She Hasn't Left Me
03.29.07 (11:55 pm) [edit]I see you checking in on me sometimes, Abby. And trust me - I think of you often. I even dream of you some nights. .
Nabokov had no fucking CLUE.
Love,
Dougie
PS Kyuss makes for an interesting soundtrack on this bourbon-soaked night.
The Queen Of The Family
03.25.07 (10:17 am) [edit]Grandma's funeral was lovely. Very balanced - the sadness was very heavy, but several of us managed to get some levity in. My aunt had some of us grandkids read things for her, and we added our own comments.
My Dad's family is so much more interesting than I'd ever given them credit for, and I hope we can spend more time with each other. We're shooting for a reunion this summer. Grandma would want that, we know it.
Looking back, I can't say about her what I'd say about my mother's side - she wasn't nearly as judgemental, and wasn't full of weird neurosis. She was simply a very strong woman who did an enormous amount for herself and her family, and was loaded with personality and fire up until the time she got sick, seven years ago.
Looking at her for the last time, she seemed so much younger than I'd seen her in years. I'm glad her suffering is over. It's been so hard to watch her these past several years, so opposite of the energetic old lady I knew.
Goodbye, Grandma. I hope I can keep even a fraction of that strength in myself.
Love,
Dougie
Things Be Happenin'
03.21.07 (12:42 am) [edit]I think the long and painful dryspell away from a woman is coming to an end.
D and I shared an amazing hour or so Friday night, making up for the errors we both have made.
Tonight she sent me a video of her singing a song for me. I put Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On on my Myspace page (where we do all our talking) and she wrote back minutes later to tell me how much she loves that song.
She's said things to me in the past couple days that no woman ever has before, and now that we've locked ourselves in more and understand each other better, I have no reason not to believe her.
I still feel things for many women. Ones who I can't be with. One who still has far, far too much power over me just by existing.
But in this moment, I have to throw my lot in with D. She...there are no more words.
In awe,
Dougie
Goodbye, Grandma
03.18.07 (11:29 am) [edit]My grandmother left us overnight. She was 98 years old, and it had been almost seven years since her first stroke. Her pain is finally over.
Watching my father cry is a rare event.
RIP, Grandma.
Love,
Dougie
--------
She's going in the ground Thursday. Next to my grandfather, who died when I was 10 months old. Her mom is there - she was killed in a house fire when Grandma was three months old. Her sister is there - she died in 1924, 20 years old, during childbirth. Her grandparents are there - the ones who raised her when her mom died. An aunt and uncle. The two sons who died as babies - my uncles who died before my dad was born. Other relatives. All in one little area of a huge cemetery that has many, many other relatives, from Quaker ancestors who were among the first settlers of the county in the 1830s, to a cousin who killed himself in 1999, and a friend I played bass for in Southern California later that year.
They can put me there too. I'm nowhere near ready to join these people, I'm having too much fun/non-fun here to check out this soon, but that's where I want to go.
For those wondering abou my cryptic post yesterday, D and I have reconnected. In a very...physical manner. Hehehehe. I think we're back on the right path, I only wonder where it's leading.
Yeah, I ain't going on yet. I've got too much left to do here.
Ohhh, What A Night...
03.17.07 (2:36 am) [edit]I had fun tonight. I mean...wow...yeahhhh....it was goooooood.
Hehehehehe.
Love,
Dougie
I'm Full Of Crap When I Sing This
03.14.07 (3:14 pm) [edit]I guess I'm doing my real blogging at the new place nad leaving this for musical stuff.
So, after banging my head against the wall for the last couple hours, trying to record something worth listening to and pretty much failing (all of them would be perfectly acceptable in live performnace, but not somehting I felt merited repeated listening) I just gave up and let this one go - a version of Warren Zevon's Splendid Isolation. It's not perfect (somehow, playing harmonica short-circuits my ability to remember a simple Em-C-G-D progression, it seems) but fuck it, it's some shit for you to listen to.
A year and a half ago, I could sing this honestly. Now there's a nice thick layer of irony as I totally lie out my ass letting these words out of my mouth. But damn, I love the song, and hey, I AIN'T lying about the desert...
tinyurl.com/2tb96v
Enjoy, motherfuckers!
Love,
Dougie
-----
Here's another Zevon for ya: I Was In The House When The House Burned Down
tinyurl.com/25b4hh
More Good Gee-tar Stuff
03.13.07 (7:50 pm) [edit]Phil Keaggy, one of the most undervalued musicians I can think of, doing one of my favorite pieces of his. Michael Hedges fans will undoubtedly enjoy this one.
Love,
Dougie
More Good Gee-tar Stuff
03.13.07 (7:44 pm) [edit]Phil Keaggy, one of the most undervalued musicians I can think of, doing one of my favorite pieces of his. Michael Hedges fans will undoubtedly enjoy this one.
Love,
Dougie
Twenty Small Cigars
03.12.07 (11:21 am) [edit]
I said I'd still post sometimes, so here ya go - one of my friends turned me onto this, a clip of a guy playing a guitar arrangement of Frank Zappa's Twenty Small Cigars. I LOVE this.
Enjoy!
Love,
Dougie
Moving On
03.07.07 (2:10 pm) [edit]Given how extremely erratic tblog has become (it's almost 2PM and this is the first time I've been able to get on all day, last night was just ridiculously slow at times) I've decided to bail out and restart my blog elsewhere.
I'm sure the guys who run this place are doing their best, so don't take it as a personal thing, but I'm not a patient person. Gee, you might have even guessed that by now...
I'll slowly be taking my archives down here (as if you couldn't just Google the damn things) but I will log in regularly, maybe say something stupid on tblurt, and post every once in a while, and I do want to keep in touch with the friends I've made here, so keep tmailing me - I will answer. I've met some very cool people here and I'm not about to just up and leave for good.
However, I already have started a new blog elsewhere. I've made the effort to make it difficult to find me - though it's not private - and I'm no longer using my name or anyone else's real name. If anything, this might just allow me to get even more detailed and honest in my writing, but we'll see.
If you want to know where it is, just mail me - I'm eraserhead667 over at that yahoo.com place.
As always, thanks for reading this shit. The whole idea of blogging is something of an encapsulation of my attitude towards life itself right now - I feel it's an important outlet, but it seems absurd to crawl so far up one's own asshole and share all these things. But I revel in absurdity, and I've accepted my bizarre form of narcissim as necessary for what passes for my creativity, so fuck it - I'm still writing. And you're still reading, so thank you again.
Love,
Dougie
Three Cans Of Steel Reserve Into The Night...
03.06.07 (11:35 pm) [edit]"You know, I got a little Motherly Love for ya, baby
You know, I got a little Motherly Love for ya, honey
You know, it doesn't bother me at all that you're only 18 years old
Because I've got a little Motherly Love for ya, baby"
- Frank Zappa
If I wasn't drunk, I'd record my version of FZ's Go Cry On Somebody Else's Shoulder right now. Gawd, I love that shit. I ran through it three times by myself and fell apart laughing each time because of the amazing cheese-level inherent in those lyrics.
I added a couple lines into the spoken outro:
Baby, I love you so much, darling
Why don't you dig me? I dig you, but you don't dig me
I don't understand what it is
I had my car re-upholstered
I got my hair processed
I got a nice pompadour job on it
I bought a new pair of shoes
I tried out for a spot on American Idol
I built a meth-lab in my trailer with some pictures of Toby Keith on the wall next to an American flag I bought for $3.98 at Wal-Mart
I got some new khakis and I met you
And we went out to get a Coca-Cola...
One of my favorite things about Freak Out is the nasty thin 60s guitar tones. Ohhh, I need to cop that vibe someday...
Got a look at the new local music store tonight with Katie - the one I teach a couple students on Wednesdays. They're in a better location now, and it looks like a real music store - the old place was pretty sterile and business-like, this place they've painted in dark colours and it's much more interesting and individual of a feel. I hope it attracts more students, I need all the help I can get.
I had a dream last night that I was onstage with Keneally doing You're Probably Wondering Why I'm Here and Help I'm A Rock. Mike looked happy to have me there. Ahh, the dreamworld...
Both grandparents are in worse shape each day. I'm going to have funerals soon. I hope it's sooner than later, for their sake.
Dad lets very little emotion out, but I could tell her was having a hard time thinking about his mother finally leaving us. I can think of two times I've seen my father cry in years. One was at my wedding. The other was when Grandma had her first stroke 7 years ago.
Mom was actually rational tonight. Go figure. I'll bet money she's an annoying pain in the ass next time I talk to her. these things are predictable.
Damn, I love this music. MoFo, boys and girls. Make it your friend.
Love,
Dougie
Heaven Is A Place On Earth
03.06.07 (9:45 pm) [edit]My speakers right now.
Thanks to Dennis for reminding me how easy it is to get your electronic mitts on good stuff. I'm currently listen to CD2 of the Frank Zappa MoFo box set, and shooting copious amounts of semen all over my monitor screen.
The instrumental tracks are a goddamn REVELATION.
I'm in love with one of my favorite albums of all time all over again. All these dopey pseudo-50s love songs are still among my favorite things to sing along to.
Love,
Dougie
Requiem Revisited
03.06.07 (11:54 am) [edit]Everybody go over here:
mickbordet.tblog.com
Mick took my bass solo piece Requiem For A Head Laying In A Field In Butler and did some really wonderful stuff to it. I'm shocked and honored that somebody would think enough of my music to do this, and the end result is a joy. Dig the odd interplay between the bass and drums.
Thanks, Mick. Great work.
Love,
Dougie
I'm Schizophrenic, And So Am I
03.05.07 (10:50 pm) [edit]
Conversation inside my head today.
"Well, got our bread, a bottle of wine, some herring...uh...HOLY SHIT. Did you SEE that?"
"Dude, look away."
"Fuck you, she's AMAZING."
"She's ILLEGAL."
"Oh come on, she's gotta be at least 20."
"That's what you say about every woman who turns out to be 17."
"17 ain't illegal, assface."
"No, but this one is. Trust me."
"She...OK...something about her eyes...nah, she's gotta be 18."
"You are fucking delusional, dipfuck."
"Maybe I should just ask her."
"Sure, why not? It's your funeral, dickhead."
"Hey, aren't you the one who told me to stick with D? See how THAT worked out? Aren't you the bag of shit that makes me fall for women my own age who just happen to have control of my paycheck? FUCK you."
"OK, point proven. But they aren't gonna send you to jail."
"Oh, lick my asshole. I'm gonna go hit on the 12-year old."
"I didn't say she was 12. I said she's not 16."
"Fuck you, I bet she's 39."
"You're a walking penis."
"And you, my friend, are the nutsack. Shut the fuck up and come along for the ride. I've got the pointer, you're just the goddamn rollers."
"You're a shit excuse for a poet."
"And you're the worst excuse for a conciense imaginable."
"Good, now we're even."
"Not until I fuck that girl we're not, assbag."
"Fine, go ahead. I did my best."
"Excuse me, I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you?"
The motherfucker was right.
"Thank you. Have a good night."
I almost RAN from the fucking store.
"Told ya."
"Fuck you."
"Spankin' time again."
"Burn in hell, monkeyboy."
"You were gonna stick your dick in that, weren't you?"
"Shut up."
"Ahh, yes, the underage poon. You were gonna fuck and chew on that like..."
"SHUT UP."
"Ya wonder what that pussy looks like?"
"I"m trying not to think about it. Shut the fuck up."
"Like a..."
"SHUT UP."
"You know how Hicks put it. Like a..."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
"Like a wisp of cotten candy framing a papercut."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH HHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" ;
I am the hood ornament,
Dougie
I Can't Think Of A Good Title For This
03.04.07 (10:08 pm) [edit]“Neurosis is the inability to tolerate ambiguity.” - Sigmund Freud
Very nice day with Katie. We got in later than I'd hoped, had a late dinner, and took her home an hour behind schedule. But it was because we were enjoying ourselves at the play area and at Jungle Jim's - the greatest goddamn grocery store I know of.
I wanted to be seeing Stanhope now, but the fact is, I don't trust myself to stay awake behind the wheel. I'm fucked up right now from probably the most-drinking/least-sleep ing week I've had in a long time. Shit, I took three nights off drinking this week (which hasn't happened in so long I can't remember) and STILL had more than I usually do.
Mom called as I was taking Katie home.
My dad and two of my uncles are with my grandma at the hospital. My uncle N found her on her floor earlier today. She's had another stroke. She was aware of what was going on as she was put in the ambulance, but wasn't able to talk.
Grandma turned 98 last month, on Groundhog's Day - so we got to ask her if she saw her shadow. I saw her the day after that, at an uncle's house.
I have a long post to write about my father's family and how I'm finding myself connecting more with them and less with my mother's these days. I was always much closer to Mom's side. Now I'm starting to see the extent of how bad that was for me growing up - I really do believe now that my dad was an anomaly: the rest of his family are a lot more fun than he ever was.
I'm too tired to write more about it now.
My grandfather (my mom's stepdad) had a stroke just after Christmas. His condition is deteriorating. I'd planned on visiting him Saturday, but he's been moved to Ft. Wayne, and will likely not be coming back. I'm sure my grandma is thinking of the connection with him dying in Ft. Wayne - her dad died in a hospital up there while she was pregnant with my mom.
All arrangements are made for both of them, have been for a while.
In typical fashion, Mom told me she was "hoping for a miracle." Which makes my blood boil and shit come out my ears to hear her say. I'm so tired of her delusional religious horseshit. I'm tired of how SELFISH she is to say this shit. It isn't about them - why the fuck would THEY want to live any longer? Trust me, I've seen them. They DON'T. Their lives are over. If you simply have to engage in your nonsense and "pray" anything, pray for it to be as painless as possible, then shut your fucking mouth. Mom has been "praying for a miracle" for my handicapped sister for THIRTY FUCKING YEARS now. There is no learning curve with people like my mother. Frankly, if I did believe this God shit, I still would be irritated (and I always have been when she talks like this) because let's be honest - even God is going to look at a morbidly miserable woman like her and say "You know what? I've got somebody on another line, can I put your ass on hold?"
I'm thinking more about my sister right now, who doesn't deal well with change of any kind, death in particular. My sister lives with the results of radiation therapy inflicted on her when she was two years old (they killed the leukemia, and a lot of other things with it) and the vast array of medication she's been on for years now. She's 31, but hasn't progressed much in decades now. The meds have caused her to gain a ridiculous amount of weight and slow her down to a crawl (the fact that my parents don't seem to know a fucking thing about feeding her well or encouraging exercise of any kind hasn't helped)and her speech has been slurred to the point where I can't have a real conversation with her anymore. If she answers the phone, you might as well be talking Sanskrit to a block of wood.
Around the time I moved in with Sheryl in 2000, we were hit with all sorts of family shit. My grandma had a stroke and nearly died. My aunt did die. My cousin killed himself. All within a year or so. My sister became incredibly difficult to deal with, and I was convinced my mom would snap. I'll say one thing for her insane religion - it might have been the only thing that kept her going through all this.
J has been brought up by a mother who was forced to give extra attention to her becuase of her illness, and has been brought up with the bizarre mix of "faith" and dismal morbidity that pretty much defines our mother. Mom is a great believer in faith and hope - when she's not convinced that the entire fabric of the universe is about to unfold due to whatever tragedy is happening at the moment. (Including the non-tragedies that she latches onto.) I get my bipolar nature honestly - my mom is more of a fucking twisted mess than even *I* am.
So, knowing how out of control J was when she lost her favorite cousin and her favorite aunt, nearly lost her grandma, and saw me move away and finally escape a fucking house she's doomed to be in for the rest of her life, I'm not optomistic about how she'll cope when these two go, quite probably at around the same time. With my mom's weird mix of "they're in heaven with Jesus" and godawful miserable displays of inability to accept anything that crosses her path, being shoved into J's face all day, I'm wondering when SHE will go. Her own physical condition is terrible, not helped by what she goes through in her head, so if my sister makes it to 40, I'll be shocked.
I grew up thinking she was my best friend, but I've come to see my mother as the true joy-killer in our family (and when you look at where and who she came from, it's no wonder), a view that was confirmed in spades a few months ago when I found out that my dad - the one I THOUGHT was such a miserable pain in the ass - used to enjoy going out and DANCING, of all things. Somehting I can't FATHOM my father doing. And who took that from him? SHE did. She didn't enjoy that. She doesn't really enjoy ANYTHING except having something to be miserable about and blame The Devil for. Well, she also seems to enjoy having a new disease for each day of the week. I don't know HOW many fucking things she seems to be able to come down sick with every other time I talk to her.
The fact that I see so many parallels to this neurotic freakshow in myself scares the shit out of me.
I realize what I'm really doing when I'm doing the things that I get the most enjoyment from - I'm pushing myself away from how I grew up. To even sit and type this shit - to derive pleasure from opening up and letting the interior shit come out, because it sure beats the fuck out of letting it sit inside and eat your soul - is so against everything I was brought up to be...
Wait a minute. Didn't I write something half an hour ago about how I was too tired to write a lot of shit?
I should make my mom start writing a blog. If she ever got into it and really let herself go, I guarantee that every one of you regular readers would desert me in a heartbeat - HER shit would almost HAVE to be fifty times more entertaining than mine. I'm just the SON of a neurotic wackbasket.
I need to shower and clear my head so I can work tomorrow. You fuckers have a good night.
Love,
Dougie
If It Doesn't Say Gritty Kitty, It Stinks
03.04.07 (1:43 pm) [edit]
My lunatic daughter is here today. I swear Sheryl is feeding her pure cane sugar and Monster energy drinks for breakfast. She was NUTS when I got there, running around and making ridiculous faces and happy as heck.
I'm a lucky daddy. I could have had some little waterhead shitball for a kid that would make my life miserable. But I got the funnest kid in the world instead. Yay!
She ran up to attack me with the ball right before we went out to the store. She backed up and tripped into my music stand, leaving a nasty two-inch scrape on her stomach. She had a look of pure horror on her face and screamed for a moment, then I could tell she was going to be OK< but damn, it sure took the wind out of us both. I got an ice pack and cleaned it off. Some generic Neosporrin. There was no blood, but it was one hell of a scrape.
Watching her veer into that kind of seriousness is always painful. She was very quiet, and laid on the floor, telling me she was going to be OK, but with the saddest look in her eyes. I comforted her for a while, then we went to the store. She closed her eyes in her car seat, then I helped her up into the cart.
Within nanoseconds of entering the store, my little nutcase was back in action, and we've been having a great time since. She bounces back so quickly.
So now we're waiting on a couple shitty TV dinners to cook (it's a good thing they're better in the oven anyway, my microwave died a couple months ago and I've had little drive to replace it) and watching Ren & Stimpy.
I picked her up directly after getting into town this morning. The gig was at a little town south of Kokomo, so I shot down SR31 (driving very near Stone's place at about 1:30AM, I ate at the nearby Steak & Shake) and making it to the south side of Indianapolis before my eyes couldn't take driving anymore.
I slept in a parking lot just a few miles from my old apartment. Then I drove to Greensburg, and slept a while longer in a Wal-Mart parking lot, just after sunrise.
I got to Katie's at 9:45AM. What a way to seque from the band to the girl.
The gig was fun, our first time there. They loved us and booked us for three more gigs through the end of the year. One is next month, the day after my birthday, and we have a gig then, so another Fri/Sat is coming up, and that makes me happy, if tired to think about.
I'm more awake than I thought I'd be, but that isn't saying a lot. Sleep has been in short supply for days now. I still intend to see Stanhope tonight, but I might be dead-tired by then. Katie and I are going to an indoor playground/arcade after lunch. Gonna be a day...
The temp service has been worth very little for over two months now, but I'm starting a job tomorrow that will likely give me my first 40 hour week in a long time. I need it. I'm fucking broke as hell. It's only guaranteed for a week, but just one will be a major help right now. It's back at where I worked for several weeks last fall, at what I called The Shit Shoppe - a crappy overpriced outlet mall. I hope the supervisor is the same guy. I miss having a boss I can refer to as a worthless cock-munching fag-monkey to his face. Nice guy.
No gig next week, and I cancelled the students up there. It will be the first weekend since October that I havne't tortured my poor car with that trip.
The two gigs after that are gonna be a riot. St. Patrick's Day is at our favorite place, always a great time, but between the holiday, the owner's sister's birthday, and our drummer's son's 21st birthday all on the same night, I might not make it out of there alive. I stick with my rule now - no alcohol until the last set, but goddamn it, I'm gonna DRINK that night.
The following week is at our second-favorite place, and Cabo Wabo tequila will be in the equation. Katie will be with her mom for one of these weekends, I'll have her up there visiting with the parents the other.
The end of the month will be the southernmost gig we've done, in Noblesville. I hope to see a few of you Indianapolis-area readers there.
The first weekend of April is off for the band, so I'm going to try to schedule my next solo gig that Friday. I'm hoping to find the time to prepare some new stuff - I've decided to use backing tracks on a few things so I can play solos and break up the material. I don't want it to be four hours of the same shit. Some guys hate the idea of backing tracks, and I understand, but it's really only going to be a few tunes, and I want to have something to do nasty-ass guitar solos on top of. I'm thinking a new version of Neil Young's Revolution Blues (I've got three or four versions already) is in my near future. That's a great fucking thing to solo on top of.
Last night, I sang Bridge Of Sighs and Wish You Were Here by myself. I thought I did well, if not brilliantly.
My proudest moment was the ludicrous noise solo I did on Louie Louie. Totally over-the-top atonal bullshit. I was aiming for the equivalent of condensing an entire Naked City album into one six-string assault. I don't know if I did quite that, but when I found out we'd been bribed into an extra half hour, I had to tune the fucking thing back up. It was...uh...kind of ugly. Who knew that I could knock a G string down a step and a half within one solo?
I had a hard time keeping my eyes off one very nice looking brunette, maybe my age or a bit older. Too bad she was with her husband. That's what sucks about most of the places we play - all the women are there with somebody. This one sure had me at attention, though.
I find myself gravitating towards songs that relate to where I'm at and what I'm thinking, and when I sing things by myself, there's often a specific reason.
I only really chose Wish You Were Here because I love the song, know the words inside and out from doing it for years, and it's the easiest way to do a Pink Floyd song alone onstage without baffling people.
But last night, my lyric folder containing a printout of a picture of a certain redhead a thousand miles away that you might have noticed me vaguely mention once or twice, I found myself hit very hard singing the last verse.
How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fears
Wish you were here
I can't explain the hold she still has on me, what she represents to me in spite of the fact that we'll never meet. I just know how I feel sometimes, how much I want what I see in her to be a part of me. I can't look at her the way I used to anymore. Now the feeling is coming mostly from the chest, not the lower place.
I also find myself thinking of other women I've known, and this has been an unusually sentimental week. The most important thng for me these days is to be as gracious and kind as possible, even though I swing very hard in the other direction very easily.
They drive me fucking nuts, they piss me off and tear my heart out and sometimes seem to be hellbent on making me out to be the biggest asshole alive, but I love them. They're worth the extra shit, because I know I have more than enough of my own to go around. I do a horrible job of showing it, but I love womena nd regard them as the best creatures I've encountered. They inspire me, elevate me, make me smile. And with a few notable exceptions, they generally are far better to me and for me than I've ever felt capable of being for them.
Now, if I could just get one of them to suck my cock three times a day, I'd have this thing together, baby.
I'm such a prick. Hee.
Love,
Dougie
The Way My Mind Works On Three Hours Sleep
03.03.07 (4:21 pm) [edit]
So I was thinking about that band I linked to. Ward's Cleaver. That's gotta be the funniest shit I've seen in a while. The pic of Hugh Beaumont with the meat cleaver, oh yeah.
I can see it now. Ward comes home drunk brandishing the cleaver.
"I'm tired of this 50s even-handed uber-Dad shit! Fuck you, Eddie Haskell! You suckup little PRICK! Yeah, that IS a very nice dress my wife has on! We're gonna use it to wipe up your BLOOD!" He starts chasing Eddie around the room, knocking shit over with the cleaver.
Jerry Mathers behind him, "But Dad! No!"
"Shut the fuck up, Beaver! June! Where's my bourbon, you cunt?!?"
We see him later, passed out on the couch in his underwear, a bloody blade and an empty bottle of Wild Turkey on the floor in front of him.
Muttering to himself. "Damn kids. I don't know how we got you little bastards anyway. That bitch June only lets me fuck her twice a year..."
He stumbles off the couch into the kitchen, trying to find booze. "Fuck, that little shit Wally is into my stash. YOU'RE NEXT, YOU LITTLE TURD!
"I'm gonna order some Chinese food.
"Yeah, you slit-eyed fuckers deliver? Can you send me a bottle of bourbon and some chow mein? What, you don't deliver? BEAVER! Get your hand out of your pants and come here! Go pick up dinner! Yeah, I'm sending my kid over. Put some extra MSG on his food, I don't want that little rat bastard living long enough to enjoy his inheritance."
It's the classics I love, you see...
Love,
Dougie
Suzy Creemcheese, Honey, What's Got Into Ya?
03.03.07 (2:29 am) [edit]Listening to one of my favorite albums ever tonight, as if you can't tell from my last two posts.
Frank Zappa - Freak Out
There are no words to describe the stick-my-cock-in-the-litt le-hole-in-the-CD love I have for this wonderous hour or so journey into the ether.
Frank, you're the shit. And you always will be. If that God shit turns out to be true, cornhole a seraphim for me, will ya?
Love,
Dougie
----
I can't do it. I can't make it through one of his albums without falling apart. I can't stop crying, not for him, but for myself. Knowing how fucking shitty I am at doing what he did.
I feel so fucking inadequate and pathetic right now. But I feel purpose too. Most of the people i love the most are dead now. And I'd be an asshole not to take what I've learned from them and do what little I'm capable of doing to keep their fire going.
I don't feel worthy of this. I feel like an idiot most of the time. But I don't have a lot of choices here, This is all I can do. The only thing I'm able to do for any length of time without dissolving into a ball of shit.
I'm trying, dammit. I'm really trying. Zappa, Hicks, Thompson, Zevon, Lenny Bruce, H. L. Mencken. I don't know why I have to be the one to do this, but I'm going to try. Just give me time. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing right now. I'm still working it out. I'm not you. I can't be what you were, only what I am, and it's not a hell of a lot.
But I'm going to try.
Doug
I WILL Sing This One Onstage Someday
03.03.07 (2:20 am) [edit]Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friend
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot . . .
Seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn
And I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Well, you can cool it,
You can heat it . . .
'Cause, baby, I don't need it . . .
Take your TV tube and eat it
'N all that phony stuff on sports
'N all the unconfirmed reports
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head begin to hurt
From checkin' out the way
The newsman say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so
And further they assert
That any show they'll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up
They say that if the place blows up
They will be the first to tell,
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin' hard and doin' swell,
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street,
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can't be beat
And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat
They'll send some joker with a brownie
And you'll see it all complete
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Hey, you know something people?
I'm not black
But there's a whole lots a times
I wish I could say I'm not white
Well, I seen the fires burnin'
And the local people turnin'
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item
Watched the mob just turn and bite 'em
And they say it served 'em right
Because a few of them are white,
And it's the same across the nation
Black and white discrimination
Yellin' "You can't understand me!"
'N all that other jazz they hand me
In the papers and TV and
All that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don't appeal to him
(No matter if it's black or white)
Because he's out for blood tonight
You know we got to sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won't be many live
To see it really end
'Cause the fire in the street
Ain't like the fire in the heart
And in the eyes of all these people
Don't you know that this could start
On any street in any town
In any state if any clown
Decides that now's the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right
And if a million more agree
There ain't no Great Society
As it applies to you and me
Our country isn't free
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor
Unless your uncle owns a store
You know that five in every four
Just won't amount to nothin' more
Gonna watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor
(Blow yer harmonica, son)
- Frank Zappa
Oh, To Sing This Onstage Just Once
03.03.07 (2:11 am) [edit]Bop bop-bop bop-bop bop-BOW
Bop bop-bop bop-bop bop-BOW
You're probably wondering
Why I'm here
And so am I
So am I
Just as much as you wonder
'Bout me bein' in this place
(Yeah!)
That's just how much I marvel
At the lameness on your face
You rise each day the same old way
And join your friends out on the street
Spray your hair
And think you're neat
I think your life is incomplete
But maybe that's not for me to say
They only pay me here to play
(I wanna hear Caravan with a drum sola!)
You're probably wondering
Why I'm here
And so am I
So am I
Just as much as you wonder
'Bout me starin' back at you
(Yeah!)
That's just how much I question
The corny things you do
You paint your face and then you chase
To meet the gang where the action is
Stomp all night
And drink your fizz
Roll your car and say "Gee whiz!"
You tore a big hole in your convertible top
What will you tell your Mom and Pop?
(Mom, I tore a big hole in the convertible)
You're probably wondering
Why I'm here
And so am I
So am I
Just as much as you wonder
If I mean just what I say
(Yeah!)
That's just how much I question
The social games you play
You told your Mom you're stoked on Tom
And went for a cruise in Freddie's car
Tommy's asking
Where you are
You boogied all night in a cheesy bar
Plastic boots and plastic hat
And you think you know where it's at?
You're probably wondering
Why I'm here
(Not that it makes a heck of a lot of a difference to ya)
- Frank Zappa
Still Fuckin' Awake
03.03.07 (12:10 am) [edit]Dammit. I need to be up and moving early tomorrow, drive north for students and a gig.
Instead, I've listened to Yogi and Trance-Fusion, gone through old pictures and put a few on my myspace page.
There's no reason to hide the fucking thing anymore, and most of you know where it is anyway.
www.myspace.com/dougboucher
A couple of you will see yourself in my top friends. Don't get excited. I change that every few days. I probably don't like you THAT much.
I change my profile song every day or so too. Tonight it's a song from Eraserhead. Seems appropriate for some reason.
You'll also note the new blog entry there, with links to several mp3s. Most of which I'v eposted here already, but now they're all in one place.
Now I'm gonna listen to the Ultimate Spinach box set and try to make myself tired.
Love,
Dougie
-----
Now I'm back to Zappa. Broadway The Hard Way. Fuck the "it's too political" naysayers right in thier rusty bungholes, I LOVE this album. Any Kind Of Pain is in my top five favorite guitar solos in the history of anything.
A Plug For Yogi
03.02.07 (11:07 pm) [edit]I know he reads my shit on a regular basis, and I need to keep up with him more than I do, but tonight I pulled out a couple CDs of my friend Yogi, and they're kicking me in the ass.
Check him out, ya cunts:
http://www.myspace.com/shawnf...
You rock, dude,
Dougie
After I Write This, I'm Gonna Shut Up And Play My Guitar
03.02.07 (8:17 pm) [edit]It's been out for months, but I finally just finished my first listen of Frank Zappa's Trance Fusion, a collection of guitar solos, many from his final 1988 tour.
Why is it I can't finish one of Frank's albums without breaking down into tears?
I'm not shit next to him. I know that. It fucking hurts to know that. But it would hurt worse not to give it a fucking shot, not to honor his memory with one more feeble attempt to emulate his glorious noise. To at least pick the goddamn thing up and play SOMETHING on it that comes from the place he fills up everytime I hear him.
Few things in this world affect me like a Zappa guitar solo. A whole album of it is almost too much to deal with.
I'll deal with it. I'll be listening to Trance-Fusion a lot in the coming days.
I miss you, Frank. You'll always be here with me though, just a CD away. Thank you for that.
Love,
Dougie
------
I hit a groove for about ten minutes, spinnning out Steve Cropper/David Gilmour rhythm/blues licks that I hope like all fuck I can get across to an audience someday. I feel good tonight. Been listening to old recordings of myself, remembering what it was like to sit in a room and feel uninhibited. Doens't happen often enough. I'm aiming for more of that shit. It's pretty obvious to anyone these days that I'm walking a very fine line between confidence and depression, love of life and absolute hatred of everything. The music helps me through. You can have your fake nailed-up Jesus, your TV, and your SUVs. Good for you. Me, I've got these hunks of wood with strings attached, a bunch of CDs and mp3s, an a few cans of high-gravity lager. My shit might not be better than yours, but it sure as fuck ain't any worse, assholes.
This Is The Greatest Name For A Band In The History Of Music
03.02.07 (7:00 pm) [edit]http://www.myspace.com/wardsc...
And the two tunes on the page are pretty cool too.
Love,
Dougie
The BMV Can Lick My Hairy Ballbag
03.02.07 (5:00 pm) [edit]"I've been to Hell, I spell it...I spell it DMV
Anyone who's been there knows precisely what I mean
Stood there and I've waited and choke back the urge to scream
And if I had my druthers, I'd screw a chimpanzee
Call it pointless." - Primus
I fucking HATE buearacracy and horseshit. THREE AND A HALF HOURS it took today to get my fucking plates and title, becuase SOME license branches can do shit that OTHERS can't do, and I got shuffled around all over the place, one cunt couldn't take my check and I had to go to the ATM, the title office is no longer next door, but across the street, so I go there and she sends me back to the BMV for the inspection, then BACK to the title office for the title and BACK to the BMV for the plates and...and....ARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! !!!
I'm modifying that Sam Kinison thing. "Hell? I ain't scared of Hell. I waited for my fucking plates for TWO FUCKING YEARS. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!""
This is NO reason for this shit, and when you get pissed, people act like "Well, that's how it is." FUCK you. It's how ASSHOLES made it. These governmental bitchbastards want you to know that they OWN you, so they come up with an array of stupid fucking laws that mean nothing whatsoever, just to raise your fucking blood pressure and keep you in line. And I get asked why I'm leaning towards third parties in elections. We've got 50 other problems with this country that need fixed first, but THIS shit needs to go on the goddamn list.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
OK, I feel better now. Who wants a cookie?
Love,
Dougie
A Plug For The Mammoth
03.02.07 (1:47 am) [edit]Hey, everyone - put down the shit you're doing and go read this shit instead:
evilmammoth.tblog.com
I love this guy's writing. Uncle Hunter would be proud.
Love,
Dougie
My Backwards Song
03.01.07 (7:41 pm) [edit]
" " - Joe Satriani
I needed some instrumental music this evening. And I think I might have to sit down and work out the few Satriani tunes I'd be capable of playing. I've never been big on the 80s shred-guitar thing, but a few of them were great, and damn, I really do love a lot of Joe's stuff. So much more true thought and melody there.
I found a woman near me on myspace. A couple years older than me. Killer blonde. Absolutely beautiful and interesting to read about. She comes off quite sane and sophisticated, but with a good sense of humour. So I sent her a friend request.
She wrote me back.
"I have to say that I'm not interested in dating you, but you are so decadent I simply had to accept the friend request. You're funny!"
She called me "decadent." Wow, I really like this one. The irony is, that page isn't NEARLY as twisted as the shit I write here.
She told me why she's not interested, and I'm glad I've done this - I put on my page for all the world to see that I have a love affair with alcohol and don't feel like apologizng for it anymore. So she'll talk to me and that's it. Good for her. I totally respect that, and it's why I felt like putting it up there in the first place - I'd rather get that out of the way and be honest about it than have some poor woman get into me only to find out later that I'm working hard on a career as a professional drunkard.
The one I mentioned a while back (her pic was up for several hours, I never leave those up long) the incredibly hot 19-year old blonde, well it looks like she has found herself a regular guy. Damn. Not that I really thought I stood a chance anyway. Still, I hope to talk some.
I'm trying very hard to pull myself back, get my goddamn penis to stop taking over every fucking moment of the day, and simply appreciate having female friends and their perspective again. I have several online, they're great to me, and I need that.
Actually, I could use one really excellent "platonic" friend I can actually hang out with. That used to happen. I remember my friend Sharon, from years back. We worked together for a while and kept in touch very regularly even when she moved an hour away. I was very attracted to her and she knew it (not like I'm capable of hiding it) but I was quite happy just to have such a good friend. We spent a lot of time together, more than I did with most of my guy friends at the time. I miss that.
The fact is, I don't really hang out with ANYONE down here. Anything I do socially off the computer is up in Indiana. Greg, you and I need to get together. Sorry i haven't replied to your email, I've been bad about that with everyone lately.
I've become very insular during the week. I've tried to go out here and there, but I've not really enjoyed it much, and I hardly ever have the money anymore. Last night with Stanhope was the longest I've stayed in a bar (other than with the band, of course) in a long time. I tried the coffeeshop thing, but that bored me. The other D, the redhead I hung out with a while back, is cool and I'd like to do that again, but something tells me our connection is going to be rather slim.
So obviously I need to hang out in front of high schools and wait for the senior girls to come driving by.
I'n JOKING, assholes.
My head is definitely spending too much time up my ass, though, and I feel my self-importance meter going way into the red everytime I sit down to write this shit. Let's face it, you've really gotta love yourself a lot to write about yourself as much as I do. The fact that I also hate myself so much makes for an interesting combo-platter, I suppose.
Goddamn it. I just don't feel funny right now. Somebody hand me a dick joke, please.
Money is bad. I was going to see Stanhope again tonight, but I decided against it a couple hours ago. I'm going to shoot for the Sunday show - I'll have Katie for the day, and after I take her back home, I can head over there.
Since I'm not going out, and because I was a fucking WRECK this morning - i was kinda fucked up most of the day - I'm taking a night off drinking. I've had to drink less anyway, I just can't afford it too much, but I've had SOMETHING every night except for this past Monday for weeks now. Gotta take a break and clear that system out a bit. Lots of water and coffee today. Gotta big dish of beef chow mein. Aaa-roo. Werewolves of Lebanon.
Man, Satriani could get some sweet clean tones out of that gee-tar.
I think I might take a shot at learning Ice Nine. Good Vonnegut reference, killer piece of music. Ya wanna talk tone, he's all over the place there. I love that shit. Anyone reading this who doesn't have a copy of Satriani's Surfing With The Alien - you're missing out.
I sold the guitars to the store. Less money than I wanted, but enough. Coming back home from picking up the check (they also pay me my student money by check usually) I had on Keneally.
And I'm stranded and don't have a dime to phone
I ought to be alone
I landed on something wrong
I ought to be more strong
Stuck in a backwards song
Yeah, I know that feeling.
Love,
Dougie
--------
I wish my brain had an on/off switch. I can't fucking sleep. I'm tired. I'm DONE. I can't take any more input today.
But NOOOOOOOOOO, my fucking dipshit brain is still scrambling around for more shit to feed the fire.
I've learned to embrace certain aspects of being ADD/bipolar, to the extent that I'm actually GLAD that I have these "problems." I firmly believe now that my creativity and my sense of humour would be very watered-down without these "disorders." As Stanhope said last night, being ADD is where the ideas come from. It's GOOD to have some of that shit swirling around in there.
But it obviously has the bad shit too, and this is the time of night I become irritable and pissy, because I'm fucking tired and can't sleep. Thank fuck it isn't to the extent it was a couple years ago, when I was convinced I was going to lose my mind completely, but it's been hitting me harder lately. Discontent is brewing harshly. If not for my weekends and my time with my daughter, I'd snap. I'm sure of that.
A beautiful new picture of a beautiful young lady here. I wish she'd write again. This picture is tearing me apart, hitting me square in the chest, and reminding me that I want so much more than my dick does. Just one obscure '60s lyric text messaged across those miles would make my heart swim right now.
I miss you.
Stanhope In '08!
03.01.07 (2:19 pm) [edit]The first part of this video (on individualism) is stuff I heard him do last night. The porn stuff at the end he didn't do, but I'd seen video of it before. Funny shit. But the cock-fingering thing hurts to THINK about.
Well, That's Over
03.01.07 (12:36 pm) [edit]
A rather painful exchange of emails between myself and D.
She knows what I think about her. She certainly has the right to defend herself, and I DO understand up to a point. But I'm tired of this rollercoaster.
What's bad is that I'm realizing how much of an asshole I've been and I know I'm not innocent here. So when I wrote back to her last mail, I told her it needs to end, but I don't want it to end with anger or hate or anything bad like that. I'd like it to be friendlier than that. The fact is, we're too far apart and have too different lives to make this work well. And I've been guilty of something else - severe unbalanced dick-thinking. I think it's kinda to be expected when someone fills your head up with the kind of fuck-talk she's given me, but I havne't done enough to show her that I wanted something more substantial than just fucking.
And I did. I wanted to get my dick taken care of FIRST, yeah. I can't deny that, and I don't really even feel like apologizing for that. There is no reason to. But I did like her, and even though we probably couldn't have had a whole lot given our situation, I really did want to hang out with her and get to know her better and do stuff. I apparantly did a shitty job of showing her that.
We weren't realistic about what we could have, and neither of us handled it well. So even though I'm irritated about how she made me feel, I know I did my part to fuck it up too. And I retract one thing I said - calling her a cunt was wrong. An honest feeling at the time, but wrong. I shouldn't have done that.
So now what?
I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of putting emotional energy into people that give so little in return. (And it's not just her I'm thinking about now.) I'm tired of jerking off. I'm tired of being made to feel like an asshole because of being tired of jerking off.
I really don't want to take more than I'm able to give. I don't. I've been guilty of that in the past, and I've hated myself for it. But I'm gonna hate myself even more if I end up giving this much more than I'm allowed to take. Fuck this.
You know what I REALLY want right now? At this moment? A nice backrub, a kiss, and some assurance that I actually sorta matter to someone. That alone would be enough right now.
Or...you know...a really hot 18-year old redhead who lives to suck cock.
I could handle those options.
Love (?),
Dougie
So Anyway...
03.01.07 (8:37 am) [edit]
The show killed.
A local guy opened. Not great, but a few very funny moments.
Andy Andrist was next. He had some HILARIOUS shit. His bit on rape babies will kill ya.
I had onion rings, a Guinness, and a sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Go Bananas does last call about halfway through the headliner's set, it seems.
Stanhope was a motherfucker. I expected him to fall back on more old material, but nearly all of it was fresh. And he's evolved into complete social criticism - no more stories about transvestite hookers and blobs of shit on the hotel bedspread after pulling a vibrating egg out of your ass.
The theme was what is has been for a while - the emptiness and boredom of modern society and our retreat from fun into the illusion of safety and security, and how it's all becoming the same.
Everything I've been feeling for several years, and have spent the past two trying to break away from. I'm possibly more angry about it. Not that he isn't, but his reaction is one more born of exasperation and confusion - WHY are we like this? WHY have we traded in our lives for this endless parade of watered-down horseshit?
I went out and found him at the door afterwards. "Hey man, great to finally meet you."
"You're Doug, right? The guy that's been bugging me on myspace."
Hehehehe.
I went next door and got a double shot of Wild Turkey. The rest of the time I was there, I didn't have to pay for drinks. Other people I didn't know were buying them for me, out of nowhere. Shit, that never happens...
He came in, got his drink, and came right over to our table. I was with the people I'd sat next to at the show. A Martin Sheen-esque guy and his KILLER babe of a brunette girlfriend. She's loved the show, laughed a lot. Goddamn. A hot woman into really twisted humour. I wonder if she has sisters...
They bought me some kind of drink, I didn't know what it was. Something red. Then they got me and Stanhope a Jager Bomb. Somebody came over and handed me a Coors Lite, then left. Another guy who I talked to for a while bought me another beer.
I had more later. And this morning, I've got the first true hangover I've had in a long time.
He talked to me a lot more than I thought he would. I told him how much I want to help his campaign, but he didn't seem to want to talk about that much. I asked him what he thought of the donkey/Jesus idea. "I don't have the time or budget to be renting donkeys, but I like the way you think."
I barely remember anything else, except his opinion on a few name comedians. He wandered around the bar, and talked to all of us.
And, when I left, telling him I'd be back tomorrow, he reached out and kissed me. I have NO idea where that came from, but I'm telling thaqt story for a long time, people. My favorite comedian on the planet, one of my major inspirations, kissed me.
Gawd, my head hurts.
Love,
Dougie