pissshiver

Shark Sandwich

I'm in a new band. Woo hoo!

He called right after I made my last post. I'm picking up the CDs of stuff to learn (and I know most of it already) tomorrow. We're getting together every Friday night, with the goal of playing out two or three times a month as soon as possible.

The nice thing about this band is that they've already done a lot of work together without a bassist, so it's not like completely starting fresh. I learn this shit quick (it's hardly brain surgery) and I bet we'll be ready to go within a month, maybe even less.

So last night and this morning I worked on my solo thing instead. :)

That is also ready to go, except that I'm being extremely anal about what I'll let pass on a recording to pass around for gigs. I'm willing to sound like the recordings I have now on an actual performance, I just don't want the REAL CD to be anything less than nailing the shit to the wall. I'm pretty fucking close, I'm just not quite there yet.

I've modified my list of songs several times since the one I posted months ago. I now have my 12-string back (I left it with Bill after the divorce and never bothered taking it back until last week) and that's opened some doors. I'm trying to do stuff that isn't yer average acoustic fare, without totally alienating the whole goddamn planet. Personally, I think my 12-string version of Bridge Of Sighs kicks fuckin' ass.

I'm at my favorite library. Why are they my favorite? Because you can get very nice surprises in the collection. I just grabbed both a really old Jazz Crusaders disc and Les Claypool's new album. Wheeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

I haven't drank in a few nights, save for a couple sips of killer scotch at Bill's two nights ago. I started cutting back on my drinking a few weeks ago, but that's probably not saying much considering how much I was putting down around the time the shit hit the fan with the band falling apart and me moving back here. I feel no guilt whatsoever about this - take a good hard look at your own fucking coping mechanisim - but after a while, you just need a break. My back has been hurting more the past couple months, and I'm not convinced it's my back. I think it's my damn kidneys. Funnily enough, the back pain has decreased already.

It's VERY nice to be in my own place again. I'm not entirely in love with the new place, but I am VERY much in love with it being MINE for the next year. I don't do well living with other people, and it's becoming obvious that it doens't matter who it actually is. I'm just not interested anymore.

I've grown the beard back. Came in twice as fast this time.

Well, time to go back home, clean shit up some more, and do some playing. One major downer of this new place is that I now need more furniture - the last apartment had a shelving unit built in and now my music and video collection is EVERYWHERE in stupid unitis made for people with much smaller collections than mine that take up too much space, or in the boxes I moved them in, or stacked up against the wall. I crave organization, I'm just not any GOOD at it. So a way of getting this shit in place, as well as my gear (I now have a total of ten guitars to work with, and I'm going to be using at least six of them on a regular basis) is going to make it easier to get shit done. The dining space (the old apartment had a bigger kitchen wher eyou could put a table, this one has a TINY kitchen and a dining area at the end of the main room) is probably going to end up being practice space. I just have to figure out where to put shit in a way that is easiest to get to. I lose my fucking mind when I have to look for shit in the middle of a good solid spurt of playing, and it's fucking hard enough to start one of those up to begin with.

Woke up insane, wanting to fuck. The fuck-drive has been in low geat for a few days. Not today. I'm looking at the printer next to this monitor thinking "Hmmmm, I wonder if that thing takes more than just paper..."

I'm praying to Gods I No Longer Believe In that the three guys in this new band are married to repulsive cow-like troll-women who hate life, are shitty company, and who never come to gigs. I DON'T need another Layla experience, dammit.

But I am thinking about asking them to let me sing that...

Somebody kill me.

Love,
Dougie
PS If you don't have them already, go buy every damn album Adrian Belew has ever done. I'm been ADDICTED to that shit for a couple days, just like I am every couple months or so.

11 Comments

Rock Me, Baby!

The singer is in his late 20s, very good. Kinda of a "pretty boy" vibe, both in look and voice. Not particularly distinctive, but quite good, nice guy, doubles on keyboards and does that well too.

The guitar player is a black guy in his 40s. Bit much of a thin metal tone for my tastes, but a damn fine player. Again, not very distinctive, but very good.

The DRUMMER beat my fucking ass.

Not a lot of crazy fills or anything, but holy FUCK. A drummer that KEEPS TIME???????? And actually HITS THE FUCKING DRUMS???????????

Not even at my best, I know I did damn well, and it wasn't really even all me. Playing with a drummer who pretty much DEMANDS to be grooved off of by his very presence, it's just not something I get often. He dragged my ass up to another level within NANOSECONDS, and I really felt strong on the grooves, though I wasn't being as adventurous as I normally would. I think I was too fucking SHOCKED to go for too much at once. Just knocking the grooves down like that was a motherfucker of a thing.

I LOVED playing with these guys for the 40 minutes or so we did, and I really hope the other people who show up tonight suck, because I want this gig.

The tunes are mostly standard bar-band horseshit, many of which I've been playing for the past year already. Mostly "classic rock", some newer stuff. One newer thing I rather enjoyed playing was Clocks by Coldplay. I tend to think of those guys as Radiohead Lite, (and I LOVE Radiohead) but I do like some of their stuff, and that's a very nice tune. cool 3-3-2 feel to the groove.

I'm super fuckin' excited, because I think I'm going to get this. They seemed to be holding back, not trying to say too much, but I could tell from their reactions while playing that they liked me a lot. A couple very positive glances from the drummer, a LOT of them from the guitarist 9he was the one who most seemed into my playing), and the singer looked very pleased at my backup on You Really Got Me. (Van Halen's version. I wonder if they caught my Sunshine Of Your Love riff in there.)

On top of all this, a special young lady who I haven't heard from in a few months surprised the shit out of me with an email earlier today. I hope we can start talking regularly again soon.

Fuck, I'm paying 20 cents a minute to do this at a fucking Kinkos. I need to get connected at home soon.

I got the funk in my trousers,
Dougie
PS I'm really happy with the new apartment. And I'm not in love with the new job, but at least it's STABLE, and I'm even getting some overtime, which is very much needed at the moment.

PPS It's just sinking in how happy I am to hear from her again. Wow. What a great fucking day.

1 Comments

Conversation At Work

MH: "THERE'S a tune for ya, buddy. Tell me who that is."

BW: "Uh, I don't know"

MH: "David Bowie. That's some fucking classic rock for ya."

BW: "Isn't he gay?"

MH: "You'd like to know, wouldn't you."

Me: "Hey, if sucking dick makes him write tunes like that, let him be gay, I say. Not that I'm looking to suck one myself, mind you, I'm just sayin'"

MH, pointing to BW: "Why don't you suck HIS dick and see what you come up with?"

Me: "Nah, then everything I'd write would sound like N'Sync."

MH laughed his ass off. BW wasn't amused...

MH: "You're asking about gay? And you like Cougar? Little pink houses for you and me? That was fuckin' GAY man."

Me: "I'll never go behind another Tastee Freeze again..."

Ahh, the intellectual opportunities that exist while making cardboard boxes for a living...

Love,
Dougie

1 Comments

Darling, Won't You Ease My Worried Mind

Goddammit.

She knows what she's doing to me. She knows she's KILLING me.

Right before we left the gig tonight, I told her:

"It's getting very, very difficult to be around you."

She just looked down.

"And you know, I'm realizing with every gig just how much I love him too, how much I'm going to miss him, how much he means to me. But...I'm having a hard time being around you, Layla. This is killing me. It's worse every gig now."

She looked up with those amazing blue eyes, cut me in two, and I was left with nothing else worth saying.

Last night was a gift. Sheryl asked me to come over and watch a movie with her and Katie before I took Katie back to the apartment. So we watched the first Pirates Of The Caribbean film (I haven't seen the new one, Sheryl tells me it's excellent) and I got to spend two hours in a house I used to live in, with two people I used to live with, and the main thing I felt was simple gratitude. It was an odd thing. I don't really belong there, I never did. But I feel welcome there as a visitor, and I can't begin to express my happiness at how easy it's been to be around and talk to Sheryl these past couple weeks. We're trying very hard to do the right thing for our daughter, and I think we're onto something. It's very important to me not to interfere with her life any more than I have to - we've spent a year trying to build new lives apart from each other, and I doubt she wants me getting in the way of her progress any more than I want the reverse - but it feels like we're friends again, not just in name, but in reality. And that is a good thing.

Katie was asleep before we got back to the apartment. I ended up giving her the bed, and slept on the floor. So I woke up every 25 minutes and it's a goddamn miracle I can THINK right now.

So, of course, she woke up ready to Seize The Day at 6AM.

That's my girl...

We had breakfast and watched my favorite Fawlty Towers - the episode with Manuel's rat. Katie LOVES that show, and I'm a proud Daddy.

We drove up here to Marion, and spent most of the afternoon at my grandma's, where Katie got to play with her cousins. We came back and I got my shit together for the gig.

Somebody remind me to write about my new bass soon. It was the most ANNOYING part of the day.

I stopped for some Bacardi Limon before the gig, and had my FACE RIPPED OFF by an astounding blonde at the counter, who turns out to be 43 years old, even though she looks barely over 30. She was very friendly, and I tried to talk her into coming to the gig, but she had to work over when we were done. Shitfucky. She actually seemed to like talking to me, and I left with CARBONATED BRAIN CELLS, her killer light blonde hair, stunning face, and tight little body FUELLING MY MACHINE.

Of course, then I got to the gig and forgot about every single other woman on the planet when Layla came into view.

Her little sister just got married, and she'd come from the funera...er, I mean...wedding, and I'd just missed seeing her daughter too.

Aphrodite has nothing on my love. On...my...uh...his...love...............................................

Shitfucky.

The stars were in her eyes. The universe was reclining in her hair. All that is good and holy was...

For fuck's sake, SOMEBODY KILL ME. PLEASE.

From the first note, I flung myself headlong into the groove and nothing but the groove. OK, I played a few 32nd notes too. Sue me, assholes.

It was a very strange mix of inspiration. On one hand, there was a woman I can enver have, who I am falling more and more in love with. On another, there was a woman who is going to be replacing the husband of the first woman in my band, a fabulous 50-something guitarist who LOVES me and my playing. On yet another, the band itself, who were not perfect but highly inspirational nonetheless. Finally, there was my daughter, who I wanted to reach out to and touch with this music in some way, show her how important it is for her daddy to be up there doing this.

I played my fucking ass off. It was so much better than last week's gig, it ain't even funny.

P, who very likely will be my band's guitarist within two months, is a fun, fun lady. She's got to be about 174 years older than me. She spent several years as a prison guard. I think I don't want to piss her off.

Every time I walked by, she put on a goofy shit-eating grin and waved at me. "Hi, Doug!" Her and J (our "substitute" drummer) actually both offered me a cut of their share of every gig from now on if I'd stay. It was...very odd...

Even with my hands in problematic condition and my chops dipped down some over the past few years, there is no doubt of who I am - I have little confidence in ANYTHING about myself, but if there is one thing I know I can do like a motherfucker, it's play rock bass. An IDIOT can do it, it's gotta be one of the most mindless jobs on the planet, but to do it WELL is another thing entirely, and I know I am pretty fucking good at it.

But to have two people seriously offer me part of their pay (they were NOT joking) to have me stay in this band........that is just goddamn mind-blowing.

Of course, I can't do it. It's just not practical at all.

And that, my friends, is the story of the night - what I WANT and what I CAN HAVE.

The distance between the two is remarkable.

My daughter, the most important person in my world, fell asleep tonight three songs before the end of the first set. She fell asleep in the arms of the woman I've fallen in love with but can never have. The absolute goddamn MINDFUCK of that is obvious, beyond any real attempts to describe. It just IS.

I took her back, still asleep, and looked at Layla.

"I can't begin to articulate what I'm feeling right now."

She sliced me in half with her eyes, then looked away again. God fucking damn it.

Katie woke up the second I put her in her car seat in Mom's van. She was ready to go hunt for fireflies, something she';s been doing with Mommy for a while now. I said goodbye and went back inside to the gig. She's asleep now, at almost 2:30AM as I type this.

I actually had requests for my solo spot. So I did Buddy Holly's Well All Right (which was good) and Rockin' In The Free World, which was very fucking good. Having somebody ASK for that song was another odd moment in the evening. Some guy I've never talked to, but has seen a few recent gigs.

P asked for a Buddy Holly song, so I did Well All Right for her. Then she came up and took over M's guitar for two songs, and I finally got to hear her play.

Fucking Christ. This old lady ROCKS.

We started with Mustang Sally, which she sang. I did one verse of backing vocals before M ran back onstage, grabbed a tambourine, and sang the highest part behind us. I always tend to feel that song with a good degree of old school Motown funkiness (it was the ONLY thing I could approach being funky with when I was with the country band a few years ago, and they even gave me a solo on it) and tonight I felt like I was channeling James Jamerson. P played some good raw funky blues-rock guitar, and I got another brick inserted in my wall - I'm gonna miss the fuck out of M, but I'm also regretting leaving this band for the chance to play with HER. Shit, she rocks.

Then, for the sole reason of letting M dance with his wife for the first time at one of our gigs, P sat in on Wonderful Tonight, one of those godawful ballads I can barely stomach, but............

I watched one of my best friends, a man I love like a brother, dancing with his wife, a woman I'd gladly give my BALLS to I've become so goddamn crazy about her, and...I was so fucking happy for them.

It reminded me of why all this has been so fucking insane. They are the most beautiful couple I've ever seen. I've become very fucking cynical about love and marriage in the past couple years, but then some girl will come along and knock me on my ass and I'll have to watch her dance away with somebody who she so obviously is meant to be with.

And it hurts like a motherfuck.

He played some killer shit tonight. I'm lucky to know him.

Goddammit, this keeps building and building, and it hurts more each time.

"Hey, M. How's it going? Hey, you know how we've been friends for 13 years and we've shared some great memories and made each other laugh our asses off merely with one note on our axes, and now we're both leaving this band and we're going to miss the fuck out of each other? I want to fuck your wife. Just thought I'd mention it. Have a nice day."

A year ago I was saying I wanted to experience all I could, feel every emotion I could possibly feel.

Ten years ago (Jesus creeping shit, TEN years ago???) my first real girlfriend told me "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."

She was smarter than me. Most women usually are.

I sat next to Layla on the edge of the stage (the coolest stage we've been on, I think) and said those things to her, the things at the beginning of this entry. And then he walked in and sat next to her on the other side. There I was, with both of them.

I looked at him. "We were jsut talking about how much this sucks and how we're going to miss these gigs together."

I conviniently left out the part about how much I want to fuck her. She was looking down again, but instead of the previous emotion - I swear she'd seemed not only flattered, but totally understanding of my feelings towards her - this time she seemed to be holding back laughter. As if she was thinking what i'm thinking. "Yeah, M. Doug's gonna miss you. By the way, has he told you how much he wants to fuck me and eat my pussy like a Rwandan refugee turned loose on a buffet?"

So we sat there for a moment, sharing the already-spoken parts of our mutual regret over how this band has to leave our lives, but only me and Layla sharing the unspoken part. I've said a lot to her. but I haven't said the one thing that we both know, but I can't say.

I love you.

We drove back to the singer's house to drop off gear. I followed him and her. I put in Adrian Belew's Here, one of the most glorious pop-rock albums of the past couple decades, and cranked up a Kinks-esqe slab of goodness called Never Enough. I sang it to the passenger's seat of the vehicle ten car-lengths in front of me.

Nothing she can actually give me will ever be enough. And for that I'm a lesser person.

But for the lessons I've learned - the intense moral ambiguity of loving the wife of my brother in music - I'm better for that. Tired. Pained. Nearly broken, wanting to cry. But better.

Lay-laaaa.................

Love,
Dougie
------------------------- ----------------
Morning.
I forgot to mention the funny part of last night.

S, the guy who is probably replacing me in the band, was helping me load gear, and somehow we got around to the subject of strip clubs. We both said we hadn't been in one in a long time. Layla heard us.

"I was just in one today."

Me: "And you didn't get video??? PLEEEEEASE tell me you got video." I put my hands into prayer position and kneeled before her.

I love making her laugh.

"Sorry, I'm not dressed for that occasion."

"Hell, getting you UNDRESSED is the point. Who cares what you've got on now?" I was looking directly into her eyes, but I lost it and found my gaze going back down to those legs... "Here...I've got $80 from the gig tonight. What will that get me?" I gave her my best wounded-puppy-dog-in-need look.

Yeah, I love making her laugh.

I came back two minutes later, holding out the check that my grandma very kindly gave me earlier in the day.

"Here, I'll sign it over to you and..."

The combination of embarrasment, flattery, and...wow, you dirty little girl...yeah, I love her. Dammit.

Interestingly enough, I'm off for a shower now.

Dougie

3 Comments

Fucking Tired

2.) My new co-worker is a lunatic ex-con, who's beat the hell out of himself for years, has spent half his life in jail, is full of stories that I'm pretty sure are mostly true, and I rather like him. Entertaining old fucker.

3.) I'm picking up Katie in a while, taking her back to the apartment for the night, then we'll drive up to Indiana for family time and my gig tomorrow.

4.) I'm almost NOT looking forward to seeing "Layla" tomorrow. I woke up two mornings ago thinking about her, and it was the kind of happy mushy lovey thoughts that DOUCHEBAGS ARE MADE OF. Holy shit, this is just fucked up.

5.) The new Tool album kicks all kinds of ass. Not the asses of the previous two albums, but lots of ass nonetheless. I also finally heard the recent releases of The Flaming Lips and Donald Fagen, and they both are mighty fine too.

Christ, I'm fucking tired.

Love,
Dougie

0 Comments

Sing A Song Of Hope

Die, die, you cocksuckers, die
Die, die, you cocksuckers, die
Hope ya burn in Hell, hope ya fuckin' fry
Die, you rotten cocksuckers, die

Eat shit, you fucking whores
Eat shit, you fucking whores
Hope you're all ass-raped by a pack of wild boars
Eat shit, you rotten fucking whores

Blow me, you fucking cunts
Blow me, you fucking cunts
Can't think of anything properly hateful right now off the top of my head that rhymes with "cunts"
Blow me, you stupid fucking cunts

Die, die, you cocksuckers, die
Die, die, you cocksuckers, die
When your covered with dirt, I won't fucking cry
Die, you rotten pigfucking shiteating fuckstain cocksuckers, die

Love,
Dougie

1 Comments

Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad?

Fuck, I'm tired.

I've been doing better with extremes in weather in the past couple years, but the last few days have SUCKED. It's TOO FUCKING HOT. I feel like Lewis Black, wanting to go to the Weather Channel offices and kick some ass.

So we played outside, with no covering, the sun one fucking foot from our heads.

Our first set was SHIT. None of us were on, there was no groove, no balls, just a big blob of flaccid POO.

But it got better. And I'm glad Layla ran video of it, because the last hour or so was pretty fucking good. It was when I finally felt loose. I think the beer helped...

I'm very happy for the guys. They tried out a female guitarist last week. Apparantly she was there tonight, but I didn't see her. I was off talking to a few people after we were done and didn't see her trying out M's guitar. He came up to me: "They don't need me anymore. They need HER."

I can't wait to hear her. I'm very, very pleased that they get to go on. Who knows, it might even get better for them.

I'm glad my mom and sister came late and got to see the end. They usually see our first set, which is usually about the same. So they heard some different tunes, and damn good versions for the most part.

I was so fucking tired (which is why I'm still here, there's no WAY I could make the three hour trip back to home tonight) that my normal hormone-crazed reaction to being within a LIGHT-YEAR of Layla was just not possible. My weiner was saying "Fuck you, it's too hot. I couldn't get it up now if my life depended on it."

But I still noticed. She had on shorts and a tight shirt. I noticed that thin waist flowering out into those hips, the incredible legs that NEED TO ENVELOPE MY SKULL. Those brain-destroying eyes.

I couldn't feel it as strongly as normal, I was too far gone...

We had drugs and we had booze
But we still had something to lose
And by dawn I wanted
To marry you.
- Neil Young, "Too Far Gone"

She brings out so much in me. Very, very good things. And really awful things. It's not awful to love such a beautiful creature, to want to please her and be pleased by her. It's not awful to want to fall into those eyes and drown a beautiful, perfect death. It's just fucking awful that she has to be HIS and I'm feeling these things.

And I'm really going to miss him. He played some great shit tonight, and I'm lucky to know him and be in this band with him.

Dammit.

I was detached for most of the night. Even though she looked amazing. So REAL. She was sweating like the rest of us. She had a bandana on her head that made her somehow even cuter. While we were loading up afterwards, she laid across the hood of their truck.

"You a model now?"

"They took most of my senior pictures with me on my Dad's truck. You should see them."

"Yes, I most certainly should."

I told her goodbye, and she came to me. Oh God...I'm going to TOUCH her...brain spinning...arms dying to hold her close...every atom in me bracing to feel her warmth if only for those few seconds of pure goddamn fuckin' bliss...

She hugged me. I leaned in, smelled her hair. And snapped inside.

"Dear God, you are so fucking beautiful."

"Thank you."

And that was it. I had to go hug HIM just to feel clean somehow.

Listening now to Camel's The Snow Goose, some of the most amazing melodies to come out of the '70s. But another song is in my head, and it's filtering through to my heart, which is finally starting to feel the depth of what happened tonight.

Why does love got to be so sad?

Like a moth to a flame,
Like a song without a name,
I've never been the same since I met you.
- Eric Clapton

It's the truth. I haven't been the same. This has been building up in me since I first met her over a year ago. I remember that night very well, the way she talked to me, how happy she was to meet me after hearing the old tapes of the band. How much she loved my playing. ("You are fucking AWESOME." - an outrageous thing to hear about yorself coming from such a woman.) How happy M was that I was there that night because he'd missed me so much. Even that first night, I had to tell her how lucky I knew he was to have her. Because it DRIPPED from her.

And I can't - and won't - do a damn thing about it. But I can't see her, can't talk to her, can't fully experience both how beautiful she is and how fucking COOL she is without wanting to cry. Because I can't have her. And at this moment, this crazed fucking moment when I'm suddenly AWAKE, for fuck's sake, after this long-ass day...I want her more than I want anything. Just to lay beside her and die inside those incredible blue eyes, feel the glorious touch of her skin, feel her hair on my face, and lean into her, and tell her at last...

I love you, Layla. Goddammit, I really do LOVE you.

And now I turn the other way and try to forget, until I have to see her the next time.

Love,
Dougie

3 Comments

Ehhhh, What's Up My Ass, Doc?

After yesterday's post, I found myself driving down I-75, listening to Soft Machine's Third (Hugh Hopper - you are a god among bassmen) and every twenty seconds or so, I would start chanting "Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit!!"

I don't know if this is considered psychologically "normal", but IT HELPED ME FEEL BETTER.

The amount of rancid festering alpaca balls that the past couple weeks have sucked are legion. (Another sentence you don't read often, and if you like the phrase "rancid festering alpaca balls", don't thank me, I stole it from a friend.) How I've managed to keep my bipolar ass from snapping like a psychotic crack-swilling twig, I'm not sure, but I MUST be in a much better mental place than I was a year ago, because I was convinced back then that ALL IS INDEED LOST, and it wasn't nearly as bad of a situation as the one I've been in recently.

But the kindness of family and friends cannot be understated. I hate being dependent on others, the past year has been a concentrated effort to be as independent as possible, and it's all kinda gone to shit in the past couple months, but sometimes you simply have to admit you're FUCKED on your own and turn to others. I'm praying to Gods I No Longer Believe In that I can be back on track in the next couple months. We'll see.

I got the keys to the apartment yesterday, and spent the afternoon running around like a loon, starting the transfer of stuff from storage to my new home. This will take about a week with my schedule finally falling into place (I AM working Monday, and even the temp agency has finally shown some decency in the last couple days) but I have a week left on the storage unit anyway. So no more money has to be spent there. Yay!

I put 150 miles on the car yesterday befor eI left town. I've put something like $115 in gas in my car in less than two weeks. not working, no money except what I've had to accept from others, driving constantly in search of a job (120 miles in one day last week) - I've been KILLING the car and my wallet.

but I got a few loads of stuff to the apartment, and...left. I'll be sleeping there for the first time tonight. I'm in Marion now, ready for an outdoor gig tonight, earlier time, nearly as much pay as usual. We haven't played in a few weeks. If I get to do my solo spot, I'm planning on the old blues tune Key To The Highway, a remnant of my psychosis over Layla a few weeks ago.

I came up through Indy last night. I pulled into a familiar place, a parking spot I knew well. I sat in front of my old apartment for two or three minutes, seeing it for the first time since I left a month ago. Somebody's in there now. I wonder if they've met the little crackwhore next door. Lucky bastard probably has, and was over there fucking her - her light was on, and I had to chuckle thinking about how glad I am to not have THAT distraction around anymore. She sure was a cute little slut, though...

I like my new apartment, but I don't love it. I loved the one in Indy. I was paying $450 a month for something would likely have cost $1400 if I'd stayed in California last year. Even in this area, it was a fucking great deal on a very nice place. My new place saves me $45 a month in rent, but compared to what I've moved away from, I think it's worth much less than that. But I do like it, and it's good to be back in SW Ohio. I'm just going to miss my previous home for a while longer.

I visited my good friend D9 last night, and let me just say that here's another utterly rockin' individual who I'm very lucky to know. It was a good time, and I've got another Jello Biafra set to listen to now, somebody I'm still listening to often.

Listening to Jello, I've decided that when I'm able to start focusing myself back onto politics (for all the crazed shit I was writing a year ago, my ability to stay up on news has been pretty bad recently) I'm going third-party. I don't really regret voting Democrat in the last election, it seemed the right thing to do at the time even though I had about as much use for Kerry as I do the aforementioned alpaca testicles, but the biggest lesson I've learned in the past couple years is that I have no use for these games anymore, the posturing of people pretending to be polar opposites who AREN'T. They just aren't, and fuck them anyway. This country needs a new party, and it's going to take a lot of work and a lot of time, and we're not going to be taken seriously at first, and we'll lose a lot of battles, but it will be worth it. I despise what this once-great country has become, I despise a system that has turned its back on the people who truly make it function at all, and I'm going to do my part to knock a chip out of that fucking wall.

But retaining a sense of humour is vital, remaining open to each other is essential, and not becoming the kind of fundamentalists that our opposition are is of such importance that I think it's going to take a very, very special person to pull a third party into a position of worth, and I don't have a fucking CLUE who it's gonna be.

But I wanna be there.

Time to shower and get today's shit together. Tomorrow is Katie-time, and she'll be going with me as I audition for a new band. Should be interesting.

Love,
Dougie

PS In reference to the wretched Ohio heat of recent days, I have invented a new phrase - "pigfuckingly awful." I'm very proud of this.

4 Comments

Absurdity Is My Whiskey, And I've Had A Few

1.) I ain't even describing the events of the last week. Well, here's a description for you - purple microbes of fish flesh exploding angrilly towards an idiotic sunset in fields of pewter varnished with tofu remnants. Urkel! Spew! I'm an imp!

Or something like that.

2.) The next SUV-driving soccer mom I see in a convinience store with her hands full of enough junk food to kill a llama, doing NOTHING to stop her two waterhead spawn from running amok like crack-monkeys in front of the beef jerky and beer cave, who then goes up to the counter and complains to the CLERK (like they have control over ANYTHING) about the price of gasoline is getting my foot lodged right up her donut-eating asshole. bonus points if she's buying bottled water - that's TWO feet and the front end of my 30mpg vehicle up her ass. ANYONE who will pay $2.19 for a bottle of WATER, then complain about the price of fucking gas is a DIPSHIT TO THE POWER OF FUCKHOLE.

Just sayin'...

3.) Didn't move yesterday. I might today. I don't even know.

4.) I wanna fuck the somewhat overweight but very cute redhead girl who sold me coffee this morning. I promise to put the coffee a safe distance away if she accepts my humble offer, so as not to spill it on her when I'm banging away, my back goes out, and I fall out of bed, knocking over the end table. See, I'm a SENSITVE GUY.

5.) Fuckadoodle macaroni face! Taco refuse! Loons in plastic wrap are eating my toenails while I fake orgasms wth Shelly Winter's cat and join the Marines! Jerk my fuel bag and don't spare the yodelling iguanas, assbucket! Whee!

Just that kind of day.

Love,
Dougie

6 Comments

Making The Jump Across Shit Creek

A check that I thought would arrive today might make tomorrow more interesting.

Due to the general tone of this evening (an odd mix of tension and fun on my night with Katie, which ended well with us at the library reading very silly children's books) and given an opening of yet another day from the temp agenecy (I'm starting a new job Friday, supposedly) I'm going to see about possibly moving into my new apartment tomorrow instead of Monday. Not sure if it will happen, but I'd like it to, just so I can do something tomorrow besides wander around trying to find a fucking job with my head wanting to explode like I've been doing for over a week now.

So either tomorrow or next Monday, I'll be a (skating away on the financially thin fuckin' ice of a new goddamn day) resident of Lebanon, Ohio. Come visit. I'm hoping on dining regularly at the Golden Lamb (Ohio's oldest inn, had soup and Guinness there last week) on a regular basis, and raiding the nearby courthouse for genealogical material whenever I have a few spare moments.

I'm auditioning for another band next Friday evening. Looking at the set list, it appears to be similar to the band I was in with my recently passed-on friend Jimmy here in the Cincy area last year.

A gig in Marion on Saturday. The last few days have been a haze, not working having a bad effect on my ability to even GIVE A SHIT about anything, but tomorrow just might kick things back into high gear again.

Fuck, I hope so.

I can't afford the extra money on top of rent to do so right now, but I'm feeling a strong urge to be a cat owner again. Katie's delightful two new feline friends are making me feel the need for a furry companion nearby. I love cats. I think I'm pretty much gonna HAVE to name my next one Lucifer Sam, in memory of one of my very favorite Syd songs.

My parents go through cats constantly (because they don't know how to take care of them worth a damn) and sometimes Mom has asked my advice on naming their cats. They just had five kittens (the mother being the kitten of the one that attacked Katie last summer) and I suggested they call them Ed, Fred, Frunobulax, Shithead, and Jm J. Bullock. Why they never take my suggestions seriously, I'll never know.........

Ahh, sweet hops. Time to almost sorta not-actually relax.

Love,
Dougie

3 Comments

RIP, You Crazy Diamond

I'm a HUGE Pink Floyd fan, and I'm madly in love with the first two albums, and with Syd's solo work.

To me, Syd doesn't represent psychedelics, or rock mental-breakdown acid burnout, or any of that other shit that they usually write about him. To me, Syd's music was about retaining the sense of wonder and beauty from our childhood, even when faced with the reality of a corrupt adult world.

It made me very happy when David Gilmour started his recent solo tour to find that he was covering one of Syd's solo songs (Dominos) live. The band has never forgotten Syd, and neither should we who owe such a vital part of our lives to the music he made and the band he began.

I'm going to fucking miss him, and he hasn't made music in over three decades.

Shine on, Syd. You'll always be loved.

Sad,
Dougie

16 Comments

Peace, Love, Joy, Merriment, and Die Fuckin' Cocksucker, Die

,,,and a happy-go-lucky merry-fuckin' day assurance that everything in the world is just peachy fuckin' keen, gosh darn it, and I'll surely be better off soon.

Of course, driving in the rain with the window down while cranking The Donnas adds to the goodness. I just sit back and let myself believe that Brett (who of course, in the REAL world would rather eat her own shit and be covered by rabid wolverine spew than fuck a degenerate pig like me) is singing those estrogen-fuelled, cock-loving odes to ME. Yeah, it's utter bullshit and I should probably seek out therapy, but IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER. Fuck you.

Oh, and have a nice day, while you're at it.

Fuckin' love,
Dougie

1 Comments

Dougie's Dictionary - Entry Of The Day

Just an observation,
Dougie

5 Comments

In Dreams

I had one FUCK of a dream about Amanda last night.

Literally.

We sat across a table from each other and talked. I unloaded every single thing that I ever thought about her. She sat and gave me that amazing smile as I looked into...

"Amanda, you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They cut me in half every time. I'd love to just sit here and look into them all day. But I'd rather look into them as we make love."

So we did.

OK, it's a fucking DREAM now, goddammit. WORK with me, you assholes...

I don't get laid even in my DREAMS that often, but this...holy shit...I remember every damn detail. I could almost FEEL it. The sensation of her arms and legs around me. Looking down to see myself inside her. The NOISES she made. Holy fuck. It was incredible.

Looking down into her eyes as she took me in her mouth...the sight of The Promised Land just before I attacked it with my face...and finally, sliding inside...

It went in the direction I think it probably actually would. Holding her face in my hands as I softly, gently made love to her, then finally exploding into utterly insane, king hell, back-breaking, pounding FUCKERY.

Which, of course, is right about the time I woke up.

Goddammit.

Let's face it, it's BETTER that I woke up in the middle of it. I don't really want to face what is obviously the next scene. Just as I'm about ready to come, a vertebrae in my shitty excuse for a back snaps in two and my sweet, darling Amanda is left totally disgusted as I writhe around on the floor in pain waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

Spinal-snappus interupptus. Yeah, it's better this way...

I laid there for almost an hour, unable - and unwilling - to let her leave my mind.

I had barely thought about her in a couple weeks, since the last time I saw her. But based on this dream, I am quite clearly not over her just yet.

The temptation is to go see her when I drive through Indy to the gig next weekend. Part of me thinks that's a perfectly reasonable thing to do, especially since I told her I'd be in to visit sometimes and I don't want to go back on that.

But I also wonder if it won't just be torturing myself. Who knows. Last time I saw her, it was simply "nice." I remember writing that, and it was the truth. At that moment, I felt very little, just a sense of it being nice to see her.

But if I went in there the way I felt not 25 minutes ago, it could get scary. I don't really want to be caught on my knees on the checkered floor of a fucking Steak & Shake begging a beautiful waitress to run away into the woods and do nothing but fuck and suck for the rest of our lives. It would make a great STORY, of course, but I'm not so sure I'm ready for prison just yet.

AAHHH!!! Get this fucking Boston song out of my head! Damn you, Tom Scholz! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!!!!

Love (and testosterone),
Dougie
---------------
Later note:

I had a dialogue going through my head. One guy asks another if eating pussy is all it's...uh..."cracked" up to be.

"Dude, you've gotta do it. As soon as possible. Go find a woman and shove your face in there and go to work.

"Now, make sure you find a woman who BATHES regularly. You don't want to come back smelling like you just spent a weekend at Cape Cod."

I'm going to Hell.

4 Comments

Smash Your Head Against The Wall

Ahhh, I feel waves of peace and goodly fuckin' joy washing over my spirit...

I'm not going to detail the adventures of today trying to find work through the PIGFUCKING agency I've dealt with for over a year now, but I've doubled, even tripled my efforts to find employment elsewhere, especially after displays of incompetence and downright SHIT that's made my last two days a fascinating excercise in not having my head explode.

My revenge is plotted. When I know for certain that I'm no longer working for them, when I'm finally in another place, I have plans for a "donation" to the company. Oh, never fear, I mean no harm on anyone. But the cleanup will be a bitch.

I spent over two hours at the library today, and had a bowl of killer soup at a Thai restaraunt across the street. I left the library armed with some modern "classical" CDs of guys I've never heard of, a Freddie King live album (for those who want to know where Clapton stole his licks, here's one guy to check out), and a recent book on General "Mad" Anthony Wayne and the fight for the Northwest Territory.

When I get around to enjoying this shit might be another matter.

Good news: I'm set to move into my new apartment in a week or so. I'm probably going to aim for Monday the 17th, maybe the Friday beforehand. I've got the cash for the deposit and the rest of July's rent after that point. And not much more. Having worked a little over two of the past four weeks, I'm lucky to have had some ass-saving assistance. I HATE being dependent on my family, I've done my damndest for the past year to do as little of that as possible, but I've had no choice recently.

It's too bad that the woman at the office who fucked with me today (I THOUGHT I was enterting a new job Monday until she went back on what she'd told me just yesterday) is such a stupid fucking cunt with the leadership skills of a half-chewed piece of rotten fruit on top of a pile of dogshit. She was fucking HOT. Dumber than a box of shit, but fuckin' hot, baby.

I'd be afraid to stick my dick in something that stupid. It might explode.

Whistlin' rhymes,
Dougie

2 Comments

Attack Of The Psychotic Cornhole Merchants

Wishing I had some explosives left over from the fourth,
Dougie

0 Comments

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

As has been the case for days now, I have tons in my head that wants to be written about, but I have little desire to actually do it. It's not really a bad thing, it's more a desire to keep this shit internalized longer. When it comes out, I think it might just be fuckin' good stuff. Waht you are about to read is maybe 5% of what I've rehearsed inside my skull.

I spent the 4th on another history jaunt, taking a new route back to Cincy from Marion, heading due east on SR26 (a truly dismal drive through the most boring parts of Indiana) until I crosssed the Ohio border and hit Fort Recovery.

This was the site of a major battle in the Indian Wars of the 1790s, when Gen. Arthur St. Clair had his ass handed to him by a contingent of Indians and British, in what was, relatively speaking, the worst defeat the US Army ever suffered. A couple years later, "Mad Anthony" Wayne built Ft. Recovery here, and won a key battle, leading to the Battle Of Fallen Timbers, and finally the Treaty Of Greenville in 1795, which gave much of present day Ohio to the Americans. Ft. Recovery also boasts a marker at the northwest corner of the line drawn by the Treaty, which went across Ohio to this point, then southwest (cutting through part of eastern Indiana) to the mouth of the Kentucky River where it meets the Ohio River at present day Carrolton, Kentucky, which, coincidentally enough, is where I often stopped as a halfway point on the drive from Cincinnai to Louisville, and where I spent a night a few years ago on a marathon weekend of gigs with the country band I spent a summer playing with.

Fort Recovery is a charming little white burg, and it's nice to see a town that takes its history seriously. A lovely park contains the area where the fort was built, a few log cabins donated by local residents, a small museum, a ballpark, and a long stretch of grass through a valley below the fort, which once was the bed of the Wabash River, re-directed in the early 1900s. Shit, I'd forgotten the Wabash even went that far east.but that's what the fort once looked down upon.

From there, I drove to Greenville, which had less to offer than I thought it would, though maybe I missed the good stuff. I saw a couple markers downtown and that was it. Well, I also saw a very pretty blonde at the grocery where I stopped for cheese and beer, probably six months pregnant, and I awoke at 4AM this morning from a bizarre dream about her wherein I was unsuccessfully trying to get her to fuck me. So much for the purity of my historic quests...

From Greenville, I headed south on 127 towards Eaton. And yes, we all know what I wish *I* was "eaton" during the drive....

Just west of Eaton is the memorial park for Fort St. Clair, named after the aforementioned general, and one-time governor of the Northwest Territory and President of the Continental Congress. Apparantly, he was also an asshole, given the tone of the history I've read. His massive defeat near Ft. Recovery led to the first ever congressional investigation in US history, his opposition to Ohio statehood made him unpopular, and he was removed from his position over the Territory by Thomas Jefferson. Oh, and his father was a hamster and his mother smelt of elderberries. Or so I'm led to believe.

The site marking Ft. St. Clair is GORGEOUS. A remarkably beautiful park, with a children's playground next to a small stream, and paths leading up into the trees behind which lie the sit eon which the fort was built, and the graves of six US soldiers who died there.

I need to take Katie there soemtime soon.

The day's history lesson complete, I headed home down 122, to I-75, and finally to Loveland.

The drive was accompianied by a Prince best-of CD and my own thoughts on what I'd seen that day.

The most instructive part of the day for me was back at Ft. Recovery, a few blocks from the fort site, where stands a large monument dedicated to American soldiers. A plaque there made my blood boil, and reminded me once again that there is truly nothing new under the sun.

The plaque would make our current president proud. It's easy to forget that the line of propoganda horseshit we've been fed since 9/11 is really the same tired nonsense that Americans have suffered through since our nation's inception, but reading that plaque, the truth flashed before me again.

Talk of the soldiers who gave their lives for "freedom and civilization" fighting the "savage foe." Ahh yes, killing Indians and stealing their land. FREEDOM, boys and girls. Now, granted, the "savage foe" moniker might fit if applied to the BRITISH who were helping the Indians out at the time, but seriously now...

Spot the obscure Zappa semi-reference...

My father pulled out a couple of his books for me on Monday night. We were up until well after midnight, discussing the history of the Northwest Territory. He on the couch, me in front of the computer.

My love of history clearly comes from my dad. He gets his details mixed up more these days, but shit, I can't remember half of what I read three hours ago. I enjoy listening to him, even as I realize how full of shit the perspective is.

It's sad that 200 years of "civilization" has taught so little to so many of the people who later benefitted from the campaigns undertaken by St. Clair, Wayne, George Rogers Clark, and others who truly molded American history while engaging in some of these truly abominable acts of genocide and land-grabbing.

I sit here today and type this because of these men. My life was made possible by their sins. And for that, i begin to find part of what it means to be me. It's easier to accept the constant fight between two extremes that lives in my head every day when I realize that my very EXISTENCE is dependent on such bipolarness. I am a living benificiary of the westward expansion fought for at these sites I visted in the last couple days. Many of us in America are. Without the reprehensible acts and attitudes of these people who, even years later, were unable to find it in themselves to see these Indians as more than "sub-human", my life, and the lives of those I care most about, would simply not be.

Fucking weird shit to chew on this dark night, a bottle of Old Crow and an empty pack of Marlboro 27s fuelling me.

I had Katie for a few hours this evening. We went to her doctor, and she endured three booster shots. Well, she screamed her head off. but she got over it quick. I was highly amused at her act later in the evening, insisting that she couldn't walk for the pain in her legs, yet asking to play outside the second I took her home. My kid is learning more and more how to bullshit her elders (I could write volumes from the past week or so alone) and while part of me finds it frustrating, part of me is quite proud of her. I WANT my girl to set herself apart from those she percieves as slowing her individual momentum. But teaching her how to do so while respecting the rights of others...that, my friends, is a challenge I fear.

I'll write more about that shit later.

One story, though:

In the grocery, Saturday night:

Daddy nearly breaks his neck trying to get a second look at THE SECOND COMING OF CHRIST IN LUSCIOUS FEMALE FORM, standing near the potatoes.

"Daddy, are you looking for a girlfriend?"

Ouch.

"Well, I guess so honey. What do you think about that?"

"I don't like it. Then you'll love her more than you love me."

Double fucking ouch.

"Honey, that's not true. I'll never let any woman get in the way of my love for you. I promise that, Kate."

It took about three hours for me to process her reaction, a broad, peaceful smile.

Well, I'll be damned. My sweet innocent little girl was fishing for something.

That smile came back into my head over and over again, my brain unable to put two and two together and admit the implications.

You little booger, you set me up.

She knew EXACTLY what she was doing when she cut into me with that question, she knew EXACTLY the response she wanted, and she damn well got it.

I'm REALLY proud of her.

I'm glad she's learning these skills. As a child of a divorce, splitting time between two parents, she has every right to question everything, and use her skills as "precious little girl" to know where she stands with us. It's quite disarming to witness this display of manipulation, but it's pretty fuckin' cool, too. I don't want her to forget to treat others as she wants to be treated, I don't want her to learn a mean, vicious streak, but I DO want her to find her place and her own identity as soon as possible.

Because I'm thirty-fucking-six and I haven't done it yet, and THAT sucks.

I think I have a lot to learn from her.

Love,
Dougie

4 Comments

Happy Dangerous Explosives Day!

I just helped my sister shoot off some fireworks. I like how she gets all excited about it, then cowers in fear when the shit starts flying around.

I've got a better way. To celebrate the birth of my country, I'm going to MEXICO. Then I'm gonna eat a ton of chorizo and carnitas, drink a gallon of habanero sauce, and come back to the good ol' US of fuckin' A, and shoot something out my ass onto the White House lawn.

Join us, won't you?

Love,
Dougie

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A Day In The Life?

jesus I need you to help me stop geting hardons when asking you a question about sex

I couldn't make this shit up. It's too good.

So much shit in my head, and I don't feel like typing it all. Good stuff about time with Katie, bad stuff about cash flow, medium stuff about dead friends. And other shit too.

I got in women's pants for a couple days, before they had us doing other jobs. the whole thing lasted until Friday. They simply had no more work for temps, but the supervisor was very nice to us and liked us a lot, so she called HR and had them pull our applications (I filled mine out the last day) to the top of the pile. I don't know if it will mean anything, but if it does, I'm happy to be there. Not that a fucking warehouse gig is my idea of a great time, but this particular one is about as good as it gets. If I'm hired on full-time, the jump in pay will put me AHEAD in a couple months instead of being behind like I am currently getting more and more, faster and faster.

Nice people, easy work, good hours. It would provide a good solid backbone to work from in my search for musical income. I can definitely see doing it for a while if necessary.

If it happens. I have no idea if it will.

I'm back to scrambling for work, though, and I did some driving around the area, filled out a few apps, and generally got irritable and frustrated before driving north.

Some interesting genealogy work in a few spots on the way up to Marion. I went way off the normal route and did probably two-thirds of the three-hour plus drive on back county roads and state roads I hadn't been on. And still added only nine miles to the overall trip. Yaaay!

One interesting break was taken at Ft. Jefferson. This was only for general historical interest, but pretty cool to do. During the Indian wars of the 1790s, there was a long string of forts built in over a dozen spots running north to south along the whole of what is now Ohio, just east of where the Ohio/Indiana state line is now.

THIS was the frontier back then. A key area in the history of the United States and the drive towards westward expansion. Many Americans wouldn't EXIST without what happened here, in this part of the country I call home.

Of course, A.) We had to kill a bunch of Indians to do it, and B.) We cut all the trees down and turned the whole goddamn place into one giant cornfield that no sane person would WANT to call home, but hey, it's fuckin' history, goddammit. Work with me here.

I studied history (and political science and music) in colleghe for two years before dropping out. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I stayed in, because the only obvious route for a history major is to go into teaching it yourself, and I'd love to throw this shit at students. It would be like Sam Kinison yelling at Rodney Dangerfield. "You fucking PUSSIES wouldn't even be a CUM-STAIN if our forefathers hadn't kicked those redskins in the ass! AHH! AHH! AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!"

It's a weird feeling standing there. Ft. Jefferson (named after then-Secetary Of State Thomas Jefferson) is a tiny town, and the state memorial is just a little park on a hill with a picnic area and a few markers where the small fort (mostly a supply stop) once stood. Nothing much to it. But it was part of an important history, and to think that thse men made my life possible, but did so through land-theft and warfare...interesting shit to chew on.

A productive day for family history (a few cemetery finds, a land record, some obituaries, and one hell of a nice map that still didn't show what I was looking for) and this brief stop into national history. I was tired and nearly fell over an illegible gravestone from heat stroke at one point (holy FUCK it was hot today) but it was prpductive.

I'm dragging stuff back from Marion into the storage facility. I've NOT been happy go lucky about this move. The reasons for it are undeniable and vital. The details of doing it SUCK DISEASE-RIDDLED CHIMP COCK. I've kept a good frame of mind for the most part, but the numbness is riding high, just trying to keep from snapping over the amount of shit one has to go through to orchestrate a move with the limited resources I have available.

My family is helping a lot. I've got a long, long post about that in my head, but I don't feel like it right now. I'm trying not to get depressed, after all.

Seeing Katie more is what is making it all worthwhile, and I can't wait to be settled in soon and get on with something vaguely resembling a normal schedule.

I love my girl. And that is going to make it all come together in some way. I need to be back near her.

I don't feel like typing anymore.

Love,
Dougie

1 Comments

Uncomfortably Numb

I suppose it beats being pissed and wanting to break shit, but it's not my favorite condition to be in.

Everything will probably be fine. It usually is. I just have to come back to that place in my head and lock in.

Off to Marion for a couple days. Bringing some shit back down here to my storage place, and I'm angling towards being in a new apartment by the end of next week if they accept me. It's a nice enough place. I wasn't knocked out by it, but it feels good, and Katie liked it too.

Lots of George Carlin CDs being played by me lately. He keeps me grounded somehow, and I still laugh at things I've heard a bazillion times.

I need a blowjob or twelve. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Love,
Dougie

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Search Of The Day

a really large cock with beautiful shiny head

That's right, MY blog here. Obviously there's been some kind of mistake.

Love,
Dougie

0 Comments