07/02/08 To 09/03/08
I've forgotten how working faithfully every night on a book can be so goddamned brutal. It saps my strength. The problem is of course that I write about my experiences as a suffering bastard. I have to force myself to dig up shitty memories from the past that I'd be much more comfortable to never, ever think about again. The past takes its toll on me. I was flopped down in bed feeling sick for five hours in the early evening with all this horrid stuff running through my brain. I eventually got up to work editing in spite of the fact that I felt like heaving and broke out in a cold sweat.
I've decided that I'm going to plow through this run through of the book and then print what there is out and make decisions with a printout in front of me.
On another front, we seem to have on paper an Alcoholics Unanimous full length cd mapped out. Before our practice on Labor day we had a high sodium feast that is rare for me. Elvis brought over some delightful venison sausage coiled up sweetly. Mark made up a batch of butt blistering bacon wrapped stuffed jalopeno's that were flopped on the grill....OHH my ass. Marla chipped in with some normal grilled sausages, some hot wings and stuff to go with it. I used to eat hot stuff like that all the time. I do so very warily now. It all tasted great. My ass wasn't too much the worse for wear. We've got a good start on several new songs. I'm ready to crank 'em out like...well, sausages...in the studio.
Marla and I are quick studies these days compared to other times over the years. I can remember when we rehearsed 3 times a week; we didn't play half as tight. Seems odd, doesn't it.
I'm done..........feeling dizzy again.
I AM THEE WHISKEY REBEL..AND I ENDORSE THE FOLLOWING WORDS.
Before I comment on the Demo convention, I'll remind you people floating in a cloud from the "temple of Obama" speech last night that I will certainly be nauseated by a lot of what is spewed out during the Republican convention. I'm no bible banger or right-to-lifer. I'm a heathen, the likes of which makes quite a few of those folks sick.
The so called lofty rhetoric got to me so bad that I had to throw my remote control on the floor so hard during that Mr. Green Jeans clown Joe Democrats (er, Biden) second spiel in two nights that the batteries fell out.
The "change" we heard about over the last four days is nothing new; just the same old soak the rich crap. I would've swung over to Obama's camp on the spot if I had heard him bring up personal responsibility as a REAL means of changing things in the U.S.
Wouldn't it be great if a man with so much charisma could get kids in school to get past this "it's not cool to learn" horse shit? I'd be calling the local elect Obama people tomorrow to put a sign touting him and Mr. Joe Green Jeans in our strategically important lawn to be viewed by locals if he had endorsed COMMON SENSE as a virtue that needs to be learned by a huge number of Americans.
But no. It was all just the same partisan crap. Nothing new.
If Obama is so fucking intelligent, why doesn't he see how he could benefit the downtrodden by urging them to be SMART and make wise consumer choices? I must conclude that he is trapped into his parties usual entitlement oriented approach to things.
Oddly enough, he promised stuff more than once to people that is already covered. For instance, if you're poor it's easy now to get low interest student loans. And health care. The poor and the elderly are covered. The rich can afford it clearly. The only people not covered are folks with enough money to pay for it whom choose to instead pay for lifestyle oriented shit instead.
His insight into what it's like to have a low annual income and that of the party in general from what I saw over the last four days is shallow. Why not a fresh program to deal with crooked car repair people who impact working folk who tend to drive beat to shit loser cars the most?
I was disgusted at all the hard luck stories I had to sit through over the four days. Carter has a lot of nerve bitching like a senile old coot about McCains "milking" the fact that he was a p.o.w., but how many tear jerking scenarios were we subjected to during the convention? Mr. Green Jeans Biden took the cake; or should I say his Mother did. Her son is a millionaire Senator, but they had to portray her as a working class victim with a poor old ladies complexion.
It's a toss up who told the biggest lies during the convention..the Clintons, or Al Bore.
One final point. So much lip service was paid to Clinton, JFK and Carter, but I never once saw a single mention to the Democrat who honestly worked with MLK and JFK to actually cause REAL CHANGE for our fair land instead of pop culture feelgood pixie dust SHIT. I'm talking about my fellow Texas State History department grad: Mr Lyndon Baines Johnson. Incidentally, he's my kind of democrat along with FDR, Truman, Polk and maybe the fucking Jacksons, both Scoop and Andrew.
The explanation is this; the aging hippies never liked LBJ in spite of his unmatched delivering the goods when it came to overdue progressive legislation. It's a pity he's totally left out of the democrat party circle jerk. The birkenstock loving, patchouli huffers will have their way for another 10 years or so. Too bad. Obama is just a lay preacher amateur politician not worthy of carrying LBJ's savvy jock...Urrppppp
My weekend continued.
After we saw the show at Emo's on Friday night we headed home to meet our pals from Mississippi known for the last 17 years as "Before I Hang" . They played down the street from Emo's at a joint that loves to stiff or half pay bands. They did their job during the Melvins set down the road (the 6th street entertainment district is like that many clubs, many shows going on at once) got some money and a bullshit line about how the club had no idea they were booked. Par for the course. It's called "Headhunters". A nice building, good staff but game playing about money that is encouraged by the fact that so many bands are willing to give it up for free...they call it playing "for exposure". FUCK "exposure".
We had a visit with the guys and met them down in San Antonio the next night at a club we've heard really mixed reports about. Somebody told us they're a pizza parlor. A couple people related stories to us about bands getting stiffed by a screaming female part-owner who shows up late and goes hysterical. A couple other bands had good experiences there. What the fuck.
It seemed like a pleasant enough place at first. Then, the singer for "Before I hang" had problems with a microphone; he tossed it and in the process broke a mic stand that turned out to have a frigging cheesy plastic base.
The band played well and got the crowd into their set even though (perhaps because) they brought out a Mississippi flag and waved it around. They weren't performing in a heel role completely because they had friendly demeanors and communicated well with the audience.
I had a big hunch that the club was going to try to stiff them because of the mic and stand. Remember now, I've been down that road before. Of course so have those boys. It was their fracas to deal with.
In all honesty, of the dozens..hells bells..scores of microphones I've contributed to or condoned destroying on stage, I'd have to say that the vast majority were done in at clubs who loved us due to our bar sales and encouraged us to do what we had to do to have a wild show. Shit, even the frigging Beatles smashed shit when they played sailor bars in Germany. Sometimes we even smash our own equipment or wrap barbed wire around it and burn the damned thing. Those instances are freebies for the clubs. Hey, sometimes the spirit just moves you, yunno?
I've learned over the years to call the clubs bluff when they say they're gonna dock our pay for broken P.A. equipment. A sober member of the band requests (with a smile) that we be presented with the broken mic to take home, since we're "buying it". I'm pretty sure I learned this approach from Jeff Clayton from Antiseen who has filled multiple junkyards with twisted, wrecked sound gear. 90% of the time the sound guy and club dude decide the microphone isn't in all that bad of shape after all. They back down from their gambit. They KNOW the sound guy can fix 85% of damaged mic's.
Anyway, I whispered this suggestion in the ear of a couple of BIH band members after their set just in case they had forgotten this bluff and sat down way back by the bar at a table to drink.
The band was childishly and dramatically banned from theclub until our Rancid Vat singer the Texas Stud negotiated another deal based on his own eye witness account and his friendship with the head owner who is a friend of his. They were reinstated and came back in to drink. Many audience members slapped their backs and seemed to be buying them rounds. They had played well and were appreciated.
Later that evening incidents took place that further convinced us that the place is staffed with approximately 50% nice, friendly employees and about 50% dickheads. The door man at the end of the night got a taste of my hard as nails Frau. Marla was taking her cola drink out to the parking lot to help keep her awake as she drove us home. She was the designated driver. The club should encourage that sort of behavior. Instead he demanded that she consume the "drink" indoors which he knew good and well was sold by the club staff after last call. Marla protested, but then realized he was just some clown with a power trip. So, she daintily tossed the drink so it landed and spilled a few feet away from him and told him off.
Just a few minutes before that I had encountered a dweeb of idiotic proportions who seemed to have been some sort of staff member..perhaps the guy who cooks the books. He sported a 70's sweaty mustache and had the physique and bearing of an Uber-Nerd about 40 years old. I had bellied up to the bar at last call at an empty spot to place my last order. The guy sat down in the chair I was half sitting on while my order was being filled. He took a newspaper and cracked it open sticking it close enough to my face that I lodged a verbal protest.
"What the fuck? Am I crowding you?" I said in a snotty, phony tone.
"Well, maybe" he shot back sounding about as tough as Wally Cox.
I couldn't believe it. I'm not some sort aggressive sort who starts stuff, hells bells I'm a gpddamned civilized chess player, but I lived in Philly long enough to know that if you let your guard down and don't FLICK SOME SHIT now and then you're gonna be eating some shit next time.
I gazed down at the doofus maintaining his firm hold on the paper wondering how seriously to take it. Should I pour my beer over his head I thought? Nah..it'd be a waste of good Texas beer. He started in on some sort of lame explanation about how he had been sitting there and had gone to the bathroom so the seat was technically still his.
This man was obviously a pencil necked geek of the worst sort. There's no sense starting up with rubes like him who make Don Knotts in his prime look like Brock Lesnar.
I decided to leave the bar and his holy stool to him to enjoy for the limited future.
"I guess it's not worth stirring up trouble over, is it"? I asked him.
"Probably not" he agreed in a cartoon like voice staring hard at his paper.
Humping Jumping Jesus. The club made me really appreciate the professionalism of Emo's. We were going to attend a benefit the next Saturday there for a guy we know who lives in San Antonio who is fighting cancer. We decided to just send a check to him instead.
I've been busy as fuck having fun all weekend. I don't feel like spewing it all out in a couple paragraphs, so for tonight (this morning by your schedule) I'll just deal with the first part of Friday night. Marla and I headed into Austin to see the Melvins at Emo's.
Those of you who read this often might remember that I ran into Buzz, Dale and his lovely Frau at the Sex Pistols show I was lucky to catch in Vegas. I was told of their Texas shows at the time (what happened to San Antonio?) and we've been looking forward to seeing them again in A-town. We had an initial big yakathon with Buzz and various band and crewmembers and guests in their dressing room. Buzz and a real life Texas State Highway patrolman (who was present) had pulled a worldclass rib on Dale that very morning, that was so classic I don't even feel right about mentioning any details. This is a diary, not a music gossip column. I'm sure the band will divulge what happened at some appropriate time.
Anyway, Marla and I headed down the Emo's catwalk to catch the last half of the Big Business set and the Melvins sonic soiree. The place was packed. The Melvins do damned well in Austin. We found a space in the back outdoor area where we could hear Big Business and wait for the crowd to abate just a bit. They draw a broad variety of fans in Austin. The usual horde of drunks was there but also quite a few underaged kids and in several cases their parental excorts.
I swilled a few PBR 16 ouncers and predicted to Marla that by the 3rd Melvin's song the early pukers would begin staggering out leaving gaps in the crowd we could fill.
We ran again into a guy we had met in the dressing room Whom Jello has suggested a few times I needed to meet: Paul of Ministry infamy. He started out in the Northwest with a band called the Blackouts. It took about 30 seconds to figure out a club we had mutually played in Seattle. Nice fella.
After about 3 Melvins songs the drunkest of the drunk in the audience headed for the turnstiles. You couldn't really tell unless you're a veteran of music shows like I am. Marla decided to take a bulldozer approach to find a spot to see the band from up front. I knocked back a couple more brewdogs and took a frontal side approach. Wouldn't you know it, I ran in Dirty Charlie and his wife from Lubbock. He advised me against trying to bull my way in too fucking close. Lo and behold, Charlie was right. About a miute after he made his suggestion the biggest brawl of the night took place in which a couple of huge troublemaking lunkheads had to be escorted out by the friendly Emo's security staff. I couldn't tell for sure, but suspected they were the same boneheads who started up similar shit at the supershow in 2004 at Emo's. I dunno for sure.
Charlie and his main squeeze had ventured to Austin for the weekend with the Melvins show as sort of a centerpiece of activities. He summed it up pretty well when he told me he thought that the Melvins are one of the few bands working the "circuit" you can count on everytime for a good show.
That's the way the rest of the set played out.
The Melvins are a great band for many reasons; I'd like to point out 2..their innovativeness and ability to come up with both extremely rocking riffs (which are the backbone of guitar oriented rock) and maintain beats that get into your head like a case of rock and roll head lice.
The fact that I personally respect the entire band and crew for their professionalism and work ethic is beside the point. I'm proud to know a band who managed to escape from our old stomping grounds thrives today and probably will be around for me to see play now and then until I keel over for my dirt nap.
I haven't been able over the last couple of years to really, really throw myself into a major writing project. Why? Well, of course due to school. Now that my degree is in the bag and I have one 3-5 page doublespaced paper left to complete in a few weeks, I am as of tonight officially plunging into the final edit/re-write in places of "Escape From Cookieland".
It's funny how your mind can make decisions if you give it time and don't press too hard. I took a couple creative writing courses at Texas State and filed away what I learned about how a writer is supposed to do things. I knew at the time I'd take some of the advice offered and pass on other stuff. One of the things I can say I was seriously trained in during those classes is the method and possibilities of the re-write. One of my Profs was the infamous award winning guy I've written about many times here a couple years ago or so. Another was a newer writer who has spent most of her life working hard, really hard to get the words down. The last was a guy who is very good at his craft, but a total devotee to the ivory tower, writers circle jerk way of doing things. I'm glad I studied under him if for only a few weeks, because he really stressed accuracy and tightness and proper form. I won't be conforming all that much to the sometimes stiff, arrogant literary journal way of doing other things he taught, but will use a good deal of the technical stuff I learned.
Last night a clear conception of what I need to do to complete "Escape From Cookieland" popped into my head. No fuss, no hand wringing.
Of course, before my exposure to collegiate, talented instructors I thought the book WAS done (whoops!...how DARE! I go all caps with that "WAS". Oh yeah..this is just a drunken journal..it's ok). Many good writers keep editing and re-editing and flogging a book over and over like a spent pecker or dried up pussy until their final submission date. Some never learn when to draw a line in the sand and say "I'm done". A good many of them wind up never being read for this very reason. At the other end of the spectrum we have conceited self appointed geniuses who are addicted to the smell of their own shit and never question what they lay down.
As you may or may not surmise, I met both kinds of those folks in my college writing courses. We had to read these peoples stuff and sit in a circle and often crucify them verbally for their "own good". The fact is, too many than you would suspect seem addicted to these critical circles. They never spread their frigging wings and try to fly. They just keep trying to improve, but failing like approximately 95% of amateur golfers.
I'm an independant minded guy. A lone wolf. I don't need a semi-permanent crew of people around me telling me where I'm going wrong. If I'm that bad I'll quit getting fanmail, which I've already been getting for years. If that happens, I'll just casually switch back to playing more chess or music or writing only opinionated columns and reviews.
UUrrpp......(How dare I...I used Urp a couple days ago; how can it be funny more than once? Epecially with an incorrect use of cap's?)
Well, I'm happy to say our drummer Bobo is back in the fold. No big deal, no soap opera to report. Just worship him.
I sent in my "Madame Bovary" paper today to the faceless correspondence course people cringing at some of the pop culture references I made. I've got to take a 2 1/2 hour essay question midterm a couple days after I get it back.
Should be a pleasant week with the MELVINS hitting Austin on Friday and from Mississippi "BEFORE I HANG" in San Antonio the next night.
All that, plus I'm making a huge batch of Whiskey Rebel meatballs tomorrow which will be frozen for the future and marinating beef for stroganoff. Uummm.
I called Mother up in Eugene yesterday. The temperature actually reached 100 degrees there and she told me about how she had to sleep in her birthday suit and take meals in the garage (where she reportedly was properly dressed). Oregonians and Washingtonians are not used to heat. Marla's Sister called her yesterday and they had a big talk about the heat wave which of course we take for granted down here.
I shake my head in wonder at their lack of air conditioning, but actually we lived in an un-air conditioned cottage in North Hollywood in 1986. We were insane for doing so of course. I worked long crazy hours and sometimes was woken from a day sleep by a scent that seemed to be the headboard of our bed burning. Our other S.C. home in Hollywood near Sunset Blvd. had poor but adequate air conditioning. Maybe we never would have left if we had a proper cave like climate to sleep in every night.....Uurrpppp
I was gonna do up an entry here about how much my cats remind me of amateur musicians I have known. One cat, Mr. Jinx is a complete suck up for pets. He's a frigging whore, except that's not quite right because whores don't jump in your lap and beg for it. The other cat (my personal pal whom only I really understand) Dixie always misunderstands pets. He doesn't go out looking for them like Mr. Jinx, but he always misunderstands them. Once started pets can never end without him getting pissed.
Marla reminded me of how whenever I make broad comments critical of musicians many of our friends whom I didn't even have in mind take it personally no matter how I preface my remarks. So, I won't go into it.
Then, I was going to tackle the non-debate "debate" between Obama and McCain, since I managed to watch it all without vomiting over its precious pure "service to mankind" theme. I wrote about Obama a couple weeks or so ago. I'm completely alienated by such holy sucking up by both candidates. Fuck it. I'm not gonna write about that.
I was gonna write about my new plan for my personal future upon receiving my college degree on the upcoming 19th or so of December. I'm rattled though and not in the best frame of mind. I completed a paper today for one of my final two classes about "Madame Bovary". I actually sunk to making a serious, analogous point concerning the main character and the lead character broad from "Sex And The City". I wish I had chosen to write about Don Quixote. It's just a correspondence Euro lit class, why must I suffer so? Anyway, so much for writing about that.
I spent hours evaluating my games from the U.S. Open using my Fritz computer software. Even though I'm pleased by the fact that I seem to have evaluated only one game of nine in a misguided fashion over the board, I just wrote several pages about chess a few days ago. I don't want to burn out the non-chess freaks reading this.
I've wanted to comment on the olympics, but I can't get past the costumes chosen for the participants. As I explained to Marla, I know it's OK to ogle the female beach volleyball players (she offered to turn in for the night to allow me to watch them uninhibited), but what about the Gymnasts? What if I ogle a 12-14 year old by mistake? Are they gonna haul our imac away? Do women ogle the male swimmers? of course..they must. How old are they? Uhhh...hhm.
So, I guess I'm not gonna post a damn thing today. It's not like I have a gun to my head.
A couple days ago I gave the basic run down of the week Marla and I spent in a hotel in Dallas last week. The chess went well, but of course there's a lot more to report about. Today all major cities seem to be chock-a-block with newer hotels catering to business people and conventions. When I have a choice I much prefer cheaper motels with outdoor walkways or older hotels with "character".
We stayed at a fancy 20 story Westin hotel loaded with classy art objects and beautiful decor. Hey, the United States Chess Federation got us all a room rate deal. The crafty hotel loaded our room and the lobby with tempting treats and services designed to soak the unwary for a lotta dough.
Now, I've been around some and used to be a businessman who enjoyed an expense account on occasion. I'm not against paying skyhigh prices as long as I'm being reimbursed by an employer. When we Irwin's are paying our own way, we are wary and savvy.
OK. Call me fucking cheap: I'll be goddamned if I'm gonna sit in a bar and pay $4 for 8 ounce tap beers that wouldn't get a fly high and $6-$8 for watery drinks when I can bang 'em down cheap and dirty in my room. Now I understand there are exceptions..such as when YOU'RE BUYING...ha ha ha. If you've got a lot of dough or are on an expense account..FINE.
If you think you're having a better time than tightwad me with your $100 bar tab you've got some serious mental problems. How much you spend on booze does not logically factor into how much of a good time you had. The only way it can is if you feel like a stud buying rounds for the house or your friends and guess what? You've got a frigging fantasy running in your head. Nobody respects you more for blowing a wad like you're Sinatra or fucking Buddy Goddamned Greco. They suck up the drinks and laugh and it's all forgotten before they wake up the next morning. YOU CAN'T BUY RESPECT...not even with the best booze. YOU CAN buy phony back slapping and jovial ritual glass clinking and if that's enough to turn you on..more power to ya.
The next temptation these hotels put in your path is in the form of your in room stocked bar with all those appealing little miniature bottles. Don't even TRY to con the Whiskey Rebel into thinking you had a better time than him because you got shitfaced and drank up all the little $9 per whack bottles and had to pay a $200 tab.
Hey Bub, I invented the "Whiskey Rebel Lifestyle". I've been sharing it with folks in columns for years. I am a true aesthete. Only an asshole equates money spent with pleasure enjoyed. If you got a wad of dough burning a hole in your pocket and are staying in some nice hotel and want to have some extra pleasure for your money, go to a liquor store and buy a half dozen really nice top brand bottles of booze and set up a bar in your room. By doing so you are getting value for your money. Hey, guys..looking for some action with the local cuties? A tasteful in-room bar stocked with the best is a magnet for quality women. They're gonna be clamoring to your room in droves. That's WHISKEY REBEL GUARANTEED! If it doesn't work for you, you must be a loser and therefore don't bitch to me.
The food in our hotels dining facilities was disappointing as hell. You want a burger or a hunk of turkey breast covered with sauce for $15-$20? Plus tip and beverage cost of course. This particular place had a piss poor room service menu. I've forked out up to $12 for a club sandwich a few times before in other places, but they didn't offer it. Just the same designer burger or hunk of turkey. Fuck that. Oh yeah..a room service order besides the hefty price tag (designed for expense account types) required a $3 service fee AND an automatic 18% gratuity. You're looking at $25 bucks.
I couldn't help but wonder how many average chess players (who are not ordinarily wealthy) out of the 300 or so probably staying at the hotel ate a couple $25 meals per day and and drank a few at the bar and topped it off with a couple $2 candy bars? I quickly surmised that the ones who did were the ones on chess federation expense accounts. The rest were walking to the Jack-off in a box around the corner or maybe the Taqueria by a gas station across the street.
I got a bit paranoid about the add-on charge factor in the hotel. There were absolutely no signs about an ice machine whatsoever..even though there was a well hidden one on our floor. WHY? They wanted you to order a bucket of ice which probably would cost $6 plus $3 service charge plus an 18% gratuity.
The hotel didn't make an extra dime off of us. We didn't tip the room maid either. FUCK 'EM. Oh..I almost forgot. We tipped the guys who lugged a mini frig and microwave oven to the room. $2 per guy. That's it. Do I feel guilty? Fuck no. The Westin hotel people are loaded. They know a certain percentage of us aren't going to fall for their mini-bar scam. They have it all charted out and still survive and thrive.
If you want further proof of their sneaky ways of adding on charges, they made us pony up an unexpected $9 per day for parking.
The shithouse situation by the tournament room was tricky before I made a discovery. The mens room had just 2 stalls. Since my games ran on an average of 4-5 hours I'd often find myself needing to chop a log. Due to the recent wave of computer cheating you can't just waltz up to your hotel room and have a comfortable, clean ass blast. You've got to stay on the floor of the tournament hall. Luckily, I aced out my fellow chess players by discovering a huge 4 stall shithouse about a minutes walk and around the corner from the main tournament area. It was almost always completely empty. To be honest, since the stool in our room had a telephone (?!) that got in the way of my left arm I eventually considered that secret poop chute to be an even better throne room.
Sometimes Marla and I are ready to throttle one another after 2 or 3 nights in a motel/hotel room. After spending the entire last week in a fancy hotel room in Dallas we felt sad to be leaving and were jolly as opposed to on edge.
I was there to compete in the 109th annual U.S. open chess tournament. Since there was a reasonable "chess rate" for rooms Marla came along to enjoy the pool, the marvelous if sometimes obsessed sights and sounds of 350 chess players banging heads and the pleasures of Dallas.
We showed up the day before my first game and found ourselves in a good room with a great 14th floor view of parking lots and buildings which I knew would be fun to gaze at whilst drinking every night before bed. Right off, I ran into several people I knew from around Texas and even a couple guys from my days as playing as a kid in Boregon.
My first game was against a guy playing in his first tournament. He played very well, but I managed to put him away with a fairly brilliant attack against his king. I was mister nice guy for the most part all week and looked over the game with him and encouraged him. He's an English teacher at a local Dallas high school and head of the chess program. During our game I sat next to a guy who looked to be about 20 playing in his first tournament. He had the last name of a well known grandmaster from Canada who once hustled me and several others for quarters at the 1971 U.S. junior open. I talked to him a bit after our games and learned that he indeed was the son of the GM and of course that his Mother was the legendary Women's player who I knew married the man.
His parents (who are not together anymore) had the distinction of hosting none other than the reclusive Bobby Fischer in their home for a few months many years ago. There's another twist to this story line later. Urpp.
In round two later that day I played a really long, tough game against an expert from N.C. and lost. I made a couple shaky moves but impressed myself with my scrappiness.
The next day, Wednesday happened to be our 31st wedding anniversary. I hoped to get my night game over in time to eat somewhere swell with Marla. My morning game was oddly against the Wife of the guy I had played the night before. The result was a win in 17 moves with a brilliant move that won her Queen. She seemed pretty pissed off afterwards. Oh well. That's chess. My later 4th round game was against a veteran expert from Houston. He played into my favorite opening line as black which seems to perform magically against strong players. I chased his King around for awhile and won a couple pawns. My attack was over though..and it was his turn to attack. He offered me a draw and I took it.
Marla and I ventured out to a place in central Dallas called "Cafe Brazilia" . I didn't see any Brazilians there, but I did notice that we seemed to possibly be the only straight people in the facility. That's ok by us, as long as the food is good and it damned well was. Marla had grilled salmon with a thick sauce consisting of jalapeno's mixed with something that made it look purple. I had a great chicken fried steak that was carefully prepared and topped with gravy light years beyond the truck stop stuff that can give one a gut ache. Happy anniversary sweetheart. We had some great cake from a very ethnic German deli & bakery Marla found earlier in the day.
I really, really got into drinking in our room. It was complete with a lovely silver ice bucket and tongs and perfect glasses. On our anniversary night we returned to the room after dinner and listened to an oldies 70's station (to laugh at of course, not to feel nostalgic) and got tanked and monitored the parking lot far below Whiskey Rebel style.
I hadn't gotten to hop in the pool yet to try out my stylish new trunks from the local fatman store. I kept expecting it to happen the next day.
Thursday morning I had my most frustrating experience of the tournament. I played an 11 year old kid who is already rated an expert (I'm in a rating category just below the "expert" class which is in turn beneath the hallowed "master" ranking). This isn't very unusual of course. I've written here about lots of battles with kids of his age and skill level. I whipped one good in the last round at the National open in Vegas in June. This game I had him on the ropes for about 40 moves. In a desperate position he came up with a brilliant sacrifice of a Knight that turned the game around. As I explained to Marla, it wasn't really a blunder on my part but a stroke of genius from him. The kid was rude and poorly mannered compared to most of the kids I see all the time here around the Austin chess club. It was a depressing loss, but you just have to dust yourself off and move on to the next game.
I hate to sound like a sickening optimist, but being a baby after a disappointing loss for longer than an hour is counter productive to competition.
That night I was paired with another kid about a year younger and much lower rated who had already pulled off upsets of players of my strength and stronger. I was warned by an old buddy from Oregon who had faced him that he made his moves faster than almost anybody he had ever played. This turned out to be true. He was incredibly inpatient and waggled his leg and ran around the room looking for friends to play with between every move. He played damned aggressively though and well. I decided to trade off almost all of the pieces to try to whip him in an endgame which isn't considered "fun" by most kids who love to attack. My strategy worked. I gave him a frigging endgame seminar. His King, Knight and Rook were paralyzed by mine and I slowly won one pawn and then two and then pushed them down the board to promote to Queens. I have to say, it was one of the most satisfying wins of my life. If I had kept crying about the mornings loss I wouldn't have been able to do it.
The next and last 3 days of the event I only had to play one game at 7:00 pm which left time for other stuff. Marla and I made a trip to South Fork ranch which is of course where one of our favorite shows "Dallas" was mostly filmed.
We found a "discount" beer store that sold gas for $3.53 per gallon as a promo.
For some goddamned perverted reason many local townships in the Dallas area have had asinine "blue laws" until recently. Marla spent hours hunting for cheap corporate beer and could never find it; it was always priced at about $24.00 per case..?!?!? What the fuck?
Most grocery stores didn't even sell beer. I'm damned glad we brought a good supply of booze. Anyway, the "discount" beer in Plano (near South Fork) was still $21.00 per case for Coors. Humping Jumping Jesus!
South Fork was lots of fun. We didn't take the tour, but we vowed we will next time we come up. We bought some stuff in the large gift shop and took in the feel of the neighboring properties. Some of the coolest ranch houses I've ever seen in my life are just
across the road from the ranch. We made our way back to the hotel.
That night I found myself paired with the Mother of the kid whose Father is the Grandmaster I wrote about earlier. I knew before sitting down across the board with her that this gal had cooked for Bobby for months so the legend goes. She holds the world chess federation title of "Women's International Master" and competed in a chess olympiad long ago.
I played my favorite opening as black again and managed to pull off a draw in about 20 moves. It was a boring position with little promise for either of us of a win. We talked outside of the playing hall for a half hour or so. She's just taken up the game after a 20 year break. We talked about that, our Sons and their chess interest or sometimes lack of it and other stuff. She was a very nice lady. Just as we shook hands to part I remembered to ask her for a tidbit about Bobby. She told me quite a bit about him, but the thing I believe she intended me to make public was the fact that he ate like a horse, large portions..and wasn't picky at all. She cooks a variety of ethnic fooks and he'd eat it all.
Yes, the man was a jackass publicly, but he had a nice side to him according to her. I've been thinking about that and am pondering if he was like some of the heel musicians I've known.
By Saturday the hinge on my left thigh was sore as fuck from being draped over convention hall chairs for so many hours. I was hobbling too bad to get to the pool which I had planned to finally visit that day. My new trunks lay in a drawer unused. Well, I SWORE I'd swim the next night after the last game.
Anyway, my Saturday game was with an expert from Kansas I should've lost to. He looked a helluva lot like Larry from Steel Cage / Carbon14. This isn't just my opinion, Marla thought so too. He had hair down well below his butt though. I played a mostly flawless game and came within a hair of bowling him over early. He regrouped and the position locked up into another draw.
It's a good thing incidentally to draw a player rated much higher than you. Of course it's better if you can beat them, but....
I drank alone that night staring both out the window and at the HD television. Marla was asleep with some sort of allergy. I had only one game left and hoped it could all end happily leaving me with a good taste in my mouth over the coming weeks.
I was paired (as I predicted oddly) with yet another expert, one of the hottest young kids from our club in Austin. He's a nice guy whom I owned a 1-0 record against from a game a couple years ago. I was sure he'd be out to pound me. He came out swinging and I used an opening line from a book I had closely studied the week before the tournament. I got a good game with the black pieces and we fought for about 4 hours. Eventually, much like my game from the night before the position just sort of locked up and he eventually offered a draw which I accepted.
So, I ended up 5-4 or with if you prefer: 3 wins 2 losses and 4 draws. A nice lady from the U.S. chess federation online staff asked if she could take my picture saying she liked "my style". After the photos I told her the national chess magazine had ran my picture a year ago since I'm such a great role model. She agreed. Now, I'm waiting to see if they're going to run it. Of so I'll put up a link here.
Oh yeah....I DID slip into my new trunks after the last game. It was dark but nice and peaceful in the pool area. Unfortunately the wind was blowing warmly about 40 miles per hour.
I stepped about thigh deep into the pool, barely soaking the hem of my trunks..and then decided against swimming. Marla and I stretched out on a couple of pool loungers and I passed out for a 20 minute nap with the strong winding blowing in my face like it was an air tunnel. It was oddly refreshing.
We then went back to our room for another round of stiff drinks (especially for me) and to get dressed for another nice dinner back at "Cafe Brazilia" in the gay part of town. The male couples all looked like sweaty football fans and one guy sat alone babbling loudly to himself, but the food was great.
So, in a couple days Marla and I leave for Dallas for the "biggest" chess tournament of my life. "Biggest" in this case means most prominent..and most historical. It's the frigging U.S. open for christs sake. They've been holding these things for 130 years or so I believe.
It's 9 rounds (games) which makes it the longest event I've ever played in. My longest tournament to date was the 1971 U.S. junior open (in which I took home the top 14 year old trophy).
If I were to play really well I could take home a couple thousand bucks as the top player in my rating group. Even if I did, I'd have to value my U.S. junior result as "bigger" or greater.
My most satisfying results to date have been in much smaller regional events. I'd have to cite my first tournament ( a scholastic event) ever..which I won 5-0, my first adult tournament win a few years later and my winning the Seattle and Portland amateur championships.
It's sad these days for players my age and level. I'm way better than when I was young, but so what; I'm not young..and competing against other adults I'm nothing special. Nobody wants us. Everybody is interested in young players..and I guess I understand that.
So, why do I play? Well, I want to play some GOOD CHESS. Against strong opposition. I could go to the local coffee house and mop the floor with the opposition..but they are shit..hell, lower than shit down there. I don't get off on whipping weaker opponents. I do get off on playing good games against talented competition.
I suppose I should be content if I finish with about a 5-4 score up in Dallas. If I do and I also play some exciting games against strong players I'll feel dandy. In the first round since I'm in the middle of the players entered rating wise, I'll play in a mismatch either against a beginner or a grandmaster. I'd rather play the grandmaster and have the floor mopped with my butt than whipping a bottom feeder. The grandmasters represent excellence. It's hard to even come into contact with excellence in the pursuit of any hobby. It's more of an achievement to hang in there with a strong master than it is to beat up on a "fish'.
Any of you who are under the illusion I'm a brainless drunk, a loser or psycho you'd be well advised to consider what an intellectual challenge I'm going to undergo up in Dallas.
In spite of the fact that I plan to get elegantly shitfaced nightly...Urrppp...
Pray for me..to something...I don't care what...
The WWII generation lived through some real hardships and rose above it all and proved themselves as a generation worthy in many respects. Unfortunately, History will show that a lot of them were blind bible bangers who allowed their faith to cloud their judgement in many ways. Their confusion on the dangers of "drugs" for instance is an example where they didn't know what the fuck they were talking about. You could say they let their religious faith often guide their thinking achieving results that seem embarassing today.
I'm not here to pick on those folks. It's more important in 2008 to point out the current "religion" being crammed down our throats by the bunch that's in charge now: the fucking hippie generation. Their "go green" "global warming" climate change" carbon footprint" horseshit is their religion. They want us to sacrifice blindly based on their over the top acceptance of hokum spewed out by clowns like Al Gore and opportunistic "global village" whacky suckups.
I read today a story about some California government hippies raking a bottled water business (Nestle) over the coals, judging whether or not they should be allowed to do business.
When in the hell are people going to stand up and speak out about the horseshit these idealistic nitwits are being allowed to get away with? If these idiots start cutting into the operations of legitimate businesses in order to enforce their unprovable, emotionally based idiocy, we really ARE going to have a crisis...due to THEM.
I'm several years younger than the hippy generation. I've always despised them and their feel good crap. I hate the way they've always loved being in large groups (look at the size of their spacey non-commital, karma oriented churches!)
They've always posed as open minded types, but they've always been the most narrow brained of all. It was relatively easy discussing the virtues of marijuana and loud ass rock and roll with WWII folks than it is trying to get these stinking woodstock alumni squirrels to calm down long enough to actually discuss their pet political fetishes.
Climate change theory is such a sketchy, cause oriented ruse..it won't last long. I guarandamntee you that once the hippie regime attempts to sweep it under the rug in favor of their next looney collectivist witch hunt I will be there to tell the world I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO, you drug addled, face painting, spoiled, self centered, hypocritical ASSHOLES.
I wonder how many people are trapped right now in situations where they have to pretend to suck up to the climate change/green teat or risk being tarred as nazi's by bosses, co-workers and significant others? If this is you, isn't it about bloody time you grew a pair?
Hah. If not, I'll give you a fucking "footprint"..RIGHT UP YOUR wind powered ASS.
So far it's been a full summer. I've had a variety of activities keeping me busy.
The expanded (2 extra stories) version of Jobjumper will be back from the publishers in about 6 weeks. Just in time for christmas. Urp.
My correspondance Euro lit course is heating up. I've read all of the frigging books. The workbook they sent me has a jillion questions they suggest you write out answers to in order to prepare for the midterm and final which I'll actually take on campus. My first of two papers is the first thing I need to send in. I'm going to write about "Madame Bovary" which is actually a decent book. I'm almost ready to bash it out.
Meanwhile, I've been contacted by a film director who has been putting together a film about Jesco White for a year. It's funded by MTV. They want to use our Rancid Vat song about him and also want possibly some live performance footage. I'm searching our archives.
The most pleasant thing I'm doing this summer I guess is competing in a historical chess event: the "U.S. open". It's being held this year up in Dallas. We're gonna be up there for a week in a nice hotel. Marla of course isn't there to watch my chess but to relax and enjoy the amenties.
Frankly, I can't understand why she doesn't want to watch my 9 games most of which will probably last 4-6 hours. We'll celebrate our anniversary while up there. I've been studying 3-5 hours per day for most of the summer. It's one helluva lot easier when you don't have to try to retain foreign language words or Physics principals at the same time. The last two years my chess rating has slipped a bit. I'm out to rectify it. I'm ready to fucking do battle and fight like a stinky wounded dog every game.
I always dreamed as a kid about playing in the U.S. open incidentally. Never had the resources ($$$).
Soon after we get back it'll be time to take my Correspondance course midterm and get ready for my once a week Physics lab.
I'm looking forward to seeing the Melvins play in Austin on the 22nd of August.
About a month later Mark and I are flying to Charlotte for the Antiseen 25th anniversary show. I bet more than a few people reading this will be there. let me know who you are damnit.
I talked to my aging Mother on the phone tonight. She doesn't want to live much longer, but she does want to see a picture of me accepting a sheepskin at a formal graduation ceremony which will be in December. She is vehement about this. I haven't much caved in to her wishes for a long time, but since Marla and Elvis and his wife think it's a good idea I guess I'll probably do it.
She also requested a picture of Elvis (who graduated in June) the new schoolteacher and I together in cap and gowns.
Shit, she's getting pretty demanding. Maybe she wants to show it to all her relatives I don't communicate with...maybe they doubt our academic clout. Oh well...YES MOTHER.
I even finished off a song this weekend I've been meaning to polish off for about 10 years about my Uncle Lavern. He was the blacksheep of the family years before I was granted the honor. I polished it off with ease. I've had such a break from writing songs that I feel like I could lay down about 10 for each band.
Of course I've written some, just not a butt load.
I've got a fresh cassette recording setup to cover for my paranoia about forgetting song riffs. With that I am unstoppable. Once to answer a challenge I wrote the musical basis for 10 songs in a 24 hour period. Most of them were eventually recorded. In all modesty I must admit several are classics.
What the hell....it's great to be great.
American politics is such a stinking, rotten game. I can handle the fact that people of diverse interests want to seize power. If the various factions made arguments based on logic publicly and the folks who vote actually responded to the better arguments political elections might be tolerable to me and perhaps sometimes even educational.
Of course the reality is the political scene is dominated by political opportunists who are wolves in sheeps clothing. They summon up images that will appeal to the senses of the masses and wield messages promising that you will feel good if you support them. Sometimes they conjure up references to "the children" or seniors or the middleclass or the poor; sometimes they appeal to ones conscious and duty to the planet or family values or starving or sick people somewhere far away.
Politicians are by nature slimy fucking liars presenting during the campaign a calculated and insincere face to the public. The better ones tell half truths as opposed to the many who are complete behind-the-scenes fabrications.
The same thing can be said about auto dealer sales associates. They are also slimeballs that only a fool would trust; but GUESS WHAT? Guess how many American humanoids do just that even though they've been reamed time and time again?
Americans in droves who should know better from experience put their faith in their local con-man auto carnies. The dealerships love to run adds about how THEY are different. The rubes are conned into believing so by perhaps some shuck and jive about sticker prices or rebates or "come on down and visit with us". In the end, the pro's have their way with the boobs.
That of course is exactly how things work in the world of politics.
The American fools buy into calculated political ventures the same way. They know how crooked politicians are and laugh enthusiastically at Letterman jokes about them, but in the end they rationalize that the individual they are supporting is an exception. The get conned by phony bastards smiling at them, invoking pleasant buzz words and "feel good" messages.
Just like some people can't resist fattening "comfort" foods without any nutritional merit one HELLUVA LOT of the American electorate can't turn down an offer to feel warm and fuzzy by supporting some crafty bid for power.
Some car adds focus on how hot you're gonna look driving some sexy new model and others appeal to "concerned" peoples desires to be patted on the head for being environmentally conscious and still other adds appeal to folks who want to have that buzz they get from being thrifty.
In the end, it's all about making a buck. It's all about making a sale.
Same thing with politics.
That's why I limit my involvement. There's no sense trying to make an intelligent judgement when it's all going to be decided anyway based on the collective emotions of the voters and the effectiveness of the sharks who run the campaigns.
And so, I play chess or watch old wrestling footage or play or listen to music and of course every night without fail DRINK. And I do so without the least sense that I'm missing anything. I'll just watch enough coverage on TV so that I can remind you that I TOLD YOU SO when the euphoria has abated and your candidate has proven that he or she indeed is NOT different.
I had a 9 hour long pornographic dream last night..involving many people who read this on occasion. It was very graphic. I actually enjoyed it. I woke up and staggered into our convenient master bath and took a leak at one point; thankfully I know how to sustain dreams through potty breaks.
A pleasant email appeared today. Permission was requested for usage of the front cover of our Rancid Vat "the Cheesesteak years" cd for a book celebrating the mighty cheesesteak culture in Philly. The author of the book has written books on Spam and Jello. I'm excited about it. The cheesesteak needs to be glorified. I'm still very positive about our time spent in Philly. It's a really great frigging cover. Our pal Leslie from Carbon14 is responsible for the photo. Why did we never make any T-shirts with the cover boldly duplicated on the front? I dunno.
The last couple days I've finished off my final introductory words for the very soon to appear 2nd edition of JOBJUMPER. I've been hesitant about mentioning any dates here, but I think it's very safe to say at this point that we'll have 'em in early-mid September. I've had to turn away lots of people who've wanted to buy one since it's been out of print. Many of them loaned their copy out and never saw it again.
Well, this edition will have two bonus chapters: "Diapers for Grandpa" (which I sold a very limited number of home made numbered copies of) a jolly account of my period of employment by a horrid employer that is so big and well known you'd figger they'd NEVER screw you over...HAH! The other bonus chapter is "Self Employed Saphead"..which will bring readers up to date with some of my miseries suffered as an internet marketing kingpin (suuure). If you've ever sold shit on Ebay you'll likely relate.
I'm grinding away at my Euro lit correspondance course. I finally read the last book "Rene" by a fellow named Chateaubriand. Not too surprisingly it was about as depressing as the rest. The protagonist is a young man who falls into a mindset in which he feels the whole human world is beneath him. Instead of proving his superiority by taking over or fighting back by hitting the bottle and learning how to dish out revenge in bar fights or perhaps chasing the sort of women who tolerate sensitive guys, he gets sucked into a spiritual mindset and winds up trying to find a remote corner of the earth to live a pure, isolated existance.
What a pussy.
Chateaubriand evidently declared late in his life that he regretted writing the book and that if he could destroy it he would since it had inspired a large number of spoiled whiners to emulate Rene. Good for him for realizing that instead of blindly sucking up praise.
Of course nowdays we know what kind of horseshit whine-rock band Rene would probably start up.
It all reminds me of the disgust Kerouac had for the legion of cornball by-the-numbers beatniks his books unfortunately inspired.
Sifting through the course materials reminded me of one of my favorite "Green acres" episodes. Eb the farmhand decides he's going to learn to be a barber by mail in a similar course. He enrolls in the course and gets a big package that includes a styrofoam head, a few wigs, and a box of records he's supposed to learn with. He puts on his white barber jacket and hacks away at the wigs eventually shipping them off to be graded.
One of the records is a hokey broadcast of a football game, being passed off as that of the correspondance barber college. Mr. Douglas sort of laughs all this off until the day Eb wants him to help complete an assignment by submitting to a haircut.
When he gets a passing final grade in the mail it's accompanied by a recording of a graduation ceremony. He begs Mr. and Mrs. Douglas to attend. He stands solemnly wearing a cap and gown through a round of monotonous, breast beating speeches similar to what I had to endure for Elvis's sake.
Which reminds me..Marla and Elvis and his wife want me to accept by diploma in person in the ceremony late this fall. OH SHIT. If I do, at least I'll have a reserved seat that isn't as cramped. I've got a nice flask. Hhmmm. Should I or shouldn't I? It'd be more fun if I could get them to stand by my turntable as I graduate Eb style.
I fucking vowed I wouldn't get within a mile of the place, but shit. It's taken me 30 frigging years to get the damned degree. It seems like it'd be a bit of a let down to just get it in the mail. Then again, I may puke all over the podium being forced to listen to the same old nauseating "as we go forth into the real world" speeches. I dunno, we'll see.
I know not very many Americans even spared a thought in passing about the founding Fathers over the last weekend with all the picnic face stuffing and other hoopla.
Personally, since I've been working on a biography of John Adams ("Party of One") I spent a helluva lot of time reflecting upon them.
Since the heroes of the revolution are presented in such a stiff. p.c. way in our public schools, the masses have lost sight of how much they were just like any of us. The men liked to drink, hunt and swap stories. Their women liked to get dressed up and dance or attend dinner parties. Men wore elaborate wigs and outfits that would make glam bands seem tame. There was plenty of fornicating, feasting and dueling going on in those days. There were no filthy rich folks really in the colonies (as compared to the elite upper crust in England) but they got together and had a good time often packing away loads of rum, wine and even beer.
The following story has had me chuckling all weekend.
Once, two of the most infamous and talented founding Fathers John Adams and Ben Franklin were asked to travel to a city in new england on revolution business. It was a port city. Unfortunately, due to inclement weather ships had been unable to sail for such a long enough period of time that every decent rented room in town was taken.
Where were the two sages..our 2nd President and a brainiac considered by many the "man of the age" to bed down for the night?
Finally a small room was found with one bed (not likely a sleep number model) and one window. Leaving their entourages to probably sleep in the stable, the two icons entered the tiny room and prepared to get a nights sleep. Yes my friends, they just shucked their boots and climbed in.
Adams and Franklin worked together often and respected each others abilities, but they didn't personally care for each other. Franklin thought Adams had a crazy, unreasonable streak. Adams had a bellyfull of Franklin being honored by the French with statues, busts and pageantry.
Before they got completely settled in, they had a row over whether the window should remain open (Franklin had written a paper on the benefits of fresh cold air) or shut (Adams didn't want to freeze his ass off to suit Franklins whim).
Could you picture two contemporary politicos sharing the same damned small bed today? If they did, the media would tar them both with the "gay" brush within hours.
This is the sort of situation that we ordinary folk get involved in all the time though. Poor planning, not enough beds. Hasn't it happened to you?
I'm guessing a lot of Americans who have wouldn't admit to sharing a bed with an awkward partner. I make no secret of the fact that I shared beds with plenty of very strange dudes from the salescrew in my old encyclopedia peddling days many years ago. Franklin and Adams didn't feel compelled to sweep the story under the rug like modern politicians would.
Shouldn't we admire them for that?
A true story for you to share with others at your 4th of July weekend get togethers. A store owned by a large national retailer (which I will not name) down here in Texas decided to try to capitalize on the general popularity of dogs amongst dog owners. They lifted their restriction on dog owners bringing their beloved pups into the store. This was done in the interest of being community minded good guys, at least that's the way it was pitched in the meetings in which they decided to do this.
Never mind the fact that barking, aggressive crotch sniffing, barfing, snarling and snapping dogs bother plenty of other customers. Never mind the fact that there are a hundred dangerous things dogs shouldn't eat or hump in this sort of store.
Wouldn't you know it? Either the devil or bad luck created what I'd call the worse case scenario. A dog owner allowed its dog to piss all over the floor one busy day. Nobody noticed immediately. Instead of being community minded the dog owner sneaked ol' fido out of the store without cleaning it up or bringing it to the attention of a store associate.
Then, OH MY FUCKING GOD!! an old lady in very poor health came along and slipped in the mess.
I suppose the store would have called an ambulance and paid her medical bill, but...she landed wrong and died.
Now, I can sense quite a few of you laughing your asses off at this..and I can understand why. None of us knew this lady.
Let's face it though (start up the violin music) she was somebody's loving but fraqil Grandma. If YOUR Grandma slipped in a puddle of dog piss..I hold that you would not think it was so funny, no matter that the rest of us might. If she slipped wrong and died, you would be devastated, ready to sue everybody in sight. More over, you wouldn't be laughing (well, most of you. I've met a few grannies that deserved it).
Now, the litigation is just getting underway. I hope they remember to sue the individual management dumb asses who argued in favor of permitting dogs in the store. The really shocking thing about this story to me though is..the store hasn't rescinded the policy yet!
Hey, don't tell me you're a "dog lover" if you take your pooch into public places where they can gobble up deadly stuff if you turn your back for a few seconds. Also, if you allow your dog to crap or piss all over the floor in a public place and you do nothing about it, you oughta have your greasy thatch of hair used for a mop.
The number one fallacy thought wise of dog owners is that they seem to THINK THEY CAN CONTROL THEIR ANIMAL. Unfortunately, it's always an innocent person that has to pay the price when their dog deviates from its behavior pattern.
Keep 'em at home if you really love 'em.
I had one of those loooong dreams last night. I woke up a few times and even got up once to piss..but the dream restarted each time. The first portion of the dream I was hanging out with Gene Simmons at his home watching TV. It wasn't exactly the house you see in his show.
Not a lot happened. Gene warmed up to me as the night progressed and began enjoying my company. I was drinking at my normal pace in the dream and Mr. Simmons was surprised and impressed that I could imbibe and not turn into an asshole.
After what seemed like several hours of this, Buzz from the Melvins showed up.
He revealed that Gene was actually his blood relative. He was there to meet up with Gene's family to take them to see a new flea market he had purchased. We all went. We traveled in a train like vehicle that seemed like light rail.
Gene seemed kind of bored and kept to himself walking in the back of the group. His wife was very outgoing and friendly especially to Buzz.
We got to the flea market and to my joy it was loaded with old vinyl. I found an armload of albums that pleased me. Buzz showed me a pamphlet that was being handed out to customers showing a picture of him when he was young (12 or so) wearing a tie and sport jacket and a cornball sort of smile.
We all went back to the Simmons house. While we were in the train like transport I showed the records I had found to Gene. They included an album by the earlier Gene Simmons of Sun records and "Haunted House" fame. He was pleased to see it; yes he was very familiar with the other Gene.
We sat around uneventfully on a huge sectional sofa at Gene's place for a bit longer before I woke up for good.
What does it all mean? I'll be damned if I know. If you are big on analyzing dreams study it and fill me in.
The extended flow of the dream might have been inspired by a book I just finished for my correspondence Euro lit class. It was first published in 1959 by a French guy. It was written in an intentionally repetitive style that irked me and frankly I found myself waking in my chair a couple times with the book in my lap. The setting was a banana plantation filled with crawling lizards and swarms of insects. Ordinarily that wouldn't bother me, but I'm still getting over " the metamorphosis" by Kafka. Anyway, a guy crushes a centipede on the wall of the house in the plantation and the author describes it in detail a half dozen times. Later he spends 4 pages describing vividly a mad frenzy of various sized bugs circling a light.
That story seemed endless even though it was only 100 pages or so. Usually I would've read it in no time. FUCK. I still have another book on order by another French guy and an old depressing favorite "The Stranger" by Camus to re-read.
Man, these goddamned Euro's and their infatuation with misery, bugs, punishment and in general desolate lives may drive me yet to girly romance novels.