still fucked. The little bit of student money still owed me this week won't be near enough. If I even see that.

I tried to pull my mind from all this, and from the heavy disappointment of last night that nearly kept me in bed this morning. Onward, motherfucker. Fucking onward.

Towards Amanda.

"Hey babe!"

Fuuuuuuck. Just the sound of her voice...

"Coke, Sprite, or coffee?"

"Coffee."

"Five-way?"

"No, I'm going to do something really weird today and order something else."

I walked back to the back corner table where I usually sit. She came to me with coffee and water. And the smile. I can't say enough about the smile. Though you're probably saying "Yes you can, and we're sick of hearing about it, you fucking cheesehead."

Bite me. Her smile is where i want to die.

"I really liked that poem you gave me. Thank you very much."

One two three four five...

"Now you know how I feel."

She just smiled bigger. Looked away slightly. Hehe. Damn, this feels good.

"I only let a little bit out at a time, because I don't want to scare the shit out of you..."

A chuckle. "No, you don't."

"...but that's how you make me feel."

"You're so sweet."

Be still my beating...everything. Every fucking molecule was pounding.

I kept my eyes right at her. "And I'm sure you still need your space."

"I do. I'm trying to spend more time with my family."

"I understand. Absolutely."

"Been spending more time with my parents."

"I bet that's just what you need. Good for you. I totally understand."

Another smile. Another thank you. And on she went, back to work.

And that was about it. I wanted to find something else to say, something else to pry that letter-opener into her heart just a little bit further. But I didn't, and it's right. One step at a time, Doug. One step at a fucking time.

Got the portabello and swiss steakburger. Pretty fucking good. But I've had waaaaaay too much beef in the past week. Going totally veggie at least for the next three or four days. No more budget for eating anything not already in my cabinet anyway.

She's asked for the weekend off. I don't know when I'll see her next. But I'll be armed with something new. I don't know what yet. Got my ideas. If I could just get Tom Fucking Scholz and his fucking Velveeta anthems out of my skull, I might even come up with something good. I'm thinking I just might.

She ain't gonna forget this motherfucker. Nope.

Babe, tomorrow’s so far away. There’s something I just have to...AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! !!!!!! GET IT OUT! GET IT THE FUCK OUT OF MY SKULL! EVIL! EVILLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

I hope you all had a happy Dead Jew Still In The Ground Day yesterday.

Love (and Velveeta),
Dougie

New Morning

Took a long time to go to sleep. I woke up to the radio, on some godawful '80s station. Cheezoid one-dimensional tales of heartbreak.

I listened to it for at least 15 minutes.

As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, I can be quite the maudlin, over-sentimental cheesehead. I suppose that happens when somebody works their way into your head and heart. Kinda hard to avoid. And maybe you shouldn't avoid it.

But I finally turned it off and put on some Dylan. He does this kind of thing a lot better. He can make me smile too.

Last night was a bad ending to an otherwise very good day. I stayed with my parents after the gig, got some reasonable sleep, woke up and made some gumbo for our lunch. We ate, watched Ghostbusters ("You're right, no human being would stack books that way.") and I took off to a nearby cemetery with the video camera to do some recording.

Whoever gets the joy of viewing this video later will be treated to my magnificent camera work and startingly eloquent narration. In other words, it's kinda ridiculous, but at least people will know where these graves are at. I don't spare a lot of details. I just film them stupidly.

Mom followed me to another cemetery in Greentown. Mostly this is my dad's side, but my aunt Nancy is there too. She died a couple years ago (only 52 years old) and was briefly married to my mom's brother. I've got a cousin from them, and though she was only married to him for about a year, she often came to our Christmas functions with cookies and pie, and I can't think of a single bad thing to say about her. She's buried next to her sister's family in the newest part of the cemetery.

I got that on tape, and plenty on Dad's side too. My great-grandfather was the first of our name in the area, having moved from south of Indianapolis in the 1880s. There's a lot of people around there with the same last name as me, but very few of them are related in any way I know about.

So I should have expected what came next.

it's pretty funny. My grandfather's sister married a man named Howell, and they are buried next to another of Dad's aunts and uncles. That name is in other places in the cemetery, including the stone of a couple who are still alive (I see lots of stones with no death dates anymore, purchased years in advance by people wanting to spare their children all that extra work upon their deaths, and I have a ton of respect for these people and hope to do so myself) the man having the same name as a cousin Dad told me about. In fact...hey...that's the name on the mailbox across the street. I knew they were there, but I hadn't connected the first name. I saw an old white-haired lady in the driveway and went over for a visit.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but I think your husband might be a relation of my father's."

Turns out that there are THREE separate families of that name in the area, they have no connection that any of them know of.

Her husband came out. He has the same first and last name as my Dad's cousin, and even has a brother of the same name as that cousin's brother. He's also 26 years older and moved here from Missouri. Not the guy I thought he was. But the great-uncle in my family is buried a hundred yards from his house.

Funny world, eh?

They were a very nice couple, talked to me for 15 minutes, very helpful. The lady brought out a local history book, and I'll need to go back to their library and copy three pages about another family connected to mine, my great-aunt's husband and his family. A cousin from that end was with me the last time I was in that cemetery, and showed me around. The book has a very nice amount of detail. My great-aunt is still alive there in town. I saw her at Christmas. When I said her name, this lady with the book told me she knew her.

Then I told her my last name, and she started in on people she knew. Many of whom I don't think are family. But then she stopped. "Hmmm, you know, I bet it's been 50 years ago, but I remember being at a dance near here, and there were these two boys by that name there. Really nice boys. Really cute. Their names were Neil and John."

My uncles.

"Neil in particular was so cute, so nice."

My Uncle Neil currently is a bald toothless dirty old man who collects mannequins, has about 300 birds caged up in his garage, talks about how you better wash your hands before you piss after eating hot peppers, makes lewd comments to other 75-year olds, and generally is regarded in our family as being two degrees short of completely insane. I want to be just like him when I grow up, by the way.

Fun trip to Greentown.

Drove into Kokomo, and to another cemetery on the south side, where another great-aunt is buried. Wasn't there long before heading down 31 back home. I was hungry, so before leaving town I stopped at Lewis Black's favorite health club and got some pancakes. But I didn't drink the boysenberry. It's been a long time since I ate at an IHOP, but Uncle Lew is right - no matter how much you weigh, there is always somebody there who weighs 350 pounds more than you ever will. A giant-balloon guy with a buzz cut was sitting alone at a table with 47 pounds of pancakes. I think that was his appetizer. I'm hoping to see Lewis next month in Cincy. God, I love him.

A good day. I came home and had it shattered with one simple email, but I'll get over it. But I really am gonna miss you, babe. It looks like you're starting over. Strike another match. I only hope the best for you. The things you said to me, the insights you shared, the way you made me laugh and feel, those things meant a lot to me. I hope I gave back even half of what you gave to me. Thank you. Be well.

Love,
Dougie

JTYBJ,O.,YUKBGF7YMUU83

Damn (Slight Return)

It's painful now to look at her picture. To think about how good I felt last night, with her at the forefront of my mind while playing and singing at the gig. That was a good feeling last night. Now...fuck...

I pretty much asked for this, though.

It was different going in. More superficial. But I'd started to feel like it had become a rather interesting friendship, and I really enjoyed talking to her.

Do you have any idea how it feels to have Zappa's You Didn't Try To Call Me going through your head and be SERIOUS about that?

Dammit. The things I repeatedly do to myself.

I have to think forward. I have to think about what happened with Amanda on Saturday. THAT was realistic. THAT might actually go somewhere. THAT has never made me question if I'm being some kind of asshole.

I need to focus on that now.

I need to think ahead.

I need a fucking dick joke to pull myself out of this blubbering self-absorbed hole I'm digging and making you people read about.

A huge muscular man walks into a bar and orders a beer.

The bartender can't help but stare at the guy because in contrast to his large muscles, the man has a head that is the size of an orange.

The bartender hands the guy his beer and says, "You know, I'm not gay but I want to compliment you on your physique, it really is phenomenal! But I have a question, why is your head so small?"

The big guy nods slowly. He's obviously fielded this question many times. "One day," he begins, "I was hunting and got lost in the woods. I heard someone crying for help. I followed the cries and they led me to a frog that was sitting next to a stream."

"No shit?" says the bartender, thoroughly intrigued.

"Yeah, so I picked up the frog and it said, Kiss me. Kiss me and I will turn into a genie and grant you three wishes."

"Keep going!"

I looked around to make sure I was alone and gave the frog a kiss. POOF! The frog turned into a beautiful, voluptuous, naked woman.

She said, "You now have three wishes."

I looked down at my scrawny 115 pound body and said, "I want a body like Arnold Schwarzenneger."

She nodded, snapped her fingers, and POOF there I was, so huge that I ripped out of my clothes and was standing there naked!

She then asked, "What will be your second wish?"

"What next?" begged the bartender.

I looked hungrily at her beautiful body and replied, "I want to make sensuous love with you here by this stream." She nodded, laid down, and beckoned to me. We made love right there by that stream for hours!

Afterwards, as we lay there next to each other, sweating from our glorious lovemaking, she whispered into my ear, "You know, you do have one more wish. What will it be?"

I looked at her and replied, "How 'bout a little head?"

Doesn't change the way I'm feeling right now, but at least it takes the edge off inflicting my horseshit on you fine people.

Love,
Dougie

Damn

Be well. I'll miss you.

Love,
Dougie

"Do you boys know any waltzes?"

I gave up months ago on ever getting laid at most of our gigs since we keep playing these Eagles and Legion clubs in front of friggin' paleolithic fossils, but man, tonight took the prize. We barely got past 1965 out of fear of making this fucking AARP convention die of a mass heart-attack from having to hear some really awful heavy metal noise like, oh, I don't know, Jumping Jack Flash. I can just imagine the rattling of canes if we still had the balls to do Fairies Wear Boots or Children Of The Grave, which, of course, we DON'T. Dammit.

So, no pussy for Dougie. Again. Nothin' new there, of course.

I did Bang A Gong for my solo part. Last week I had a dozen women dancing to me. Tonight a bunch of people older than my mom (who was there for almost two hours, since I somehow managed to talk her into the death-defying feat of driving more than five miles down a wide-open state highway after dark) sat there and LOOKED at me. Fuck 'em anyway. i was thinking of somebnody a lot younger than them while I sang it. Younger than me, in fact. Hey babe, I'm still saving my pennies. :)

Also did Buddy Holly's Well All Right (I used to do it with Dennis, this was the first time by myself) , which went over much better, though I was told that the reason the guitarist was fucking with the PA the whole time I did it was because my vocals wer nearly inaudible for some reason. Ahhhh, professional show business.

The place used to be a skating rink, so it had a huge dance floor, and a very cool extra long stage with TONS of room, which always inspires me to move around a lot. At least until my back goes out. I spent the last set and a half on my stool doing my Robert Fripp impression. Haven't had to sit that often at a gig in a long time. I play better seated anyway. Shit, now I'M feeling old.

They want us back in July. so now we have a grand total of two weeks off until the beginning of August. I'm quite fine with that. I haven't quite had the nerve to tell the guys that I'm considering looking for a second band for weekday gigs. What the fuck else am I gonna do? Work in a goddamn warehouse the rest of my life? IF the temp agency actually works me, which they haven't done in two weeks now?

Money has become very bad. This month may end up with me in the hole in ways I really don't want to be. The beginning of May should bring that back to at least a workable place if I'm actually working more, but I'll have to be doing forty hours a week somewhere very, very soon. Students have dropped off sharply in the past few weeks, and I've had more problems with people not showing up, not calling - and therefore not PAYING - than I've ever had teaching. I've got two weeks to figure out how to come out of April without being severely fucked. I'm about to start putting random stuff on eBay and selling hand-molded poop-monkeys out of the back of the car at busy intersections. "Hey! You! In the SUV! I've got a sculpture of an ape I made out of my own shit! Ten bucks! No, come on! Roll your window back down! Coem back! Work with me here, motherfucker!"

In this fucked-up country, I might actually be able to pay the rent like that.

Well, time for go to bed, Tor. I'm gonna jerk off thinking about both Amanda and my favorite barely legal teen. Because you've gotta have goals, my friends. You've gotta have goals.

Love,
Dougie

Yaaaaay!

Yaaaaaaay! I get to make money playing bass!

Love,
Dougie

No More Chickenshit Platter For This White Boy

I have no idea what I must have dreamt last night about her, but I was thinking about her when i woke up.

Amanda. I want you now, Amanda.

I'd considered it before, but today was the day. I hand-wrote the lyrics to my favorite love song, folded the paper, wrote her name on it, and went off to defy the laws of physics and actually be halfway romantic for once in my fucking life.

She does that to me, you see.

Yep, it's time. Start pushing it further. The time has come today. My song has been psychedelicized.

She was on break when i got there. Shitfucky. So another girl took care of me, and I sat there power-drinking coffee like a motherfuck, waiting for Amanda.

Finally...she appeared. "Hi babe! How ya doin'!" She called it out from behind the serving station, just like she always does. Always acting like she's happy to see me. Me. Catherine wheeled and senses frazzled.

She was tired, drinking lots of coffee herself, apparantly. Her hair was up in a white bow. Apple venus on a half-open shell.

She went about her work, and it was five minutes before she came by my table. I kept it in - somehow I always keep it in around her, and I suppose that must mean something given how prone I usually am to drool on myself - but it was building up in me. Hookah with my senses bubbled.

Finally she came by.

"I have something for you."

The moon packed its bags. Shone from her bright smile.

"It's a song that makes me think about you. I wish I wrote it, but I only copied it down for you. It makes me think about you."

God, that smile. I want to kiss that. Before indecision can bite.

No more indecision. Fuck that shit in its rancid asshole. This motherfucker ain't going there no more, baby.

She put it in her pocket. The smile...radiating...sending waves of assurance through me. Oh, it's gonna get good. Might take a while, but it's gonna get good.

"One two three four five...senses working overtime..."

But i didn't get the response. She was working. Didn't have time to read it. So finally (after way the fuck too much coffee) I left. She rang me up, told me she'd read it, and smiled at me again - oh, she'll read it. She's saving it for a better time. Holy shit. I could see it in her eyes. This is gonna get good, I tell you.

Or it might all go to shit. Doesn't matter. I've bought the ticket, i'm taking the ride. I did a long time ago, but I've got the fucking season pass now, motherfucker. I'm gonna ride this one out to the end, and it makes no difference where it goes anymore. She's not gonna forget me. I've wondered for some time if there's other guys trying to get her, coming back for more. Maybe. Maybe not. Fuck 'em. She might not choose me, but she ain't gonna forget me. I'm going to make sure of that. Even if I have to steal a thousand more lyrics from Andy Partridge to do it.

Love,
The Mayor Of Simpleton

Listen To My Shit!

www.extrafancy.net/doug/zoot_forsure.mp3

Some of you ahve already heard this one, it's a version of Zappa's Zoot Allures I did in early 2000 with The Alan Hale Project - which was my friend Dan Hinds on drums and me on everything else.

It's a bit sloppy and the guitar solo goes from brilliance to pure shit a few times (I think the whole-tone stuff is pretty damn nifty, personally), but I think the bass playing is pretty fucking excellent, if I do say so myself.

More shit going up soon, hopefully

Love,
Dougie
PS Thanks for the birthday wishes, you fine peoples.

I Want A Garden

Blackened potato growing there
Beside your sin-filled toilet
Strap this on and fuck me, Edith
If it gets too brown just boil it

The shit has hit the celing fan
Goddammit, now it's everywhere
Just the kinda thing you'd expect after the election results
Have run off with your underwear

Fuck, it's time
I'm saving mine
Could use some wine
But Drano'll do

Love,
Dougie

Now THIS A Thing To Plug Into A Search Engine

But THIS beats all. Somebody typed this into Yahoo and hit my page:

he heard his wife yell your cock is too big it will rip my cunt and he saw four black men fucking her

I offer no analyis or other observations. I'm simply in awe.

Love,
Dougie

Happy Fuckin' Birthday To Me

Love,
Dougie

Quotes

"All our beliefs are being challenged now, and rightfully so – they're stupid." - Bill Hicks

"I still believe that peace and plenty and happiness can be worked out some way. I am a fool." - Kurt Vonnegut

"Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder 'why, why, why?'
Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand." - Kurt Vonnegut

"We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down." - Kurt Vonnegut.

"Let's be honest - this electorate has switched because that Christian right has taken over the Republican Party. They started it in the '80s with Reagan and Pat Robertson. And like a parasite on a host, they now own it… Let's examine what 'moral values' are. Because I don't think religion always corresponds with moral values. To me — and they're very good at conflating morality with religion, just the way George Bush won election by conflating integrity with monogamy. He ran against Bill Clinton and his terrible blowjob by saying, 'I have integrity.' That's different than monogamy. Okay, the same way, when we talk about values, I think of rationality in solving problems. That's something I value. Fairness, kindness, generosity, tolerance. That's different. When they talk about values, they're talking about things like going to church, voting for Bush, being loyal to Jesus, praying. These are not values." - Bill Maher

"The real axis of evil is the genius of our marketing combined with the stupidity of our people." - Bill Maher

"They're talking about banning cigarette smoking now in any place that's used by ten or more people in a week, which, I guess, means that Madonna can't even smoke in bed." - Bill Maher

"Bipartisan usually means that a larger-than-usual deception is being carried out." - George Carlin

"Have you ever noticed that most people who are against abortion are people you wouldn't want to fuck in the first place?" - George Carlin

"Here’s another question I have. How come when it’s us, it’s an abortion, and when it’s a chicken, it’s an omelette? Are we so much better than chickens all of a sudden? When did this happen, that we passed chickens in goodness? Name 6 ways we’re better than chickens. See, nobody can do it! You know why? ‘Cause chickens are decent people. You don’t see chickens hanging around in drug gangs, do you? No, you don’t see a chicken strapping some guy into a chair and hooking up his nuts to a car battery, do you? When’s the last chicken you heard about come home from work and beat the shit out of his hen, huh? Doesn’t happen, ’cause chickens are decent people." - George Carlin

"I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don't have as many people who believe it." - George Carlin

"I think everyone should treat one another in a Christian manner. I will not, however, be responsible for the consequences." - George Carlin

"I'm completely in favor of the separation of Church and State. My idea is that these two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death." - George carlin

"I realize I use the word 'fuck' a lot, and I'd apologize for that, but I don't give a shit." - Lewis Black

"The most important part of travel is when you come home, because that's when you see your country with new eyes. I was amazed to realize that we are the only country, that tells the rest of the world, on a nearly constant basis, that we are the greatest country on Earth. And that is a little fuckin' obnoxious. And I know it's obnoxious, because if you were in an office, and there was someone there who came in everyday and said, 'I'M THE GREATEST FUCKER HERE! AND YOU SNIVELING SHITS WOULD DIE WITHOUT ME!!' I can guarantee you by the end of the week you'd have killed him, and eaten him, just so you could attempt to possess his power. The amazing thing is that there are people who have never left this country, who talk about the fact that we are the greatest country on Earth. How fuckin' dumb is that? 'Cause you don't know. If you haven't left here you don't know. There are countries that may be giving shit away everyday! Canada's one of those countries. You know what they give away? HEALTH INSURANCE!!!" - Lewis Black

"Oh my God! Wal-Mart's about to INVADE POLAND!" - Lewis Black

"On the list of things we have to worry about, gay marriage is on page 6, right after 'Are we eating too much garlic as a people?'" - Lewis Black

"Allow me to explain how our federal government works. To begin with, by the federal government I mean Democrats and Republicans working together. And the only thing dumber than a Democrat or a Republican is when those pricks work together. You see, in our two-party system, the Democrats are the party of no ideas and the Republicans are the party of bad ideas. It usually goes something like this. A Republican will stand up in Congress and say, "I've got a really bad idea." And a Democrat will immediately jump to his feet and declare, "And I can make it shittier!"" - Lewis Black

"A hooker told me 'Not on the first date.'" - Rodney Dangerfield

"I said to the bartender "Surprise me." He pulled out a naked picture of my wife." - Rodney Dangerfield

"I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous— everyone hasn't met me yet." - Rodney Dangerfield

"If it wasn't for pick-pockets I'd have no sex life at all." - Rodney Dangerfield

"The other night I told my kid 'Someday, you'll have children of your own.' He said 'So will you.'" - Rodney Dangerfield

"What fools these mortals be" - William Shakespeare

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." - William Shakespeare

"If music be the food of love, play on." - William Shakespeare

"If thou remember’st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov’d." - William Shakespeare

"A man does what he must — in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers, and pressures — and that is the basis of all human morality." - John F. Kennedy

"If this nation is to be wise as well as strong, if we are to achieve our destiny, then we need more new ideas for more wise men reading more good books in more public libraries. These libraries should be open to all — except the censor. We must know all the facts and hear all the alternatives and listen to all the criticisms. Let us welcome controversial books and controversial authors. For the Bill of Rights is the guardian of our security as well as our liberty." - John F. Kennedy

"Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth." - John F. Kennedy

"The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie — deliberate, contrived and dishonest — but the myth — persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic." - John F. Kennedy

"The first thing you have to do if you want to raise nice kids, is you have to talk to them like they are people instead of talking to them like they're property" - Frank Zappa

"Information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST..." - Frank Zappa

"I have an important message to deliver to all the cute people all over the world. If you're out there and you're cute, maybe you're beautiful. I just want to tell you somethin' - there's more of us ugly motherfuckers than you are, hey, so watch out." - Frank Zappa

"I love child things because there's so much mystery when you're a child. When you're a child, something as simple as a tree doesn't make sense. You see it in the distance and it looks small, but as you go closer, it seems to grow — you haven't got a handle on the rules when you're a child. We think we understand the rules when we become adults but what we really experienced is a narrowing of the imagination." - David Lynch

"All my humor is based upon destruction and despair. If the whole world were tranquil, without disease and violence, I'd be standing on the breadline right in back of J. Edgar Hoover." - Lenny Bruce

"Every day people are straying away from the church and going back to God." - Lenny Bruce

"The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. You can't fake it... try to fake three laughs in an hour - ha ha ha ha ha - they'll take you away, man. You can't." - Lenny Bruce

"Take away the right to say 'fuck' and you take away the right to say 'Fuck the Government.'" - Lenny Bruce

"Marijuana will be legal someday, because the many law students who now smoke pot will one day be Congressmen and they will legalize it to protect themselves. I don't smoke pot, and I'm glad because then I can champion it without any special pleading. The reason I don't smoke pot is because it facilitates ideas and heightens sensations--and I got enough shit flying through my head without smoking pot." - Lenny Bruce

"Not only did we (the Jews) kill Jesus, but we're gonna kill him again when He comes back." - Lenny Bruce

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson

"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." - Hunter S. Thompson

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." - Hunter S. Thompson

"In a nation run by swine, all pigs are upward-mobile and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: Not necessarily to Win, but mainly to keep from Losing Completely." - Hunter S. Thompson

"There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation.: - Hunter S. Thompson

"Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish— a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow— to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested... Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll." - Hunter S. Thompson

"If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up." - Hunter S. Thompson

"A man who has blown all his options can't afford the luxury of changing his ways." - Hunter S. Thompson

"In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity." - Hunter S. Thompson

"Anything that gets the adrenalin moving like a 440 volt blast in a copper bathtub is good for the reflexes and keeps the veins free of cholesterol....but too many adrenalin rushes in any given time span has the same effect on the nervous system as too many electro-shock treatments are said to have on the brain: after a while you start burning out the circuits. When a jackrabbit gets addicted to road-running, its only a matter of time before he gets smashed--and when a journalist turns into a politics junkie he will sooner or later start raving and babbling in print about things that only a person who has Been There can possibly understand." - Hunter S. Thompson

"Jesus! Where will it end? How low do you have to stoop in this country to be President?" - Hunter S. Thompson

"The Rumsfield-Cheney axis has self-destructed right in front of our eyes, along with the once-proud Perle-Wolfowitz bund that is turning to wax. They somehow managed to blow it all, like a gang of kids on a looting spree, between January and July, or even less. It is genuinely incredible. The U.S. Treasury is empty, we are losing that stupid, fraudulent chickencrap War in Iraq, and every country in the world except a handful of Corrupt Brits despises us. We are losers, and that is the one unforgiveable sin in America." - Hunter S. Thompson

"Who are these Swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush? ..... They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character.... I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them." - Hunter S. Thompson

"Bill Clinton does not inhale marijuana, right? You bet. Like I chew on LSD but I don't swallow it." - Hunter S. Thompson

"We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear— fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts, or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer." - Hunter S. Thompson

"Good people drink good beer." - Hunter S. Thompson

Love,
Dougie

I Made This Shit Up In As Long As It Took To Type It

Damn you, Charlie Brown
Your socks have expired with my tuna
And I'm fucking your lasagna
While Red Skelton plays your bassoon-a

Make mine meat
Make mine meat
Make mine meat

Shitfaced Othello tries another torture
But jalapeno death curbs his fishtails
Goddamn it, Harry
You're such a beastly boy

Fake orgasm twilight
Answers your cosmic question
"When the fuck am I gonna get laid?"
Not too soon, boy, not too soon

The matters of the heart are dying
While your plastic leaders are lying
Don't tell me your penguins, dude
I've got crab-cakes of my own

Fuck me, I'm Irish

Love,
Dougie

Earth Died Screaming

And the earth died screaming
While I lay dreaming of you"
- Tom Waits

Nothing to write about today so far, I just like that lyric.

Love,
Dougie

Church Of Women

A lie for a lie
But a truth for the truth

Church of Women
Is made out of milk
Which their love turns to butter
Church of Women
Will have you give praise
With a laugh, bark and stutter
Like us men, like us men
They are nothing like us men
Men have gargoyles round their hearts
I'm on my knees but dancing

Want to worship
At the church of women
Breathe 'em in
Until my head goes spinning round
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women

Church of women
Is making donations
Of loving and giving
Church of women
Performing that miracle
Raising the living
Like us men, like us men
Will they ever like us men
Men have thorns around their minds
I'm on my mount and preaching
Want to worship
At the church of women
Breathe 'em in
Until my head goes spinning round
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women

A lie for a lie
But a truth for the truth
Give 'em back their house
The walls, the doors
The floors and roof
And stop trying to diet 'em
On wafers and wine
And some myth we're in control
Now let's put things right
Let's multiply
The loaves and kisses
'Til we have enough
to love and eat forever

Want to worship at the church of women
Breathe 'em in
Until my head goes spinning round
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women
Worship at the church of women now

A Veritable Smorgasboard Of MILFs

The first Captain Beyond album is wending its odd-time-riffage way through the depths of my psyche right now. Ahhh, yes. I'm such a WHORE for proggy-minded early '70s rock and roll, baby.

Another great day with Katie, and i'm REALLY glad I stayed another night down there.

Took a while to get out of the motel since I was having so much fun copying my family tree down. Yes, this is what i do for fun, which is probably the result of how much I SUCK at getting pussy, but fuck it, I enjoy this kind of thing.

I went up to Lebanon to A.) Resolve the child support issue, and B.) Do a bit more genealogy.

As far as A goes, I'm annoyed. The numbers they gave me make no sense and do not add up to what either I or Sheryl have. After a $40 payment (because that's a few bucks more than what I thought I owed them) I'm still almost $80 in the hole with them and I DON'T KNOW WHY. So I requested an audit that I'll get in the mail in a few weeks. And then I'll take care of this, because this is the LAST thing I want to be behind on. Yeah, there's a message I want to send my daughter: Daddy can't even be trusted to take care of fifty fucking dollars a week for you. Yeah, that's JUST what I need. Bueracratic cocksuckers and their creative accounting procedures.

It was the first time i'd been in that bullding since the divorce was finalized back last June. I think I even parked in the same place. Interesting feeling. I remember walking out of there last year thinking that all of us (Sheryl, me, AND Katie) had been served, that we'd all been affored the proper treatment and responsibility. Sheryl was kind enough to not ask for any support at all - and given our disparate incomes I was initially inclined to be happy about that - but I figured out quick that the state wouldn't go for that, and anyway, I'd feel like the world's hugest SHITHEAD if I didn't at leaat make some kind of symbolic gesture that I'm not the kind of ASSHOLE who'd walk away from his family without giving so much as a $50 SHIT once per week. It's NOT THAT MUCH TO PAY, goddammit. What kind of DICK would I have to be to not be ready to give up THAT much for my girl?

Of course, given some of the stories I've heard recently about COCKSUCKERS who can't be bothered to involve themselves in their children's lives without it being a MAJOR INCONVENIENCE, I have to still feel pretty fucking good about all this. Wow. These guys either must have children who TOTALLY SUCK, or they must be DEGENERATE SWINE who should be beaten half to death for not being willing to handle ANY kind of responsibility.

I've been HATING myself for a year now because I can't be with my girl more often, yet there are MOTHERFUCKERS who don't pay support, and who can't be bothered to visit their kids more than maybe a few hours once every month or so (if that), because THEIR lives are SO FUCKING IMPORTANT. Hey, I'm doing my damndest to do the things I need to do for myself too, but that doesn't mean I essentially tell my child to GO FUCK HERSELF because I'm too much of a PILE OF SHIT to give time once a week to let my child know that SOMEBODY GIVES A FUCK.

And i'm the one beating the fuck out of myself for only being able to see my daughter once a week and burning up nearly a third of my SHIT income to do so. FUCK these assholes. I hope your kids grow up to pull a Menendez on your worthless ass, you swine.

Of course, these assholes keep doing this shit, partially because there are still women out there who are STUPID enough to still FUCK them. (While I'm jacking off in a Motel 6 I can't afford, just so I can spend another day with my kid.) These women SHOULD know better, but they obviously DON'T.

It amazes me how many people have given me a sideways smug glance over the shit with The Annoying Cunt I wrote about a few days ago. Yeah, it wasn't the SAFEST decision I've ever made. Fuck you. What did YOU do Thursday night? Sit in front of the fucking TV? I've got a good STORY to tell my grandkids. What do you have? Another few ounces of cellulite on your ass? Lick my nutsack. I don't feel like apologizing for TAKING A CHANCE now and then rather than deluding myself that I'm SPECIAL because I know all the names of the people who got voted off American Idol. PHEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW W. I did something that MIGHT have been dangeorus. you did POOT that was GUARANTEED to not do a fucking thing whatsoever. And I'm the asshole. Yeah.

Let's shift gears and I'll tell you about the dream I had a couple weeks ago.

I think David Lynch is controlling my brain from some laptop in Tibet, because this was FUCKING BIZARRE.

I was in Steak & Shake. sitting at the back corner table I'm usually at, eating my five-way and drinking coffee, just like normal. But Amanda was in the back. Talking to other waitresses. I could hear every word. It was making me insane.

Amanda: "He asked me to go out with him."

Other Waitress: "Go for it, Amanda!"

A: "I'm not sure. I'm still not over my last boyfriend. He's really nice, and really cute, but I just don't know."

OW2: "Why not? He's cute! I think you should give him a try."

OW3: "You see the lips on that guy? I bet he could suck your pussy for HOURS, girl."

(Laughter all around.)

A: "I...I don't know. I like him. He's really sweet. Maybe I should. I just don't now if it's the right time."

OW: "You should lighten up. He's been coming in here for months. He obviously is crazy about you, and he's always been really nice. Go for it, Amanda. You know you want to."

A: "Yeah, you're right. OK, I will. I'm going out there right now."

It almost seemed like slow-motion. I saw her come out from the back. Her hair was in a straight ponytail, Her eyes were bright as the fucking sun. She looked like she was PRIMED FOR FORNICATION.

And then...

...she walked right past me...

My brain was reeling. What? WHAT????????

She turned around and looked at me...

WITH THE FACE OF AN OWL.

The face was grinning. Evil. Twisted. I sat frozen.

She went to the other table. She said, "I'm ready for you." And she took her clothes off.

The voice of Don Davis called in my ear. "The owls are not what they seem."

Why the fuck am I having a dream mixing Twin Peaks with the object of my desire?

She laid naked on the floor as he climbed on top of her. The floor...it was the same series of squares as normal...but it wasn't...it was...like the floor in the Red Room...the floor in Eraserhead outside the elevator...

She began moaning. Calling his name.

BOB.

She leaned forward to look at me over his shoulder. Her face was shifting between the one I'm so crazy about, and that of an evil twisted owl-creature. For a split second, the phrase "Brother John" came into my head, sung by Peter Gabriel. What the FUCK is going on here?

He turned around, still fucking her. Fucking HER. The woman I've invested so much energy into during the past eight months.

It was BOB.

I woke up screaming.

Quite possibly the most fucked-up dream I've ever had.

Lynch themes have shown up in my dreams from time to time in the past few years, even since the one I just wrote about. A bit of Dune topography here, a bit of Eraserhead industrial-soundtrack there. Kyle McLachlan serving me coffee. Sheryl Lee screaming "Meanwhile!!!!" The faintest hint of Robert Blake in white makeup holding a cellphone up at me, grinning that wife-killing grin. Naomi Watts naked on the couch, masturbating. Once, I dreamed of Dennis Hopper fronting a Roy Orbison tribute band, Julee Cruise on backing vocals. Lynch's works deal often (mostly?) with dreams, and he's been invading mine ever since he became my favorite film director a few years ago when I watched Twin Peaks all the way through for the first time, years after it was originally on TV. Just last night, I have the vaguest memory of Laura Palmer. I think she was playing pool with me and Keneally. I don't remember much else. I've had that dream before, though.

But that (the Amanda/owl/BOB dream) was quite possibly the most fucked-up dream I've ever had.

------------------

OK, so let's talk about some more fucking. Specifically, with some of the LUCIOUS BABES my age who hang out in parks with their kids.

When I picked up Katie, we went to the store and then to a nearby park. After a little picnic alone down the hill by a creek, we went back up so she could play with some other kids.

Other kids. With their mommys.

I thought I'd died and gone to The MILF Buffet in Heaven.

Women in their late 20s, their 30s. Everywhere. A couple guys too, but I wasn't looking at them. i was looking at MY DREAM OF A SEVENTEEN-COURSE DINNER.

My favorites were two women with short blonde hair, capri pants, and tits about to explode out of tight blouses. They were talking to each other. i wanted to talk to them. I wanted to DEVOUR them. (Don't these women know that I EXIST to eat their pussy?) But it's hard enough for me to deal with one woman at a time, let alone two.

I ended up talking to the woman whose three-year old son immediately took a liking to Katie. They ran off and went down the slides together a few thousand times.

She was rather pretty, if not a knockout. Dark hair. Sunglasses obscuring her face. She told me she was half Japanese. But she also seemed more into making sure her kid didn't fall off the playset.

Come to me, my...er...love? OK, maybe just a woman I want to fuck...

The kids were loud, into their playing. not caring one shit about what their parents were up to, becuase why SHOULD they?

The words of Andy Partridge, as they so often have in the past year, came into my mind:

I climb up, spending daylight
Slide down bankrupt on the other side
Some sweet girl playing my wife
Runs off with a boy
Whose bike she'll ride

Playground, it's a playground
Marked by the masters
And bruised by the bullies in the
Playground, every day ground
Never stop rehearsing
Rehearsing for the big square world

Bells will ring, door flies open
Hare and Greyhound
in the old kiss chase
You've been caught, game is ended
Smack on kisser from her slap on face

Playground, it's a playground
Marked by the masters
And bruised by the bullies in the
Playground, every day ground
Never stop rehearsing
Rehearsing for the big square world

Watch the leaves all tear away
One by one
Leaving you but lined like an exercise book
What did your report once say?
Know the one?
This boy must try harder to please
From down on his knees

Playground, playground
Careful what you say ground
Playground, playground
Gonna make you pay ground

Brain gets bent, heart gets broken
You can't jump off once the pages turn
School is out but never over
That's the only lesson you can learn

Playground, it's a playground
Marked by the masters
And bruised by the bullies in the
Playground, every day ground
Never stop rehearsing
Rehearsing for the big square...
Playground, it's a playground
You're for the high jump
If you let 'em push you in the
Playground, every day ground
There's no escaping,
Escaping from their big square world

You may leave school but it never leaves you

I wanna be just like Andy Partridge when I grow up. I'm tired. Slightly liquidated. You fuckers have a good night.

I'm the man who murdered love,
Dougie

Wanna Buy Some Cave Paintings, Bob?

Currently at a library north of Cincinnati. I'd intended to spend last night either at a friend's house or in the car, but ended up getting a motel room that I couldn't really afford. Katie and I spent a couple hours there yesterday hanging out and watching TV (and, in her case, bouncing on the bed for TWO HOURS SOLID, the little crack-fiend) before spending a while in Sharon Woods.

The gig was OK Saturday, though by the end of the night our singer and I had both destroyed our voices. Nasty throat-shit abounded, but somehow we managed to not only get through, but get through pretty well. I might have sounded like shit, but i actually hit the right notes, which amazed me.

That was later in the night, and earlier I got through three songs of a solo set sounding pretty good. It was BIZARRE to look out while doing Bang A Gong (for the first time live) and see at least a dozen women dancing. To just me with a guitar. Very cool. They liked it, the guys in the band really liked it, but I know I can do it a LOT better than i did.

Followed that with a reasonably good Lawyers Guns & Money, and probably the best Heart Of Gold I've ever done. I worked the dynamics more than usual, and it came off great. Of course, fifteen minutes later doing backups behind the whole band, my voice went to shit. Welcome to rock & roll, boys and girls.

I went next door afterwards, to some shitty little dance club that I'd seen several women walking into. Saw a few that had been at our gig, in fact.

I really don't belong in these places.

For one thing, THE MUSIC SUCKS. And I'm not even talking about the shitty dance music, which is bad enough. Half of what I heard in the 25 minutes or so I was there was the POOT that passes for modern country music. Who are these assholes? What cornfield do they live in, and who do I have to BLOW to get a nuke dropped on their fucking barn?

I LIKE country music. The OLD shit. I can handle that quite well. But KENNY CHESNEY MUST DIE. Here I am in a bar trying to get laid, and She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy comes on. That's enough to take away my hard-on right there. What IS that? Is that guy kidding?

I talked to a couple women who basically ignored me. but I wasn't very let down by this, given that there was at least five times as many women as men in there, and I figured at least ONE of them would be a likely candidate to get drunk enough to actually want to fuck me.

But after 25 minutes, it occured to me that A.) The music sucks and is making my skull hurt, B.) I DON'T DANCE, and C.) What the fuck am I doing trying to get laid in Huntington, Indiana (home of - don't laugh - The Dan Quayle Museum) when I'm supposed to be in Cincinnati in 9 hours and three and a half of that is drive-time and I haven't slept worth a fuck in three nights?

So I finished my Corona (because that's the best beer they had, further proof of why I didn't belong there) and got the fuck out.

Had a great day with Katie yesterday. I decided to stay here last night, because A.) I knew I wouldn't be working today since the temp agency hasn't been worth a fuck lately and none of the other jobs I've applied for have gone anywhere yet, B.) I have to go to the county office and deal with a child-support payment issue created by the same temp-agency the week I showed up for the job that had already been cancelled, and C.) I wanna spend more time with my girl. I won't be able to come down here next weekend since she'll be with Sheryl's family for Easter, and I'm giving my entire cut of next week's gig to the drummer to pay my part of the power amp repair. Oh joy. So the money thing will suck within a few days.

Besides, I haven't been to Katie's school in months, and I'm looking forward to picking her up there in a few hours and spending a little while with her before going back home. It's warmer today, beautiful outside, and we'll get some good outdoor stuff in. I LOVE being outside with Katie.

By the way, I got behind a red Acura Integra in traffic on the way here, which made me think of how much I'd like to get behind the lovely bacardibreezer in...er..."traffic". Hey, you. :)

Spent most of last night and this morning working on organizing some of my genealogy stuff, and I'll be doing a bit of that after dealing with the child-support thing before I go pick up Katie. My briefcase is LOADED with a mass of scribbled stuff, and will take forever to truly get in place properly. I am NOT the king of organization.

But I did find one HILARIOUS thing in my notes, and I'll share the whole article soon, but it's from a newspaper in the late 1800's about a guy named Dug Bowsher getting his head cut off by a train. I'm sure you'll all be amused.

Shit to do. I'm outta here.

Love,
Dougie

I Contend It's A Fine World

Listening to Keneally's "hat", which still holds a very, very special place in the general vicinity of my aorta.

Went to see Amanda. I wanted so bad to say something, ANYTHING to her to push that envelope a bit, but I think she still needs time and space and dammit, I've gotta keep moving slow. It was enough to be there, to see her. She's worth waiting for.

As much as she reconfigures the general chemistry of my brain cells, I find it remarkably easy to remain very laid-back and comfortable around her. I feel sharper, funnier, more HUMAN when she's in the room.

I want to feel that every second of every day.

She thinks I look better without the beard. She liked it, but likes me without it more. Me, I still am not sure. I still think I'll grow it back soon.

But if she likes it this way......

Hoo boy, there I go. Letting one woman in my head waaay too fucking far.

I felt I had some damage repair to do since she saw me go out with M the other day, so I said something along the lines of "That woman that asked me for a ride? Took a while to get rid of her. She was a total wackjob. Finally dropped her off in Brownsburg."

(I said "Brownsburg" rather than my new preferred title of "fuckin' Brownsburg", which is the way I will refer to that place from now on.)

I doubt she even cared, but she seemed impressed that I'd actually bother to go that far out of my way for someone who obviously wasn't worth the time.

After the facial hair discussion, i said, "Now, what I need to see is you with your hair down."

"I had it down last night while I was out. Nobody recognizes me with my hair down."

"I bet you look wonderful."

And that was that. I didn't feel I could say anything else yet. You know, like "God, you're fucking beautiful." Or "Can I sit here and just look into your eyes for a while?" Or "May I please gnaw on your pussy like a toothless rhino working its way through a leather strap?"

I'm still quite proud of that last one. Too bad I can't use it anywhere but here. LOL

Drove home listening to Mountain, singing along with Mississippi Queen. The guys asked me to sing that with them sometime. I don't know how Leslie West can eat all the Cheetos he must go through and still sing that. One fucking chili five-way at Steak & Shake and it drops my ability to belt that shit by 50%. But I'm quite confident I can do it usually. Fun toon, that.

Somewhere I have a bass tab of I Can't Stop that I did, and that Keneally even gave me a couple tips on. Somewhere else I have several pages of Zappa tabs. Shit, I used to play a LOT of that stuff. I've never had near the chops for the more outrageous things, but I used to play (on guitar, not bass) stuff like Cletus Awreetus-Awrightus, the beginning of Big Swifty, Idiot Bastard Son, Eat That Question, the Orange County Lumber truck medley as found on YCDTOSA, Vol. 1 (in fact, I have a recording of that with my friend Dan on drums and me doing everything else) and of course Zoot Allures, which many of you have heard my version of.

Must get back to that. It helps in ways I need.

While M was falling asleep the other day (in the first couple hours I knew her when I thought she might actually be almost OK) I played her a few tunes, and picked through Zoot Allures. She looked like she enjoyed it.

Gig tonight. Not sure what I'll do in my solo spot. Havne't worked on anything since I've had all this other shit to worry about in the past few days. I've got a thing in my head for a solo rendition of Tom Waits' 16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-Six that I need to work on, but I'll never be able to do it with those guys. I think that would scare the piss out of them, actually.

Gonna be a good day. Tomorrow I go see Katie, and I intend to stay in Cincy and spend time there on Monday, spend more time with her Monday evening before coming back. I might not be able to go next weekend (thouugh there's a couple great opportunites for extra time together in the next month or so that I'm GREATLY looking forward to) so I need what I can get this time. Love my girl.

Gonna whittle you into kindlin',
Dougie

Three Or Four More Of These And I'll Have Paid The Universe Back For Being An Asshole Husband

MASSIVE KARMIC PAYBACK,
Dougie

The Shit My Life Is Made Of

The only problem with this is that I LIKE dissonance. I've got the album collection to prove it, too.

Em(maj.7)b5#9,
Dougie

I Want My Face Back

For about three minutes I had a goatee. Looks good on some guys. On me it looks like I'm wearing half a retard-mask. So I shaved it all off.

I don't think I like it. I look a LOT younger. And I don't think I like that. I'm 36 next week. I'm FINE with that. I like having the sense of humour of a depraved 13-year old, but I don't want to look like one. Also - and I know I sound like a woman saying this - I look FATTER. I'm not happy about that either.

I'll give it a few days. I had thought I'd keep the beard as a winter thing, shave it for the summer. It's 73 out right now. Fuck it, I sweat like a bastard anyway. I think I'll be growing it back soon.

Went to the dollar store. H wasn't there. But some GODDESS from the cover of Cosmo was. (Don't all models work at dollar stores on the side, after all?) Tall, thin, great clothes, long straight blonde hair, PERFECT IN EVERY GODDAMN WEINER-HARDENING WAY.

Except when she opened her mouth. Suddenly she was like every half-educated Indiana cornfield girl I've ever met. Shit. Serious COGNITIVE DISSONANCE there.

Went to the liquor store and got a bottle of Bacardi Limon and some incense (so as to mitigate the Magnificent Marlboro Aroma courtesy of my recent lovely houseguest) and saw another FUCKING GODDESS. The long straight blonde hair. Classy skirt showing off a killer set of legs. The kind of doe-like blue eyes that say "Corrupt my innocence with your sinful ways, Dougie. I need it. Give your one and a half inches of degenerate masculine toothpick to me, you bloated hairy man."

Or maybe they were saying "AAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE! !!!!!!!!! EVIL! EVIL!" Fuck it, she was EDIBLE BEYOND COMPARE. Her boyfriend was some jock-type. Obviously a better man than I. Or at least with a better line of bullshit than i've ever come up with.

Jon Anderson is getting up and getting down as I type.

Gig tomorrow night. Another big five-week run, and I'm fuckin' happy about that, oh yeah. I NEED to play bass, damn it. We blew a power amp to hell recently and we haven't worked out how we're paying it off, but it's basically going to cost us one gig. Just what I need right now. More fucking money out of my pocket. Oh well. You drive 40,000 miles in a year, you spend $800 on your car in the space of three weeks. You let a monkey drummer set up the PA and play out nearly every week, you end up paying for that shit too.

I'm looking for a second band. At this point, I'll play Bulgarian death-polka for a living. I need money, and I'm not fond of warehouse-technician deployment as a means of getting it. There's only a few things I'm any good at, and I need to find ways to make money at them. Unfortunately, there's no market for masturbation, so i'll have to fall back on my bass-playing abilities.

I stole that last line from Les Claypool. Sue me.

Love,
Dougie

Well, There's 26 Hours Out Of My Life I Won't Get Back

Shit, I hope so, anyway.

She asked me to take her all the way up to fucking Brownsburg. Well, TOLD me to. I didn't realize I OWED her this shit. Seeing as how all she did for me. You know. Like...uh...give me a minute...I'll think of something...

Fucking cunt.

Travel tip for those of you wanting to explore the delightful vacation opportunites afforded you by the great state of Indiana: BROWNSBURG SUCKS MOOSE BALLS. If they have a moose. I sorta doubt it, since a moose would imply something INTERESTING about this fucking shithole, which is NOT APPARANT WHILE DRIVING THROUGH.

I have decided it's time to turn my life over to Christ. Because, having seen Brownsburg twice, I now know the terrible fate that awaits rotten pagan sinner assholes like me. One too many idle thoughts about assfucking barely legal teens, and POOF! Jesus ships yer ass to fuckin' Brownsburg for eternity.

And gives you a skinny crackwhore cunt as a tour guide.

She wanted me to drop her at a bar. Believe it or not, we went down two main roads and didn't see one. How this thriving metropolis of absolute entropy can exist without a bar baffles me. Don't you HAVE to drink in order to stay in Brownsburg more than five minutes? "Shit! I'm in Brownsburg, Indiana! I'll have a Jager."

I'm sure they have plenty of fine drinking establishments. We just didn't see one until we were out of town and into the next one, some little Children Of The Corn poopboro called Clermont. They've got two bars right across from each other. So if you stumble out of one, you'll last on your feet just long enough to fall into the door of the next one. "Look, Jethro! Another bar! We're HOME!"

I should have stayed in the fucking Mojave Desert.

M stared off into space and chain-smoked the whole time, hardly a word out of her. She'd look over to me once in a while with a weird smile, but mostly seemed to be trying to endure the SHEER UNMITIGATED HORROR of being driven around by some disgusting animal. Yeah, I'm the one with a bed, heat, and food, you're the one who looks like an advertisment for the dangers of meth abuse. Who's cost me probably $25 in food, gas and cigarettes and taken up the last 26 hours of my life with...who the fuck knows what. And I'm the prick.

I've not actually been pissed much at all this whole time. I've figured I'm paying for something. Just get it over with and get the fuck onto the next abomination, Dougie.

Hopefully I won't have to lay eyes on this bitch again. A couple paranoid thoughts have danced acros my noggin, but she actually seemed to be perfectly honest with me the whole time. Just really goddamn annoying.

Now I'm gonna try to figure out what to do with the rest of this fucking day.

Love,
Dougie

Morning

Like I didn't see this coming.

Sorry, babe. I've got an important dinner meeting with the Pope.

I made some shit up, told her we'll have to leave soon. Let her have my last two eggs. I'm undergoing some serious KARMIC PAYBACK here, I'm sure. Oh well. I'm still convinced she's nuts, but I am pretty sure I can get rid of her with no real problems. I'm just worried about what the fuck she's gonna say about me to anyone else.

Serious fucking karmic payback. That's all I can figure.

Dougie

PS I finally was able to make out some of the shit she's been blabbering about when she thinks I can't hear her. I'm less concerned about that angle now, I don't think she thinks there's invisible elves in the room anymore. But I still think she's one bent fucking bitch and she won't be welcome here in another hour.

--------

Her laundry is almost done, then we're leaving. she's into morning TV, apparantly. I think I want to hunt down Maury and chop his fucking head off.

I think I know why I'm doing karmic payback. Yeah. i had to hide in the bathroom and try not to laugh again over this, becuase I think laughing at this in the first place is why I'm undergoing this particular shit:

"My idea of a perfect date was take 'em out, take 'em home, i wanted to cum on their back, steal 30 or 40 dollars from their purse, crawl out a window and never call 'em again. Let them wake up sticky, broke and confused. Let's see how they fucking like it. 'What's on my back, where's my money, why's the window open . . . son-of-a-bitch!' That'll teach 'em." - Sam Kinison

What I Know

1.) She talks to herself a lot. As if she's talking to other people. She LOOKS at them while she talks to them. She sounds a bit pissy when she's talking to whoever it is. She likes to do it when something (the TV, a hair dryer) is going loud enough that I can't actually make out what she's saying.

I used to do shit like this when I was feeling the worst end of my bipolar symptoms. Then I'd wonder what the fuck I was just doing. So I THINK I sorta know what's going on here, but I can't really know. For me, it was some weird acting-out ventilation that I'd start into before I even knew I was doing it. For her...I think she actually thinks there's other people in here.

This and other stuff makes me think I'm looking at a female version of what I might have become if I kept going in the direction I was going this time last year. It scares the FUCK out of me.

2.) She has barely worked in three years. She's been staying with various friends, and from the sound of it, a succession of guys, many of whom are truck drivers.

3.) Since I don't want to die from truck-stop-speed-laced VD, and since I'm afraid she'll suddenly take on the personality of an 8-year old Mongolian boy at any given moment, I'm about as interested in fucking her as I am the ceiling fan.

4.) She has a 12-year old daughter. She hasn't seen her in six months.

I saw a collection of papers in her purse while she showered. Since I think I should know a little more about a woman who talks to the Fairy Elf King but says little to me, I looked. There's a note from a county court about her "case" being continued to a date at the end of the month. A card from a lawyer. And a paper dealing with child support issues. I'm thinking about what the fuck this means, and wondering how the fuck I ended up with this cunt in my home.

5.) One minute she smiles at me and looks at me with those eyes. The next she acts like I'm a hair-ridden death-toad.

6.) She's 33 years old. Wavy shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. Skinny crackwhore figure. Pretty, but you've gotta wonder how much better she'd look if she wasn't obviously doing SOMETHING to fuck herself up. I don't know what, I don't WANT to know.

7.) When she asks me for something, it's right on the border line of TELLING me what to do. She's an annoying cunt. I'm happy to help out, and at this point I'm convinced that she has NOTHING I want (certainly not that a team of truck-drivers hasn't had before) but a more convincing "thank you" wouldn't be a bad thing.

8.) D9 knows she's here since I had her say hi at the phone when he called.

9.) I don't think she's actually dangerous (even though I don't really know at all), but I do think she's fucking nuts, and I might sleep, but I'm setting my alarm so it's only an hour at a time.

10.) She's out cold on the living room floor while the TV goes. I'm going to try to get rid of her as early as possible tomorrow morning (or this morning, since it's 2 fucking AM) and she said something about dropping her off at a friend's. Then I'm coming back here to tell the apartment office to keep an eye out for her. I'm even thinking of talking to the cops, because I've got some SERIOUS questions about this bitch. I haven't even detailed a couple of them here yet.

11.) Holy fucking shit.

Dougie
(Don't be surprised if these posts all disappear at once. It might end up being a good idea.)

Still don't know what the fuck to think

As i've said in the past, holy shit.

Dougie

--------

She's watching Seinfeld. i'm drinking more coffee than I have in a month.

I think there must be about a dozen invisible elves in this place, because she's talking to SOMEBODY, and it ain't me.

I think the desire to fuck her has very nearly passed.

Dougie

-------------

The last woman who came in here thought I reminded her of her dad. The one in here now apparantly thinks I'm her fucking butler/chauffer.

The phrase "annoying cunt" is coming to mind.

She's staying tonight. She's out of here tomorrow. I'm spanking it tonight. And probably tomorrow.

Dougie

There's A Woman in My Apartment

And I'm not sure I want her here.

Holy shit.

Dougie

---------

Later.

She's asleep in my bed, still wearing her jacket even. Snoring. She hasn't slept in a long time, I think. I'm not sure she's been anywhere very warm in two days.

Met her at Steak & Shake. She asked for a ride. But didn't really know where. She'd been there all night.

She's broke. And I think she's got some, er..."problems." The way she talks to herself (and I'm not sure it's herself or voices in her head) is one indication.

I like her and I'm scared of her all at once. But she helped me get the car to the garage, and she's been very friendly. I bought her a pack of cigarettes, made her a sandwich and some lemonade.

And now I sit here wondering what the fuck is gonna happen next. Or if I want anything to happen. I might want her to leave. But I might not. I don't know yet.

Michael Hedges' Breakfast In The Fields is going, I think it helped her go to sleep better.

M is asleep. I'm wide the fuck awake.

Holy shit.

Dougie

---------

She's been out for two and a half hours. There's something...special...about watching a woman sleep while listening to Pet Sounds and eating chick peas. Yeah, I think that's the word. Weird, but special.

She's really quite pretty.

I'm still scared of her, though.

Dougie

----------

It's after 3:30. She fell back asleep after a minute or so of me trying to work shit out with her. I'm going off to teach. I'm letting her stay here while I do. I THINK I'm OK with this, but she still weirds me out, probably because I know next to nothing about her. I don't know if I'm doing a good thing for someone who needs it, or setting myself up to get my ass burned. Maybe both.

It's making me INSANE that there is a pretty woman in this room five feet from me, sound asleep while my brain goes in fucking circles like a motherfucker.

I might let her stay tonight. After that, I can't see it. But if she does, I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight. And probably not for the reason I'd like to not be sleeping.

This is fucking bizarre.

Dougie

Broken Hearts Are For Assholes

Feeling rather out-of-whack right now. Kinda happy, kinda not. Spent a few minutes at the bass learning Flakes (one of the easier Zappa tunes, but loads of fun, especially to sing) then spent a while fighting sudden constipation, which I'm not even entirely sure where the fuck it came from.

Then I was pissed off over NOTHING, just this thing that got stuck in my head over shit that hasn't even happened, and my brain ran with it and made me want to break things. Then I listened to more of Sheik Yerbouti and got all fuzzy inside again.

Now i'm sitting here feeling more alone than I have in a while. The thing with H fucked my brain up earlier today, then the student with the hot mom showed up and holy SHIT she looked amazing. I was about to kick the kid out of the room and tell her "Just sit there. Let me pull your pants down. Sit there and let me gnaw on your pussy like a toothless rhino trying to work his way through a leather strap."

Something tells me I wouldn't have got paid for this month's lessons if I'd said that.

And now my stomach is fucking with me again. Shit. No, really. Shit.

Gonna go see Amanda tomorrow, if she's there. Damn, I hope so.

Gawd, I hate when I get into this feeling-sorry-for-myself fucking mood. Maybe I should go to The Grape just to give it a try.

I knew you'd be surprised,
Dougie

Oh, I Am A Very Bad Boy

Went to the dollar store down the road. I saw H, the girl I mentioned a while back. The amazing redhead who just happens to be five months pregnant.

Holy fuck, she's beautiful. That hair, that pretty face. That BODY. The fact that she's five months along actually turns me on even MORE.

And she doesn't seem too ashamed of her figure. She SHOULDN'T be. The last two times I've seen her, she has been wearing tight shirts showing herself off. This time, her tits were about to fall out of her shirt, and...oh...wow...

Nothing slutty about her in the least, though. She seems so...perfect...

My brain chemicals are FUCKING with me again. Stop it, you bastards. Fucking STOP it.

When I had my wallet out, she saw the picture of my daughter. "Oh, she is SO beautiful!" So she passed the test there.

She just found out she's having a boy, and she already has a girl. We talked about parent stuff, I told her about driving to Cincy every week, she told me about her brother who has three kids and never puts any effort into seeing them. I hear this kind of shit twice a fucking week now, and it makes me want to hit people. How the FUCK do these shitheads live with themselves, ignoring their children?

Then she started telling me how much of an asshole her husband is.

Oh, the shit going through my head...........

"He comes to me and starts blabbering some weird stuff about how he needs to start going to church because he suddenly can't help but look at other women. Oh, THANKS. That's what I need to hear right NOW, you jerk. I know guys look at other women, that doesn't bother me. But do you have to TELL me about it while I'm carrying your child? What a jerk."

Yeah, he is. And...well...so am I sometimes. I wasn't sure where to go with that part of the conversation.

I could NOT keep my eyes off her. And she seemed to notice that, and did not seem to mind one bit.

Oh, I am a very, very bad little boy...

I looked her right in the eye (taking my eyes off those big fat fucking beautiful tits for a moment, oh FUCK how I want to worship those puppies) and said, "Your husband should consider himself lucky. You are a VERY beautiful woman."

She thanked me for that. Looked at me like...oh fuck...the shit going through my head...

Drove off listening to a Zappa boot from the '88 tour in Chicago. I could have been at that show, since I was getting into him at the time. But...didn't happen. Oh well...

Goddamn, she's hot.

Needing a shower now,
Dougie

Let's Face It Peoples, Ugly As I May Be, I Am Yo' Futchum

i tried to write some shit last night, but first tblog ate it, then Firefoz decided it wanted to shut down. And I've yet to figure out how to make the new DVD burner work with the new version of Nero I downloaded, which PRETENDS to be burning CDs, but is LYING to me. I fucking hate my computer sometimes.

Shut Up And Play Yer Guitar going right now.

Another $225 for the car, and it's STILL doing shit, (dash lights on, but only while driving, thank gawd) but it's not hurting anything, and I'll take it back today for him to reset a code that will hopefully fix the couple remaining issues. Though I don't think he knew the cruise control has stopped working too. Can't wait to tell him all about that shit.

Went up to do a couple things in Marion yesterday. Went to the county recorder's office and got some old land records from the 1800s of Dad's family (often selling shit to each other since they owned half of the township) and even found the deed that Dad signed on our property back in 1972. That's a nice thing to have.

Met a girl there who does this shit for a living, working for a title company. We talked a lot. She was really cute. Redhead, narrow glasses in front of dark pretty eyes, pleasant figure, light skin. She was very cool, very cute. And she's engaged to some guy who I think I sorta knew from the music store I used to work at. When I heard the words "my fiancee", my interest in the conversation dropped considerably, which shows how much of an ASSHOLE I am. Geez, you fucking prick, Doug.

Ahh, who cares. There's a hotter little redhead vixen I can think about. Only think, since she's so fucking far away, but I've been thinking. Ohh, the things I've been thinkin' about you, girl...

You know that fucking Whitney Houston song "I Wanna Dance With Somebody"? I heard it yesterday. I've made up new lyrics:

I wanna fuck with somebody
I wanna cornhole with somebody
I wanna fuck with somebody
Somebody who'll blow me

Granted, it's not exactly ART, but it'll do.

I'm such an overgrown 13-year old.

Love,
Dougie

One Way To Have All Your Energy Drained

Just hung up from a terrible two-and-a-half hour phone conversation with my mother.

It started with politics and turned to religion, so you just KNOW we should have hung up after five minutes and got it over with, but I think I let loose as much of what's on my mind as I ever had. I did my damndest to be as kind as I could about it, and I mostly succeeded, but I know my Mom, and I know that if you question ANY of the stupid things she's built her life on, it tears her whole damn day apart and makes her take the entire weight of the cosmos on her shoulders. Having been guilty of it myself a time or two, I think I can say that with confidence.

I tried to explain to her how much I hate RELIGION. Not God, because I really don't know enough about the guy, not her because I know she was always just trying to do her best for me, not even the assholes who shoved that shit down my throat from the time my head was soft, because some asshole did that to them too. It's the IDEAS that I despise, the ones that have been handed down for generations, the theology of guilt and fear that I grew up with and made me into the semi-competent fucking coward I still am today, sitting alone in a one-bedroom apartment at age 36, barely able to pay the bills and trying my damndest to be able to communicate like a HUMAN BEING with women, all because I've never known anything but guilt, fear, and self-loathing, and I've usually been too much of a fucking coward to rid myself of that shit.

It's hard to vent these things to the person who taught them to you, especially when you love that person and know that they aren't really bad, just delusional. There are versions of Christianity in this world that AREN'T as fucked up as the one I grew up with, but they are a MINORITY, and none of that means shit to me anyway since if some of THOSE motherfuckers had been around instead of sitting on their asses, maybe I might have learned to question this shit earlier and not be as bitter as I still am. I hate being bitter. I hate being hateful. But I still am, because this shit is STILL the automatic respnse in my head, despite trying to weed it out for years now. Guilt. Fear. FUCKERS.

I told her how I knew I was in for trouble at age 16 when I decided to be a musician. We were getting regular "youth group seminars" on the evils of rock music (didn't know that Jeff Lynne was trying to drag your ass to hell on those old ELO albums, did you?) and here I was finding albums that taught me stuff OTHER THAN JESUS, that made me question that shit.

It's why Zappa is still so important to me. My first Zappa album (I'd heard Valley Girl and Yellow Snow, and had sat through a rented tape of 200 Motels, which baffled the snot out of me) was FZ Meets The Mothers Of Prevention.

I'd never heard music like that in my life. So I listened to it constantly. The outrageous melodies and ensemble work in Alien Orifice CAPTIVATED me. the alien textures of the Synclavier pieces baffled me, but I knew SOME shit was going on that I might understand better if I kept listening. We're Turning Again and Yo Cats made me laugh my balls off, and I didn't even know why. Now I do.

There's a 12-minute piece on side two called Porn Wars, which is mostly made up of excerpts from the Congressional hearings on rock lyrics that Frank attended while the PMRC were doing their shit.

I sat in my lonely teenage room and listened to it OVER AND OVER. Here was somebody not only questioning the "rock music is evil" line I was being fed at church, he was saying it's GOOD and he was PROVING it. By the very nature of the composition itself, he proved the power of rock music (or something kinda like rock in the way only Frank could deliver) was the power of IDEAS. And these were ideas I wanted. Craved. But felt GUILTY about, because I was told otherwise by the Jeezo-jerks.

It was bad enough that I'd got into prog-rock and guys who dress up in fox heads and Jon Anderson's "eastern religion" and all that. THAT shit was dangerous. And when I talked about it to church people, they were highly concerned for the future of my soul.

I never mentioned Frank to most of them. I KNEW that would cause trouble.

I bought Uncle Meat on cassette in a Coconuts record store in Ft. Wayne. (Same place I bought some piece of shit called Invisible Touch that I've since tried to forget about.) I took it home and listened to it on headphones, terrified to share it with the Parental Units. The stuff with Suzy Creemcheese, the word "fuck" ACTUALLY BEING SPOKEN on an album, these things both enthralled me and scared the piss out of me. The instrumentals? They scared me too, because with no words at all, they spoke of FREEDOM. When I heard (and hear today) Uncle Meat, I heard the freedom to be an individual, to not buy into the shit you were taught from birth. I heard MYSELF, somehow mirrored and channeled through Frank, the part of myself that longed to be away from a dead-end life of religious guilt and fear in fucking Marion, Indiana.

It's amusing to me that Frank wanted to be away from a shitty life in Lancaster, California, what I suppose was his own version of Marion as a kid, and yet when I first visited Lancaster in 1999, I was THRILLED TO BE THERE. Funny old world, eh?

You can just imagine the joy I felt when I met another person in Marion who loved Frank, and who introduced me to Joe's Garage. NOT an album you'd expect to hear at the Wesleyan Youth Camps. The first time I heard about Mary "backstage sucking COCK" I nearly IMPLODED with a joy and rapture heretofore unknown to the citizens of Jeezo-Land but suddenly known to me as The Gospel According To Frank.

This shit was FILTHY. It was SINFUL. It was MORE FUN THAN I EVER HAD IN CHURCH.

I slowly acquired more Zappa albums (because I never had much money) and when he died, I still had around 20 to go. I was stunned when I heard he was gone. The friend in Marion who turned me onto Joe's Garage (Jeff, who also was with me at my first two Mike Keneally shows) called me with the news, and we both sat on our end of the phone trying to imagine a world without Frank. It hurt. It still hurts, over a decade later.

Jesus never saved me from SHIT. Frank Zappa saved me from religion.

Well, kinda. It's still in there, but he's in there too, and I turn to him when I need help making sense of the SHIT that tries to drag my ass down. He's not my god. I have no god. I feel no need for one. But i do feel the need for spirirual advice and guidance sometimes, and I got more of that from Zappa albums than I EVER got in church, and he was a FUNNY MOTHERFUCKER about it to boot. You never heard the pastor suddenly break into "Hi-ho Silver!" jokes in the middle of a sermon, but you can hear Frank and Ike Willis totally disrupt the flow of Bobby Brown Goes Down with some of that shit on You Can't Do That Onstage Anymore Volume 3, and it makes me CRY it's so goddamn funny, even now, after hearing it a zillion times.

It's why I react so strongly to people who only hear the supposed "misogony", who don't like his "attitude" or "cynicism", or who take a narrow version of that cynicism on themselves and only love him because he had his guys play really fast and talk shit about people they don't like.

I love him for those reasons too, but I have others. And I think that if ANYONE thinks he was too cynical, they better put on the melodies of Inca Roads or Take Your Clothes Off When You Dance, because I DEFY you to find anything other than joy in that music, and anyway it's FAR more cynical to treat music the way MTV and American Idol does than to spend 16 hours a day in a chair drawing dots because you LOVE it. Life is more interesting and complicated than these simple-minded fucks seem to think it is, and Frank knew that. I only wish more of US did.

I love him because of the fast notes and the shit-talking, but mostly I love him because he had PERSONALITY, he had SOUL, he had IDEAS. He made me think, feel, laugh, and cry ALL AT ONCE on many occasions. His interviews are a joy to behold. His attention to detail is a thing of awe and beauty. His rhythmic and harmonic escapades are as brain-frying as they are legion, and his melodies are often so singable, so full of fun and soul, that I CANNOT help but sing along every single time.

And his views on society, religion, and government are every bit as viable right now as they were when he first said them.

Where is the "cynicism" in City Of Tiny Lights? I don't fucking hear it. If there's cynicism in his more political work, it's from OBSERVATION, and I fail to see much in that stuff that I can argue with.

What makes ME cynical is people who shove a plastic Jesus down your throat and expect you to LOVE it, and to
repent from that evil nasty rock music becuase it doens't have Bible Stuff in it. They not only make me cynical, they make me fucking angry. And if they try to do that to my daughter the way they did to me, I will FUCK THEM UP.

I feel good when I hear Frank. I feel happy, I feel confident, I feel like my life is worth something. Which shows you how fucking stupid I am, because I hadn't listened to NEARLY enough of this shit in the past five years. Thank Jeezus I'm rediscovering it now, listening to it the way I did after he died. Constantly. Lovingly. Singing along. Gonna ram it, ram it, ram it, ram it up yer poop chute.

Rock music turned me away from Christianity. You can use that statement, quote me on it. Let Falwell put it on his tracts, let the anti-rock crusades use it as ammunition in their Holy Warfare for all I give a fuck. I'm PROUD of that fact, proud that I found something BETTER than religion to make my life useful. And nobody did more for me in those early years of turning away than Frank Zappa. I'm fucking happy about that, and though a few people have tried to take that away from me over the years, they haven't succeeded. Probably because his message was STRONGER than theirs.

I didn't say all this to Mom, but I did tell her that the best thing that ever happened to me was learning how to question the shit I grew up with, and rock music (and Frank) taught me how.

If, as I said in my last post, Everything They Told You When You Were Growing Up Is Bullshit, then you have to find some non-bullshit to take its place.

The shittier end of religion decrys things that make you THINK, and things that make you ENJOY YOURSELF that don't line up with their BOOK.

Two of the major points in my life that made me think AND enjoy myself were 1.)Hearing Porn Wars for the first time, and 2.) Getting my first blowjob.

I was 25 when that second thing happened. More proof of how fucking stupid I am.

I try to respect other peoples' religion, but when they use it to inflict BULLSHIT on me, and make me feel guilty for having ears and a penis, I get IRRITABLE. I grew up in a constant state of audio/phallic irritability.

So that's kinda what I told her. I don't hate her, but I hate the religion I grew up with, and becoming a musician and losing my virginity were far more useful in my "spiritual development" than any of the shit she taught me growing up. The pursuit of The Big Note and the pursuit of pussy are more FUN than that shit.

All of which made me sad and tired. I hate having to be an asshole about this stuff. But a world full of MOTHERFUCKERS leaves me no choice. I'm am but one asshole. But I'm a loud asshole, and I'm gonna scream "BULLSHIT!" at these fools. Because that's whar Frank taught me. And I love him and miss the fuck out of him for it.

Maybe you should stay with yer mama,
Dougie

Shrink Rap

I've talked about how much I've got out of vitamins and a lower-fat, less-meat diet in the past year, but I want to share some observations. Take them for what they're worth - I'm only speaking from experience. Dammit Jim, I'm a bass player, not a doctor.

But I have developed a strong distrust of the medical and pharmaceutical industry in general, and the arm of those industries geared towards mental health in particular. Having gone through a few doctors and drugs, having spent a few days in a hospital's mental ward (where part of the "treatment" was to sit with other adults drawing our "bright side" with colored pencils while a woman with a permanently glued-on smile sat and EMANATED WHITENESS), and having done a lot of reading, I've seen nothing to change my basic opinion that A.) They've come a long way since the days when it was "evil spirits" fucking with your brain, but B.) They still don't know half of what they would like you to think they know.

It's pretty easy for these cocksuckers to recommend multiple visits to a shrink and daily doses of their special little pills when they know there's BIG MONEY involved in keeping the victims of mental disorders addicted to their Professional Opinion.

There's still a big stigma among many circles involved in having mental and emotional issues, due mostly to a misunderstanding of what is often actually going on. These are mostly physical problems caused by chemical imbalances. The industry has tried to educate people on this, and it's to their credit, but I find their approach to be lacking.

The commercials for their nifty-looking chemical products are bad enough. I've got news for you - any pill that will actually take you from feeling like dogfuck to dancing in a field full of flowers is ILLEGAL. Their pills might bring results, but it isn't that simple, and the massive laundry list of potential side effects at the end of these commercials (while very white satisfied customers show their perfect teeth with big grins that indicate Life Is Now Wonderous from ingesting some fucking little blue pill) should give you a clue as to what to expect from the "Official" approach.

Fact is, many many people have better lives because of that approach, and the cute little pills and the discussions with "trained professionals" have done the job.

Maybe. I often wonder how long the shit has continued to work. I'm sure for many, it's lasted and Yay For That.

But while we're all much the same physically, we're also different in some ways, and we've done different shit to our bodies over the years, had various outside "stimulus" affect our brains in different ways. A steady diet of fast-food, high fructose corn syrup, MSG, other less-discussed "flavor-enhancing chemical tools" in our food supply, and just the sheer amount of shit that other people can inflict on your psyche (through poor parenting, shitty social skills, ludicrous laws, and the big one - RELIGION) it's no wonder so many Americans are fucking riddled with an exciting variety of High-Performance Brain Mutations.

Unfortunately, the section of society that tells you to "just get over it" and over-estimates the poorly-defined concept of "personal responsibility" over recognizing the obvious consequences of outside influences does not offer any more workable solutions than the wing of modern psychology that seems to think everything in the world hinges on that one moment your parents locked you in the closet when you were three years old and didn't get you out quick enough for The Entire Course Of Your Emotional Development to be thoroughly ASS-PLOOKED because those nasty parental units just didn't CARE enough for your NEEDS.

The truth is closer to the middle, boys and girls.

I've come to live by one simple rule. It's a bit over-arching, but I find that Caution Is Preferable To Flying Blind when dealing with these issues.

The simple rule is this: Everything They Told You When You Were Growing Up Is Bullshit. All the "rules" about EVERYTHING are to be suspect.

Sorting out the bullshit, and finding which bits of that bullshit to throw out, and which bits are sorta reminiscent of the actual truth, just caked in brown stuff can be a life-long pursuit, but it beats the fuck out of standing in line at The Bullshit Cafe (where a parade of bureaucrats, religious hustlers, PTA denizens and other "concerned citizens" are waiting to SERVE you a big steaming plate of cattle excrement) where you can join a few million of your closest personal friends to DINE IN LUXURY.

It's never as simple as "this is good, this is bad", and one shouldn't be too ready to ignore the better results of the modern medical industry, but a Discerning, Educated Approach is important for us ALL to adopt before entrusting the mental health of ourselves and our loved ones to people who get to make BIG BUCKS off "treating" our illnesses with BROWN STUFF.

Asking questions is important. Knowing which ones to ask is even better. If your questions are either ignored or made light of (which happened to me often in Mental Health Land) you better do some research to find better questions, and find some other cocksucker in a white jacket to ask them to. Eventually you might find someone who GIVES A FUCK. Or maybe you won't. It's called a CRAP-SHOOT, ladies and gentlemen, the same way you roll the dice whenever you take your car to the mechanic, whenever you hand your tax information to some geek in a suit, or whenever you ask Father Bob for spiritual wisdom. TRUST is essential, but trust also has to be EARNED, and just because the trained professional of your choice has a nice certificate hanging on his wall (usually in pastel colors while "relaxing sounds" emanate from carefully-places speakers) doesn't mean that his EDUCATION is equal to your needs. TRUST is much harder to earn than a DIPLOMA. Our President has a diploma. That's all you need to know about THAT shit.

A "society" that celebrates ignorance via the exaltation of various cultural, artisitc, political, and religious celebrities who have done nothing to truly deserve their heavy rotation on our precious television screens cannot be TRUSTED to know when to trust the guy with the diploma on the wall and the BMW in his heated garage. The same society cannot be trusted to come up with The Right Rules, which is why those rules are to be constantly questioned. When you are more concerned about your child hearing the word "fuck" than you are letting them learn that WAR IS OK from television, you have SWALLOWED THE BROWN PILL.

Arm yourself with as much prior information as possible when consulting a physician. The internet is loaded with information. Of course, much of that has the Bullshit Aroma as well, so read a LOT of it, from DIFFERENT sources, and try to piece this shit together. Then go talk to Doc Brown.

Don't let ANYONE bullshit you. Well-meaning but loopy "alternative medicine" goups are often just as full of POO as the guy in the suit. And sometimes, they aren't so well-meaning either. Just because a guy travels the country in a Winnebago, has "hippie-hair" and exalts "spiritual wisdom" in the treatment of Your Personal Disease doesn't mean he's not CHECKING HIS WALLET on a regular basis.

My reading led me to the conclusion that the small amount of useable advice I got from MANY counseling visits, and the minimal results I got from "official pill products" was not suffieient to dealing with the shit I was enduring every day. Being bipolar and ADD isn't a picnic, boys and girls. Being bipolar and ADD and only receiving SLIGHT improvement from the tools of the trade is fucking frustrating.

My solution has worked for me. It might not for you if you have similar problems. THOSE guys might actually help you. Don't rule that possibility out. But when I received "permission" (pheeeeeewwwwww) from a psychologist back a few months ago to drop the pills, forget the counseling, and pursue the vitamin/diet alternative, I found myself getting MUCH better results.

The industry will tell you that vitamins and a good diet is important, of course. But they don't put as much ADVERTISING MUSCLE behind that option. Because they don't reap the benefits the waythey do with Bullshit In Capsule Form.

I'm taking a "men's formula" multi-vitamin twice a day, and I've just begun beefing that up with a vitamin C and a B6 supplement once a day. I eat meat, but much less than I used to. I eat more green stuff. I probably have more caffeine now than I've had in a while, but I get much less sugar (and in current products, it isn't even "sugar" anymore, but "high fructose corn syrup", which is a fucking WRETCHED substitute for something you shouldn't be having too much of in the first place) and I haven't got as much exercise as I should in the past couple colder months, but I've got more than I was back when I was spending half an hour a day laying on the floor convinced that gremlins were eating my medulla.

The resutls aren't perfect, but they are BETTER. By a LONG way, too. I have some nasty little spikes here and there, but they aren't as strong as they used to be, and I usually feel much more balanced and in control, I trust my intuiion and decision-making more, and I don't LOATHE myself the way I used to. My DICK is even working better. Not that it's being used. Dammit.

I got results from shrinks and their sanctioned drugs, but those results PALE in comparison.

But that's me. If you're suffering from depression, bipolar disorder, ADD, OCD, or just plain voices-in-yer-head-tellin g-you-to-take-a-shit-on-t he-salad-bar-at-Wendy's, do some fucking RESEARCH, ask some questions, and don't let THEM limit your options just because they supposedly know more than you. They probably do, but they probably also know how to use that fine education as extra muscle to weasel more bills from your wallet. Don't EVER forget that, even if you find one you CAN trust.

You know what else helps? Blowjobs. Not that I've recieved THAT form of "optional treatment" lately. Dammit.

Love,
Dougie

Finally Home

Wretched weather up here, and I was keeping an ear on it via radio while driving home, but what made me pull over in Greensburg (45 minutes from home)m was sheer fucking exhaustion. I was in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. Two minutes after I got there, the town erupted in weather sirens, then rain came down like a motherfuck.

Nasty cold/allergy symptoms. The first time i've been sick all winter, which is a minor miracle. I credit vitamins. Even now it's not nearly as bad as it could be, but I had a few big coughing spells that nearly made me throw up I wa hacking so hard, and my nose is fucked up. Otherwise I'm simply tired.

Katie and I had fun at Bill's, then ended up in Sharon Woods, probably our favorite outdoor spot last year. She connected with another little girl in about 20 seconds (who looked like a five-year old Patricia Arquette) and off they ran, having a great time. When she left with her family (I yapped it up with the dad) we spent time at the creek, a little waterfall and some rocks providing entertainment while some older boys came by. It was great to be outside with my Katie. It was nothing like the weekend I had planned before the shit with the car went down, but it was still a hell of a lot of fun.

A year ago today, I was in Lancaster, California, having determined to come back after being gone a week. I loved it out there, I want to visit again, but I can't fathom not being with Katie on a regular basis. I keep hearing stories of asshole fathers who think it's A Major Chore to show up for a few hours once a month or so, and it makes me want to hit them. I'm destroying myself financially to be with my daughter once a week, and goddammit, it's WORTH IT. Fuck anybody who thinks otherwise.

My arms and back have hurt like a bastard all day. BEtween mangling myslef trying to get into the locked-and-running van, walking a few miles into the woods and nearly breaking my fucking neck on the side of that hill, and playing Supercheesehead trying to defend Paul Simon's rest-area dwelling twin, I think I've put my workout in for the week.

Got an email while at Bill's that nearly sent me spiralling downwards for a while, but I managed to get over it. I'm face to face with the absurdity of developing feelings for someone I might never actually meet, combined with the utter hypocrisy of wanting her for myself when I obviously am not into sexual loyalty right now. A lot of shit in my head to work through, and it's all on me. Not her. Me. Christ, I can be such a selfish, pretentious PRICK.

Bill treated me to video from a Crossfire from 1986 with Zappa. Pricelss shit. A debate on censorship with a wackjob right-wing asshole named John Lofton (look him up, he's still around and seriously fucking stupid) wherein Frank tells this pinheaded prick to "kiss my ass" live on TV. WONDERFUL. I'd heard about it, but hadn't seen it until today.

Frank's comments about our country being morphed into a fascist theocracy are no less true today. Fuck, I miss him.

Plotting on how to win over Amanda. gotta move slowly, but I've been doing that well enough so far. Maybe I'll go see her tomorrow morning. Heading up to Marion after that. Should have the car back, can't wait to see what the fucker is gonna cost me.

I'd love to meet Heather Harmon, star of ideepthroat.com. You know, just to shake her hand or soemthing.

Love,
Dougie

Wanna Dance, Motherfucker?/

She also told me this joke:

How can ants be so grand?

Because they don't have ANTLERS!

Then she laughed her tiny butt off.

I've got a great kid.

It's a beautiful day in SW Ohio, and the rain won't come until evening. So we'll be outside a lot, walking in the woods. I love being there with her.

I also did that last night after I took her home. Went to a rest area next to a beautiful view of the Miami River valley. A long bridge cuts across this big gulf, and it's a lovely sight. Of course, this was night time, but I wanted to be in the trees.

I spent two hours alone out there, listening to the animals, and the traffic noise. I LIKED that mix. Right next to a major highway, but isolated, no one to bother me out in the woods. I wanted a special someone to be with me, but of course, she couldn't be. Someday. Maybe someday. 800 miles is a long way, baby.

It was a lovely night. Clouds, but that didn't bother me. After a long time in that peaceful place, I went back to the van and slept for five or six hours, surrounded by trucks.

I woke up feeling like shit. OK, cherry vodka and nature. A bit much goes a long way.

I went to the rest area's main building and relieved myself, then stepped out of the restroom. Two guys were over by the map, and another guy was at the drinking fountain. A little guy. Maybe 5'3", scrawny as fuck. Looked like if Paul Simon had just undergone chemotherapy and lived on a diet of leaves and bark for a year.

Walking up quickly behind him was a 350-pound bear of a truck driver-looking asshole.

Before I knew it, the truck driver grabbed the little guy by the back of his head and slammed his face into the water fountain.

I saw it. The two guys by the map saw it. We stopped and stared. Looked at each other. Then ran to the water fountain, where the little guy was about to get pummeled, but was trying to fight back.

I guess they knew each other. The big guy yelled something about "I told you not to come back, fucker!" and the little guy referred to him as Dick. Though that might not have been the asshole's name. He might have been using "Dick" in the generic term of non-endearment sense.

There is a rule when these situations happen that I was not previously aware of. It goes like this:

Let the fat hairy bass player take the big guy, the two of us will handle the scrawny crackwhore dude.

So while it took two people to hold back Paul-Simon-As-A-Cancer-Vi ctim-Boy, I was left with Mr. Beef And Cheese.

Somehow I managed to think quick, and got behind him, grabbing both of his arms and pulling them behind his back. It took A Little Effort to do so.

I somehow managed to run him face first into the wall a couple times, and gave him back a bit of his own shit by grabbing the back of his head and slamming his face into the tile. Then I backed off. He was obviously winded. I was too. I don't think I've physically assaulted anyone since I was 12 at the bus stop. Not my Chosen Profession.

At this point, the little guy was holding his nose, blood everywhere while the two map-gazers LOOKED at me. Gee, thanks for the heroic assistance, assholes.

In times like this, when you don't know if you can take a guy over a hundred pounds bigger than you, or if he's gonna stuff you down his throat and poop you out his bloated hair-ridden asshole, I find it best to try to convince the shithead in question that you are CERTIFIABLY BUGSHIT.

"Wanna DANCE, motherfucker???? Ever dance with the devil in the moonlight? Try me sometime, you shitface hilljack fuck! Try picking on someone your own fat fucking size, shitstain! I'm an EXCELLENT dancer! Let's PARTY, motherfucker!"

It worked. He backed up a couple feet. Come to think of it, I think everyone else did too. Cool, now I'm the life of the party.

About this time, some tall skinny gork of an attendant came out of the back yelling at us.

"Hey! You can't fight in here! Get out of here, you assholes! You can't fight in here!"

I turned around and tried my "Reasonable Face."

"Dude, we were trying to stop a fight,. This assh.."

"I don't care! Get out of here! You can't fight in here!"

Hello, Mr. Broken Record.

The other two superheroes finally backed me up. Well, tried to. They both tried to explain what had happened, but BLOWBOY kept cutting them off with his highly efficient "You can't fight in here" salespitch.

The truck driver just stood there with some kind of deer-in-the-headlights stare on his kind and loving country mug.

Finally I yelled at Blowboy, "Assfuck, just because you make 5 cents an hour above minimum wage and get to wear The Paper Hat Of Authority doesn't mean you're gonna stop me and these two gnetleman from helping somebody who needs it. If we hadn't been here..."

"I'm calling the cops! You can't fucking fight in here!"

"You've made your point brilliantly, sir. And hey, I saw a cop in the parking lot. Want me to go get him for you? Then we can all watch him beat YOU to a pulp for being a FUCKING IDIOT."

Much-needed "Yeah!" and "That's right!" backup from my two able assistants. The little guy was still holding his nose. The trucker-fucker was still STANDING there. Did he have a seizure? Dude, can you MOVE a little?

The asshole attendant tried to yell some shit back at me. I cut him off. "If you wanna call a cop, fine, dickface. I've got better shit to deal with than you. Go fuck yourself."

He started walking towards me, but the two Map-Boys got between me and him. Thanks, boys. I REALLY don't want any shit, I'm just trying to keep Paul Simon from not being able to reunite with Garfunkel. Gee, I LIKED Sounds Of Silence. Don't let him be beaten to death by Hank Jr., God! Please! This is all I ask of you, Your Holiness!

Dickface finally calmed down, the little guy got a word in (something about how he was attacked by Shitstain and Thank Gawd we were there to protect his scrawny ass) and Trucker-Boy finally got animated again and slunk off to the toilet.

Fuck it, I'm outta here.

Some folks like to stay in at night and watch television. Me, I like to have a story by morning.

Other weird shit in the past couple days. Remind me to tell you how I managed to lock two sets of keys and a cellphone in my parents' van and had to break in by using part of a music stand shoved into a window crack to hit the lock button.

We're listening to Zappa as Bill showers. Katie's running around the house with her ball and a little broom. We're gonna go play outside after my shower. Probably won't be napping at rest areas this time, though.

So, how's YOUR day? LOL

Love (and boy my whole fucking body aches),
Dougie

The Story In Her Eyes

Ran around, got to the bank, got the rent paid, the library, the gas station. got a good long shower.

Time for lunch.

I drove down I-465 to my favorite Steak & Shake listening to Dancing. Apparantly Keneally himself isn't so fond of this album anymore. I think it's over-produced at times, over-arranged at times, but I throughly enjoy every damn song on it anyway, and I'm utterly in love with parts of it.

I cranked the piss out of Kedgeree and had A Religious Experience In My Pants to what is probably still the one song of Mike's I still connect with the strongest. The pounding Who-like fuckin' MAJESTY of the massive motherfucker still tears my soul into tiny little shards and puts it all back together in those final glorious seconds when the band hammers it all into one universe-shattering climax and Oppy's trumpet soars above the whole fuckin' slab of glory like the call of the goddamn cosmos. OK, I'm being ridiculous. It's how it makes me feel, goddammit. Cut a guy some fucking slack.

The final note and the laugh at the end of the album rang out as I put the van into park. I grabbed my book (I always read during lunch anymore) and went inside. I'd taken a few extra minutes to look good for her. All black, because I happen to think I look fuckin' cool that way. Fuck knows I need all the help I can get, right?

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. What's it been? Two weeks? Three?"

"Nice to see you too. Man, I'm tired this morning."

She looked tired. But great. She's not a model. But she is a WOMAN. I can't put it any better way. She just looks like an honest-to-gawd down-to-earth been-there-done-that woman who works her ass off at a thankless job and enjoys herself anyway. And she looks good to me. Damn...those eyes...

She came back with coffee and we talked about her day, her daughter's softball game later on that afternoon. I told her she needed something to take the edge off, something to make her feel better. and..."Um..." (sound of bass player choking on it.)

She flashed a smile and giggled a bit. "Um." She said it in a playfully mocking way. Yeah, the time has come. Buy the ticket, take the ride. But not just yet. I just locked up (AGAIN) because I want to say it right. But I'll say it. Just give me a minute here.

She walked off, looking quite amused. I got my shit together. Waited for her return.

She came back.

"Yeah, I think you need something to relax you. How about...(slight waves of anticipation slowing my momentum, but only slightly)...you let me have the pleasure of buying you dinner sometime soon?"

Big smile. "Thank you. I'm really not ready to date yet though. Still not after the ex."

"I totally understand." I did, too.

"I'm trying to focus on my daughter right now."

"Absolutely. I completely understand. I hope I'm not being pushy."

"Not at all." God, that smile..."Just not now. Thank you, though."

I sat there and finished up, read a bit about the joys of being a modern composer from Frank. Closed the book, put her tip on the table. Got up. Walked to her, where she was just turning from the table she'd been serving.

"I absolutely understand where you're at. Done it myself. But I hope you'll keep me in mind."

She actually moved closer to me. "Yeah."

"I think you're worth waiting for. I hope you think I'm worth considering."

The way she fell back, her shoulders falling, her eyes flashing, a look on her face like she was...melting? I caused THAT? ME? I did that to her? Oh my fucking gawd...

"Thank you so much. Really."

She didn't seem to have anything else to say. Neither did I. But all we needed to know was already out there. Just looking at her, I know now that it can happen. It might not. But it CAN. I've made my mark in her mind. I'm in there, I've got a place. And me...I'm sure she read right through me. I'm way the fuck too obvious. Which in this case was a good thing.

Wow. She's really cool. And I might just have my chance soon. Gotta give it time. She IS worth waiting for.

Time to go see my daughter.

Love,
Dougie

This Is DAD Food

I had to try it. Fried spaghetti.

I can see Frank standing in the kitchen at 3AM cooking the shit. (For those who don't know, this whole bit is predicated on a section from The Real Frank Zappa book.) Me, I was hungry. i'd had about six tons of beans and rice already, but I'm obviously dealing with severe mental issues (just imagine if I had REAL problems, eh?) and I "need" to eat.

I actually found a recipe online that called for frying it as is, uncooked right out of the box. I thought "That's fucking insane."

So I tried it.

Ever put uncooked linguine (because that's what I had) into hot olive oil and let it sit? I liked the smell. Why, I don't know. At this point, I probably would like the smell of anything after I've been eating beans and rice all day, so don't take any of this too seriously.

I dumped some tomato sauce and salt and pepper in and ate this bowl of...STUFF. I ate ALL of it. ENJOYED it. But next time I'll fry the RIGHT stuff. You know, when it's actually already been cooked.

Fried uncooked linguine in cheap tomato sauce with a can of Steel Reserve High Gravity Lager. Yeah, I'm kinda single.

Listening to an album I heard four time yesterday. I do shit like that sometimes. Today it's Santana's Caravanserai, which is...I think I'm gonna become a Buddhist monk just HEARING this. I imagine some fascinating Chemical Refreshment Agents and lots of early 70s'-style meditation were involved in the making of this album. Shit, maybe I need to try it. I sure as fuck don't come up with shit this cool on MY diet.

She's still making me crazy. We're getting into more and more interesting discussions, about seemingly anything, and I'm enjoying the hell out of it. A very open, honest, intelligent young lady. I'm seeing aspects of her personality that don't come off in her blog, and it makes me very happy to have met her. But of course, she's still 800 fucking miles away. I'm thinking about you a lot, babe. I want to listen to this Santana album with you, preferably very late at night. You know the rest. :)

The magnificent D9 came over last night and put in the DVD drive that's been sitting around here because I'm paranoid about doing this shit myself. So once I figure out the software issue I'm having now, I'll have a burner again. We listened to a House Of Freaks album called Tantilla which is pretty fuckin' excellent. Then we went for Mexican food. We both agreed that the blonde waitress has The Ass Of Destiny. Honey, could I just bend you over this table and take you right now? Lube? Sure, this salsa oughta do the trick. Holy FUCK that was nice.

D9 also proved to me that no matter where you think you are in life (and let's face it, I could be in FAR worse shape now than I am, even though this past week has sucked the proverbial monkey dong) if you've got a really good friend, you're not doing so bad at all. Part of my current situation has been taken care of due to his generous offer of help, and I hope I can return the favor someday. He's been the best friend I've had in the past year, and I hope he thinks half as much of me. You rock, sir.

We watched most of an unofficial Keneally DVD, of a Taylor Guitars clinic from 2001 with Beller. For the MK addicts who read this, Rick comes up and plays second guitar on some of it. It's neat-o. Some ABSURD playing throughout.

I had on Keneally's Boil That Dust Speck (which apparantly is next to impossible to find now) earlier in the week, and was hit all over again by his manic creativity. It's been almost 8 years since he tore my head off in some guy's back yard in northern Indiana, and he has yet to disappoint me, even while he's continuously shifted directions and allowed his music to change and mutate with each album. Some stuff hits me harder than others, but none of it has ever struck me as less than an honest, direct expression of the inner workings of a guy I'd really, really, really like to be around more often. I hope to find a way to follow him around on his next tour the way I did in '98 (four shows in three months) and I promise not to yell for Whipping Post this time.

Sheryl told me that Katie was singing Pride Is A Sin last week. One of my favorite newer Keneally tunes. My little girl snging one of his songs. Wow. The fact that our daughter wouldn't exist if not for Mike's music in the first place is a pretty fucking amazing thing to consider. Most of you reading this know me from the Keneally newsgroup. Those who don't, please go to www.keneally.com and check it out. If you have the time, read as much of his writing as you can, becuase it's a JOY. And buy all his albums. Well, if you can find them all, a couple are not so easy to get these days. I used to be able to condense an easy (if not entirely accurate or useful) description of his music as "XTC meets Zappa." But he's gone WAAAAAY farther than that over the eyars. None of his albums are alike, hell, few of the songs on any one given album are alike in most cases. All you need to know is that he has ungodly chops, an astounding command of rhythm and harmony, an unspeakable band, a killer melodic sense that brings a pop accessibility to even some of his densest compositions, thought-provoking lyrics, and one FUCK of a sense of humour when he feels like it. You can find all sorts of obvious (and wide-ranging) influences in his music, but it's all put together in a way that only one wonderful guy named Mike can. He's also one of the nicest people on the planet, so cool that he has even put up with MY drooling fanboy ass following him around on several occasions. I've never felt the spiritual connection with a musician that I do with Mikey, and now I'm gonna shut up, go take this Santana album ut, and put in something of Mike's. How about Dancing? Yeah, that'll work.

Mike Keneally. You know know you need some.

The parental units are bringing the van down while the car sits for another day. Multiple electrical issues. He's fixed one, but there's more to go. (Update as of two hours after i first wrote this: the car will be back together this afternoon, and I'll be picking it up Monday morning. Still don't know what it'll cost, but he's done it without having to order new parts, thank Christ.) I'll be getting to Cincy mid-afternoon and spending the night down there. But thanks to the kindness of a very god friend, at least I won't have to pawn a guitar or two to survive the weekend now. It was getting to that point.

But hey, it could be worse. I'm actually kinda happy this morning. And I'll be with my little girl soon.

Love,
Dougie