If It Doesn't Say Gritty Kitty, It Stinks

If It Doesn't Say Gritty Kitty, It Stinks

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