Fly, Cold Little Kitten, Fly!
01.30.07 (10:46 pm) [edit]
The pedant and the priest have always been the most expert of logicians -- and the most diligent disseminators of nonsense and worse. The liberation of the human mind has never been furthered by dunderheads; it has been furthered by gay fellows who heaved dead cats into sanctuaries and then went roistering down the highways of the world, proving to all men that doubt, after all, was safe -- that the god in the sanctuary was finite in his power and hence a fraud. One horse-laugh is worth ten thousand syllogisms. It is not only more effective; it is also vastly more intelligent. -- H L Mencken
My Prayer
01.29.07 (9:36 pm) [edit]"Hey I know what to do
I'm gonna fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you
Fuck you."
- Soundgarden, "Big Dumb Sex"
Dear sweet Jesus, who died for my sins and is currently behind a rock yelling "Hey, let me the fuck outta here!"
I am nothing without the blood you sacrficed, and therefore, I'm asking for some shit, my Nailed-Up Buddy.
Dear loving Christ-on-a-stick Jesus, send me a hot redhead 17-year old girl who thinks that this (holds up pinky finger) is 11 inches.
My Savior, who once made a cock crow three times. Make MY cock crow ONCE, and I might believe in your shit again, Jew-boy.
Son of God, Master of Truth, Dead Guy Whose Story Has Been Over-Inflated By Shitbags Trying To Make Me Give Them Money - I beseech Thee. Send me an endless supply of roofies and duct tape, so that My Will may be done.
Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ, my Heavenly Lord. Give her tits I could lose my skull between, a pussy that tastes like a fresh draught of Guinness, and a constant craving to impersonate a Hoover. If she drives a really fast car and owns stock in the Johnny Walker company, that would be an added bonus, Mr. Jeezus.
Do this, and I promise I'll keep laughing at your stupid fucking followers anyway.
A-fucking-men,
Dougie
(Currently reading Bart D. Ehrman's The Lost Gospel Of Judas, which is VERY fuckin' cool.)
Kill The Great Raven!
01.29.07 (12:07 pm) [edit]"Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut." ~ Ernest Hemingway
Well, I mostly say I wanna eat pussy when I'm drunk OR sober, so...
I've got more cool unsolicited comments from women (one this morning from an online friend, in fact) in the past month or so than I can remember EVER getting. I'm not used to this shit. I LOVE it, but my brain still can't process it. Along with the one at the gig the other night, there was another woman there who was asking me questions about the band and music and such and never SAID anything, but those eyes...good fuckin' Christ...they were saying "Yeah, this guy over here is my husband and I ain't gonna fuck you, but you're pretty damn alright by me, Dougie."
I'm doing my best to put out a certain energy, to at least PRETEND to have some kind of confidence in myself. I actually don't. I feel like a bag of shit. But they're helping. Man, they're helping.
D had a work-related conflict shoot down Friday for us. I'm used to this now and no longer question where's she coming from, but it still sucks and it still brings out some rather nasty feelings that I shouldn't be having, but do. I keep HEARING this stuff, it builds my ego up very, very nicely, but my COCK wants a piece of the action too, ya know? He's bored out of his fuckin' head down there.
Utterly fucked in the cash department, and now I have to go bitch at my bank, because the wbsite claims I made two $20 ATM withdrawls Friday and I only made one. Not that it's gonna matter - I still did some bad math that night and overdrew my acount by a grand total of $1.50, which of course, they're gonna hit me with a fee on no matter what I do.
I'm lucky I have the shit I do have. I'm the most incompetent fuck on the planet when it comes to my money, and I'm not sure how I've gone THIS long without having some big guy in a black coat come and shake me down for shit I owe.
Katie will be here a lot this week. Her mom is on a business trip, and my parents are coming down to cover for tonight since I'm teaching, so she'll stay with them tonight and they'll take her to school in the morning. The rest of the week, she's here, and we're going up north Friday since I have two gigs (at the same place, a new thing for us) and we'll be back Sunday.
I can't wait. She's so much fun to be with, and I know she's going to miss her mother a lot, but I know we'll have fun.
She's doing great at school. I havne't followed up here on the thing I wrote about several weeks ago involving her teacher, but suffice to say it's all worked out very well, and I think we're all happy.
If anyone reading this in the SW Ohio/NE Indiana areas needs a folding table with four folding chairs (Nothing fantastic, but quite usealbe in excellent shape other than a slightly bent leg on one of the chairs) email me at eraserhead667 at that yahoo thingie. We'll work something out. I need to bring in some cash, and we can work out details via email or phone.
There's a slight chance for more students, possibly enough to save my ass, and my life is possibly going to be even weirder if this happens, but I want it to. I'm gonna hopefully find out in a little while.
Love,
Dougie
PS I got a friend request on myspace last night from a really hot young blonde - obviously another one trying to get me to her porn site, and I usually ignore that shit, but I did look at her pics and decided to write back. "Wow, your pics are really hot. Can I eat your ass?" Oddly enough, she hasn't written back yet...
The Truth Shall Set You Free
01.28.07 (10:55 pm) [edit]
"I drink alone
Yeah, with nobody else
You know when I drink alone
I prefer to be by myself"
- George Thoroughgood
Sgt. Rock Ain't Quite Helped Yet, But...
01.28.07 (2:28 am) [edit]One of our singer's friends came up to me tonight and gave me a really wonderful big warm hug that sent shit spiraling down my spinal column, then she told me I'm "hot." Looked at me like...like....oh my fuckin' GAWD. the way she looked at me...
Oh, she's married. And was obviously drunk as hell.
But goddamn. Pushing 50 but still lookin' damn good. I'd fuck that in a nanosecond if I could. I need more moments like that. Holy shit, that was nice.
I love my job,
Dougie
Let The Games Begin
01.27.07 (1:01 am) [edit]I left home at 8PM and got to my parents' over three hours later. Sang nearly all the way to tapes in the car, slightly "liquidly altered" for effect.
I went to the hippie bar I've talked about recently.
I've done the open mic there a few times recently, but tonight, I booked my first true full-blown solo gig in six and a half years. Februrary 23rd.
I've got a month to get my shit together.
I'm so fucking happy I could explode.
Love,
Dougie
For Warren
01.26.07 (6:22 pm) [edit]The most Zevon-esque thing I've ever pulled out my right-on-the-edge-of-drun keness ass.
Black as sin
Let the games begin
I used to prefer the light
'Til I made friends with the night
He's got better drinks
And more time to think
Bore a tunnel inside my brain
I may not come out again
Hello, Darkness
I always look better in you
On an unlit road
Won't feel the need to implode
Like I do in the day
Life gets in the way
My goals and dreams
Best appear in between
Sundown and dawn
Just before all the booze is gone
Hello, Darkness
I always look better in you
Hello, Darkness
I always look better in you
Dig It
01.26.07 (5:43 pm) [edit]http://tinyurl.com/2ymg43
Funny what a good rock toon and severe sexual frustration can do in combination to focus a guy.
I'm gonna go burn some shit down tonight.
Animosity,
Dougie
The Not-So-Incredible Jazz-Wannabe Rock Guitar Of Dougie
01.26.07 (1:25 pm) [edit]Still obsessed with that Wes Montgomery box set, and I've been messing around with ideas sourced from him for myself, though I'm not comfortable yet to really pull this shit off onstage other than some standard octave stuff that everyone knows is Wes-derived.
When I lived in Indianapolis (where Wes was born and died and did most of his gigging, working as a welder by day and playing tiny clubs at night) I found the park named after him. Small and inauspicious, but I understand there used to be quite a few jazz concerts done there.
Today I was reading up on him and found a link to Find A Grave, which I've used in my genealogy. I now know where Wes is buried, and I intend to go there on my way back home Sunday. It's not that far from where I lived last year, near Keystone and Raymond on the south side of town.
I found my voice on the bass years ago, now it's just a matter of tweaking that voice and learning some new words.
But on guitar, my voice has only been developed as a rhythm player. I've got some nice ideas for that kind of thing, certainly a few more than a most rock guys if not nearly as many as the people I stole them from.
As a soloist, I've only gone through short periods of taking it seriously, and the only guy who I really spent time studying was David Gilmour, still one of my favorites. But I went away from that for years and now I can't pull out entire Gilmour solos note-for-note like I could a few years ago, though I know it would only take a few days work to do so if I took the time, time I'm now spending on other things.
Like stealing OTHER people's licks and working out my own ideas. I seriously doubt I will ever be a "shredder', my right hand has never shown any indication of being built for that. I'm left-handed, though I play right handed, and I know that's helped my facility on the neck a bit (though again, it's gone towards chords and not single-line stuff, and I'm hardly the best with that hand either) but I'm simply not a fast player, and my picking technique has never been great. I sound pretty fucking good on bass. I KNOW I'm a damn good bass player. On guitar I question myself every time I pick it up.
My goal for the coming year is to incorporate more of the music I genuinely find inspiring into the music I play out every weekend. Right now I play a lot of stock blues/rock licks with a smattering of other things, and the only time I really go off that at length is the extended soloing I do on Roadhouse Blues, which I've talked about before. A nice big wide-open canvas of the key of E-demented for my adventures in trying to play weird without sounding like an idiot. I usually pull it off, which is nice.
My favorite rock players are guys like Zappa and Keneally and Fripp, who are so far out of the normal boundaries of rock guitar to hardly be considered as such. Or a guy like Neil Young, who has zero chops and is very MUCH a rock player, but a really noisy and soulful one. Or David Gilmour, who exhibits grace under pressure in a way I could never do without simply playing his licks.
Or Hendrix, who is becoming a much stronger influence all the time. The levels of interest in Hendrix's music go well beyond what he seems to be known for. There's a depth and understanding in that music I find awe-inspiring. His technique was hardly perfect either, but his ideas were killer, his sounds were ungodly, and his attitude - full of balls and jizz and funk and angst - is something I aspire to far more than the ability to play perfect up-and-down 64th notes. That shit is fun to listen to as well sometimes, but it's never mattered to me as much as what's BEHIND the notes a guy plays. Hendrix had volumes of content behind his. OK, he also didn't tune up often enough. Fuck it. Small price to pay, I think.
I have a lot of interest in certain jazz/fusion players - Metheny, Holdsworth, McLaughlin, DiMeola, etc - but today I sit back and think of the history of the instrument and feel the need to go back to the source, just as I've always felt with rock guitar. We wouldn't be here without guys like Hendrix, or George Harrison, or Chuck Berry.
Or Wes Montgomery.
I've got a lot of listening and learning to do in my new role. I'm fucking thrilled to do it. Starting my whole life over is a challenge now brought forth in microcosm by the challenge of taking up a new musical life.
"A challenge brought forth in microcosm"??? Where do I get this pretentious horseshit? Christ, somebody hand me a dick joke and a couple bad white-boy blues licks. This shit is getting deep.
Love,
Dougie
I Need A Neil Young Guitar Solo In The Middle Of This Post
01.25.07 (11:20 pm) [edit]"Every day I get up in the morning and go to work
And do my job -- whatever
I need some sentimental hygiene"
- Warren Zevon
Started the day dry and responsible. Well, mostly. At 6:30AM I was driving in the dark, smoking Winchesters and bellowing along with choice tracks on Mr. Bad Example.
Funnily enough that's what I was doing at 10PM as well.
Worked a short day for the temp service, sent home after lunch. Got a few things done at home (and a bazillion more not) before going off to pick up Katie.
She was just finishing up dance class. Her hair seemed more brushed out than usual. My little girl is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
We had a ludicrously silly episode throwing a ball around the apartment, knocking over her drink and my CD player, laughing our asses off and pretending to try to kill each other with an orange ball with Bugs Bunny on it about half the size of a basketball.
There is NOTHING like watching a five-year old girl do a Herbert Lom impersonaton. "I will take this ball, which should rightfully be mine, and then...I will kill you! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
I had to stop after ten minutes from being totally out of air. Not from playing. From laughing so hard my back hurt.
Oh, and she thought one of the rearranged signs at the begining of Fawlty Towers read "Farty Towels."
My kid kicks ass.
Dropped her off and called D. We're shooting for shared physical adventures tomorrow night. Finally. Anything might come up to fuck it all up (and I don't say that against her, I just know shit happens with this one that's beyond her control) but I'm pretty confident that tomorrow night will be what I've been looking for for a long time now.
She makes me insane. If she works as good as she talks, I might not be able to MOVE afterwards. My heart might not be in this one - OK, it kinda is, since I DO really like her, I'm just still working through feelings aimed miles away - but when you get to HEAR a woman say what she says to me...I've not been that hard in a long time. I could've drilled a hole through the wall and hung Elvis off the end of it on the other side last night after she was done with me.
The urge to treat myself arose. I can't afford it. I stopped caring after thirty seconds. Fuck it. I feel powerful things happening in me that need the assistance of some high-quality seafood to help bring to fruition.
A pound of steamed black mussels, a few pieces of Irish soda bread, and two pints of Guinness later, I was IN THE GROOVE.
So I went to see the Danger Girl.
God, she's a killer. She's also very attached to her man.
And - if the doctor appointment she has Monday confirms her suspicions - pregnant.
She had the greatest expression when she told me that. She's not sure what to think yet - she's both very happy and not sure she's quite ready - but it's pretty obvious that she wants it, and I told her the truth - I bet she'll be one fuckin' cool mommy. She's an interesting character - the fire-red personality with so many shades of the rainbow in each direction - a mix of a crazy 18-year old girl who does shit I've never had the balls to do before very recently and still haven't made the time for: and a very responsible young woman who works 80 fucking hours a week and for all her crazed edge and intensity seems to have her head far more firmly set in place than mine will ever be.
I admire the fuck out of her. Oh, I'd like to FUCK her too. But I know that won't happen, and just enjoy being around her. I hope I can find a way of interacting with her on a closer basis - she genuinely seems to have an actual interest in me, even if it's totally "platonic", and hey, that's cool. I need more FRIENDS like that.
But yeah, I'd suck that pussy so hard I'd have a hangover the next morning if I had the chance.
I glided into the car, feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof, just like some asshole country singer. I screwed a Winchester into my cigarette holder, fired up the engine, and cranked the fuck out of Zevon. Singing along, imagining my angel dressed in black.
I always scoffed at the guys who hit middle age and suddenly felt the need for a flashy sports car with a killer stereo. But tonight at only 36 years old, in a reliable and fuel-efficent, highly practical but not exactly otherwise impressive car with a different colored driver's side front fender from a deer accident three months ago, and a stereo that distorts too soon, I suddenly felt that urge. Speeding along in some chick-magnetizing vehicle with James Bond devices planted throughout, some stupidly expensive piece of audio gear cranking up the Words Of The Prophets. (The Gospel According To Warren. The Letter Of Neil Young To The Zuma-ites. The Revelation Of Zappa.)
A ravishing redhead beauty in black leather at my side, ready to fulfill my every need but absolutely and rightly demanding that I satisfy hers. Together on some dark lost highway. Two young lovers in a jet-black death-machine. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted.
Good people.
I told a friend the other day that I'm trying to reclaim the childhood that I feel was robbed of me. But I also intend to KEEP that childhood. Maturity is an over-rated concept. The mature slow down and fade away. The young hit the wall at high speed and go out in a blaze. People make their own choices, and more power to them. But my choice is to buy the ticket and take the ride, and I'm finally - after years of my own personal kind of fear and self-loathing - finding the strength to do just that. I feel myself remaking my life, remolding it into something I can call my own without reservation or guilt. I'm not there yet. Not even close. But I've got a nice start. Today it's merely a dream to distract myself from the reality I slog through. Tomorrow it will become its own reality. I can feel it. I feel a lot of other shit, some of it terrifying, but mostly I feel on a path of my own making. For once. I'm tired of playing follow the leader. Those motherfuckers don't know any better where they're headed than I do, they just get to carry the stick. I've got my own stick. Yeah. And I'm gonna use that sumbitch.
"Okay. That's it for now. Read it and weep....See you tomorrow, folks. You haven't heard the last of me. I am the one who speaks for the spirit of freedom and decency in you. Shit. Somebody has to do it." - Hunter S. Thompson
I picked up a jar of pasta sauce tonight for dinner with Katie. THe lady behind the counter - probably well into her '70s - saw me with my long black coat and my hair down and said, "I hope this doesn't offend you, but..."
I smiled.
Then was surprised.
"I saw a documentary last night about President John Adams. You could play that part. You look just like him."
Huh?
I just looked up pictures. I don't see the resemblance, but...
In the past few weeks, I've been compared to both Sam Kinison and the second president of the United States.
I think that's fuckin' hilarious.
Dressed in black and tossing back a shot of rye,
Dougie
Smog Might Turn To Stars, Someday
01.24.07 (8:48 pm) [edit]"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."
- Dr. Samuel Johnson
"I hate a fellow whom pride or cowardice or laziness drives into a corner, and who does nothing when he is there but sit and growl. Let him come out as I do, and bark."
- Dr. Samuel Johnson
Driving a convertible 140 mph through Utah, tossing "Cthulhu Saves" tracts and Hunter Thompson books out the side, Tom Waits blasting on the stereo, a pint of scotch in one hand, the steering wheel in the other. A beautiful young redhead blowing me. Slowing down and pulling alongside an SUV, screaming "You filthy whores! The American Dream is ALIVE!" She looks up and smiles, waves at them and goes back to work. I ramp it back up to something well past 100mph and howl at the moon. Oops...sorry, honey. Didn't mean to spill that scotch in your hair. Here, let me...mmm...that tastes good. What kind of shampoo do you use? Oh, never mind. Yeah. Suck it. Oh my gaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwdddd...........
A boy can dream, right?
Love,
Dougie
I Think I Have A New Favorite Band
01.24.07 (10:26 am) [edit]I was poking around for Hunter Thompson videos and ran across something I hadn't heard before - a song based loosely around a bit in Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas called Bat Country, by Avenged Sevenfold.
The video made me nearly piss myself laughing. When the Great Red Shark was coming down the highway sporting giant bat wings, I fell in love with Avenged Sevenfold.
I know what *I'M* gonna be downloading...
Love,
Dougie
PS Apparantly this was a recent big hit and has been all over MTV. Which shows what happens when you get old and stop watching TV and listening to the radio. Funnily enough, I had not only heard of them (but not heard them until just beofre writing this post) I just remembered that a few months back when I was looking for new shit that my students might be into, I checked their album out of the library and MP3'd the damn thing without listening to it. Now I just have to find the fucking disc I burned it to and listen to them.
The Bare Bones Of My Eventual Stand-Up Career
01.24.07 (12:29 am) [edit]I was fucking about on my hard drive looking through old writing when I found something I wrote about a year ago. It made me laugh my balls off.
I seem to be meeting a lot of lesbians these days. Several this year. And that's great. I'm fine with that. I'm all for lesbians. I'm saving up money for a camcorder. Lesbians are our FRIENDS, guys. That's all they are, but hey. You've gotta have a woman around who can tell you when you're being an asshole who you KNOW you'll never have sex with. It's a good thing.
But dammit, where is the woman who is addicted to blowjobs? Come on. There's gotta be one out there somewhere. The girl who LIVES just to suck the tiny cock of a fat hairy bass player. She has her magnifying glass and a bottle of Jack for afterwards to wash away the foul taste and the stain from her soul, and she's ready for my lovin'. There's at least ONE out there, I'm sure. She works in a circus and has no friends, but she's out there SOMEWHERE, right? RIGHT???
Just A Loser
01.23.07 (10:59 pm) [edit]I'm surprised nearly every day not only by how many songs there are that nail my feelings to the wall, but how many GOOD ones. Here's a greasy R&B workout from Robert Cray's 1992 album I Was Warned. (And by the way, if you like your tales of pain, sin, and heartache done up with a blues/rock guitar-slinger edge, you can do far worse than his 1986 ablum Strong Persuader, which might just make my top ten favorite albums of the '80s list if I ever got around to drawing up such a thing.)
Maybe I'm just a loser
Whose will is none too strong
But I don't want to lose her
Even if my choice is wrong
I've been used to all the heartache
The jealousy and pain
So I'm well aware of what it takes
To win her back again.
I played a fool for her smile
I found a groove in her style
I hung on every word that she said but
She was living up inside my head
And I better think this whole thing through
For awhile
I'm not one to gamble
But in love my rules slide
When my heart starts to ramble
I just hang on for the ride
I've sought advice from all of my friends
I've even read a million books
But all those good intentions end
When she gives me that come-on look
I played a fool for her smile
I found a groove in her style
I hung on every word that she said but
She was living up inside my head
And I better think this whole thing through
For awhile
I could go on in misery
But this feeling just won't die
She's healing on delivery
I have to give her one more try
It's really time to figure out
If this love we have is real and
let's find out what it's all about and
Give the old cards one more deal
I played a fool for her smile
I found a groove in her style
I hung on every word that she said
But she was living up inside my head
And I better think this whole thing through
For awhile
Werewolves Of Lebanon
01.23.07 (7:03 pm) [edit]"Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein"
- Warren Zevon
Audio version at www.extrafancy.net/doug/werewolves.mp3
More information for those who wonder what I eat...not a morning person...nature's way...I wanna lick that...my kind of ragged glory...she drives me crazy...I wanna lick that, part two...political incorrections...my hair is perfect ...
La Choy Beef Chow Mein, to be precise. For something that comes out of a can, it's pretty fucking good. Hadn't had any of that shit in years.
Brandy and wheat bread finishing off dinner.
I overslept today, and it took forever to get my ass going. I spent most of the day trying to get shit done at home, calling the temp agency for work which never materialized. Then I drove to a town north of here and picked two small factories at random to put an application into. Not shit I want to do, just shit that is necessary right now as I sit on the edge of this month's ability to make rent.
I went to the grocery for the aforementioned dinner, and witnessed the most beautiful sunset I've seen in months. Huge blasts of pink and purple taking up a massive portion of the sky, with an interesting shape in the middle formed by open sky. I wish I had a camera. One of those killer awe-inspiring moments the universe provides us with every once in a while.
Saw something stunning in the parking lot while buying gas. A woman in her 20s with incredible long curly red hair, dressed to kill with huge tits and a very pregnant belly. I still don't completely understand the intense reaction I get when I see a woman like this - there always seems to be an extra layer of pure sexuality coming off a truly beautiful woman who just happens to be pregnant - but goddamn, she was KILLING me. I think I spilled a bit of my $1.87 gas (lowest I've seen it in over two years) on the ground trying to get the nozzle back in and check her out some more.
Played some amazing guitar solos in my head driving home. Picked up the guitar when I got here and played dogshit. Oh well.
I love that Neil Young & Crazy Horse Fillmore 1970 album. It's too fucking short, but I'll live with that just to get a prime slice of that era of Neil's music. A few songs done live years before they made an album, something you hear a lot with Neil if you've got as many bootlegs as I do. I can't wait for the next archive release, which is a solo acoustic show from just before Harvest came out, with some of that material done live for an audience who'd never heard it. I saw Neil solo in '92 before Harvest Moon was released, and got to hear half that album for the first time. I enjoy that kind of thing.
Talked to D a while ago and she had me out of breath and dry-humping the bed within five minutes. Jesus creeping shit, that girl is gonna be fun if we can ever work out a schedule to get together. She's also remarkably easy to talk to and incredibly understanding. I can be completely blunt and honest with her about seemingly anything, and it's no problem at all.
I don't feel for her what I feel for Abby. But I do feel something very good, very strong. It's different, but it's quite nice. Fuck knows what will come of it. The price I pay for being nearly three hours away.
Or eleven.
Had a new student last night, with a HOT mommy about my age. Kept up the super-professional music-instructor ruse I somehow manage to put on myself like a costume, but damn...can I chew on you for just an hour or so?
I've mentioned it before, and it's a few years old now, but for those who get where I come from when I get political, try a copy of Bill Maher's When You Ride Alone You Ride With Bin Laden. I've been listening to the audio version today (which I prefer because I liike his delivery when he talks, though the book has some very cool parodies of WWII-era posters) and I'm struck again by how thoroughly Maher thinks through things, how well he understands the gray areas on nearly any issue, and how eloquently he expresses his views, which I find to be dead-on at least 95% of the time. For a comedian/talk-show host, he's astoundingly relevant, and I wish someone with that kind of candor and insight was in a position of actual power. Ain't gonna happen in my lifetime, but it's nice to dream sometimes.
I feel like driving too fast, drinking too much, fucking girls who are right on the edge of legality, and shooting my load onto the open pages of a Bible.
The cycles of the moon ain't got shit to do with it.
Aaa-roooo,
Dougie
My Nuts Hurt Just Thinking About it, But...
01.23.07 (1:38 pm) [edit]I'm in no financial position to do so at the moment (and I have no health insurance either) but I've been reading up on getting a vasectomy. It seems to be a fairly safe procedure with few side effects. My dad had it done when I was a teenager (there's a joke in there somewhere, I'm sure) but I can't seem to get any real info from him about anything like that, so I thought I'd throw it out to my readers.
If any of you have had a vasectomy or know someone who has, I'd be interested in your insights.
Of course, this is all beside the point right now since I can't seem to get anyone to FUCK me (E across the street has disappeared, it seems) but you know, it's a thought for later on.
Love (and snippage),
Dougie
PS For those of you who aren't registered on tblog, there was a while today that commenting by non-members was shut off, since they're trying to block comment spam (which I've been getting a TON of on a couple old posts) and we had to turn commenting by anyone back on ourselves. I just did that. So if you tried to leave a comment earlier and couldn't, you should be able to now.
Long May You Twitch
01.23.07 (1:11 am) [edit]"Everyday, and in every way, I'm getting better and better."
- Herbert Lom as Chief Inspector Charles Dreyfuss
One more month....
01.23.07 (12:14 am) [edit]"I don't have all the answers, I don't have a big closer, and I may not have a point. But I do have a tit-fuck joke, and I'm gonna use it right now like a lifeline. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.
Hey, so I told my girlfriend I wanted to fuck her between the tits! She said, "How you gonna make that feel good for ME?"
I said, "Right before I come I'll stop punching you in the face!"
Don't you feel better now? A good tit-fuck joke brings people together. As one race, the human race."
- Doug Stanhope, the next president of the United States Of America
Letter to my American Idol:
Ohio awaits you, you degenerate pigfucker. I'll be at a couple Cincy shows, maybe the Dayton one as well.
You're my hero, assfuck.
Love,
Doug
Taste
01.22.07 (11:45 pm) [edit]Ravage with my mouth
You the dream
My fire-red queen
I beg to fuck upon you
The sin that makes me win
Christ Himself could only give in
To you
I beg to taste all of you
Rapture?
The fools
They've never heard of you
But I have
Heaven is a place on Earth
I read that somewhere
Yeah, I know what the fuck it's worth
Hungry For You
01.22.07 (11:39 pm) [edit]For the record, Ghost In The Machine has ALWAYS been my favorite Police album.
Rien de dormier cette nuit
Je veux de toi
Jusque’a` ce que je sois sec
Mais nos corps sont tout mouille’s
Comple’tement couvert de sueur
Nous nous noyons dans la mare’e
Je n’ai aucun de’sir
Tu as ravage’ mon coeur
Et mois j’ai bu ton sang
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
Tout le monde est a` moi
Je l’ai gagne’ dans un jeu de cartes
Et maintenant je m’en fous
C’e’tait gagne’ trop facilement
Ca y est alors ma belle trai^tresse
Il faut que je bru^le de jalousie
Tu as ravage’ mon coeur
Et moi j’ai bu ton sang
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
Mais non pouvons faire ce que nous voulons
J’aurais toujours faim de toi
No matter what I do
I’m still hungry for you
No matter what I do
I’m still hungry for you
Rien de dormir cette nuit
Je veux de toi jusque’a` ce que je sois sec
Mais nos corps sont tout mouille’s
Comple’tement couvert de sueur
For Abby
01.22.07 (3:30 pm) [edit]http://tinyurl.com/234fg8
I personally hear about 600 things wrong with this, and it's hardly my best day ever, but maybe y'all will like it. Obviously I pulled that Neil Young live album out finally.
I love you,
Dougie
Things To Do In Ohio When You're Dead
01.22.07 (1:11 pm) [edit]"When I was young
The sky was filled with stars
I watched them burn out one by one
I've had my share
Of disappointing love affairs
And I'm no stranger to disillusionment
Little darlin'
If you need a helping hand
If you need someone
You can count on me
And I will understand
Heartache spoken here
I know a thing or two about heartbreak and tears
So come on down, we'll talk about it
Heartache spoken here
Heartache spoken here
I know a thing or two about heartbreak and tears
So come on down we'll talk about it
Heartache spoken here"
- Warren Zevon
It was great to have Katie here overnight. We watched a lot of TV, played with Legos, and I made a variant on the chicken and noodles dinner my mother has made since I was a kid. Came out nicely.
School was on an hour delay this morning because of weather, so we had a little extra time. She slept great last night. I was up way too late and awoke far earlier than I'd have liked.
But there was something special about dropping my girl off at school. Normally she takes the bus from home. We'll be doing this kind of thing more often, I think.
She's so full of life and fun, and I need what she brings to me. I only hope I return the favor. A couple moments proved to me that I did, and I'm also amazed at how Katie expresses her love for me, how she can turn my heart into mush in a nanosecond with a few choice words. I've got an amazing kid, boys and girls.
I drove off to the library for a bit, then called the temp agency. They've had very little work for me lately - I've not put in more than 16 hours a week since mid-December, and a couple weeks less. Students are slowly coming in, and there's a possibility of several more coming my way all at once in the very near future, but I don't know that yet. Mere weeks ago, I was craving down-time, feeling very over-worked and constantly rushed. Now I have way the fuck too much time on my hands, and it's killing my productivity and motivation. Not to mention my bank account.
So, I spent 25 bucks today that I didn't really have, I just felt like giving myself a treat after the last month of eating out of a can.
I finally picked up Neil Young & Crazy Horse At The Fillmore 1970, which came out a few months ago. It would be on right now, but damn, I can't get this Wes Montgomery box set out of my player. Especially on a lonely wet Ohio afternoon, Wes is speakin' to me, and Neil is just gonna have to fuckin' wait his turn.
Then I ate lunch at my favorite restaraunt in the entire universe. Not only that, but it was the best meal I've had there in a LONG time. I could eat Thai food every fucking day. They seemed to drop off somewhat for a while, still good but not quite as spectacular as I was used to. Today that fucker NAILED it, got the spice level exactly right, and I was one happy sumbitch.
Eating a killer lunch while reading Bart D. Ehrman's The Lost Gospel Of Judas Iscariot and sending text messages back and forth with Abby. Contentment reigned supreme. I love this life.
Driving off, still getting text messages, smoking a Winchester and singng along to Zevon, the mood turned contemplative.
Within minutes my chest was burning and something was happening behind my eyes. Warren started singing Searching For A Heart, and I found it hard to focus on anything but the pain.
The contentment swirled its way back in, forming a nice stock with the pain to make today's gumbo with.
I love living alone.
I hate BEING alone.
I love the edge-of-my-pants feel of so much of what constitutes this weird life I've been rebuilding in the past couple years.
I hate having no one to share it with.
I love solitude, crawling up inside my own head and finding the shit that hides there, dusting the fuckers off and making them dance.
I hate not having the option of togetherness that could balance that solitude and make it have more meaning and purpose. To have the one when I need it, and the other in the meantime.
I want it all, and I want it now.
But mostly I want her.
Shit.
Love,
Dougie
Awake
01.22.07 (1:03 am) [edit]Kilometers, they hate me
Miles, they berate me
Damn, I'm still awake
Can't be bothered to fake
Wetness
I crave it
From you
No beers for my tears
Gears? I fucked my transmission
I'm only wishin'
You
Near
Free my mind and your ass I will follow
Wherever
You pulled the lever
Brain-cord did sever
Like Bond, I won't say never
This red-lust is forever
Does this shit go pever?
With a tuna-can krever?
What the fuck is a drever?
My ideas are gone so I'll just frever
My rabin ain't trevor
Shit
No milk for me, motherfucker
ROTFLMFAO
01.21.07 (5:21 pm) [edit]Somebody just hit my blog from a Google search for:
Rumsfeld monkey ass
Life is rich,
Dougie
Whatever Happened To Vileness Fats?
01.21.07 (2:12 pm) [edit]“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt” - William Shakespeare
"I need to feel your heartbeat
So close, it feels like mine
All mine
I remember the feeling,
My hands in your hair
I remember the feeling
Of the rhythm we made
I need to land sometime
Right next to you
And feel your heartbeat
Right next to me"
- Adrian Belew
"My left arm needs some early retirement options."
- Something I said to D a couple days ago
1.) I woke up craving her warmth. Wanting to hold her close, lose myself in that red hair. I sang a Belew song to her, but she wasn't there. I felt hunger, loss, need. More than anything, just to be able to show love and warmth to a beautiful young lady.
Then I jerked off all over myself.
Oh well, can't keep that shit up for TOO long without doing a 180, eh?
2.) Three weeks into January, and we get our first real snow. The roads were utter shit this morning when I left to get Katie, but by the time we drove back, the plows had done their job. I think a snowman is in my near future.
3.) We just got done watching King Dinosaur, a really stupid 50s movie on MST3K. The dinosaur fight scene was a hoot - obviously they were regular little lizards being filmed so as to make them look big. A shot of one sticking his little lizard tongue (hey, wasn't that a Keneally song?) out at another led Crow to say "I'm gonna make a handbag outta you, gator." Katie laughed her head off. She's staying here tonight, and I'll take her to school tomorrow. I think we're gonna have fun.
4.) I'm really fucking tired and I actually slept well last night. Of course, it took forever to get out of bed from wanting someone special there with me, but...
5.) It's cold, so fuck it. I'm growing the beard back.
6.) An old friend found me on myspace. Good to hear from ya, Manir. Someday maybe I'll cross the ocean and have a pint or twelve of Scrumpy Jack and play old Genesis songs with you again. I'll pack a drum machine this time. :)
Love,
Dougie
My Aim Is True
01.21.07 (12:55 am) [edit]"Maybe someday I'll be strong, maybe it won't be long
I'll be the one who's tough, you'll be the one who's got it rough
It won't be long and maybe I'll be real strong
Maybe I'll do things right, maybe I'll start tonight
You'll learn to cry like me, baby let's just wait and see
Maybe I'll start tonight and do things right
You'll control me and oh so boldly rule me 'till I'm free
'Till the pain that shakes me finally makes me get up off of my knees
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Maybe I'll be fast as you, maybe I'll break hearts too
But I think that you'll slow down when your turn to hurt comes around
Maybe I'll break hearts and be as fast as you"
- Dwight Yoakam
I want to be the place she rests that sweet snatch upon...
I usually don't drive that fast. I'm not in a hurry when I head north, it don't mean shit when I show up. I often go a couple mph BELOW the speed limit, because...well. lots of reasons...
Last night, somewhere south of Winchester, I decided to see how fast that motherfucker could go. I was feeling it. Screaming along to a comp tape of XTC. Sgt. Rock is gonna help me, goddammit.
Liberating, it was. Ahhh, yes. Speed. Uncle Hunter would understand.
Driving too fast under less than optimum mental circumstances, getting my vocal practice in until my throat turns to shit, thinking crazed fuck-thoughts for a sweet young redhead I may never actually meet, dreaming dirty little dreams of being shot in the face like a firehose after I attack that beautiful young pussy with my face like Atilla The Hun on crank, licking up every last drop, because that's my PURPOSE in this life. Her sweet delicious pleasure. Goddamn, I want to love you orally, honey.
Beats working.
Love,
Dougie
PS A good productive practice with the band tonight, new material. A is playing mandolin on Copperhead Road, and he started playing the middle section of Spinal Tap's Stonehenge. I love my band.............
I Need To Fuck
01.21.07 (12:16 am) [edit]She called me, about five minutes before I got home. God, I love to hear her voice. Even when in a slightly...uh...altered state, my little teen dream-vixen sends shock waves of raw animal desire though every goddamn inch of me.
I'd churn this island up, just to watch you sleeping.
Love,
Dougie
"Honey, I'd fucky licky your sweet pussy in a heartbeat if I could."
01.19.07 (11:22 pm) [edit]"Now, what can a man do with his clothes off for twenty minutes?" - Cary Grant as Roger O. Thornhill, North By Northwest, the second greatest goddamn movie of all time, directed by Alfred Fucking Hitchcock
Ahhh, the joys of text messaging...
Observations on the most HST night of my life:
1.) A Saturn SW-1 wagon is quite capable of going 120MPH with a littlle bit of patience at 9PM on an Indiana highway.
1a.) If you're good, you can whip that sonofabitch over onto a side road and take a piss right in the middle of it while watching cars go by on the main highway. Also repeatable half an hour later on the back wall of a liquor store.
2.) Steel Reserve costs almost twice as much in Indiana as it does in Ohio.
3.) Mom was watching my second favorite movie of all time when I got here. Now I'm watching Cary Grant make an ass of himself in an auction room with James Mason, and I love life.
4.) I wanna suck the clitoris of a barely legal redhead 900 miles away. Because she's fuckin' COOL, that's why.
5.) Of course, I also wanna go back 50 years in time and munch on Eva Marie Saint's glorious golden muffin. Hey, Barely Legal Goddess. Wanna go fuck on top of Mount Rushmore with me? Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6.) Do you have any idea how hard it is to send text messages to 17-year old daughters-of-Aphro-fuckin g-dite at 105 mph?
Love,
Dougie
PS The bit at the end of North By Northwest with the train going in the tunnel? You don't have to be Fellini to figure THAT one out....
Bowl-Cut Of The Damned (Age 7)
01.19.07 (12:41 am) [edit]
I used to be a cute little shit, don'tcha think?
My Library Loves Me
01.18.07 (8:52 pm) [edit]http://tinyurl.com/3ynwky
GOD, I tell you. This is GOD.
Love,
Dougie
Since I'm Not Any Good For Anything Else Tonight...
01.18.07 (1:17 am) [edit]If you want to know how useless a word "art" is, just take a listen to THIS shit:
www.extrafancy.net/doug/Fuckery.mp3
I wasn't even that drunk yet,
Dougie
I Can't Get No Satis-fucking-faction
01.18.07 (12:14 am) [edit]I've been banging my head against the wall for a while now trying to write music to a set of lyrics I shared in parts here a while back.
I started writing Danger Girl after meeting Caitlin, and thinking about another young redhead I'm far too attached to for my own good. I read it as a very Zevon-esque lyric, and tried to approach the music accordingly.
The problem is, I can't write simple music.
I can barely write ANYTHING. I've got probably 30 hours of music recorded over the past decade or so, almost all of it incomplete, usually just snippets of ideas. But when I do get an idea, it's usually something a bit bent. I need to hear weird chords come out of myself. I can PLAY simple music and enjoy the fuck out of it. I can beat the living snot out of Louie Louie, for fuck's sake. I get a boner doing it. But WRITING something like that? Goddamn impossible.
Some of my favorite songwriters have made killer tunes out of the most basic shit. Hell, I think Neil Young's last six albums have all been G, Em, C, D, right? And I LOVE most of that shit.
I can't take that kind of thing coming out of myself. It's UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR.
Now you know why I enjoy playing covers. I can assert my own personality on other people's material, but not on my OWN. Go figure.
Love,
Dougie
I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am
01.17.07 (11:29 pm) [edit]Was just sitting here with my acoustic running through XTC's The Mayor Of Simpleton (which I have to tune down a half-step, becuase my pants aren't as tight as Andy's) when my ADD-addled brain switched two words around in a line to sing:
"Some of your brains are too friendly to see
That they're assholes and that's how they'll stay."
I changed "paupers" to "assholes" after figuring out within a split second that I'd fucked it to hell anyway.
But I know one thing and that's I'm,
Dougie
You Stupid Cunt
01.17.07 (1:21 am) [edit]I am but a mere peon in the wake of the true masters. Here, for your pleasure, is a bit of classic Derek & Clive. I aspire to this level of filth, depravity, and joyous comedic rapture:
www.extrafancy.net/doug/JoanCrawford.mp3
Love.
Dougie
A Good Laugh at 11AM
01.16.07 (10:59 am) [edit]I'm always amazed at my statistics, how people hit this blog. Some of the search engine shit is a hoot. Usually they're looking for really depraved porn.
Somebody just hit me from an MSN search for these two words:
Wisdom Assmaster
Un-fuck-believeable.
But ya know what? I see this as a perfect encapsulation of what my blog - in fact, the very essence of my life - is all about. The cosmic pull between "Wisdom" and "Assmaster."
Kinda makes you think, don't it?
Laughing my nuts off,
Dougie
Closer?
01.15.07 (10:10 pm) [edit]"He sewed his eyes shut because he is afraid to see
He tries to tell me what I put inside of me
Hes got the answers to ease my curiosity
He dreamed up a God and called it Christianity
Your God is dead and no one cares
If there is a hell I will see you there
He flexed his muscles to keep his flock of sheep in line
He made a virus that would kill off all the swine
His perfect kingdom of killing, suffering and pain
Demands devotion atrocities done in his name"
- Nine Inch Nails
"All government, in its essence, is a conspiracy against the superior man: its one permanent object is to oppress him and cripple him. If it be aristocratic in organization, then it seeks to protect the man who is superior only in law against the man who is superior in fact; if it be democratic, then it seeks to protect the man who is inferior in every way against both. One of its primary functions is to regiment men by force, to make them as much alike as possible and as dependent upon one another as possible, to search out and combat originality among them. All it can see in an original idea is potential change, and hence an invasion of its prerogatives. The most dangerous man to any government is the man who is able to think things out for himself, without regard to the prevailing superstitions and taboos. Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion that the government he lives under is dishonest, insane and intolerable, and so, if he is romantic, he tries to change it. And even if he is not romantic personally he is very apt to spread discontent among those who are."
- H. L. Mencken
"When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there's an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever 'til the end of time!
But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He's all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can't handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!
But I want you to know something, this is sincere, I want you to know, when it comes to believing in God, I really tried. I really, really tried. I tried to believe that there is a God, who created each of us in His own image and likeness, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things. I really tried to believe that, but I gotta tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize, something is fucked up.
Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say "this guy", because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.
No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he's at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.
So rather than be just another mindless religious robot, mindlessly and aimlessly and blindly believing that all of this is in the hands of some spooky incompetent father figure who doesn't give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship. Something I could really count on.
And immediately, I thought of the sun. Happened like that. Overnight I became a sun-worshipper. Well, not overnight, you can't see the sun at night. But first thing the next morning, I became a sun-worshipper. Several reasons. First of all, I can see the sun, okay? Unlike some other gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I'm big on that. If I can see something, I don't know, it kind of helps the credibility along, you know? So everyday I can see the sun, as it gives me everything I need; heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake, an occasional skin cancer, but hey. At least there are no crucifixions, and we're not setting people on fire simply because they don't agree with us.
Sun worship is fairly simple. There's no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don't have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun, it never tells me I'm unworthy. Doesn't tell me I'm a bad person who needs to be saved. Hasn't said an unkind word. Treats me fine. So, I worship the sun. But, I don't pray to the sun. Know why? I wouldn't presume on our friendship. It's not polite.
I've often thought people treat God rather rudely, don't you? Asking trillions and trillions of prayers every day. Asking and pleading and begging for favors. Do this, gimme that, I need a new car, I want a better job. And most of this praying takes place on Sunday His day off. It's not nice. And it's no way to treat a friend.
But people do pray, and they pray for a lot of different things, you know, your sister needs an operation on her crotch, your brother was arrested for defecating in a mall. But most of all, you'd really like to fuck that hot little redhead down at the convenience store. You know, the one with the eyepatch and the clubfoot? Can you pray for that? I think you'd have to. And I say, fine. Pray for anything you want. Pray for anything, but what about the Divine Plan?
Remember that? The Divine Plan. Long time ago, God made a Divine Plan. Gave it a lot of thought, decided it was a good plan, put it into practice. And for billions and billions of years, the Divine Plan has been doing just fine. Now, you come along, and pray for something. Well suppose the thing you want isn't in God's Divine Plan? What do you want Him to do? Change His plan? Just for you? Doesn't it seem a little arrogant? It's a Divine Plan. What's the use of being God if every run-down shmuck with a two-dollar prayerbook can come along and fuck up Your Plan?
And here's something else, another problem you might have: Suppose your prayers aren't answered. What do you say? "Well, it's God's will." "Thy Will Be Done." Fine, but if it's God's will, and He's going to do what He wants to anyway, why the fuck bother praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me! Couldn't you just skip the praying part and go right to His Will? It's all very confusing.
So to get around a lot of this, I decided to worship the sun. But, as I said, I don't pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he's a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn't fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.
For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.
So I've been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don't. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit's foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat's testicles, it's all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.
And for those of you who look to The Bible for moral lessons and literary qualities, I might suggest a couple of other stories for you. You might want to look at the Three Little Pigs, that's a good one. Has a nice happy ending, I'm sure you'll like that. Then there's Little Red Riding Hood, although it does have that X-rated part where the Big Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother. Which I didn't care for, by the way. And finally, I've always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from Humpty Dumpty. The part I like the best? "All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again." That's because there is no Humpty Dumpty, and there is no God. None, not one, no God, never was.
In fact, I'm gonna put it this way. If there is a God, may he strike this audience dead! See? Nothing happened. Nothing happened? Everybody's okay? All right, tell you what, I'll raise the stakes a little bit. If there is a God, may he strike me dead. See? Nothing happened, oh, wait, I've got a little cramp in my leg. And my balls hurt. Plus, I'm blind. I'm blind, oh, now I'm okay again, must have been Joe Pesci, huh? God Bless Joe Pesci. Thank you all very much. Joe Bless You!"
- George Carlin
"You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
Help me...
I broke apart my insides
Help me...
I've got no soul to sell
Help me...
the only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself,
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God
You can have my isolation...
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith...
You can have my everything
Help me... you tear down my reason
Help me... it's your sex I can smell
Help me... you make me perfect
Help me think I'm somebody else
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You won't get me closer to God
Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey, inside your hive...
You are the reason I stay alive..."
- Nine Inch Nails
Where's My Lawnmower?
01.15.07 (9:04 pm) [edit]"I never was a normal citizen. That's why I'm doing this shit. Because I have no job skills, man. Outside of 'lout', 'alcoholic', 'cad'. So I have to do this. I really have no choice. But I do have a job skill now as a country and western hillbilly singer. I can't fuckin' sing! I can't fuckin' hit a tune! I fuckin' have a liver the size of a fuckin' chair! Okay! I know how to write a tear-jerker and I know how to ride a lawn mower. So that's next. Seriously, that's what I want to do. Honestly, I want to become a fuckin' hillbilly singer. 'Cause those guys got it made, man. Shit happens to them and they immediately put it out and it does gold. My dog died. Ding. A hit!"
- Al Jourgensen (Ministry, Revolting Cocks, 1000 Homo DJs)
Here, have a Dwight Yoakam song I recorded right on the edge of drunkeness:
www.extrafancy.net/doug/ItWon'tHurt.mp3
Love,
Dougie
-----------
Booze does strange things to memory.
I sat here listening to myself sing about heartache and misery and remembered a night nine months ago that I shot pool and drank beer with a lawyer/punk-rock-girl while listening to a country band.
So I called her. Shit, I'm drunk. Why not?
She's seeing the same guy she's been with since...uh...two weeks after I went out with her. She asked if my band was playing anywhere nearby, and I told her we're not far from her at the end of March. She apologized for not returning my last phone call, at least three months ago. Seemed to actually kinda give a shit.
Jesus Fucking Christ. I need more rum.
This shot's for you, Ashley.
-----------
Been a while since I've been Reznored. I'm pulling out NIN's The Fragile. How can I feel so good and assured and so fucking shitty and alone all at the same time? I think I'll find the answer here.+
-------
Misplaced my copy of The Fragile. The Downward Spiral makes a good substitute.
Stanhope cancelled his Austin gigs due to weather. I told him he's a pussy and needs to come up to Cincy and drink with me. Fucking cocksucker. If you're gonna rule the free world, ya gotta have a contigency plan, fuckface.
"Do They Pay You To Screw That Bear?"
01.15.07 (12:21 am) [edit]Put a gun to my head and make me pick, and I'm going with the one 900 miles away who text messages me song lyrics and Hunter S. Thompson quotes.
Love,
Dougie
Wisdom From The Source
01.14.07 (11:24 pm) [edit](On stopping smoking.) "They say you get your taste buds back after a while. I was afraid I was going to have to quit eating ass, and that's just way too much to ask from one guy all at one time. 'Cause that's very important - eat the ass. Not every day. Not after a long day of farming dung on the equator in a wet suit, or after some risky food choices in a foreign country with no running water. But after a nice bubble bath or a jacuzzi, eat the ass. It's a nice choice." - Doug Stanhope, the next president of the United States Of America
RIP Alice Coltrane & MIchael Brecker
01.14.07 (5:25 pm) [edit]Two incredible jazz musicians have left us.
Alice Coltrane was 69. Being married to one of the most important musicians of the 20th century will get your name out, but her own music was also beautiful and spiritual and essential listening.
Michael Brecker was only 57. One of the greats of jazz saxophone.
I'm shocked to have learned of these two deaths within minutes. I've got some listening to do tonight.
Love,
Dougie
The Beauty Of A Father-Daughter Relationship
01.14.07 (12:29 pm) [edit]I just had Katie on my lap, her head snuggled into my shoulder, sharing a soft moment. We're about to go to a museum together.
I was being serious. "Katie, I'm so lucky to have such a great little girl. I didn't know when we had you how this would turn out, but it's been great. I'm very happy to be your daddy."
She snuggled in closer. A second later...
A five-second long evil wet fart escaped from my ass. The kind of fart that could cause all household pests to evacuate in nanoseconds. THe kinf of fart that could eat through leather. A fart that could cure cancer.
We fell apart laughing. She's got the best laugh ever.
She's climbing on my back as I type this.
Gonna be a good day.
Love,
Daddy
I Am The Hood Ornament
01.14.07 (12:47 am) [edit]"More often than not, people with bipolar disorder are above average in creativity, perseverance, and sometimes intelligence. Countless writers, musicians, artists, scientists, performers, poets, and other creative talents have been diagnosed with some form of bipolar disorder, and some even attribute it to their creativity. Both the natural drive for success and flight of ideas in the state of mania and hypomania are linked directly to many creative motives. Some people who suffer from bipolar disorder have mixed states often, where they feel depressed and 'blue', but unlike clinical depression one in a mixed state may still feel 'always high'. It is one of the signature characteristics of bipolar disorder. They may have creative energy, racing thoughts, but a constant negative feeling. These two extremes combined can often lead to anxiety. This is one of the reasons that many people with bipolar disorder also suffer from panic disorder."
- Wikipedia
"When I sing
Rock and roll music to the world
I'm gonna scream
I'm gonna shout
Get my emotions
And work them all right out"
- Ten Years After
"If Jesus saves -- well, He'd better save Himself
From the gory glory seekers who use His name in death
Oh Jesus save me!"
- Jethro Tull
"If Bon Scott was on the Highway To Hell, you're the hood ornament."
- Bob, some guy I used to work in a fucking warehouse with
I got home around 11:15PM, a bit disoriented from being home on a Saturday after a Friday gig. Usually on a Saturday night at that time, I'm doing my solo set.
Last night I did two songs alone. Poor Poor Pitiful Me, solely so I could change the line "I met a girl in West Hollywood" to the town D is from, just because I think it's cute and I live to make obscure references onstage.
Heartattack & Vine worked, but only because I wasn't drunk yet. I kept blowing lyrics (despite having the words right in front of me, but I'm blind as shit) but I tweaked it enough to make it come off, because...well...nobody had ever heard the fucking song anyway. It was good, but not great. I didn't come close to capturing the degenerate sleaze that I did on the version I recorded a few weeks ago. But everyone seemed to like it anyway, so what the fuck.
A thought I played some of my best guitar solos. I never know. I've played bass long enough to know when I'm good and when I'm not. Guitar is still such a weird in-the-moment to-be-or-not-to-be experience, I have no fucking clue if its any good or not when I do the shit I do. But I thought the chordal buildup in Roadhouse (which I shared my conception of a few posts ago) kicked ass, and I suddenly found myself doing volume knob shit that seemed to work pretty damn well.
Louie Louie was also the utter essence of absurdity. I went into some full-blown Neil Young -on-crank mode, played a superbly STOOPID one-note solo, and got into some inane chord-mangling that would make The Melvins sound like Manto-fucking-vani if I'd had the right grunge tone happening.
The other guys were singing Hang On Sloopy on top of that riff. I was screaming "Plastic People! Whoa baby, you gotta go!" away from the mic.
To the best of my knowledge, no burgers were being served in the back...
I tried to do a David Gilmour on top of You Really Got Me, but it devolved into the same pentatonic-scales-from-he ll shit I usually do rather quickly. Five years ago I could play you the entire Dark Side Of The Moon album on gutiar (and bass) note for note. But I was doing that shit in my ROOM. Right now, onstage with this crew of beautiful misfits, I get so hopped up on adrenaline, riding six strings like one of Uncle Hunter's jackrabbits, there's no goddamn way I can be that subtle.
I love this band. In the space of three months, we've come to the place where even a fairly laid-back gig like last night kicks the ever-loving SHIT out of anything we did before T was in the band. A and I were pushing the guitar envelope, and I was pleased to know that he liked what I was doing, but he pulled out a couple killer fucking solos himself. I love having him in the front line, doing our goofy visual entertainment with.
Lots of Day Tripper riffs last night. She hasn't left me yet. I still feel her snaking around in me while I play that riff, sing Bang A Gong, do all the things that she taught me to do from such a distance...
I'm where I need to be.
Two computers here means two desktop pictures. The Unattainable Duo are keeping me company tonight. Abby's picture on this computer. Caitlin's on the one right behind my right shoulder. Two beautiful young red-haired firebrands that would rock my world clean in half if I could be with them. One is too far away, one is in love with someone better for her than I'll ever be.
To simply hold either of them close...to kiss those incredible lips...to feel the energy that makes them so real in me...
But what about last night...
This is amazing to me. That ANY woman would do so much as TALK to me. To have two killer young women simply talking to me, to have another one on the weekends to feel the things D brings to me, and to have whatever the fuck it is that E across the street gave to me this week...that's a lot to process.
I feel no guilt about the experience with E, or much anything else for that matter. But it is very, very odd to be so disconnected. Even two hours after she left that day, I was beginning to wonder if I'd hallucinated the whole damn thing. "Did I just get laid? I THINK so. My dick was in SOMETHING it hadn't been in before."
At times like this, you begin looking around the apartment and making a list.
Right hand
Left hand
VCR
Sock
Grapefruit with hole drilled in it
Loaf of dollar store white bread
OK, I've got those things covered. What else...oh yeah, the chick across the street...
That's what bugs me. Not that I had emotionally-detached sex.
That I even now place so little value on something that I shared with another human being.
Stone wrote me to express his displeasure at my post about my initial encounter with E. He said I should have made some shit up to make it funny.
I wasn't sure there was anything funny to be found in it.
Then I wrote back:
"Next time I ain't working so hard. My arm hurts more after the shit I had to do to try to get her off than it does after the shit I do to MYSELF.
OK, that was pretty funny."
I'm an evil prick.
FURTHER PROOF
I stopped in Muncie on the way home for booze. I had a crazed momentary lapse of reason that nearly caused me to go visit some college bar near Ball State and try to pick up co-ed poon, but then it occured to me that I really don't feel like being the old guy sitting alone on the end of the bar pretending to watch sports. Not tonight, anyway.
So I just stopped for a bottle of rum.
The guy rang me up and looked at my Bacardi Select. "That's some dark rum there."
"Yeah, it's been a while since I had any. This is what I drank to get through my divorce"
"Yeah, I hear ya there."
"Hell, you should've seen the shit I had to drink to get through my MARRIAGE."
I'm unusually proud of that line.
it's been raining like six bags of psycho motherfuck here this weekend. I have no goddamn idea what that MEANS, I just think "six bags of psycho motherfuck" sounds good.
The previous cruel and offensive joke aside (it was a fucking JOKE, dammit), I had a very nice time talking to Sheryl for a while today, who sent me a text message solely to inform me that the Giant Jesus statue was drowning.
The parking lot of the church was flooded from the rain and he's already waist-deep in a pond.
"Guess you ain't walking on water THIS time, are ya motherfucker???"
"He doesn't have any feet!"
She's fun to talk to.
It's true. The Giant Jesus statue (AKA Heywood Banks's Big Butter Jesus, just a few miles west of me) has no feet. He's a torso upwards, coming out of a pond (currently the size of Lake Erie) with arms outstretched in takeoff position.
The vicious irony. A cripple Jesus. No feet. No fucking LEGS. Let's see Benny Hinn work his way around THAT ontological dilemma. "You are HEALED of your paralysis in the name of...uh...the savior that had to have Bartholemew wheel his ass around Caanan!"
I bet Jesus had a fuckin' COOL-ASS wheelchair. Hey, when you're The Father's Son, you get a big fuckin' allowance. I bet He went straight to Sam's Club and got decked out in a killer wheelchair with leather armrests and rearview mirrors just to check up on that Satan bitch when He told him to get thee behind His holy ass.
I drove past My Savior (who I still intend to piss on some drunken night if I can get past security) and got off on the exit towards home. I pulled over and texted Sheryl.
"If Jesus saves then he better save himself from a fucking shitload of rain, lest I use his name in jest."
I enjoy being a Jethro Tull fan.
Johnny Cash is singing a Beck song to me as my Bacardi takes the edge off.
I'm sure everyone around me thinks I'm a goddamn lunatic these days. I feel pretty normal. I know that emotions hit me stronger than most, that I can veer from the beautifully sublime to the window-shattering evil in nanoseconds. That a simple setback with one beautiful dark-eyed lady I shared a slow dance with last night can send me right on the edge of alcohol-drenched psychosis.
I'd have it no other way.
I've come to rejoice in my condition. Being bipolar is no longer a disorder. It's what makes me feel alive. The dark shadow over my life a couple years ago was not because of this weird brain chemistry, it was because of the things that held me back from letting those chemicals dance. You should see 'em. They do that country line-dancing shit while I play 60s spy themes on top of the Pink Cadillac riff, and as disturbing and horrifying as I know that mental image is, it's pretty much the essence of what makes my life operate. So fuck it anyway.
It still pains me that I had to nearly destroy a relationship with a very giving and patient woman and put extra strain on my relationship with my incredible daughter in order to be here.
But we're all better off now. And I love where and who I am right now. The other shit that I still try to pull myself from will not deter me from the goal. I'm happier and healthier now than ever. Music and love are flowing through me. Other shit is too, shit I'm not so fond of. But I can live with that for now.
I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run.
Love,
Dougie
Ahhhh, Very Nice...
01.13.07 (11:21 am) [edit]Good solid fun gig last night.
D was there. We had lunch earlier. After the first set, we stood outside in the doorway watching the rain. Some very pleasant, playful lightweight making out ensued. It was...very very nice.
A learned the bass part on The Eagles' Desperado for me. It doesn't need guitar, so I got to do something, I'd never done before. D and I got our first slow dance.
She makes me feel confident and relaxed. Charming. Funny. Romantic, even. It's been a long time since I really got to feel that like this. There are few things in this world like making some goofy joke and hearing a woman laugh at it, and look into her eyes and know that she's really into you.
I need more of this. Holy shit, do I ever. For all my testosterone-crazed fuck-nonsense, I need to feel what I felt last night every bit as much as I need to get my weiner worked. I probably need it a lot MORE, truth be told.
She was with friends and left early. That was OK. I'm glad it's going slowly now, it feels a hundred times more special that way, and I felt an actual connection to her last night that has only been hinted at previously.
And hey, A's lady thinks I look like Sam Kinison, and that's a friggin' compliment as far as I'm concerned. :)
Twas a lovely night.
Love,
Dougie
The Goddess of Red
01.11.07 (10:58 pm) [edit]Dirty face and dirty love, I knew right away
That I had to get my hooks in you, I say yeah yeah
Want to know what a devil is, if you want to make a buck
Boy you gotta be demon, and that ain't all
I need it all baby that's no lie
I need a lover with an alibi
I wanna follow to a love so sweet
Honey baby give me all, I love you
Your pretty face is going to hell
Your pretty face is going to hell
Honey honey I can tell
Your pretty face is going to hell
- Iggy & The Stooges
"Well, Im just a modern guy
Of course, Ive had it in the ear before.
I have a lust for life
Cause of a lust for life"
- Iggy Pop
"She's the Queen of Downtown
She gets around town
My angel dressed in black"
- Warren Zevon
I managed to be relaxed this time. It's not been easy.
This girl Caitlin...
It's like wanting to touch the sun. You know your ass is gonna fry, but goddamn, it looks so fuckin' COOL up there. Ya know what I mean?
I told her I want her to take me skydiving.
"Oh man, I haven't done that in like six months!"
Then she told me the best way to do it. Out of a plane over the Rockies, wearing skis, hoping you hit snow.
I like this girl.
Supposedly having lunch with D tomorrow on my way up for the gig. Friday gig this week. Stay in town and teach Saturday, then a practice to work up new stuff, then back home. Sunday with the Katester.
I picked her up today at the end of her dance class. I saw about ten minutes of it.
I'm stocking up on shotgun shells. My sweet little five-year old who sings songs about not giving yourself a wedgie? She moves like a teenager. It's FRIGHTENING.
And really cool. Knock 'em dead, kid. I can't wait to see what she does from here.
Only a month and a half until Stanhope comes through here. I know I talked about this guy a lot, but I'm very serious now - PLEASE check out www.dougstanhope.com and if you like what you see, spread the word. I'm totally behind this guy's campaign right now. Not that I take it seriously in a true political sense, not that I agree with all the crazy shit he says, not even that I intend right now to actually pull the level for him in '08. I just think we need some fucking ENTERTAINMENT in politics, I think we need some goddamnh HONESTY, and it's long past time that somebody said some shit about the basic human liberties that this country fucks you out of on a daily basis. We are NOT free, people. We may be more free than a lot of the world, but that doesn't mean shit. Religious and corporate interests - who own BOTH major political parties in this country - have created a world totally at odds with human nature, and you dumb bastards have bought into it. Well, shit on you. I don't buy it, neither does Stanhope, and neither do a lot of people who know better but have no voice. There's no way in our current repressed environment to do more than get this guy in a few choice public forums to fuck with the system a little, he'll never make a full-blown difference, but goddammit, let's give the drunken shit a shot at a couple minutes to do his thing before the cameras get thrown off him. We still have enough shit going for us in America to let even the lunatics have a couple minutes, let's give them to one who actually has something to say. Spread the word. Buy his shit or download it. Sick fucks of the world unite. Our messiah has arrived, and he's got a story about a Rubber Fuck My Face to prove it.
Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and The Stooges keeping me company this rainy Ohio eve. Back to our favorite place to play tomorrow night. I'm whipping out Heartattack & Vine in the solo set, and quite possibly a Tenacious D song.
The Rock is within me, bitch.
Love,
Dougie
How To Retain Your Sanity In A Bar Band
01.11.07 (3:02 pm) [edit]www.extrafancy.net/doug/mustang.mp3
Mustang Sally & The 21st Century Schizoid Man Get Super Bad With Cosmik Debris On Inca Roads
(AKA Christ, Someone Send Me A Drummer To Keep My White Ass In The Groove)
Love,
Dougie
Aiming For The Rock
01.10.07 (10:10 pm) [edit]"When we die, do we haunt the sky?
Do we lurk in the murk of the seas?
What then? Are we born again?
Just to sit asking questions like these?
I know, for I told me so,
And I'm sure each of you quite agrees:
The more it stays the same, the less it changes!
And that's The Majesty Of Rock!
The Mystery of Roll!
The darning of the sock,
The scoring of the goal!
The farmer takes a wife
The barber takes a pole.
We're in this together...and ever..."
- Spinal Tap
The band is now working on new material. Along with a couple other things, we've got a 24-song CD to learn new shit from.
I'm feeling the urge to go Hendrix, so we're doing his version of All Along The Watchtower. I don't intend to fuck with it much at all. I love what he plays on it so much, I imagine that 90% of what I'll play will be his original licks. I usually don't believe in that kind of thing, but this time I think I just might.
I've been wanting to do a Cars song for a while now, and I'm looking forward to My Best Friend's Girl, which is my kinda chewy pop song. I'll be on bass, and I can't wait to hear A do all that tasty, tasty Elliot Easton goodness. There's a fuckin' cool guitar player for ya.
Been getting all Dorian mode on my bad self playing solos on top of Oye Como Vs. I like Santana bunches.
I either like well enough or love everything on the entire CD, with the exception of course of the obligatory Bob Fucking Seger. Sunspot Baby is one of those things you use to show mongoloid children the intricacies of rock guitar with. You know, the shit MORONS could write while baked on fifteen substances and eating too much Velveeta. But hey, at least it ain't Old Time Rock & Roll, for fuck's sake. And one shit song out of 24 ain't bad.
Lots o' time spent working on guitar ideas today. The bass is no longer a challenge in this band, so even playing straight-up rock guitar is a nice way of pushing me a little.
Nice talk with D, very relaxed. Caitlin wasn't at work, Havne't seen E all day, she's out scrambling for rent money, in worse financial shape than even I am right now. No words from the west.
I found myself singing last night and today to some shit I couldn't pull off previously (XTC's Then She Appeared and Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit) and found myself doing things with my voice I had thought impossible. I'm still a LONG way from being comfortable with my singing, but it gets better all the time too..
A challenge. Always nice to have around. Now, if I could talk the band into trying 21st Century Schizoid Man and convince a knockout young lady to take me skydiving with her, I might just hit the groove I want to be riding.
Love,
Dougie
Skronk Guitar, Dougie-Style
01.10.07 (1:53 pm) [edit] "From the very beginning when I used to hear those solos on those old records I used to say: now here is an instrument that is capable of spewing forth true obscenity, you know? If ever there's an obscene noise to be made on an instrument, it's going to come out of a guitar. On a saxophone you can play sleaze. On a bass you can play balls. But on a guitar you can be truly obscene ... Let's be realistic about this, the guitar can be the single most blasphemous device on the face of the earth. That's why I like it .... The disgusting stink of a too-loud electric guitar: now that's my idea of a good time."
Frank Zappa
The highlight of each gig for me has become, oddly enough, Roadhouse Blues, which is standard bullshit bar-band fare (I think every band I've been in has done it) but at the end of the night, when everything is hanging out, I like to get ugly with six strings.
I always start off with the same unison-bend stuff Krieger does on the original, then into some standard aggressive blues/rock shit.
But I'm trying to push the envelope harmonically, and I'm having some fun recently. I'm not anywhere near in the league of my heroes Frank Zappa and Robert Fripp, but I tend to at least think of them when I start getting dissonant with my bad self.
If you play guitar, you know the basic riff already or can figure it out in nanoseconds. Just think E. For days.
Here's a couple ideas for you:
Beat the shit out of this chord for a couple hours on top of that riff:
-16-
-15-
-15-
-14-
----
----
Then, when you're sick of that and ready to move on, slide that shape up to:
-20--
-19--
-19--
-18--
-----
-----
and beat off on that a for a few bars.
The idea here is to make all the cats in the neighborhood run away, and make your singer look at you like "You sick fuck..."
I like open strings, because they make me appear faster than I actually am. You know, the same reason most of us like them.
Work with this on your B string:
-0-1-3-4-6-8-11-12--
Do a lot of hammers and pulls, use that open B a lot. You'll notice I left the E off on the 5th fret - you know the TONIC. The thing you're SUPPOSED to play sometimes. Fuck that, it's the bass player's job.
But by playing off the fret on either side of it, you're now using the major seventh and the minor second, and that's always fun to do on top of what is supposedly the blues. You'll notice I also skipped over the fourth - the A on the 10th fret. There's a reason for that. If you're fucking about up there between the G and the Bb but leaving that A note out altogether, it's another nice little way of creating more tension. The minor-third interval between the G and Bb has a nice amount of space to it. In fact, do a lot of that - licks spanning three frets instead of two. Or just one fret. Going from small intervals to wide ones a lot without resorting to standard pentatonic shit (and hey, that's fun too) is a good way to add some aural habanero sauce to your skronk-gumbo.
-0-1-0--1-4--4-8--8-8-11- 8-11-12--
That sounds rather raga-esque to me when done right. Lots o' legato. I tried to work in hammers and pulls above that line, but tblog's propensity to fuck with all my guitar tab attempts makde it impossible to read correctly. Basically, hammer, pull, or slide all of this shit.
Here's an idea that starts off normal enough, with sixths, then you can make it evil. Slide into each note on the D string going up.
------------------------- ----
----3----5-----7-----8--- 10--
------------------------- ----
-4-----5----7------9---9- ----
------------------------- ----
------------------------- ----
When you've got to the top of that, keep that 9 and 10 down on the D and B strings, but start adding shit in, making it into slabs of chordal grind while the bass player says "Jesus creeping shit, how long are you going to make me stay on this damn riff?" By the way, I can NOT overstress the importance of not being polite about these chords. This is a fucking bullshit rock riff you're playing on top of, not Giant Steps. Play this shit like I do - like you have better ideas than you do chops, your wrists are hurting, and you might just fall off the stage at any given moment but if you stop playing your head will explode.
-0--10--10--12--12-14-15- -
-10-10--11--11--11-11-11- -
-0--9---9---9---12-12-12- -
-9--9---9---9---11-11-11- -
------------------------- ---
------------------------- ---
Do not get in a hurry. The above seven chords are meant to be a buildup, and can take quite a few bars to evolve. This is about TENSION. Do this shit right, and you'll create more tension than a fat guy in a long coat hitting on a girl half his age in a convenience store while buying beer.
Obviously, you can take the first two chords I talked about at the beginning of this and tack them onto the above seven, making the buildup go on a while more, and making the band tired of backing up your twisted ass.
This is how I make up for poor picking technique and an erratic left hand. Even if this comes out sloppy, you deliver it with the right attitude, and it's gonna be some nasty, nasty shit that people are gonna NOTICE.
And let's face it, being noticed and getting your ego stroked is pretty much what we're all up there for anyway, right?
Enjoy, fuckers!
Dougie
My Idea Of Poetry
01.10.07 (1:14 am) [edit]Something I just wrote into the Keneally newsgroup in a thread about donuts:
An observation from the unashamedly degenerate portion of the crowd:
At 5:45 on a Sunday morning, when you've just woke up in your car in a
rest area (from a dream where you've just driven into a cornfield
because you can barely stay awake) after two hours sleep following a
four-hour gig beating the living hell out of both a bass and a guitar
and throwing Zappa quotes into Roadhouse Blues (I'm gonna nail that
quintuplet in Peaches SOMEDAY, I tell ya), then downing two shots of
brandy and two Pabst Blue Ribbons (because it's Indiana and your
options are slim, and the "groupie" you met three weeks ago stood you
up AGAIN) and you suck down a two-day old low-carb Monster drink you
just remembered was in your cooler under a decomposing ham sandwich,
and you drive to a BP station feeling the need for something, ANYTHING
to stuff into your face as some kind of makeshift breakfast, it don't
mean SHIT what brand the donut is, just that it's fucking SUGAR. You'll
eat a rancid fuckbiscuit from the Mesozoic epoch that you found with a
couple drops of chocolate JIZZ on it under such conditions.
It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll, bitch.
Disconnected
01.09.07 (11:14 pm) [edit]"I can saw a woman in two
But you won't want to look in the box when I do
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer
I can pull a rabbit out of a hat
I can pull it out but I can't put it back
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer
It's lonely up here
When the tricks have been played
And the spotlights have faded
And the plans that we made have fallen apart
It's lonely as hell and there's no magic spell
For a broken heart
You can put me in chains and I will escape
Better not wait up 'cause I might be late
I can make love disappear
For my next trick I'll need a volunteer"
- Warren Zevon
I actually feel pretty good. Just disconnected.
I walked over to E's tonight, asked her how she was doing. Seems to be fine. If she's feeling anything more from what we did this afternoon than I am, she's very good at not letting it show. Which was why it seemed OK at the time. Neither of us had been laid in a long time, we both just needed SOMETHING, and there seemed to be very little emotion attached to it. Which was what made it kinda empty and devoid of any true substance, but...I'm fine with that if she is. I know full well that I didn't get what I really wanted. But what I got...yeah, that was OK. Definitely.
I met her a couple weeks ago out in the parking lot. We talked about music and genealogy and war. She's ex-military, her whole family has served. She was in the first Gulf War. But we have very similar views on current events. Meeting another person who despises Bush as much as I do was the first thing that tipped me off that she was OK. I saw her again briefly once after that, not much more than "Hi, how ya doin'?"
Yesterday she knocked on my door and left me a couple books on genealogy. I was hiding behind the door naked for five minutes talking to her. There was...odd tension.
Saw her again last night, spent a few minutes at her place. Felt VERY out of balance and was convinced that she thought I was insane.
She showed up again today. We talked for an hour, then spent two hours in bed.
It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And now after a while has passed...yeah, I'm glad we did. It was like being 16 in the back of a car, we were both so far out of practice. Kinda awkward and ridiculous, but she seemed just to be happy that someone wanted her at all, and me...yeah, pretty much the same thing.
Nice lady. She's 37 in a few weeks. I'll be 37 in April. I feel very little towards her, but I like her well enough and hope this turns out OK. If we do this again, that's fine. If not, that's fine too.
I'm amazed at how little I truly feel about this.
Getting a myspace message from Caitlin did more for me.
A nice friendly reminder that she's taken. Heh. But she's incredibly cool to me and said that she hoped we could be good friends. Accepted my friend request and I'm happy just to know that a knockout young lady like her likes talking to me, enjoys the CD I gave her, and thinks enough of me to talk about setting me up with one of her friends. She's got that incredible, delicious edge to her, and I'd love to have her as mine, but it ain't gonna happen and I'm accepting that a lot easier than I thought I would. I guess after two years of complete SHIT luck with women, I'll take anything I can get.
I think D and I are going to be much more restrained now. Not nearly as much communication in the past few days, but she did call briefly tonight while I had Katie here, and I know we'll still be keeping in touch. Whatever happens happens, I guess.
Back and forth on the phone with text messages to South Dakota. I was afraid I'd done something to lose her, it's been two weeks. But the one woman in ALL of this bizarre past month or so who seems to actually understand me is still around, and I'd give up all the rest just to fly out there and be with her. It won't happen. Which...yeah, that's OK too, I guess. Suddenly having the attention of FOUR women is pretty amazing. I just want Abby most of all.
Fripp and Eno's No Pussyfooting in Winamp. Insert your own joke here.
Love,
Dougie
------
The thing that's sticking with me the most right now (Nektar remembering the future in my speakers) is the incredible scent of a woman that's left on me, hours later. That's...yeah, I don't regret today at all...
My Kid Rocks!
01.09.07 (7:05 pm) [edit]www.extrafancy.net/doug/Surrender.mp3
Take THAT, Cheap Trick!
Love,
Dougie
Finally
01.09.07 (3:55 pm) [edit]I just got laid.
You haven't read about her yet. She lives across the street from here.
It was...nice. Quite possibly the emptiest, most inconclusive sex I could imagine, but neither of us seemed to mind. It was just nice to share something that neither of us had had in a long time. She was here over two hours, and it was nice and warm and...that's about it.
I can't believe how little I feel right now. Other than...it was nice.
Hmm. There's nothing else to say. For once.
Dougie
That's No Ordinary Koala! He's A KILLER!
01.09.07 (11:14 am) [edit]
Imagine hundreds of these little fuckers - but with black and white fur and talking like Eddie Izzard - coming for your vehicle in a feeding frenzy.
Dream
01.09.07 (10:52 am) [edit]Can't remember much of the first part. But I was driving, down an Indiana state highway I use often, and I was feeling a bit disconnected. I was also looking for deer.
A brown thing moving on the right side of the road. A...BEAR? There's a five-foot brown bear coming at the car??? Where the fuck is Ted Nugent when you need him?
Went by him with plenty of time, but I nearly lost control of the car. Was sure that I didn't actually have much control of it. Feeling the fog...
Dozens of black and white creatures. Koala bears? Mini-zebras? What the fuck are they? They're swarming and coming towards me, like some weird Lovecraftian horror that's...kinda cute and fuzzy, actually.
That's when I started seeing everything around me spinning, and knew the car was no longer mine,
I woke up with a pounding headache.
Love,
Dougie
(Suddenly much less head-ached due to text messages from 900 miles away.)
Fire
01.08.07 (11:19 pm) [edit]"I have only one burning desire
Let me stand next to your fire"
- Jimi Hendrix
"Danger Girl
Make me burn, I wanna learn
What makes you into you
I'm totally shot through
With desire for you
You're one of the few
That can add flavor to this stew
Make me feel brand new
Serve it up, help me steer this Black Pearl
My little Danger Girl."
- DB, work in progress
Caitlin knows how to make a guy happy.
I pulled in for gas, and heard her voice. "Pump Five, you're ready to go."
Yep.
"Hey Doug, did you get my myspace message?"
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I walked in. "You took the time to find me on myspace?"
She looked like it was no big deal. Me...I felt a lot better...
She wants to set me up with one of her friends. 23, blonde, has a daughter. Caitlin says she's crazy, reminds her of herself.
"If she's half as inspiring as you, I know I'll like her."
She seemed to like that. Very clear that I'll never be with this one, but I'm happy just to stand next to her fire. Gawd, the shit she shoots through my veins...
By the way, I DIDN'T get the message. Drove stupidly the whole way back and it wasn't there. So what the fuck, I called her at the store a few minutes ago. She said her computer had been fucked up and might have crapped out in the middle of sending it, so she'll try again.
Rob Fetters - fellow Cincinnati-area resident, killer writer/guitarist for the Bears and the Psychodots, co-conspirator with one of my idols, Adrian Belew - his album Lefty Loose - Righty Tight is my soundtrack tonight. He's a motherfucker, check him out.
It was a shit day while the sun was still sorta out. I felt worse today than I have in a long time. Very unfocused, very sexually frustrated, very bipolar. I was virtually useless most of the day.
I realized later that it was mostly fatigue, still catching up from the ridiculous weekend. But for a while, I was convinced I was going to snap. I would have called out for professional help, but I'm fucking broke.
I went off to teach my new students, sucked down a low-carb Monster energy drink, found my groove, and was in much better shape from there on.
Teaching guitar isn't my favorite thing on the planet, but I do derive some pleasure from it, especially when the student in question actually gives a shit, and it's a nice way to make some money quick.
Thirty more students and I might be OK.
Waking up a little helped, sharing music with others helped. Caitlin REALLY helped.
There's a lot going on in my head, and I've been questioning a lot of shit today. Conversations with D were interesting, and I think we've both come to realize that we need to back off a bit, not be so raw with each other. It's setting up too many expectations. I'm glad that she's asserting herself with me. It puts me back in my place, and I know that I've come to look at her in a way that isn't very healthy or considerate.
Too much interior shit to still work through. I was sure earlier today that I couldn't do it. But with a couple flashes of inspiration, I'm back on the track. This shit takes time. I have to remind myself of that constantly.
But goddamn, I wanna stand next to her fire...
Love,
Dougie
Porn Recommendation
01.08.07 (12:09 am) [edit]Anyone who knows me know that I've been a porn addict since I was 12, and that I'm currently quite happy to not be forced into a position where I feel the need to apologize for that shit.
Because porn is love.
OK, that's highly disputable. I just think "porn is love" is pretty fucking funny to say.
Anyway, go Google "in bed with Faith" and marvel at the unholy spectacle of massive boobage.
It's a way of life.
Love,
Dougie
Red
01.07.07 (9:43 pm) [edit]"Want to worship at the church of women
Breathe 'em in until my head goes spinning around
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women"
- XTC
"Thank you for the add. I've been a fan for some time, but only a truly hardcore loon for a few years now. Your music has quite literally saved my life on a few occasions, most notably bringing me out of the fog of a divorce last year. I've found hope and healing singing along with your songs, and your inspiration to me not only as a musician but as a human being are profound. Thank you so much. I love you guys. Oh, and Andy - I wanna hear the shit you wrote with Keneally. :)" - Some drunken shit I wrote on XTC's myspace page tonight
"Danger Girl
Rescue me from my tired world
Danger Girl
Fuck the odds, I'm holding out for you."
- DB, work in progress
Audio version of this post (with two minutes of Doug Stanhope) at:
www.extrafancy.net/doug/DB-Red.mp3
Red. A colour. A killer King Crimson album that once changed my life. David Lynch's curtains. Fire. Blood.
The all-enveloping colour of emotion in front of a girl with red hair named Caitlin.
The second I walked in the door - "Hi Doug! How are ya!" Fire and enthusiasm. The power to bring an old man to his knees.
She wanted to know how the gig went. I told her it was incredible, told her I got home at 10 this morning. She seemed...to know exactly how it must feel.
Girls her age aren't supposed to know how I feel.
I told her how beautiful she was in spite of how tired she said she felt. The compliment rolled right off her. I was tired too. i could have simply fallen into bed with her by my side and fallen asleep with her warmth, her fire, her RED beside me.
I long to see you in the morning light...I long to reach for you in the night...lay lady lay, lay across my...uh...mattress and box springs on the floor in the corner of this room. Scoot over, dammit. There's not a lot of room here.
She showed me the oil stains on her uniform shirt from where her and her fiancee were working on her '96 Honda Civic, which she claims she's souped up to run at 180MPH. I'd have to see that to believe it.
Still, something about running down the highway at 180 with an incredible young lady full of fire and personality...yeah, I think we'd have to have Uncle Hunter's kit bag in the trunk.
Hopped up on every chemical known to man. Cursing each other and laughing maniacally as we blew cops off the road. (She claims to have done this. I figure she's full of shit, but I liked the way she told the story.) "You rotten swine! I'll have you chopped into hamburger!"
Pulling off the highway into the open desert. Running out into the sand, pulling each other's clothes off and fucking like wild animals in the sand, oblivious to the heat, creating enough of our own to CREATE a goddamn desert. Unfettered unrelentless fuck-pounding, the kind that would put me in a hospital for weeks with back injuries.
Screaming obscenities at each other and laughing our asses off simultaneously as we pulled up next to blue-hairs and challenged them to eat our dust.
Then back home to make a Lipton Pasta Side and drink green tea and watch Rachel Ray cook some shit, and fall asleep on the couch in some kind of suburban white-person dream, the polar opposite of what came before, because jackrabbits can only run and speed and fuck for so long before the circuits burn out.
A boy can dream, right?
Badfinger's Straight Up in Winamp as I type.
I'll never have her. Quite obvious. But to simply stand there and have this incredilbe creature show the interest in me she did, to share her stories and her fire-red love of life and adrenaline with me...I'm in awe of that.
When I came in this morning, I checked Saturday's mail. Finally, the package I've waited for. The antidote to the frustration I felt overnight about D, some misunderstanding, some kind of mistake.
Doug's own handwriting on the address labels. I'll be saving the package my copy of Deadbeat Hero came in. Maybe put it in the bag from the Woody Creek Gift Shop I've saved in my closet.
Stanhope isn't into young girls. He likes tired-old-whore porn. Good for him. He's still a hero. A voice of both sanity and utter horseshit in a world that needs a US president LITERALLY drunk with power in '08.
It was a joke before. A way to get my readers to check the goofball out. But unless something really interesting comes along before November of next year, I'm voting for the wackjob fuck. At this point in history, I am so disillusioned with EVERYTHING that I can't see or touch or taste first-hand with my brain shot through with red adrenaline, that I'm willing to go the extra mile towards absurdity in '08. It means almost nothing to me anymore. I don't belong here anyway. i belong in the wilderness with the feminine manifestation of fire and inspiration, her red hair serving as my guide as I stumble along behind her, trying to catch up, trying to put my hands in that fire, pull her face to mine and kiss her with all the power within me, the energy currently expended on bass-fucking an audience and my band every weekend.
My allocation of recreation. I've busted my ass for it in the past couple years, and I demand my slice of the hairpie.
Mmmm...to suck feverishly on the pussy of a fire-red girl named Caitlin...
You've gotta have goals.
Love,
Dougie
Sgt. Rock Is Going To Help Me (Or I'll Kick His Fucking Ass)
01.07.07 (4:16 pm) [edit]"Sgt. Rock is going to help me
Make the girl mine, keep her stood in line
Sgt. Rock is going to help me
Make the girl mine, keep her stood in line
Make the girl mine, wave the victory sign"
- XTC
"And I feel like you're trying hard
To sweep me like dirt underneath your cape
Well I might be an ape
But I used to feel super
Supergirl"
- XTC
"Danger Girl
Still in school, you're aganst the rules
Society - surely not me
Wanna touch your face
I'm sure to be replaced
But I wanna be part of your race
Just give me one taste
Serve it up, make my nerve endings curl
My little Danger Girl"
- DB, work in progress
Five hours of aiming every electron in me towards The Rock has my ass worn out. But goddamn it felt good at the time.
Music is a great cure for the shit that disintigrates all my other activites. I don't get distracted. Or I turn the distractions into more music. I can't keep shit together for anything in most parts of my life, and it's a battle just to keep myself focused for five minutes. But onstage...yeah, I can do that shit.
Another killer gig. Another great audience who loved us. Another foray into the shit that keeps me sane, filtering the insane into drops of fuckin' rock joy.
Or jizz. Depends on how ya look at it...
And another massive let-down.
I seriously doubt she meant to fuck with me. I know she's got a lot on her plate, and I'm doing my damndest to give her the time and space she needs before diving into anything. I'm sure it'll be worth it.
But...yeah, I wasn't too thrilled about being alone again. I wasn't supposed to be alone last night. I thought that had been assured.
So, after we were offered more money to go another hour, I turned the last set into a filter for the frustration and anger I felt, because I NEEDED a filter then. A way to get that shit out of me before I'd do or say something I'd regret later, not being understanding of her situation.
D is incredibly understanding to me. So I owe it back to her.
But I was kinda pissed. I can't and won't deny that.
Not so pissed now. Hurt that she's made no effort to contact me today, but again, I'm sure there's plenty of other shit going on. She's told me about her ex practically stalking her, everything she does with her daughter, etc, and I just have to accept that she has no problem talking more than doing anything about it. She talks REAL good. Holy shit, she does.
(Update - right after I posted this she sent a text message. Now it's my turn to be an asshole and ignore her for a while. I've gotta cure myself of the flagrant displays of desparation I fall into sometimes. Fucking penis. I hate that thing sometimes.)
It's out of my hands now whether she'll DO anything about it. But I'm putting a cap on where the talk goes. Don't feed the hell out of my ego and make me insane with fuck-talk, then leave me alone three fucking weeks in a row. That shit hurts like hell and confuses the shit out of me.
I thought about Abby a lot, pained to have to wonder if I've lost her over all this.
I worked in my tribute to the Pink Panther movies I've been watching with Katie by inserting the theme from A Shot In The Dark over the Peter Gunn section of Pink Cadillac. That seemed to go over well, and when I came back to the descending chromatic bass part, I alternated between that and the Day Tripper riff a lot. Played her riff in the middle of Bad Case Of Loving You, and sang my backup part with every goddamn thing in me, still wanting her, still knowing she's so fucking far away.
So I also had to put myself back into the moment I was truly in, and hit on the big blonde waitress. Shit, what would YOU do? KInda cute, didn't go anywhere. A had said before that he thought she was checking me out.
Another blonde, with thick curly hair, was nearby much of the night, and also seemed into me, but it looked like she was with a guy, and disappeared right after we finished. I looked her way a couple times, flashed a couple smiles, and she seemed to notice and like that, but I couldn't really tell.
One of my new students was there, and was falling all over himself on breaks about what we were doing up there. Very gratifying.
I left here at 2AM Saturday, wide awake and wonderng why not do that weird overnight drive going up AND coming down.
Because you don't really sleep, dumbass.
I'm tired as fuck and have slept maybe six hours in three days. I hit the rest area going up and coming back, and got in around 10AM this morning. Lots of laying back in the car at a couple stops twitching around. Not a lot of sleep.
I'm willing to pay that price for what I get out of these weekends. Now, if the promised killer oral sex would just materialize, I might not even NEED sleep for two or three days solid anymore...
I hope Caitlin is at work tonight. I could use a blast of fresh air about now. Some special energy to sharpen my fuck-drive's knife-edge again. I wanna hear more stories about what this little danger girl does for fun.
I thought I had more to write about. I guess not.
Or maybe I'm too fucking tired to remember. Time to go lay on the floor in front of the TV and try to at least be a LITTLE fun for my kid. I wanted to do more today with her, but we're just hanging out here.
Love,
Dougie
Responsibility
01.05.07 (9:43 pm) [edit]"Danger Girl
Red and black, a fire on the track
Of my mind, and my grind
I'll give you my indecision
For your holistic precision
I'm on a mission
To have a slice of your friction
Serve it up, make my senses whirl
My little Danger Girl"
- DB, work in progress
"Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna take you thru the tunnel of night
Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna lead you right"
- Genesis
"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"
- Warren Zevon
"You realize of course that everything I say is horseshit."
- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
I carry two opposing things in my brain at all times. Sometimes it feeds me, sometimes it wears my fat ass out. Tonight it's both. Mostly the latter.
Trying to create a balance between doing what I feel is right for myself and not fucking with other people's right to do the same is making my head hurt. I'm very aware of the need to give other people space. I tend to use way too much of it myself.
I'm amazed by D and her understanding, her view of me as something far more interesting than I've ever viewed myself, and how much I want to give back to her in exchange for all that. I'm acutely aware of my potential to fuck this thing up very quickly, and my desire not to do that is manifesting itself as full-bore paranoia, which I fucking HATE in myself. I'm veering back into taking my shit entirely too seriously again, and that's never been good for anyone within a certain radius.
So let's talk about the new 18-year old I want to fuck before this devolves into interminable horseshit.
Beer run. Walked through the door. She flashed a hand at me and yelled, "Hi Doug!"
hy80gthrglrjev4jf943pjg59 rpevjrevk-rvkre
I kept walking to the back for beer. Holding it together. I kept up the confidence, and even had myself believing that shit myself after a few minutes. But the first couple...I could have collapsed into a ball of shit within nanoseconds, begging her for...what? Christ, Doug. Get a fuckin' grip on yourself.
Oh yeah, I already have a grip on myself..............
I somehow find the strength not to fall apart, but this insane drive to be accepted by a beautiful woman...ahhh, I'm full of shit. Accepted? SUCKED DRY LIKE A MILKING MACHINE is more like it. OK, I wanna be a nice guy. I really do. But my COCK wants to run rampant through the wild like a psychotic hellbeast.
That fucker is gonna be the death of me.
The incredible energy she puts off. Her name is Caitlin. it should be LILITH. Lead me into temptation, girl...........................
Let's get one thing straight - this girl ain't gonna fuck me. That's pretty clear. And, since i've given myself over to this fate long ago - I now assume that NO 18-year old redhead will EVER fuck me, ugly and boring ones included - I don't really even care. I just wanna LISTEN to her some more, because she's got some fuckin' stories to tell.
I don't even remember half of them. Something about whitewater rafting, skydiving, and being an adrenaline junkie. Sneaking into bars underaged and running sound for the band. Getting hammered with her friends in a movie theater at 3AM and throwing shoes at the screen.
And she's LOADED with fire and personality, and comes off EXTREMELY intelligent and aware.
My upbringing (which STILL snakes around my brain, despite all efforts to kill it and hang its ass out to dry) has a hard time computing these things. Girls like her are supposed to be dangerous, and quite likely just stupid and irresponsible. Instead of thoughtful and inspiring and fascinating and inspiring and desirable and inspiring and blazingly sharp and inspiring and very knowing and inspiring and....uh...you get the idea...
One of my online friends (herself only 21) recently asked me what the attraction was. Why I'm so fixated on high school girls just past the edge of legality. (And I think that ignores a lot, since I happen to love all sorts of women, including many quite a few years older than me, but let's face it, this IS a very obvious obsession here.) I think there's a few reasons intertwined. But mostly I think it's because I never got over not being able to be 17 again myself.
Right when I entered college, I became very aware of the expectations on me, and of the responsibilty I was supposed to be shouldering. And it felt WRONG. I still haven't recovered from that. I felt so fucking pushed down growing up, so unallowed to make the mistakes and feel the emotions that one SHOULD make and feel at that age, that continuing that shit into adulthood with no room to explore and grow has fucked me over in ways I'm still trying to understand and come to terms with.
It ain't just me. I think most of us go through this shit, we just come to accept it as the norm and eventually learn not to question it. Which is a pile of fucking shit, I say.
John Lennon said it better than me.
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
What attracts me to these fiery young girls in the first years of spreading their wings and learning how to fly, right in the faces of their parents and anyone else that gets in their way?
I wish I'd been with one back when I was that age.
OK, and they also look really fucking delicious in those porn sites.
i didn't fly. I stayed in my fucking room, only coming out to buy albums or books by people who flew, and back to my room to listen to their arc. Instead of doing that shit myself, because I was too much of a fucking COWARD.
The only girls around for me to fall for were nice Christian girls who made me fell like a piece of shit for having a penis instead of a Cross in my pocket.
How much ya wanna bet they fucked the guy who was smart enough to lie about his dick BEING a cross on prom night?
Caitlin (I'm gonna use her real name, I HOPE she reads this shit someday) told me how much she liked the CD I gave her two nights ago. The guy she works with (who I kinda know, this is another story) said, "Oh! You're an ARTIST?"
"I'm a drunk guy with a guitar. 'Artist' is kind of a flexible piece of terminology, you know."
The most Stanhope-ian reply I could think of. Caitlin seemed to like that one a lot.
I like to think of myself as some kind of edgy Hunter Thompson figure, but I'm really just a bipolar alcholic teetering on the edge of sanity in front of his computer because nobody will fuck me. I'm really good at making my few exploits sound more interesting than they probably actually are, but that's what the combination of a certain facility with the English language and enough booze to knock over a camel will do for a guy when he isn't worth two shits at anything else.
But you see...I'm also EXTREMELY proud of the paragraph I just wrote...
Nah, I'm also pretty good at holding the low end down with a certain flair in a rock band, sculpting gnarly sonic gargoyles in the sky with a white Strat, screaming "You gotta go!" on frat-boy anthems, and pretending to be Neil Young while the other guys take a break. And drinking. I've got that drinking thing down pretty good.
'Cause you've gotta have goals...
But one thing I SUCK at is giving other people space to grow and evolve, which is fucking hypocritical as FUCK of me, because I'm so goddamn loud about demanding that space from others.
D found this blog today.
Like it's that hard if you're looking. She wasn't even looking and she found it.
Unfortunately she saw about the only negative thing I've said about her, which wasn't intended to be negative in the first place, I just suck at this kind of thing sometimes when I'm drunk and generalizing.
A "challenge." I said that she wasn't.
I think I know what I meant at the time (let's face it, I was drunk - it makes for more entertaining writing, but it also comes back and bites you on the ass sometimes) but it isn't true. Different people offer different challenges. The more I get to know her, the more clear hers become, and that's VERY cool. I think she's going to be one hell of a lot of fun to play and explore with, and I feel like a CUNT for suggesting otherwise, just because she's one thing and not something else.
She's VERY cool. Incredibly understanding. I unloaded a lot on her a couple nights ago (she had a lot to tell me too) and it made me want that much more to be good to her and give her what she needs, because she's giving me a TON of space to operate in. She knows all about Abby now. She knows i'm going to be carrying that in me for a long time, that it's what made me burn on stage the way I have these past few months - including the times she's seen me. And she told me to not worry about it, to do what I have to do to reach the heights I'm reaching with this band. I owe a LOT to Abby, and I don't think she knows the half of it, and I still feel like DOGFUCK over how the past couple weeks have went, because I'm not even sure exactly what has happened. This shit all hit the fan all at once, it seemed. And I'm pretty sure I didn't handle any of it gracefully enough, but I'm also pretty sure I did the best I could.
Whatever happens with D, I want it to be right, I want to give as much as I take, I want to treat her like the cool and sensual and giving and fun lady she is.
I just want to feel all this other shit too.
And I certainly don't want to make her feel like she's not interesting enough. I don't know if she's going to read this again. She apparantly understands where I'm coming from and it didn't affect her the way I was afraid it would, but I DO think of her as a challenge now, especially in the past few days of getting to know more about her, and knowing the shit she's gone through and the strength she has. I think she's a hell of a woman. I do. And I want to get to know her a lot better.
I just want to feel all this other shit too.
Because when a girl half my age displays more life-experience and knowledge than I've EVER been able to lay claim to, and she sets my ass on fire the way Caitlin did tonight, or the way Abby has for a year now, I NEED to dig in there and get something from it, learn something from it. Oh, I want to FUCK it too, but it never seems to want to fuck me back, so I'll settle for standing there for 20 minutes listening to her stories.
I want to learn from what ANY woman who will talk to me has to offer. She doesn't have to have that sense of danger. It just grabs me faster, that's all.
Gawd, I hope I've said this shit the way I want to say it.
I've battled in my head for a couple weeks now what I'm doing here every time I write, because I pride myself on my honesty and my rawness, and I know that's what keeps you lovely fuckers coming back to read more, even if you think I'm totally full of shit. Hell, I AM a lot of the time. And I don't apologize for that, because you people are full of shit too. You need someone to tell you that sometimes, even if he IS an idiot like me.
But I don't want to hurt people, and I don't want to be an asshole. OK, I'll be an asshole when I write about Bush. That shit is too much fun to pass up.
I'm talking about the people I CARE about, and that includes most of you reading this stupid shit.
I realized recently that some of the stuff I say in a more general sense about the people who I feel have caved into fear and a certain watered-down conception of life's possibilities is in truth aimed at a few very specific people. I've always known that, but I haven't been good at being honest with myself about the effect it actually has. That's arrogant and asshole-ish of me in precisely the way I claim that these people have been to me. I hate the hypocrisy I see there, but even the broken mirror I have is enough to see my own hypocrisy at expecting people to give me the space to evolve that I'm apparantly unwilling to give them.
So I'm in a place now where I don't know what to write sometimes, so I fall back on writing the shit that I know I can sorta get away with. I really don't want to censor myself, but I also don't want to be an asshole to anyone.
Unless they deserve it. And the fact is, nobody who reads this stupid shit I write on a regular basis DOES deserve it. Not in the least.
But goddamnit, if I see a hot redhead high school girl I wanna bone in the ass to a Hendrix album, I've gotta report back on the discovery. I feel a RESPONSIBILTY to you fine people, and I know what's expected of me - honesty, rawness, ludicrous overstatement, and ass-boning of barely legal teens. These are the ingredients in Dougie's Gumbo. It doesn't taste as good as the shit in the recipe I shared several months ago, but with enough beer, it's pretty goddamn funny.
At least I think so. But what do I know? It's Friday night and I'm once again not getting pussy. I don't know SHIT.
Love,
Dougie
Fuck Fear
01.05.07 (4:39 pm) [edit]"Fear is never boring" - Rob Fetters
Ever have the overwhelming feeling that any goddamn thing you do or say could destroy everything you've worked for?
Mixed with the knowledge that it's all horseshit in the end and you're just being an oversensitive douchebag by worrying so much?
I feel like that right now.
I just might have to drink tonight. Not thatthis is a surprise or anything.
Love and Kraftwerk live albums,
Dougie
Processing It
01.05.07 (10:38 am) [edit]"It won't hurt when I fall down from this bar stool
And it won't hurt when I stumble in the street
It won't hurt 'cause this whiskey eases misery
But even whiskey cannot ease your hurting me
Today I had another bout with sorrow
You know this time I almost won
If this bottle would just hold out 'til tomorrow
I know that I'd have sorrow on the run
It won't hurt when I fall down from this bar stool
And it won't hurt when I stumble in the street
It won't hurt 'cause this whiskey eases misery
But even whiskey cannot ease your hurting me
Your memory comes back up with each sunrise
I reach out for the bottle and find it's gone
Yeah, Lord, somewhere every night the whiskey leaves me
To face this cold, cold world on my own
It won't hurt when I fall down from this bar stool
And it won't hurt when I stumble in the street
It won't hurt 'cause this whiskey eases misery
But even whiskey cannot ease your hurting me"
- Dwight Yoakam
Lots going on in my head today. The last few conversations with D have been pretty amazing, and I'm feeling that pull north stronger now. I think I'm feeling stronger things for her than I'd previously thought. I'm just not done processing everything, working out the past few weeks with Abby's inspiration going through me. She's not writing, I haven't heard from her in a week. And it hurts like fuck.
I've got to refocus my energies. I just don't want to let go yet. She still represents a challenge to me, something right on the edge of being dangerous yet very fulfilling. Dammit, I miss you.
But somebody closer is calling to me. I think I need to go there.
I never thought I'd feel this way.
Love,
Dougie
Are You Ready For The Country?
01.05.07 (12:43 am) [edit]I'm just in this kind of mood tonight.
www.extrafancy.net/doug/ReasonsToQuit.mp3
www.extrafancy.net/doug/KingOfTheRoad.mp3
Enjoy!
Love,
Dougie
Fire Red
01.03.07 (10:25 pm) [edit]"Well, so 1,2,3, take my hand and come with me
because you look so fine
and i really wanna make you mine.
I say you look so fine
that I really wanna make you mine.
Oh, 4,5,6 c'mon and get your kicks
now you don't need that money
with a face like that, do ya."
- Jet
This girl could bring an end to war. Or cause several of them.
I pulled in for gas and put the nozzle in (huhuhuh) and heard her voice. "Pump One, you're set to go."
Oh yeah, I sure am, honey...
I could see the hair through the window. Almost orange, like a straight shot of fire down the back of her pretty head.
I filled up (huhuhuhuh) and went inside. Walked right past her towards the restroom, acting like I didn't notice her.
"Hey! How are ya!" She waved at me, her eyes lighting up like a fuckin' Christmas tree.
"Good!" I kept walking. Don't break down, Doug. Keep up the illusion of confidence...
I took a piss and came back out. She...she...uh...oh dear sweet baby Jesus, those eyes.......
I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to her, kept walking towards the back of the store, towards the beer.
"What's this?"
"A CD for you."
"You looking for Steel Reserve? I think I might have to find it for you."
She came out again, walked with me to the back.
"Wow, two nights in a row you put the extra effort in for me. By the way, you're incredibly fucking cute. But you know that already, don't you?"
Her laugh sent tidal waves of hard-on-edness (is that a word?) through my weiner.
"What is this CD?" She was looking at it as we walked to the back.
"It's me. I thought you'd enjoy it."
About 45 minutes worth. Acoustic stuff, a couple band things with my friend Dan. The bass solo I wrote for Keneally. My take on Tom Waits' Heartattack & Vine, which I figure will either terrify a girl half my age or make her wet.
"i can't wait to hear it!" She looked genuinely excited by the prospect. "Let's see if I know any of these...oh, I've heard Zappa."
"I'm in love with you already."
Oh yeah, I love that laugh. Full and rich, full of fire. The sound of a young girl loaded down with confidence and personality. Ohhhhhh yeah....
She got my beer, that black dress floating across the floor again.
"You're incredibly beautiful. You know that?"
"I hear it all the time."
"But you never hear it from guys like me. Trust me, I can destroy your life far more effectively than those other shitheads." I gave her the best smile I could. I was dressed entirely in black, my hair down as good as I could get it. And she looked at me like.........hn0fp4j32qpfjq4wpoifm4qpw ioc9-4q3p4o3v
"Oh, I bet I've met far worse than you." That laugh...
"Shit, I HOPE not. I wanted to be your terrible dirty secret."
The look in her eyes....
The energy coming off her could knock a better man than me on his ass. Killer, killer vibes from this one.
"Oh, I've known worse. There was this photogapher in New York. He had me do a photo shoot and, well, let's say that he wasn't interested in me having clothes on."
"Quite understandable, really..."
She flashed me the dirtiest little smile..."My dad's a lawyer."
"And the same age as me, right?"
"I bet he has a few years on you."
I gave her the best I-wanna-suck-your-snatch grin I could. She looked away for a moment, with a smile that tore my SOUL apart.
"We're suing the guy for two million. Me and another model."
"So, if you win all that cash, will you go out with me?"
She liked that.
"OK, if you do win, you can do better than me. But keep me in mind. Because I think you're a doll."
"Can I have your birthday, sir?" The nastiest little smile behind that...
You little...
I told her and she keyed it in for my beer purchase.
I pulled out my wallet. She immediately lit up even farther, her eyes exploding with surprise as she saw the picture.
"Oh my GOD!!! Is that your daughter???"
"Yep, she lives a couple miles up the road from here."
She grabbed my wallet from me and showed the other girl (cute with dirty blonde hair, but not what I was looking for at the time) with the kind of look one would normally expect to be meant for the sight of a rare astronomical event.
But hey, that's my girl...
"Look at her!!! She's GORGEOUS!!!"
I never know what to say to that but, "That's my girl."
She looked at me with some weird kind of new respect...I'm amazed when that happens.....
She handed my wallet back and I smiled at her. "You're incredible. I can't believe how pretty you are."
"I should tell you that I'm engaged."
She held the ring up.
Fuckin' Christ...
I found a smile for her. "Well, you're just engaged., You're not married yet., You still have time to be a bad girl."
Gawd, the look on her face...
"I love to be a bad girl. But if I don't start being good, it's going to kill my parents."
"Ahhh, they'll survive. Come home with me." I flashed her that smile again. The serious/joking one. .
"Well, just because I'm engaged it doens't mean we can't be friends. I can't wait to listen to this." She held the CD up. My weenus held itself up.
I paid her and wished her a good night. Took another good look at the incredible streak of fire that pretended to be her hair. Prayed to gods I no longer believe in that the carpet matches the drapes. Damn near started jerking off like a crazed monkey in the parking lot.
I know where I'm buying beer tomorrow...
Love,
Dougie
Time For A Beer Run
01.03.07 (6:19 pm) [edit]"Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme" - Richard Thompson
Off to find out if that girl was just fucking with my head or not. Wish me luck.
Love, Dougie