My Saturn Is Tougher Than Uranus
10.31.06 (8:25 pm) [edit]I just hit ANOTHER fucking deer. Coming home from hanging out with Katie for Halloween, a few miles from home on SR42.
There's not a lot of damage, even less than last time. It seems perfectly driveable. Cracked quarter-panel on the front driver's side, one of my new windshield wipers is loose. That's all I see so far other than a very slight bend in the corner of the hood.
Fucking Christ. I hate this part of the country sometimes. But what are the fucking odds? Not just of hitting two in a few months, but of being so damn lucky to not have more damage?
It's too weird to even be pissed. I'm just baffled.
Love,
Dougie The Bambi Slayer
-----------
Some folk have it worse than me tonight.
I just found out that my cousin A - who is about a month older than Katie and they're crazy about each other - is in the hospital tonight after an asthma attack. Poor little guy's had problems for a while, but this is as serious as it's got. I saw his dad at the gig Saturday - my uncle has a friend across the street from where we were playing and he hung out for a couple hours that night.
I'm fighting off ingrained tendencies to think of tonight's deer accident as anything other than the stupid case of bad luck it is. (Albeit with the good luck of having a driveable vehicle anyway.) I've been trained to think that Somebody Out There Is Watching. I've finally kicked enough of that shit out of my system to be able to deal with things better, but it's still a nagging little fucker in my head that I wish would go away. It doesn't help when I talk to my family and they start into their Jesus shit. Do you think that if angels were involved that they'd use their Powers to MAKE THE DEER NOT HIT THE FUCKING CAR? There are no angels, there is no god, there is only THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE. Start there and work towards your invisible fairy tale, don't start at the damn story.
I just made a damn good curry.
Let The Insanity Begin/Continue
10.31.06 (4:57 pm) [edit]"My friends are always giving me these sex toys as gag gifts. One time I got a penis pump, then an inflatable sheep. The only problem is that these things can only hang around your apartment so long before you have to stick your dick in them. Much like the cat, or the VCR." - Doug Stanhope
There is a distinct possibility that I will be taking half a dozen or so students up in Indiana on Saturdays soon.
As much as the band is gigging, this makes sense since I'll be up there anyway. I can make more money at the beginning of the day to go along with gig money. I don't really have to show up until noon, which doesn't make the morning too crazy getting out of here. Even three hours of teaching can bring in a nice chunk of change.
I'm not so fond of doing it on the weekends we won't be gigging. But this won't happen often - we've only got one weekend off through the end of the year, and we've just started booking for next year, even one scheduled for Nov. '07, over a year in advance - and I've agreed to not call off more than once every few months. Sometimes I'll HAVE to have a whole weekend off. But not often.
This is nuts. But it might be the start of something better than the shit I endure now. It might get shot down, but it looks very possible right now.
The temp agency LIED to me again. This new job is not long term, I'm lucky to be going back tomorrow, and it most likely won't go past Thursday. Fucking CUNTS.
A guy back in Indiana I used to teach bass to had a bar in town for a while, which recently closed down. He's getting ready to open again - under much better financial conditions. This guy has heard me do my solo thing before, he even booked me for a gig in the park there back in 1999 that was one of the most fun things I've done (playing among other things a solo version of Pink Floyd's Pigs (Three Different Ones) and a handful of my bass-through-effects low-rent Frippertronics for a crowd of mostly middle-aged women on a crisp fall afternoon) and I think he'd be very much up to having me in there.
So, all my current musical efforts are aimed nearly three hours away, in the town I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of when I was younger.
I've been asked by a few people if I'd move back. No. NO. And NO. A couple days a week is one thing, but I'll suck cock for a nickel apiece before I'll move back to that shithole. Besides, I'm trying to do all this in a way that has the absolute minimum impact on my time with Katie. THAT is non-negotiable.
I'm gonna break out of this fucking 40-hour-week hell and be a goddamn musician for a living if it fucking kills me. At the rate I'm going, it just might.
Fuck it. There's things to do in Denver when you're dead.
Love,
Dougie
Life'll Kill Ya
10.30.06 (9:08 pm) [edit]Well, I went to the doctor
I said, "I'm feeling kind of rough"
"Let me break it to you, son
Your shit's fucked up."
I said, "My shit's fucked up?
Well, I don't see how-"
He said, "The shit that used to work-
It won't work now."
I had a dream
Ah, shucks, oh, well
Now it's all fucked up
It's shot to hell
Yeah, yeah, my shit's fucked up
It has to happen to the best of us
The rich folks suffer like the rest of us
It'll happen to you
That amazing grace
Sort of passed you by
You wake up every day
And you start to cry
Yeah, you want to die
But you just can't quit
Let me break it on down:
It's the fucked up shit
- Warren Zevon
"People who claim to know jackrabbits will tell you they are primarily motivated by Fear, Stupidity, and Craziness. But I have spent enough time in jackrabbit country to know that most of them lead pretty dull lives; they are bored with their daily routines: eat, fuck, sleep, hop around a bush now and then... No wonder some of them drift over the line into cheap thrills once in a while; there has to be a powerful adrenalin rush in crouching by the side of a road, waiting for the next set of headlights to come along, then streaking out of the bushes with split-second timing and making it across to the other side just inches in front of the speeding front tires.
Why not? 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 bad 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."
- Hunter S. Thompson
"People need trouble— a little frustration to sharpen the spirit on, toughen it. Artists do; I don't mean you need to live in a rat hole or gutter, but you have to learn fortitude, endurance. Only vegetables are happy." - William Faulkner
"In going where you have to go, and doing what you have to do, and seeing what you have to see, you dull and blunt the instrument you write with. But I would rather have it bent and dulled and know I had to put it on the grindstone again and hammer it into shape and put a whetstone to it, and know that I had something to write about, than to have it bright and shining and nothing to say, or smooth and well oiled in the closet, but unused."
- Ernest Hemingway
"I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits"
- William S. Burroughs
"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."
- William S. Burroughs
Get Thee Behind Me, Tom Scholz!
10.29.06 (7:51 pm) [edit]"They tell me love requires a little standing in line
And I've been waiting for you, lover, for a long, long time
I've been pacing the floor
I've been watching the door
Meanwhile I'll keep searching for a heart
- Warren Zevon
God, she looked wonderful.
I went through Indianapolis on the way home. Stopped at a specific lunch destination.
Its been, what, a month?
Another girl sat me down. She almost had me at the table second to the back, but I like that back corner seat.
"I didn't think men liked to be put into a corner."
"It's the way I live my life, honey."
The familiar voice from behind the waitress counter. "You want a chili five-way, hon?"
"You know it, baby!"
She stepped out and drifted on a cloud of artery-clogging food towards me. My kind of angel. A little ragged around the edges, not a poster girl. Just a real live breathing woman. I tend to put them on Goddess Pedastals they don't deserve or ask to be on, or I view them almost strictly as fuckbags. I feel shitty about that, but I still do it to nearly every woman I encounter.
Not Amanda. She's the real thing. Anything that would ever happen between us would likely turn to shit within six months, I somehow know that, but there's that part of me that still wants it. Just to know the touch of somebody very real, very human. I've known it before, but it's been too long.
She still has the power. It hits less hard, it mostly comes with a sense of wistful nostalgia for what never really was. But those eyes still melt me. She's taken to a bit more makeup these days, which is totally wrong for her, I think. But not too much, thank fuck. It's still Amanda, and she still has that smile.
We caught up on each other, I gazed off into the wonderful world of that face and got the same laugh that I always get when she catches me lost in her eyes like that, and she was very warm, very interested in how I've been. I asked her how she was. "Same shit. Some good, some bad." I know her enough to know what she means by that.
It's a closed book for anything more than what it is now. But I was glad to be there. I left with a feeling that I seem addicted to these days - that grey zone between...magic and loss? That's the phrase that just came into my head. Fuck, I don't know. The feeling of looking for the next best thing, but not able to forget what lay behind.
I need that good/bad stew to feed on. I tend to add in some Tabasco. Tipping the scale towards one at the expense of the other renders me immobile. I fight it every day, it seems to be the shit my life is made of. The shit that I can't write about without getting this fucking pretentious.
Fuck.
I love her. Dammit. I still do.
I've had to face a basic fundamental question in my life today - why is it that I get more philosophical enlightenment and spiritual encouragement from a handful of Warren Zevon albums than I ever got from Christianity?
Jesus tried to set an example for how we should live. Warren reflects back onto me how I DO live. Jesus got nailed to a tree. Warren had too many burgers and cigarettes.
Jesus and Warren are both dead. But Warren's words haven't been changed by the scribes, and they're funnier. They're alive and well in my speakers. And anyway, Jesus didn't have Waddy Wachtel in his band of merry men. These are the things that matter to me as I sit here and try not to drink. Too much.
I've got a bitter pot of je ne sais quoi
Guess what--I'm stirring it with a monkey's paw
Since I saw you coming out of my barber's shop
In that skimpy little halter top
Did you light the candles? Did you put on "Kind of Blue?"
Did you use that Ivy League voodoo on him, too?
He thinks he'll be alright but he doesn't know for sure
Like every other unindicted coconspirator
Mata Hari had a house in France
Where she worked on all her secret plans
Men were falling for her sight unseen
She was a genius
There's a a face in every window of the Songwriters' Neighborhood
Everybody's your best friend when you're doing well--I mean good
The poet who lived next door when you were young and poor
Grew up to be a backstabbing entrepreneur
Albert Einstein was a ladies' man
While he was working on his universal plan
He was making out like Charlie Sheen
He was a genius
When you dropped me and you staked your claim
On a V.I.P. who could make your name
You latched on to him and I became
A minor inconvenience
Your protégé don't care about art
I'm the one who always told you you were smart
You broke my heart into smithereens
And that took genius
You and the barber make a handsome pair
Guess what--I never liked the way he cut your hair
I didn't like the way he turned your head
But there's nothing I can do or say I haven't done or said
Everybody needs a place to stand
And a method for their schemes and scams
If I could only get my record clean
I'd be a genius
It took Sinbad seven voyages. How the fuck many will it take for my ass to figure it out?
Love,
Dougie
Praise Jeezus For Booze & Rock & Roll
10.29.06 (1:04 am) [edit]"I'm very well aquainted with the seven deadly sins
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in"
- Warren Zevon
Good gig tonight. I played a lot of shit, but nobody seemed to care.
Got good amd drunk with the keyboardist afterwards. I'm lucky to be alive.
Love,
Dougie
----------------
Morning. And my head doesn't hurt! Whee!
I personally was not fond of my efforts on my first gig at lead guitar, but the other guys thought I was fine. The only truly bad moment was on No Particular Place To Go, when I snapped my top E string and knocked the next two so far out of tune that it was barely possible to play anything coherent at all.
A's bass rig took two sets to warm up to. I don't go for that kind of tone myself, but I kinda liked it after a while. Same with the lower action on his Jazz copy. I like bass you have to work at a little. BUt having things easier (and having the higher nots pop out of the mix better) was quite cool.
I still miss my bass, though. I had a dream last night that a 16 year old girl was coming to our gigs and that she was the one who stole my bass. Read into this what you want, I know it's making ME laugh right now.
For my solo set, I did Zevon's Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead and Robin Trower's Bridge Of Sighs. I thought I sang better than I have in months. Though I'd lost my upper range by the end of the gig and wasn't worth a shit anymore.
They want us back there on November 18. I was REALLY wanting that weekend off, but my cash situation is so bad I'll take every dime I can get. I seriously doubt that rent will be fully paid this week, and not working four days last week has me FUCKED.
All things told though, I feel better now than I have in days. Even after free drinks from the bar. Fucking Christ, I drank a lot last night.
Time to get a shower, pack my shit up, and head back south.
I Am So Going To Hell For This
10.27.06 (9:15 pm) [edit]One of the benefits of playing in an oldies band is that I can play lead guitar on No Particular Place To Go.
One of the downsides is that I sometimes have to endure playing some godawful sappy dreck like Teen Angel. Remember this shit? If you're my age, there is a chance that your parents fell in love and fucked to this song. It's HORRIFYING to consider.
However, listening to this shit again, I was struck by how just a slight change of perspective could turn this song into something really disturbingly filthy. Given how over-serious I was last night after getting my mind bent by my own "teen angel", I thought I'd share these lyrics with you all. Think back on the shit I write, and settle in for a good laugh, because we're all going to Hell together if'n you get out of this what I did just now.
That fateful night the car was stalled
upon the railroad track
I pulled you out and we were safe
but you went running back
Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love
What was it you were looking for
that took your life that night
They said they found my high school ring
clutched in your fingers tight
Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love
Just sweet sixteen, and now you're gone
They've taken you away.
I'll never kiss your lips again
They buried you today
Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love
Teen angel, teen angel, answer me, please
Laughing my balls off,
Dougie
I Need Some Sentimental Hygiene
10.27.06 (8:50 pm) [edit]"It seems to me I could live my life a lot better than I think I am"
- Rush, "Working Man"
After a day of typical horseshit from my employer (who hasn't had work for me since Monday) they finally got me signed on for a new gig starting Monday, the best pay they've got me yet.
It's an indication of how shitfuckled my life has become that I'm able to get excited about ten fucking dollars an hour. The fact that it's a 25% raise is equally terrifying.
I'm still stinging from last night. Some of you read it before I deleted it all. I wish I hadn't bothered writing it at all. My luck with damn near everything has been wretched for months now, but the constant feeling of having every woman that I'm genuinely attracted to in a strong way FUCKING with me so much is wearing me down.
Heard from a special young lady tonight for the first time in weeks. Now, if I could move her 1000 miles closer to here...
My first gig on lead guitar with the band tomorrow night. Should be a hoot.
I wrote the drummer from the Cincy band Monday to tell him I had to back out. I heard from him tonight, and he was very nice about it, but I feel bad for having to hand him another setback - he's been trying to get something going for a LONG time. I just have too much shit on my plate to give time to anything else.
Time to play some guitar. Nighty-night, motherfuckers.
Love
Dougie
Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, I Want To Eat Your Pussy
10.27.06 (12:25 am) [edit]I'm deleting all this shit I wrote last night. It was a really long one, too. Short version - I got my head spun around by a beautiful young girl. But I don't feel like sharing the details anymore.
Love,
Dougie
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
10.26.06 (1:44 am) [edit]THERE'S A NEW NEIL YOUNG ALBUM! THERE'S A NEW NEIL YOUNG ALBUM! THERE'S A NEW NEIL YOUNG ALBUM! THERE'S A NEW NEIL YOUNG ALBUM! THERE'S A NEW NEIL YOUNG ALBUM!
http://www.amazon.com/gp/prod...%3ftag=myspace08-20%26lin k_code=xm2%26camp=2025%26 dev-t=D2WQY839001DMT
Why did I not know about this until just now?
Drooling all over my dork as I wank in anticipation,
Dougie
The Bravery Of Being Out Of Range
10.25.06 (11:58 pm) [edit]I wish I could write something a fraction as good as this.
You have a natural tendency to squeeze off a shot
You're good fun at parties, you wear the right masks
You're old but you still like a laugh in the locker room
You can't abide change, and you're home on the range
You opened the suitcase behind the old workings
To show off the magnum you deafened the canyon
A comfort, a friend, only upstaged in the end by the Uzi machine gun
Does the recoil remind you, remind you of sex
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer, who you gonna kill next
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Saw a U.S. Marine in a pile of debris
I swam in your pools and lay under your palm trees
I looked in the eyes of the Indian
Who lay on the Federal Building steps
And through the range finder over the hill
I saw the front line boys popping their pills
Sick of the mess they find on their desert stage
And the bravery of being out of range
Yeah the question is vexed
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
Hey bartender, over here
Two more shots and two more beers
Sir, turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser guided bombs
They're really great for righting wrongs
You hit the target, win the game
From bars 3,000 miles away
3,000 miles away
We play the game with the bravery of being out of range
We zap and maim with the bravery of being out of range
We strafe the train with the bravery of being out of range
We gain terrain with the bravery of being out of range
We play the game with the bravery of being out of range
- Roger Waters
The Lunatic Dreyfuss Has Escap-ed From The Asylum
10.25.06 (7:16 pm) [edit]Katie and I are watching The Pink Panther Strikes Again.
She LOVED the bit with Clouseau and Cato. "He looks like a ninja!" Ahhh, my girl.
That is not my dog,
Dougie
PS OOP, You rock. The keyboard arrived today.
-------
Herbert Lom is one of the great comedic wackjobs of all time. That psychotic twitch is too cool for words.
Katie wants to see the other movies now. I told her how I saw these movies when i was a kid, and they were some of my very favorites. I remembered on the drive home that they actually made me want to be an actor when I was a little kid. I remember now seeing those films and wishing I could be as funny as Peter Sellers and Herbert Lom. I was 10 when Sellers died. I remember being sad that I wouldn't get to see him do that stupid French accent one more time.
I'm glad I can share this stuff with my own kid. I've got her tomorrow too, and I think we'll watch A Shot In The Dark.
Here's The Fifth Thing
10.25.06 (2:55 pm) [edit]"You know those porn emails that you get where they're always trying to get you to go to their sites and they'll give it that weird, "Here are those stamps you ordered!" and you think, hey, I didn't order any stamps, and you click it and you get "Assholes With Arms In Them!!!" - Patton Oswalt
I just got an email with a subject line saying "Groceries Online." I knew it was bullshit, but I was clicking through these things just to hit Yahoo's nifty little spam button (usually I just delete shit, so I'm obviously bored) and when I open it, it says this:
want girl action? fuck buddy tonight for u?
Uh, I tried to get laid at the grocery store and it didn't work there either. and doesn't "want girl action?" kinda demand the response "Me want girl action! Mongo like girl action!"
Love,
Dougie
Five Things That Piss Me Off
10.25.06 (1:00 pm) [edit]1.) Sprint salesmen. I asked for you to give me an extra 100 minutes on my plan. I did NOT ask for an entirely new plan and a new phone that's going to cost me more money than what I just asked for. I do not need a new phone. I don't need a phone that is a camera, or gets online, or does my laundry, or has a special ass-scrubbing sponge attachment, or that files my taxes for me while playing Mozart's 479th Symphony in Fuckface Minor performed by the International House Of Douchebags Choir with the London Philharmonic. I just need a lower phone bill and a phone that doesn't require me to stand on a hilltop with my nuts wrapped in tinfoil to be able to hear the person on the other end. Got that? No? FUCK you then, Mr. Sprint Salesman.
2.) Myself for being stupid enough to consider Wal-Mart for ANYTHING when I already know better. I need to get an oil change today. I'm low on cash. OK, I'll go take a chance here since everyone else is charging more for oil changes than hookers do for rim jobs. Not that I know anything about the basic price structure involved in that.
Seriously, I don't. I'm just getting IDEAS, that's all.
Well, I've still got a coupon elsewhere that is better than this Wal-Mart's price, and not only that, once I got inside to discover the price, I couldn't get back out the door that I just came through, only couple hundred yards from the car. So, because NOBODY was around to explain this to me or give a shit, I walked around the entire store to get out, and was reminded once again how much I fucking HATE Wal-Mart and every corporate thing they fucking stand for, especially when I saw seven people standing in ONE line becaause it was the only one open out of...what...nine hundred? FUCK Wal-Mart in their green-lined asshole.
3.) Is there ANY piece of dirt left on this planet that isn't being set aside for another building project from some chain store that we already have a zillion of? Do we need a Walgreens pharmacy EVERY FIFTEEN FEET? If you're gonna put a new fucking store up, can it at least be DIFFERENT? Every goddamn shopping center is the same now. I can't walk out my front door without tripping over fucking Wal-Marts. I've got an Applebee's opening next week on my left testicle, and they're currently investigating the potential environmental effects of constructing a BP station, a CVS, and a Cracker Barrel in my anus.
Whatever happened to Bertha Mae's Neighborhood Market? Oh yeah, it got bought up, chewed up, and spit back out in the form of a Circle K.
America - where everything looks the same.
4.) If I'm trying to get pussy from you, just say no and walk away if you aren't interested. Don't start questioning why I like coffee black instead of dumping special organic Brazillian raspberrys and soy milk into it, as if I'm a LEPER. "Well, I don't understand why somebody would come to a place like this with all these options and drink their coffee black." Sweetheart, the only reason I'm paying 2 bucks for a cup of coffee to begin with is because I thought it might make an interesting alternative to paying 5 bucks for beer trying to get pussy in those places. I was wrong. My mistake. Now take your doucheaccino and pour it into your frosty CUNT. Is this what American culture produces now? COFFEE snobs? Jesus jumping cocoa bean CHRIST.
5.) I'm sure I'll think of a fifth thing by the end of the day.
Love,
Dougie
Have Another Latte, Bitch
10.24.06 (10:00 pm) [edit]Somehow, hanging out in coffeeshops talking to women is even worse than doing it in bars.
I was too BORED to get wood. Fuckin' Christ.
I need to meet a good manic depressive crackwhore just to restore my faith in humanity.
Love,
Dougie
And So It Came To Be...
10.24.06 (5:40 pm) [edit]"When a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any save the most elemental — men whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack or be lost... All the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron." - H.L. Mencken, in 1920
Next...
10.24.06 (11:39 am) [edit]"Darkness in the morning
Shadows on the land
Certain individuals
Aren't sticking with the plan
And I'm searching for a heart
Searching everyone
They say love conquers all
You can't start it like a car
You can't stop it with a gun"
- Warren Zevon
Wish me luck, I'm back on the trail of a teaching gig after I eat my lunch.
I'm making a few mental adjustments, trying to focus my energy into a different place. I'm switching from beer to coffee for a while, I'm trying to ditch a couple things that float around in my head, and I'm willing to try a couple things I haven't before.
If there's no work tomorrow, I might go make some. I'm thinking about going downtown and standing on a corner with my guitar.
I've got some weird ideas in my head about things to do in Denver when you're dead,
Dougie
Busch For Bush
10.23.06 (11:02 pm) [edit]"Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!" -Frank Booth
Seen the video that Craig Ferguson showed recently of a Bush speech where he was supposedly drunk?
It's amusing, and obviously tampered with (it's been slowed down to make him sound drunk, and I can't believe the guy who told me about this thought it was real) but ya know what?
He SHOULD be drunk. Fuck, with all the shit he's got going on, who the fuck wouldn't want sometihng to take the edge off? Especially a nitwit like Bush. He needs all the help he can get, so I have an idea.
Busch For Bush is my new cause. Let's all donate a can of Busch beer to the president. For one thing, a shitty president deserves a shitty beer. And after he's had enough, he'll fall down and pass out.
Anything to keep that stupid sack of Republican shit from doing his actual job. If there is a God, I'd like to think he'd go along with this idea.
Love,
Dougie
(And while we're at it, let's superglue a 14 year old altar boy to Mark Foley's ass and call it a day. Do we NEED this story in our lives? NO.)
Well, Fuck
10.23.06 (4:52 pm) [edit]"If women could walk around with no shirts like guys do, I might stare for a day or so. But after that you don't give a shit, and I know that because I've sat in a titty bar so long, you become completely desensitized. You spend eight hours with tits hanging in your face and slapping off your head, "Whatever, just get me another cocktail." But if that cocktail waitress leans over and you can see down HER shirt, you say, "Look! You can see her tit! It's right there! Check it out, man!" After 8 hours that's the best tit you saw all night. 'Cause that's the tit you're not supposed to see. All I'm saying is, ladies if you want us to stop staring at your tits, take off your shirts. And I will buy you a cocktail." - Doug Stanhope, the next President of the United States Of America
The insurance thing is a moot point - I'm not covered for theft of stuff from the car to begin with. I need to look over my policy. It's in a box here somewhere. But that's what I was told today.
The Shit Shoppe gig ended today. I have no idea where I'm working next, and likely won't be tomorrow.
I've got a wretched cold.
The lead that the cop had about my bass went nowhere.
But.......
I found something in the back of the car today that is not mine. I have no idea whose it is or how it got there, but...I do have one idea. Seems bizarre, but it's there. I left a message for the cop a little while ago.
Katie's second tooth fell out yesterday. She's VERY proud of herself.
So it's not all bad.
Love,
Dougie
Cookie Torture & A Three-Pickle Omelette
10.22.06 (3:37 pm) [edit]"Katie, you are a first-class wackaloon."
"Why, thank you very kindly!"
I nearly drove straight into the city hall building.
Five-year olds ROCK,
Dougie
Dear God, The HORROR!
10.22.06 (11:26 am) [edit]I just ran out of Mean Green Motherfucker sauce, before I could even get ebough from the bottle to drown my beans in jalapeno death.
TRAGEDY! PAIN! HELL! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!
Ooooh! Look! Black pepper!
Love,
Dougie
Memphis In The Meantime
10.21.06 (11:40 pm) [edit]"I got something to say little girl
You might not like my style
But we've been hanging around this town
Just a little too long a while
You say you're gonna get your act together
Gonna take it out on the road
But if I dont get outta here pretty soon
My head's going to explode
Sure I like country music
And I like mandolins
But right now I need a Telecaster
Through a Vibro-Lux turned up to ten
Let's go to Memphis in the meantime baby
Memphis in the meantime, girl
I need a little shot of that rhythm baby
Mixed up with these country blues
I wanna trade in these ol' cowboy boots
For some fine Italian shoes
Forget the mousse and the hairspray, sugar
We don't need none of that
Just a little dab'll do ya girl
Underneath a pork pie hat
Until hell freezes over
Maybe you can wait that long
But I don't think Ronnie Milsap's gonna ever
Record this song
Let's go to Memphis in the meantime baby
Memphis in the meantime, girl
Maybe there's nothin' happenin there
Maybe there's somethin' in the air
Before our upper lips get stiff
Maybe we need us a big ol' whiff
If we could just get off-a that beat little girl
Maybe we could find the groove
At least we can get a decent meal
Down at the Rendez-vous
'Cause one more heartfelt steel guitar chord
Girl, it's gonna do me in
I need to hear some trumpet and saxophone
You know sound as sweet as sin
And after we get good and greasy
Baby we can come back home
Put the cowhorns back on the Cadillac
And change the message on the code-a-phone
Let's go to Memphis in the meantime baby
Memphis in the meantime, girl"
- John Hiatt
Rollercoaster Of Love
10.21.06 (9:37 pm) [edit]"Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
- Peter Sinfield
The band has a new lineup.
We had a six hour practice tonight. I went from tired to irritable to awake to tired to wide the fuck awake and dreaming.
P is gone. To make the story concise, she ran afoul of the law, it affected practice time and nearly affected a gig, and she lied to us about it. We have too much shit on the shelf to fuck with all that.
I played guitar on 17 songs tonight, and A is probably going to hand me at least half a dozen more.
It was a BLAST. Certain points made me nuts, as we tried to hammer out some things that weren't going anywhere and didn't really need worked on (we suddenly seemed to be into working out new endings where the old ones were either fine or the new ideas were worse), but I suffered through that shit and finally hit a groove. Then, after all the stuff I played bass on, I switched to guitar.
I thought I was right on the borderline of playing utter shit, but the other guys LOVED what I was doing. It was either songs with strictly rhythm, or songs that required little more than basic blues/rock licks, and my approach to that runs from the gee-can-I-be-tasteful here to a sort of low-rent Zappa-esque mangle/strangle pentatonic six-string assfuck. We did our two Kinks songs and the singer said, "You sound like Dave Davies!" I suppose that means he was suffering from carpal tunnel and his left hand had locked up on him in the middle of those solos too. Hey, wait - wasn't that Jimmy Page doing his session thing on the Kinks' You Really Got Me? THAT'S it! I just need to DRINK more! Woo hoo!
it's uber-simple (though I hadn't learned it on guitar since I thought A was playing it, so he showed me the part in about 14 seconds) but the most fun I had was on Zevon's Werewolves Of London. I kinda want to make that my extended solo, just to blow my white-person load on top of that groove.
The "what next" conversation afterwards took about ten seconds. This is the new lineup.
And I'm still here. Wondering how the fuck I'm going to do it.
I'm at my parents' right now. They're gone for the weekend. I'm getting up early in the morning and going back to Ohio, and I'll likely stay in and just chill with Katie most of the day.
This is not getting any easier. It's harder than ever. The guys are all offering ways of making me stay, none of which works well for me, but to have them WANT me to stay so bad just fucks with my head. And there are some ways of doing this that might work, I'm just terrified of the logistics.
A works at a music store, what was the competitor to the one I used to teach at. And he could quite possibly hand me a dozen students right now.
That's not enough. But if I had a dozen here at the end of the week and that many in Ohio at the beginning of the week...
I don't think it will happen. But my ONLY hope for continuing the three-hour back and forth psychotic bipolar mindfuck between the band here and my girl down there is to make as much money in as little time as I can. Teaching is the only thing I'm cut out for that can do that for me right now. I don't have time to go to any other alternatives, and those are no guarantee. Well, maybe if I sucked dick for a living, and at this point, I'm not even sure I give a damn anymore.........
Then I have to figure out what I'm going to do when my car shits on my head, which could happen at any time.
God fucking DAMN it. This is worse than having my bass stolen. I'm still stuck between two things I love, and I have no decent answer right now. I have access to more basses. I don't have the money that it will take to make this ridiculous life in two worlds work.
I asked for a life on the edge of my ability to navigate, and I fucking got it. But what else do I do? Cave into a life of shitty warehouse jobs that suck my soul out and leave me dead and trying to stuff my face into a bottle by 5PM on Monday through Friday? FUCK that. I'm not interested. My parents seem to think the answer is to make another four bucks an hour at one of these cunt-hair 40-hour a week shitstain jobs. How fucking PATHETIC do you have to be to let that be the measure of your success?
Take it away, Mr. Dylan:
They say ev'rything can be replaced,
Yet ev'ry distance is not near.
So I remember ev'ry face
Of ev'ry man who put me here.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
They say ev'ry man needs protection,
They say ev'ry man must fall.
Yet I swear I see my reflection
Some place so high above this wall.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
Standing next to me in this lonely crowd,
Is a man who swears he's not to blame.
All day long I hear him shout so loud,
Crying out that he was framed.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
A boy can dream, can't he?
Wanna buy some lithium, Bob?,
Dougie
Shitpissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfuckertits
10.20.06 (7:46 pm) [edit]Some sack of shit stole my bass and a bag full of cables and assorted gear about an hour ago. Out of the back of my car.
Due to a tip from a neighbor, there is a vague chance in hell it might be recovered, but neither me or the cop think it will. Nice guy (didn't even give me any real shit about my Indiana plate that's been on for well past the 60 day limit after I moved back), and he's getting a dog out here to sniff up the side of the hill that the neighbor saw a guy with a "big duffel bag" - large enough to be the gig bag my bass is in - walking up. But by the time the dog is here, it probably won't matter. I told the cop that I know I shouldn't ahve left the damn thing unloced, but I didn't feel any real threat here. He said it's the first time in two years they've had anything like this in these apartments.
I'm hoping my car insurance helps me with this. The problem is, I was the one who left it unlocked. I hadn't even planned on coming back here after work, the bass was in there so I could drive over to practice tonight, but I did come home, for less than 45 minutes.
I've said it before, I'm trying to maintain a good attitude these days, but the fact is, other than the relatively small amount of time I get with my daughter, and a few little perks here and there that don't add up to much, moving back to Ohio has SUCKED.
Fucking cocksuckers.
Dougie
------------
They were just here with the dog. Then they came running back down the hill, and the cop with the dog said, "Leaving" and shoved the dog into the truck. The cop I talked to before said, "We might have a little lead for you, but we've gotta go," And they sped off like a motherfuck into the night, obviously on an unrelated call.
Well, sumbitch...
-------
I've been in good company over the years with that bass...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...
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Our singer's wife takes pictures at every gig. I was just looking at last week's, with A on bass instead of me. He looks pretty damn comfortable up there, like he belongs. He probably does.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be feeling right now.
-----
Oddly enough, just sitting here with a white Peavey Strat copy, playing Rain On The Scarecrow, Beds Ar Burning, Roadhouse Blues, Whole Lotta Shakin' Going On, etc...that makes me feel not only better, but pretty fuckin' good. It's all music, baby,
Just Spreading The Word
10.19.06 (11:15 pm) [edit]"Fuck somebody uglier than you. Someone better looking than you has fucked you at some point, pass it on. Because you won't always be that beautiful. Yeah, you're all pretty and everyone wants to fuck you now, but wait 'til you're 87 years old coming down to Zanie's Comedy Club, with your knee socks all peeled down, with big humpin' vericose veins pulsing out of your ass like nightcrawlers that are being electrocuted. Gym sock titties, the kind of girl you could titty-fuck using just one tit. Bald spots and bed sores. Big war-torn beaver, looks like someone kicked a hole in the side of a rotting hog's carcass, it's all geek-marked and heat-rashed, boils, ingrown hairs, looks like a bird's nest full of raw meat and bacon grease.
THEN you'll fuck me! And I'll be waiting right here until you do."
- Doug Stanhope, the next president of the United States Of America
Survivor: The Inside Of Dougie's Ass
10.19.06 (9:56 pm) [edit]"Jesus died for your sins, ladies and gentlemen. I'm doing it just for your mere entertainment value." - Doug Stanhope, the next president of the United States Of America
Katie and I had a very nice time together tonight. Nothing huge, just nice. Though I did get to see her dance practice, and that was a hoot. I used to go see her dance all the time. I hope I can do it more often again. There's nothing like seven 5 year old girls who haven't played outside in four days because of weather, running around like loons and making their teacher nuts trying to keep them in line.
Oh, and Katie's a ninja now. Just thought I'd share that.
Practice wih the Cincy band tomorrow, which I'm really not into at all, and I'm very cynical about our chances at really being in shape anytime soon. I hope I'm proven wrong, but even though we have much potential, I'm left with a feeling that our goals aren't the same, and my goal is quite simple - get this shit together and get out there as soon as fucking possible. It's nice that the other guys aren't in this for the money, but I AM, And frankly, if you're playing some of the shit we have to play in these bars, you BETTER be in it for the money, because if you think Wonderful Tonight is Art, you're fucking scaring me.
Practice with the band up north Saturday. This I'm more excited about, but talking to the singer tonight, I'm still balls-deep in this sense of loss and frustration, because nothing is for sure right now. Nothing. I don't want to go into the problems (and potential problems) with P right yet, but it's serious, and no decision has been made, after I was led to believe that it was DEFINITELY made last weekend. My own position in the band has gone back and forth a lot as well, and as much as we all hope I can stay as long as possible, my sense last week of it continuing farther than the end of the year was probably desparate optimism on my part.
I hate where I'm at financially now - in worse shape than I ever was in Indianapolis, I can't even afford a much needed oil change until next week - I hate the way I feel on Monday through Friday mornings dealing with the absolute shit-filled meaningless of a lifestyle that seemingly everyone else has long ago learned to not question, and I hate the frustration I feel at MYSELF.
To write all this down would be even more of a masturbatory exercise in self-importance than I usually inflict on you fine readers. Suffice to say that I do NOT accept myself as I am right now. That's the trend these days, we all are taught that we should have no regrets about ourselves and that we are really wonderful people who just need to accept ourselves and love ourselves.
That's a load of SHIT, and it's why this culture has deteriorated so badly. We don't need to constantly beat ourselves senseless over our every failing (something I've been very guitly of) but we are NOT wonderful. We are PUSSIES. I am too, and I'm flailing away every day at that, trying to find a way of bettering myself. The de-pussification process is a bitch, but I HAVE to do it. I'm not a good person. I'm a selfish fuck with serious mental hurdles to overcome in nearly every aspect of my life. I have a LOT of regrets about my past, and I'm not satisfied with the present. What the fuck reason do I have to be satisfied? The good things pull me through, but there's too much shitty stuff in there to allow me to rest for long.
But I do have a lot of hope for the future, I just know it's an uphill battle. I've worn the badge of cynic proudly in the past, and to some extent I still do, but I am NOT cynical about human potential. I'm cynical about our willingness to do what's needed to achieve it. One look at a newspaper or TV is all I need to fuel that. Just as one good honest look inside myself is all I need to know how fucked *I* am.
But I refuse to lose my sense of humour for long, I refuse to buy into other people's ideas of what it is I have to change in myself. I refuse to go too far down the navel-gazing trail I often find myself on without taking a look back to make fart noises at the motherfuckers miles behind me.
I'm Gloria Motherfucking Gaynor, baby. I will survive. Because you assholes need me. Somebody has to pull their pathetic little pecker out and piss all over your complacency while he fights with his own, and I'm just the stupid bastard for the job.
Love,
Dougie
Politics As Usual
10.19.06 (11:22 am) [edit]"When we talk about values, I think of rationality in solving problems. That’s something I value. Fairness, kindness, generosity, tolerance. 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
Here in Ohio, we have a lovely little example of what a complete joke our election process has become.
Running for governor are Republican Ken Blackwell and Democrat Ted Strickland. This week, Blackwell's campaign did something that has many across the state pissed off, but it's hardly a surprise.
He's brought up allegations about Strickland hiring a sex offender, and there's even been hints about Strickland's own sexuality. Is he queer or what? Inquiring Republican shitheads want to know.
Read up a little on it - the allegations about the sex offender are completely misleading and irrelevant, and as for whether or not Strickland likes a bone up the butt on occasion...WHO GIVES A FUCK???
Republicans and Democrats alike have proven time and time again what a bunch of shallow shitheads they are, but the Republicans really take their cake and eat that shit too when it comes to fucking with public opinion of their opponents with "information' that has so little to do with anything of use to actual voters.
The sad part is that this shit works. We voted out gay marriage in Ohio in 2004, as if it was an issue that actually affected most of us. eople have been bullshitted into believing that this crap matters, and I don't feel an ounce of sympathy for them, or really even care much anymore when cretins like Blackwell pull this shit out of their withered sphincters - it's par for the course in America now. Politics is a joke here, and hardly anyone is smart enough to laugh anymore, probably because we've become so used to this level of horseshit.
It probably won't work for Blackwell in this particular situation - he's already trailing in the polls and the backlash against him is mounting to fun proportions since this time it's just so OBVIOUS that it's desparation on his part.
But for me, I've made my decision.
I'm voting for Libertarian Bill Peirce for Ohio governor.
Love,
Dougie
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I've also decided today to start telling everyone to vote for Doug Stanhope for president in '08. (www.dougstanhope.com)Until somebody comes up with a candidate I can take seriously, I'm throwing my nutsack in with a guy that NOBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND will take seriously. What the fuck? We need our sense of humour back in this fucking country. As Doug has said before, America might be the greatest nation on earth, but that's like being the prettiest Denny's waitress. It's also becoming very debatable.
"Iraq, immigration, terrorism and the like may be the "big issues" but you keep fucking with Joe Six-Pack's daily grind and simple pleasures and soon you'll need a hell of a lot more than gay marriage to distract him and keep him drowning in this two-party sea of dogshit." - Doug Stanhope
Get Behind The Mule?
10.18.06 (10:45 pm) [edit]"If you tell us all about how good a Christian you are, and how you walk the walk and talk the talk, then YOU tell us about the time you kick-fucked a girl with cerebral palsey...who's gonna draw the bigger crowd?" - Doug Stanhope
Something terrible just occurred to me.
Nearly all the songs I'll be playing on guitar next week are songs we save for the last set. Now, I usually drink a LOT by the time the last set rolls around. But if I'm gonna pull off a solo during All Day And All Of The Nught that doesn't sound like a typically drunken Jimmy Page falling down three flights of stairs while getting the shit kicked out of him by Godzilla, I'll need to remain MOSTLY SOBER for the first three sets.
And that, my friends, is just WRONG.
See, my freshly scrubbed white friends, I have a different idea of how this should work than you do. I REGULARLY go out there, get more or less GELATINOUS within three hours, and I can still pull out some pretty fuckin' good rock bass. To ME, that's professionalism.
At work today, I spent a couple hours pulling stacks of empty skids to the back of the building. This building is something like 1/4 of a mile long. I need the excercise, so it doesn't bother me, but I did have time to work up some new material for the supervisor when he came by.
"So, faggot, how do you like pulling those skids to the back?"
He's always so cordial. Fuck him. I've been polishing this joke for an hour now.
"I feel like a fucking mule. Of course, that's better than blowing mules every time I get a three-day holiday weekend. So J, how many times have you been kicked? Judging from that face, I'd say quite a fucking few. I hear mule semen tastes like shit. Have a Coke and a smile, motherfucker."
I either have to be drunk or spend time working the shit up to be that good, but I'm proud of that one.
Love,
Dougie
PS I hit on yet another cute girl working at a grocery store tonight. It went nowhere. She's taken. She had the deer-in-the-headlights gaze of a nice Midwestern Christian girl to begin with, so it's hardly a surprise.
PPS Wish me luck. I just realized I'm wide awake and bored, and I'm off to the bar to see if someone will fuck me.
-----------
You know, after you've spent a while talking to bleach-blonde Republican women into ESPN and beer you can see through, you really start questioning any former reservations you had about prostitution.
I'm going to bed.
Twang Bar King
10.18.06 (6:58 pm) [edit]"How nice would it be to jack off to a National Geographic again? When you were 12 years old, that was all you needed. One pair of flapjack titties would give you a boner for a month. Now I need Gaping Anus Porn just to get morning piss wood" - Doug Stanhope
Taking a break from practice to make dinner and type shit
Each time A sends an email, I have fewer songs to work on guitar parts for practice on Saturday and a gig next week. But there's still gonna be at least a dozen.
The funny thing for me is feeling this part of me that really wants to do this, and the part that is trying to shut down, saying "I just wanna play bass like I always do!"
Why? Well, I am perfectly able to play these guitar parts, it's just that playing bass is SAFER for me.
Go read my last post about what a bunch of pussies so many people are for preferring safety over doing shit that might expand you as a person, then come back and make fun of this post.
So I'm working on the fucking guitar parts. It's my DUTY to myself.
Back to work,
Dougie
Rock On, Bindi
10.17.06 (9:19 pm) [edit]I hadn't given much thought to Steve Irwin's death recently, not that I had anything against the guy. I just wasn't a fan, and I get annoyed at how the media latches onto certain stories at the expense of more pressing affairs.
But something tonight clicked in my head when I read that his 8-year old daughter Bindi is doing a TV show, to some extent carrying on her dad's work.
I think that's fucking great. A little kid entering into a potentially dangerous world because not only did a parent not try to shelter her too much, he did that shit himself.
People are such PUSSIES anymore. I'm not into playing with dangerous animals, in fact I think the guy was slightly nuts from the times I saw him, but so what? It was a CHOICE he made, just like the choice most people make to stay away from anything remotely dangerous as much as possible. Fuck that.
We're all so much into safety and security and maintaining a certain bland lifestyle, that we've forgotten that it's far MORE dangerous for our well-being to become a collection of bloated shitbags who do nothing, feel nothing, and say nothing unless it's ACCEPTABLE by a horseshit standard we've invented.
You know what? There's worse things than dying. Being dead on the inside, for instance. Sitting on your ass eating shitty processed foods, watching brainless television, accepting mediocrity in all sections of life because it's SAFER. Breaking news - it's NOT. That shit will kill you too, it only takes a different route there.
Bindi's dad died at age 44. Too young? Maybe. It's also nothing of a surprise, really. Play with fire, scorch your ass. It happens.
But I'd rather have 44 years that stretch my abilities, make me feel I'm truly alive, and serve as an inspiration for others to get off their asses and go enjoy life, than to live 88 years of flaccid servitude to a shit system that has us all convinced that longevity and "good health" are more important than LIFE.
I hope my kid gets to watch Bindi in action. And learns somthing more valuable than she'll ever get in school - they way you live is far, far more important than the way you die.
Love,
Dougie
Classical Music Of The Damned
10.17.06 (7:14 pm) [edit]One of my sick fuck friends (who could imagine I'd have one of those?) recently sent me two double CDs of Robert Schumann music transferred from a vinyl box set, with alternate artwork. All porn, with a common theme.
Assfucking.
Isn't it nice to have friends with shared interests?
He just texted me to say he's hard at wok on a new project - an Aaron Copeland collection.
I suggested he make this one's theme Rimjobs For The Common Man.
It's only right.
Love (and grease),
Dougie
H. P. Lovecraft Fans Are Fucking NUTS
10.16.06 (9:56 pm) [edit]www.cthulhulives.org/Solstice/bluesolstice player.html
This Shit Fascinates Me
10.16.06 (9:30 pm) [edit]http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20061016/ap_on_s c/kansas_meteorite
Goodbye, Bill
10.15.06 (9:30 pm) [edit]Katie and I said goodbye to our friend Bill tonight.
We thought we had a couple weeks ago, but his move was delayed and he's leaving tomorrow for California. He's spending time in Oakland with his sister, then aiming for LA.
That is Bill's home. He's been in Ohio for over six years - he moved here a month or so after I did, and stayed with Sheryl and I for a month - but his real home is in a place where you can see an ocean and mountains and a desert all within a short drive. I envy him that. I often wish I was there myself.
I met Bill several years ago the way I met manyof my best online friends - because of Mike Keneally's music. In January 2000, Sheryl and I flew to LA for a Keneally show and we met Bill in person there for the first time.
Getting to know him, we have some definite differences, but we also have a hell of alot in common, and I feel a strong connection to him as a musician and an outsider. When I first heard him play guitar,he hadn't played much in a while. He was rusty as hell, but he still blew my ass away, because I could tell he was a motherfucker of a player. This is a guy who grew up on John McLaughlin, Larry Coryell, Steves Howe and Hackett. He can play some seriously great shit, and I regret that we didn't get to make more noise together.
We did a few times though, and just before my divorce we were working on a possible acoustic duo project with lots of Beatles and XTC tunes, and were even talking about getting a drummer for a fusion trio. It would have been the most pure thing I'd have done, if we ever had done it. We didn't.
But we did play some. And drank some. And watched lots of music and old TV shows on his computer. When Katie was there, we watched old cartoons, the original Batman series. Bill made me some unbelievable vegetarian dishes, and he's also the guy who taught me how to marinate steaks.
We walked with Katie on the Little Miami Bike Trail in Loveland several times. The most recent time, we were both holding one of her hands, and she had us pull her into the air and swing her around. A millisecond after the same thought came through my head, Bill said,"You know, we look like one of those gay couples that adopted a kid." I thought that was pretty funny.
He also let me stay with him after the divorce as I tried to figure out what I was doing between the time I came back fromCalifornia and the time I moved to indianapolis. And this summer when I came back, I stayed with him for six weeks before ending up here.
He's been a great friend to me, and to my daughter. Katie loved going to his house. We'd watch her pick flowers in his yard (he let all the natural wildflowers go, and for that he has my utmost admiration - every other motherfucker around sprays the fuck out of their yard and cuts it every four fucking days) and feed the birds, and play. We played frisbee in that yard, and he has a couple picutres of her out there. I'm gonna miss that place almost as much as I'll miss him.
He fed the birds often, and Katie was glad to help.When I was there for those six weeks, I usually woke up a little ahead of the alarm, hearing more varieties of bird calls than I've ever heard in any one place. The birds knew they had a friend there, and they came.
Katie loves Bill. He's wonderful with her, an absolute joy to watch with her. In the weeks I lived there, we had a certain amount of tension, but I always loved it when Katie was there, just to watch them interact.
Tonight was hard on all three of us. We went over to say goodbye and pick up a few things he wanted to give me before moving away. Katie napped on the way over, and was groggy when we walked into his house. It's a beautiful place, built in the 1870s, with hardwood floors, and an air of invitation.
Katie was crying when we said goodbye. So was I. She's said goodbye to several friends in recent months, as she's moved from daycare to kindergarten, and a different daycare location in the afternoon. We've talked about it before, but tonight was very intense as we finally drove away after saying our goodbyes.
"I don't want him to leave, Daddy. I'm going to miss him. I don't want to be five anymore! I want to be four again! I want things to be like they were! Those were the good old days! I don't want it to change!"
Jesus. She's five and she's saying these things.
I fell apart with her, and told her it was OK to cry for a while. We both did.
"Katie, this is a part of life. It's not fun, but we have to go through it. I've said goodbye to a lot of people in 36 years. But we always remember them, and we end up remembering the good things the most. Our firends leave a mark on us, and even if we don't see them again, that never leaves. Nobody can take that away."
She started crying more, and told me again about how much she missed her friend Jack, a little boy from daycare she hasn't seen in over a year. Not long after I came back from CA, I took her to his birthday party at a bowling alley. He was a cool kid, and his parents were both really cool too. I'll never forget sitting there with them, watching our children being totally silly with each other. It was fucking beautiful.
Growing up sucks, Kate. But it's also a good thing. We become better people for it. It also never stops. We don't hit a certain age and stop growing, though some of the more shitty adults will tell you that crap. They're lying assholes. We keep at it. Pain and pleasure. Profundity and absurdity. Good and bad. Drink up, honey. This is life. You didn't come up with the idea. Neither did I. Neither did some asshole"god". It's just the way it happened, and in the end, that's not a bad thing at all. It's just a ride. It really is just a ride.
We pulled into a Meijer's parking lot and she came up to the front seat and we snuggled and talked for a while. Then we went inside and rode the horse rides (for a penny) and got an apple and some bananas. And felt better.
Bill, I love you, brother. Thank you for being my friend, and for being my girl's friend. You are a pure spirit. I'm gonna miss the fuck out of you, but as I promised Katie tonight, I'll do everything I can tomake sure we can visit you as soon as possible, and see the beautiful part of the country that is your home.
I'm crying again.
We share a love for certain kinds of music, a hatred of the system, a hatred of what people have done to this planet. But we also shared a bond that came out full-grown one night as we hooked our guitars together and sang this song.
Scarecrow People, by XTC
Hope you enjoyed your flight in one of our new straw aeroplanes
You'll find things here are just like what you're used to
There's lots of waste and razor wire and no one gives a damn
About the land, we just stand around and stare like you folks do.
For we ain't got no brains and we ain't got no hearts
It's just that wild old wind that tears us all apart
We're the scarecrow people, have we got lots in common with you
And if you don't start living well
You're all gonna wind up scarecrow people too.
Hope you enjoyed your meal it's only gas and chemicals
We thought that you'd prefer something not nature made
Now while you're here, can you advise us on a war we'd like to start
Against some scarecrows over there, a different shade?
We don't have no tears here, no one hopes or cares or fears here
For the old, the sick, the poor and them what taint you
We thought we'd base our civilization upon yours
'Cause you're the smartest animals on earth, now ain't you?
We don't have no love here, there's no need to rise above here
No one wants to write a book or try to paint thee
We thought we'd base our civilization upon yours
'Cause we're all dead from our necks up, now ain't we?
And I ain't got no brains and I ain't got no heart
It's just them other humans tear my soul apart.
I'm a scarecrow person, have I got quite some message for you.
For if we don't start learning well,
We're all gonna wind up scarecrow people too
Bill and I have our differences, but our common drive towards bettering ourselves and not becoming scarecrow people is what will always make me think of him whenever I hear that song.
I love ya, you cunt.
Dougie
Toilet Paper Land
10.15.06 (9:53 am) [edit]We went out for breakfast, a very nice place in downtown Lebanon. I like one thing here-I can be pretty much anywhere in town in five minutes. I like big cities.I just don't like TRAFFIC. Having easy access to a bigger city while not having to deal with traffic the entire day-nice.
So we were eating breakfast and Katie had to potty. When we walked into the restroom, the toilet had about 7000rolls of toilet paper stacked on top of it.
"It must be Toilet Paper Land,Daddy!"
I thought that was funny.
Love,
Dougie
------------
The kids in Miss Katie's class are acting up a lot today.
"Johnny, did you hit Angel? You better apologize.If you won't, you have to sit in the corner all by yourself."
"Clifford, do not hit Kitty. You're in big trouble!"
A few minutes later, she gave me the progress report. "Three kids are watching TV and the other four are in time-out. Johnny took Tiger's lunch, and I put him in time out for two days. Not two REAL days, just two PRETEND days."
She kills me.
Ya Gotta Love It When Capt.KirkTries To Get Pussy From The Green-Haired Alien Chick
10.14.06 (8:52 pm) [edit]Katie and I are watching Star Trek. Ahhh, what a wonderful/stupid show. Classic shit.
Love,
Dougie
AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
10.14.06 (12:54 pm) [edit]One minute I'm going to play a gig tonight, then I'm not. Then I am. Then I'm not.
Tonight's P's last gig with the band. She doesn't know it yet. In fact, only me and the singer do. Hoo boy......
We're staying here and going to the aquarium, and hanging out in Waynesville tomorrow. go be quiet with Quakers, then to the saurkraut festival. (Yes, this exists.) At this point, I'd much rather just be with Katie and not stress over this other shit.
On the other hand, I've had one hell of a workout on the guitar in the past 20 hours.I havne't played those Chuck Berry riffs in eons.
Love,
Dougie
Whole Lotta Shakin' Going On
10.13.06 (4:36 pm) [edit]Potentially fucked-up things happening in the band, which I've just found out about today. Tonight, I sit with my Strat copy and learn about half the current setlist on guitar, possibly having to drive up for a gig tomorrow night.
It was going to be a laid-back weekend with Katie. Now she might get to run all over the fucking place with Daddy, and stay with my mom during the gig. I won't know until tonight, maybe even early tomorrow, and we'll have to leave by 2PM if it does happen.
We ARE going to the Newport Aquarium first thing tomorrow. I promised her that already, and I've got tickets.
Things could get interesting...
Love,
Dougie
-----------
Sounds like it won't be necessary, but we're going up anyway. If nothing else,I can sit in the audience,get drunk, and heckle my own band.
I'd opted out of this gig, so A is playing bass. There's some possible issues with P, the guitarist, which is why I'm going up, just as an insurance policy for the band if she can't be there. Our next two gigs are without her anyway since she's had plans for months, and A is going to play guitar on those.
He's having a great time playing bass, though, and I talked to him twice today.Even if they don't need me tomorrow, we're practicing Sunday afternoon for those next two gigs, and it looks like we'll be splitting the setlist more or less evenly between guitar and bass.
I'm excited by this, and also fairly amused. Looklng over our current 55 song setlist(cut down from over 120 songs when M was with us),I realize that spending all this time with a great rock guitarist has made me forget how little we need one that good. There's a grand total of a dozen songs on this list that I feel weird about trying on guitar, and I'm barely even a guitar player in any lead sense. A lot of these tunes don't HAVE solos, and most the rest are well within my ability to bullshit through. I'll probably play pretty much the same five licks all night, but shit. So does everyone from Chuck Berry to Yngwie Malmsteen.
There's two songs (Imagine and Whiter Shade Of Pale) that I'll need to learn keyboard parts on, since we've been doing them with two keyboards and no guitar. Not a problem at all.
I could walk in there right now and do the gig tomorrow night, and spend 2/3rds of the time not even playing the instrument I normally play. Which sounds like boasting, but it ain't - this shit is easy, and I just think it would be fun.
Next weekend I'm staying here, and I've been asked to work one day on the weekend at The Shit Shoppe. I'll probably do that,then take Katie as much of the rest of the time as possible, to make up for less time together this weekend while Mom has her.
I've got some possibly ridiculous ideas for how to make things happen with the band still. I'm not sure if it'll work, but I'm thinking about it. I've just got to get up some cash to do some precautionary work on the car, because I'm gonna be in it alot.
All this time saying I don't want to leave these guys, and now I may not have to. Having picked up a guitar and learned 15 songs so far tonight before 8:30PM, I think I've proven how much I want to stay.
Quick, Man! Cling Tenaciously To My Buttocks!
10.12.06 (10:57 pm) [edit]"When a rattle of rats had awoken
The sinews, the nerves and the veins
My piano was boldly outspoken, in attempts to repeat its refrain
So I stood with a knot in my stomach
And I gazed at that terrible sight
Of two youngsters concealed in a barrel
Sucking monkberry moon delight"
- Paul McCartney
This day has been full of flashbacks.
1.) At work, I constantly was thinking back to the place I worked for seven months in Indianapolis, though I oddly thought more about the work itself or about the other guys there instead of thinking about Jenny, who I was so fucking crazy about at the time.
Bob and I used to make queer jokes all the time. (Bob WAS gay, but never came out and said it to anyone. He also had a great twisted sense of humour about it.) At the current job, the supervisor and I do this all the time.
Coming back from lunch...
J walks through the area, past two other guys."Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, get to work."
Then by me. "And here's Tweedle-DUH!"
I shot back,"Laugh it up, Tweedle-Cock-Munch. So, did you and your boyfriend have a nice game of Poophole Invaders during lunch break, motherfucker?"
"That was you and YOUR boyfriend."
"I see you're still the king of snappy and original comebacks, bitch. Tell ya what. Pay me another dollar an hour and I'll teach you how to BE a more interesting hairy asshole rather than just try to stick your dick in one."
"I should fire your ass right now."
"Don't do me any fucking favors. Hey, do you have a Phillips-head screwdriver, faggot?"
"Sure, I'll go get you one, homo."
Good times. I should plook him up the ass until he realizes how queer he actually is.
2.) Lunch break. Sitting in a convenience store parking lot with a crappy sandwich and a can of low-carb Joker Mad Energy. The light blue can. Suddenly, I remembered the first time I ever drank that shit.
Sitting in a convenience store parking lot in Yuma, Arizona. Soon after crossing the state line. Madly in love with the desert, but coming home. I seem to remember Robin Trower's BridgeOf Sighs in the player as I had a quick break before zipping through the cacti of southwestern Arizona and loving every minute of it. I'd sacrifice a testicle to Kali to spend three or four months living in my car across this country, and half of them would be not far from there. Georgia Motherfuckin' O'Keefe, baby.
3.) A quick stop at the library on the way to get Katie. Picking up the soundtrack to Beyond The Sea, with Kevin Spacey singing Bobby Darin songs. Flashback to watching American Beauty, spending a couple hours thinking I WAS Kevin Spacey's character in that movie. Ahhh, Mena Suvari....yum...
4.) Watching a pile of Ren & Stimpy with Katie. Thinking back on hours spent with that show, in awe of the magical fucking morass that must inhabit what passes for John Kricfalusi's acid-addled brain. I've never done acid. I don't NEED to. I have the first two seasons of Ren & Stimpy on DVD. Log!
5.) Just now while typing this, jumping out of my chair during the version of Politician on Jack Bruce's More Jack Than God and SHITTING ALL OVER MY BALLSACK as he does the most ridiculously cool double-stop riffage under the end of the progression while Vernon Reid does unmentionable things to a guitar, bringing to mind the few seconds that changed my life during a version of I'm So Glad on Cream's Goodbye where Jack said "fuck the tonal center right up its pentatonic poophole, I'm doing THIS shit" while a younger me scraped the poop out of his pants and took notes with it. Said it before, say it again - FUCK Clapton, Jack Bruce is God.
6.) Driving Katie back home with McCartney's Ram in the player. Sudden massive flashbacks of my friend Dan.
Dan was the best man at my wedding. He dropped off the face of the planet a few years ago and I haven't seen or heard from him since. I even started calling people with his last name while I was in Tulsa last year, since I knew he'd moved back there.
I've posted an mp3 of a version of Zappa's Zoot Allures here several times, and while I do everything else, Dan is on drums. Some of the best and most adventurous shit I ever did on a bass guitar was with Dan, just the two of us in a hot attic in downtown Marion. Sweating our nards off, drinking jet-fuel strength coffee, and attacking Zappa-esque reggae rhythms for 20 minutes at a time, just bass and drums. Trying to be Wackerman/Thunes and not really doing it, but doing some really fuckin' good shit anyway.
At one point we discussed recording a version of Paul's Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey, and I took the time to learn the bass part, all the keyboard parts, and most of the vocals. We never got to it, though i think we played through it just bass and drums a couple times. There's a lot to be said for a rhythm section doing work all by itself, and i learned a LOT about my playing in those few months.
Ram is one of my favorite albums, certainly my favorite McCartney. Sure, Band On The Run is arguably the "better"of the two (it's on the other side of the tape I had on tonight) and gawd knows I love that album too, it's fuckin' SPECTACULAR in 99,999,999 ways, but Ram is such oddball goofwad FUN...
...I just put on another Jack Bruce album. Something Els. Fuckin' Christ, I'd give a nard to science to be able to sing like that. Waiting On A Word. If I were a woman, I'd...
But Ram is such oddball goofwad FUN (Have I mentioned that? I have? OK, let's press on...) that I have to give it the edge. With all the catchy melodic joy you'd expect from Paul, all the killer arrangements and tasty playing, it's also the most RETARDED thing in his catalog, just because of so many of the lyrics. Holy fuckin' Dada, Batman! I LOVE singing along to it, and the lyrics are so fucking weird I don't even know a third of them, I just make shit up along with it and hope it kinda fits.
Dan and I knew a thing or two about being retarded. We'd play all this killer shit together then spend hours getting liquored up, watching porn, listening to Zappa bootlegs, and laughing our balls off to the STOOOOPID shit the other one would come up with. I miss the fuck out of Dan and I have for years now. We met in 1998 in Muncie at a Keneally show, and discovered within minutes that we worked maybe 200 yards from each other. I taught guitar, he provided internet service.
We briefly had a weird blues/Zappa/rock band with me on guitar and one of my students on bass, but it didn't go anywhere beyond some really pathetic rehearsal recordings. I had more fun just the two of us doing the vamp on the solo of Zoot Allures for hours on end, asking the eternal quesstion WWSTD (What Would Scott Thunes Do?) while he Wackermanized the groove. Never have I had a partner in evil quite like Dan, somebody so fucking wackaloonesque as to make me spend half my time trying to catch up with his twisted Conan-O'Brian's-evil-twin -brother ass, and to this day, only Dan has drawn the kind of outside scraping-the-edges-of-ton ality playing out of me that we achieved in that short time, only Dan has locked in so perfectly to my dipshit scatalogical frenzy and made it even more disgusting and pure, and only Dan has compared me to Chris Farley and made me think that was a compliment.
I miss you, you fucking swine.
7.) I stepped out of the car in Sheryl's driveway to drop off a sleeping Katie, and looked up into the clouds. An airplane coming from the north, then cutting to the west and flying a straight line in front of the house.
I saw that sight many times standing in that front yard while we were married, and the one I saw just before I left too, another airplane route passing right over the house to the southwest.
I saw it a few years ago as I sat in the front yard, watching the planes fly over while neighborhood kids came scrambling for candy one pleasant Halloween night. There was a brief time I thought I could live in that environment, and tonight I missed it more than I have in months, flashing back to a night that our daughter went around the neighborhood in a princess outfit and I passed out candy to Spongebobs and vampires.
I don't miss it often, but I do sometimes. I miss her more often. I hope she's OK with that. We're better off this way, but I do think back sometimes, and I try to think back on times like that, when we were happy.
8.) After driving away, to the grocery store I worked at last year.
Going to the back of the store, I heard her voice, loud and clear over everything else. "Hey! Doug!"
I turned around. E was at a register,and wasn't looking at me, but taking care of a customer. It was definitely her, though, and it sent shock waves up and down my spine. She sounded excited, like she wanted to talk to me. Soemtimes she does, other times...
When I left, I walked by her, and said "Hi, E!"
With about as bored a look on her face as I've ever seen, she said "Hey, how ya doin'?" and kept walking, as if I wasn't there anymore.
E in a nutshell. Drives me fucking batshit. I think she's more bipolar than I'll EVER be.
I miss bullshitting with her at work. I miss being able to see that incredible blast of utterly recognizable light blonde hair four or five nights a week. I'm not sure I miss never knowing if she was going to be super-friendly or if she'd totally blow me off. I always figured nobody else saw quite what I saw there -she's kinda spacey and slow and really pale and usually looks like she hasn't slept in years - probably because with two full-time jobs and school she HASN'T - but she's really sweet and fun to fuck with and every once in a while the dead look in her eyes will be replaced by a really NASTY "I'm a dirty little girl" shot right down my spine, and I'd really like to fuck her just once. She's pretty cool in her off-center, detached way.
9.) I spent sometime yesterday and tonight looking through pictures of the band, thinking back on the last year and a half, wishing it didn't have to end. The few pictures of "Layla" are enough to tear me apart, but the pictures of M and I together are more so, because I made some great fucking noise with him, and it's over. I'm making noise with a couple new people now. The other M has the dubious honor of keeping this band going now that I'm soon to go too, and there's a few pics of us that fuck with me too. All the hours I spent with him in his record store, listening to obscure '60s and '70s rock together. It's a very different thing than what I had with Dan, or what I had with other people I've loved to make music with. But I really love doing this with him and want to keep doing it, but I don't know how possible it is.
Two more pics. Me. And me with M. What a long strange trip it's been.
Love, Dougie
Pissing All Over Myself
10.11.06 (11:11 pm) [edit]I'm listening to something I never thought I'd hear. And boy oh boy do I feel like Super ProgGeek right now.(Super ProgGeek and Super ProgGeek's Mellotron sold separately.)
Emerson, Lake & Palmer at the Long Beach Auditorium on March 22,1972. The second time of the very, very few times they ever performed the song Trilogy live. The only recording of it I know of now.
The title song of one of their best albums, it's one of my favorite things they ever did, and I used to sit at the piano and play it (quite badly, I may add) and wish I could write somethng that fucking beautiful.
Keith Emerson is one of my heroes. There's NOTHING quite like the noise he used to make back then. 1972 is some special fuckin' shit for an ELP fan. Tarkus and Trilogy - these albums own a special part of me. I've got about 17 bazillion versions of the title "song" (all fucking 47 hours of it) from the '72 tour, and I need MORE, dammit. Put that stuff in capsule form, and Viagra is a limp-dick formula in comparison, baby. Keith Fucking Emerson EATING THE UNIVERSE, motherfucker.
I didn't know this recording EXISTED. I'd heard they'd done it live a few times, and that they'd NEVER done it. But they did, and since it was 1972, they had to do it with a backing tape since Keith's Moog was monophonic. How fuckin' cool is that?
This is a progboy's idea of the Holy Grail. Sonofabitch.
Love,
Dougie
I Must Have Been Having A Good Time
10.11.06 (10:14 pm) [edit]
Me on September 23rd, at M's last gig with us.
Me doing stupid shit the night before.
I Love The Internet
10.10.06 (9:48 pm) [edit]And not just for the killer porn I just found.
My current music downloads:
Yes-The Alternate Generator (Big Generator outtakes)
Pink Floyd - 6/14/94 Indianapolis, IN (I was at this show)
And...
Captain Beefheart - July 15, 1975
The latterm akes me particularly happy, especially since so many people have it it's fuckin' RACING onto my hard drive as we speak. So is the Yes thing.
Wheeeeeeee!!!!!!
Love,
Dougie
Damn, I Love Bob Weir
10.09.06 (10:49 pm) [edit]Well I was drinkin' last night with a biker
And I showed him a picture of you
I said, "Pal, get to know her, you'll like her."
Seemed like the least I could do.
Cause when he's chargin' his chopper
Up and down your carpeted halls
You will think me by contrast quite proper
Never mind how I stumble and fall
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, baby
But at least I'm enjoying the ride
Cause you're a sweet little softcore pretender
Somehow babe, it got hot as it gets
With your black leather chrome spiked suspenders
Your chain and your whip and your pets
Well we know you're the reincarnation
Of the ravenous Catherine the Great
And we know how you love your ovations
To the Z-rated scenes you create
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, baby
But at least I'm enjoying the ride
You analyze me, tend to despise me,
You laugh when I stumble and fall
There may come a day when I'll dance on your grave
Unable to dance I will crawl across it
Unable to dance I'll crawl
Unable to dance I'll crawl
You must really consider the circus
It just might be your kind of zoo
I can't think of a place that's more perfect
For a person as perfect as you
And it's not like I'm leaving you lonely
Cause I wouldn't know where to begin
Well I know that you'll think of me only
When the snakes come marching in
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, baby
But at least I'm enjoying the ride
At least I'll enjoy the ride
- The Grateful Dead
By the way, the music was written by Weir, and he sings it, but the words were actually written by Dead lyricist John Perry Barlow. Here's a pic of his three daughers. Holy shit...
homes.eff.org/~barlow/Barlowettes!m edium.jpg
You Sick Little Monkey!
10.09.06 (9:35 pm) [edit]"Is it bad when you refer to all alcohol as Pain Go Bye-Bye Juice? That's bad, right?"- Patton Oswalt
Most of the day sucked. But it got better.
I fought my way through an hour and a half of tortured practice with the acoustic. Technically I was fine. No fucking soul whatsoever,just utter plowing through material and not keeping my head on it at all.
Bills, laundry, cleaning, all that shit. You know, the fun stuff we all hate to do. So much for a day on the bike trail. It seems to take me twice as long as anyone I know though, because I keep drifting off to something else before I remember, oh yeah, I've gotta do THIS shit.
Then, on the way to pick up Katie, I got lost. TWICE. On roads I've driven on a zillion times. I tried to take an exit on I-71 that DOES NOT EXIST. I was seriously convinced that I was going to lose my mind.
We ate Chinese (her favorite), then went to her favorite park, though a different section than we usually go to. She had a GREAT time with two other girls, and I sat and talked to their mommy.
I was so fucked up, I couldn't even get wood over this luscious MILF. Oh, I NOTICED. But I was so far gone, all I wanted was somebody to give me a back rub and lie to me that I'm a decent human being and not a shithead, which is pretty much what I felt like all day.
I guess it was just nice to talk to someone above college age. Jesus creeping shit, these young girls won't let me be. Poor poor pitiful me.
But Angie did. I pulled into the Marathon as she was leaving. I honked at her, but of course she didn't notice it was me - this was the first time since I met her that I was driving my own carinstead of my parents'.
Probably a good thing. I don't need that distraction. Oh, I WANT it. Don't need it, though...
The one good part of the day happened on the way home. Katie started singing the Happy Happy Joy Joy song after I made a call to one of my friends, leaving him a message saying "you seeeeek little monkey!" I had to explain it to her, and she remembered the Ren & Stimpy we watched last week.
Then I put on my Ren voice. "I've had this ice cream bar since I was a child! People...always trying to take it from me! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!"
For the next 20 minutes, Katie and I laughed our ASSES off, saying those lines over and over again. She was repeating it back to me, which was KILLING me. I have a tendency when I get laughing really hard to lose my breath and have asthma attacks. Katie was laughing like that-which just made ME laugh more - and I had to ask her several times if she was OK. Gawd,it was hilarious. Once, between laughs, she said, "Oh man! That cracked me up!" and she sounded almost exactly like Brak, which made me start HOWLING.
All the other stupid shit from the day was worth suffering through just for that goofiness. I'm SO happy my daughter is shaping up to be a twisted freak . But she also has a side I've long since lost- when she said goodbye to her two friends at the playground, she went up to hug both of them. Girls she'd known for half an hour. She also spent several minutes telling me all about her new stuffed elephant, with an enthusiasm that only a five-year old can have. Shit, the only time I get that excited over anything new is a new bottle of scotch.
I'm with her again on Thursday.I think we'll make dinner here (now thatI have clean dishes again) and watch Ren & Stimpy.
Love,
Dougie
Just Ignore This
10.09.06 (3:04 pm) [edit]I'm in a really foul mood,and I hope picking up Katie in an hour helps, because I ain't enjoying myself. I've lost three hours of productivity out of the seven I've been out of bed just from being STUPID, sleeping bad, and being pissed that I promised myself I wouldn't drink for a week. Add into that waking up to remember all the shit I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING and needs caught up on, and...I'm just like most people, just with a shittier attitude and more dumbass expectations of myself.
I'm really shitty at most things and can't even remember to make enough change at the store to do my fucking laundry, pay bills on time, put gas in the car, clean a toilet, or remember that I need to take out the trash because it's all over the fucking floor. Half of why I don't get laid is because it would take 12 hours to make my one-bedroom apartment presentable to anyone on a social level above crackwhore, and none of the women who'd actually fuck me (read: women closer to my age,certainly not the teen poon I spend half my time drooling over) want to fuck in the back of cars anymore. It's socially unacceptable past age 30, and their back hurts, and they need clean sheets, and I don't have time for that shit.
This is supposed to be funny, by the way.
I went out to make change for laundry. Then got back and realized I HADN'T. I was still a quarter short. Jesus fucking shit, LOOK IN YOUR POCKET, assface.
So I go out AGAIN, and I'm walking out of the store and there's half a dozen high school kids out there.One of them yellsatme,"Hey. why are you wearing those wrists braces?"
"Because I had your mom in a really weird position last night, and her fat ass fell over and broke both my wrists when my hands got yanked out from where they were, shithead. You might not recognize her when you get home. I shaved her back."
"Fucker!"
I made two really hot 17-year old girls (and three boys, one of whome was making Shithead sit down)laugh their asses off at the expense of some fucking goofball. These are my hobbies now.
Love,
Dougie
Change Of Plans
10.08.06 (10:02 pm) [edit]Got a call when I was half an hour from home. Katie was looking at my picutre and wanted to talk to me.
We talked about seeing each other Tuesday, and other stuff, and she was being very sweet. When we were done, she went off to find Mommy, who was on another phone with work at the time.
The line got quiet,a little bit of noise here and there,and I heard Katie in the back calling for Mommy.A minute later she was crying "I miss my Daddy so much!'
That ripped my fucking chest apart.
I'm going to pick her up tomorrow and cut my day I'd planned for myself in half. This is more important right now.
I had been thinking about her when she called, because I'd been thinking again about how much of a CUNT my own dad has been to me for years and how I don't want to do that to her. I don't want to make her feel left out. I don't want to make her hate me as much as I still hate him, because he's made NO effort to rectify ANYTHING. I'm an asshole too, but I'm TRYING. That fucking cocksucker gave up trying years ago.
Every time I'm back in Marion now, with the band, it pains me to think about how much easier it would have been to do everything I'm trying to do now if I'd just stayed in Indianapolis. Then I come back to Katie and remember why I had to leave.
And because I'm still trying to weed out the SHIT that was drilled into me my whole life about how everything is supposed to be black and white - which is such HORSESHIT - I'm still having a hard time putting two and two together without my head hurting.
The ongoing mix of shit in my head trying to juggle every goddamn thing in my life only gets worse. But being with Katie only gets better.I can't wait to see her tomorrow.
Love,
Dougie
Damn, I Like It Here
10.08.06 (1:31 am) [edit]"A girl once told me 'If God meant for us to suck dick, he'd make come taste like chocolate. I said, 'Yeah, well maybe he made it taste like bleach so you'd remember to do the laundry.'" - Doug Stanhope
Fucking great gig tonight, blew the afternoon one out of the goddamn water.
A slow start, but once it kicked in, I was pretty much finger-fucking T's drum set with my bass all night. Christ, it's so nice to play with a drummer who can groove, has chops, AND does some real tasty semi-inventive stuff that comes out of nowhere to surprise you sometimes.
Towards the beginning, while it was still warming up, I had this moment of longing right in the middle of a song, a pain in my chest missing M, feeling weird about not being able to look to my right and see him there with his guitar, ready for me to pull out some stupid lick to just fuck with him, like I've done a zillion times. At the same time, I was loving P's playing. She's so damn cool when she remembers what key she's in.
This weird mix was going through my head, and I was starting to feel a little off, a little sad. Then suddenly T started playing some weird shit off his cowbell, and I forgot all about that sentimental crap the rest of the night and fuckin' ROCKED.
Knowing T for years, but not ever really being close to him, it was funny how well we connected just as people. He's a sick fuck like I am, so after we were done and I went to get my double scotch for the end of the night, we started trading off vaguely homosexual innuendo as we broke gear down.
I got serious for a moment and told him how much I loved grooving with him on Brown Eyed Girl, which he completely has transformed for me from the fairly soggy versions I had to endure with the old drummer, and he simply said. "I ain't going home with you, bitch. Stop blowing smoke up my ass."
"I didn't want to fuck you, assbag. I just wanted a blowjob. You don't know what you're missing, you little cunt. I'm the best one and a half inches of semi-soft whiskey dick you'll now NEVER HAVE, ya fuck."
Now you know why I drink. I ain't quick enough to whip this shit out sober.
Damn. I want to stay.
Love,
Dougie
Rockin' In The Park
10.07.06 (3:54 pm) [edit]"If Jesus died for your sins, he's a fucking idiot. Because what your mythical figure on a stick didn't think through was that your sins are the only interesting things about you dreary cocksuckers." - Doug Stanhope
Fun but odd gig this afternoon. I'm at my parents', full of fatigue and caffiene, two and a half hours before having to go set up for tonight.
We did pretty well, with some rough edges. We chumped a lot of endings, and BUTCHERED Little Deuce Coupe, but mostly it was cool. P played her ass off on many tunes, T did some very nice things behind the kit, and I suddenly found myself saddled with all of M's old vocal parts. I'd worked on a few things, but we didn't play most of those, and I had forgotten about other stuff to sing - it occured to me as we launched into Del Shannon's Runaway that it was MY job to go "I wonder, I wa-wa-wa-wa-wonder." I also tried to remember the words to Play That Funky Music White Boy. Entertainment all around.
D9 came to see us. Hi D9! I'm glad he was there.
So, D9. What did you think of my groupie-wannabe? I havne't talked about her before, because anything I'd say would be utterly asshole-ish, but god DAMN she was annoying me today.
Why is it that the only woman who shows interest in me these days is annoying as hell? I shouldn't be such a prick, she really is nice, but I know her family (her aunt was in my high school class, and another aunt is a friend of my sister) and I swear this is about as classic an example of what's wrong with inbreeding as you can get. They're all a bunch of irritating borderline-retards with the emotional depth of a bathroom sink. I don't even mind that she is not even REMOTELY physically attractive. I can deal with that. Our new guitarist isn't either - she's an old hard-looking grey-haired woman who looks like she could melt steel with her eyes, and I'd still fuck her, because she's COOL. But this girl...I know GUYS I'd fuck first. At least they're INTERESTING.
I'm such a prick. But I had to unload on that. The only girl who wants me makes me want to run away. And I doubt we'd fuck anyway, not until Jesus comes back, because she's got some weird Indiana redneck religious tendencies, and if we did, it would be the most awkward sex in the history of the planet, ending with her crying and me in the toilet jerking off.
Time to go shower. My male pigness is making ME feel dirty.
Love,
Dougie
A Quote
10.07.06 (8:11 am) [edit]"That's what people seem to overlook with the whole priest molestation scandal. Think about it for just a second. With all the horrible, horrible shit your priest is forcing into your kid's head, his dick should be the least of your worries. That's just a little bit of mouthwash and a few years of therapy to get rid of that. That Jesus shit will torture you for a lifetime."- Doug Stanhope
Mooooooo!!!!!
10.06.06 (8:29 pm) [edit]"We're going to be the first generation of old people to say 'Look at these kids today! We used to do crank off of titty dancers! Remember that? We didn't care what her tattoo said! Now these pussies drink a Red Bull and they go outside to smoke, and the closest they've come to a fist fight is on a message board. You looking at my girl? I'm gonna delete you from my myspace friends!'" - Doug Stanhope
I had one fuck of a dream last night.The kind that only comes from eating something reasonably healthy one night after a week of abusing the shit out of yourself. Literally. Shit. God, my ass was hurting.
There's a section of Ohio State Road 63 I see every morning on the way to work, between SR741 and I-75. When you hit the intersection of 63 and 75, you are at one of the great redneck spots in the country. Monroe, Ohio is home to one of the great wonders of the world, the 60-foot Jesus I've talked about here, in front of some wackjob church. Hell, lots of folk know about it now. Bob & Tom have been playing a song nearly every morning on their radio show recently by Heywood Banks (who RULES) called Big Butter Jesus, which is about how this fucking thing looks like one of those statues at state fairs carved out of butter.
Next to the Jeezo-thing is a big flea market. Across the highway is a Hustler Superstore. There's also the Coyote Ridge Salooon. I mean, this is REDNECK DISNEYLAND, folks. I see guys getting drunk at the Coyote Ridge, going across to the Hustler store, then off to church to ask the big fuckin' Jesus for fogiveness of their sins. Of course, they also have to get their wife's forgiveness, so they take her to the flea market to buy a cornhole game with a NASCAR logo on it. Welcome to southwest Ohio.
Anyway, before you get to I-75, you're driving past the Lebanon Correctional Facility (where I might end up if I ever snap and go piss on that fucking Jesus statue some drunken night) and there's cattle farms all over. Cows upon cows.
Those who read my recent post about Peter Gabriel's German albums will get this next bit. The rest of you should treat this the way you do stand-up comedians making references to Tolkein or Captain Beefheart or some shit. Just drink more and move on.
Every morning, as I pass the cows, I yell "LIVESTOCK!!!" in the worst German accent you've ever heard from a person of primarily English and Irish descent. I tried to cop a Peter Gabriel vibe when I first did this, but I ain't that good,so now I pretty much sound like the asthmatic little brother of the guy from Rammstein with a head cold, screaming"LIVESTOCK!!!" at 7:30AM on an Ohio highway.
This, by the way, is one of the tools I use to RETAIN MY SANITY on a daily basis. living as I do on Planet Earth.
So, in the dream (remember the dream I mentioned an hour or so ago?) I'm yelling "LIVESTOCK!!!" at a whole field full of future McDonalds' fodder, and suddenly there's a fucking COW in the middle of the road. Yes, just like that damn deer a few weeks ago.One minute you're doing obscure references NOBODY CAN HEAR to your own previous blog entries at cattle, the next thing you know the cover of Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother is five feet from your fucking windshield. Storm Thorgerson!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! !!!
These four-stomached, cud-chewing, milk-producing, delicious-even-without-bb q-sauce motherfuckers are a lot bigger than a deer. You hit one of these bastards, it ain't gonna just buckle a corner of your hood and push the headlight assembly into the radiator. You might just DIE of sudden bovine suffocation when you have a goddamn cow on your LAP.
I locked up, with no time to react, then slammed into the cow.
But instead of instant death and the eternal peace I've always wished for, there was a magic pink "POOF!"(try not to think about pink poofs toomuch now) and suddenly - me still driving 55, just like Sammy Hagar can't - the sky was raining perfectly wrapped cuts of sirloin steak. It was a magical FESTIVAL OF MEAT all around me. I wanted to put on a blonde wig and dance around in it like Winona Ryder in Edward Scissorhands. "Meeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaat!!! !!!!"
This was my fucking DREAM. Hold on, it gets better.
Not cow-guts and blood, not enough 2% milk to feed a family for months, no cottage cheese. Perfectly wrapped cuts of sirloin.
Then, I'm suddenly at the intersection and I see the Jesus statue. There's a cow-head on the statue. Not on top of Jesus' head, it's Jesus' head. (Did Jesus ever GET head? I think Dan Brown should write a novel speculating on that.) Jesus H. Christ now has the head of a cow, and as I pull up to the light, my windshield wipers broken in half by cuts of meat (I actually noticed this detail in the dream, which tells me I need to cut back on the David Lynch films) the cow head suddenly swings around to face me, and the voice of somebody not unlike James Earl Jones says"Wake up, assfuck! It's time for work!"
That's when I woke up.
Love
Dougie
(Speaking of the deer accident,mycaris done andI'll be picking it up tomorrow wh