you are visitor # since 05/28/01
Diary Archive: 02-28-05 to 04-28-05
4/28/05
OOH EEH AHH AHH
OOH EEH AHH AHH
OOH EEH AHH AHH
R.I P. Hasil Adkins.
If the death of the patron saint of uninhibited rock and roll isn't enough:
R.I.P. Chris Candido.
My god. The shot glasses around here are emptying frequently. This is a bad, bad week for fans of wrestling and RNR.
First off, I need to humbly interject that the last day has seen my own personal prospects improve some. I went through with my doctor appointment and was happy to learn I don't have any broken bones in my wrist or carpel tunnel syndrome. The doctor was the best I've ever dealt with. His advise was pragmatic and wise. I received no unwanted off topic lifestyle lectures..or discussions about my tattoo work.
I'm OK to play music in Tucson in a few weeks..good.
Back to the more significant obituary portion of this entry.
I yakked with ol' Hasil on the phone for 20 minutes or so once to set up an interview that I couldn't complete for the mag that requested it.
I've known about him since the mid 80's thanks to Kicks magazine and their co-label Norton records. I've spent some time in Hasil's home state of West Virginia. He lived down the road from Jesco the dancing outlaw. DAMN.
He was recording wild music way back in the 50's. As the A.P. pointed out in a mainstream obit, he sought fame for many years. He was a bit too advanced for mainstream society though. His songs had references to nailing womens severed heads up on his wall..and in one case boasted (?!) of having married the ugliest women in town.
Great stories about him abound. Once, as a guest of Billy and Miriam from Norton records in Brooklyn he cranked open and ate an autographed by Andy Warhol can of Campbell's soup!! in his hosts absence. He preferred though to eat a lot of meat...everyday. I'm fairly sure they took him to a whitecastle at some point. I bet he dug it.
When I had the privilege of yakking with him he spun yarns steeped in vodka, moonshine and fast automobiles careening out of control on West Virginia's twisted state highways. I wish he had been an uncle. DAMN.
Evidently our pal Sting (stink) from the po-lice publicly objected to the Haze..but that just makes him more beloved in my book.
For the last few years you could see if you were invited to our home a lovely framed photo of the man in our living room...a gift of a cool ex-coworker from Tower records.
My favorite Hasil tune?? "no more hotdogs".
I can't discuss Chris Candido's death any more until I get more facts.
Either way though..my condolences to his widow..the lovely Tammy Sytch ("Sunny") one of the finest, and definetly sexiest women to ever grace the squared circle. C.C. sure as hell was lucky to have access to her during his too short life. I don't mean to be disrespectful. I was recently exhilarated over his "comeback" in TNA. Now he's gone..after busting his ass putting over a team from his wheel chair the night before.
More about C.C later....
4/25/05
My enemies haven't materialized to finish me off during my low period.
I was up again at 10:00 a.m. after a solid night of drinking and 4 hours sleep. I once again produced the goods one handed putting the final polish on 15 single spaced pages to wrap up the material for another literary "query".
I can think of one thing a lot of you are able to pull off one handed with gusto; it has nothing to do with fine literature however. UUUUUUUUURRP.
I've accomplished more with 1 hand in 2 days than I usually do with 2 hands in 10. It's all a matter of focus and strategic thinking.
Following that I ate a Cheerios breakfast and a 25 minute sit on the throne. I had earned both.
I'll see the bone doctor Wednesday. If my wrist is broken...so be it. It'll either heal up or I'll get a better brace out of the deal. Either way, I've thought things out long and hard and won't be a nicer man in the future. I'm tired of wasting energy on assholes disguised as "friendly" folks. I've been too accepting of amiable two faced pricks. This injury was a wake up call since it's given me time to really think things over. Just like that self proclaimed messiah written about in the bible I've spent a period of misery and despair in the fucking desert.
As a result, maybe I'll proclaim myself a messiah?? HHmmm. UURP.
A real, TRUE messiah who can wipe his ass with either hand...and judge all those around him harshly. I like it.
Humpin' jumpin' Jesus...a god shall walk among you...and lo he may be known as the Rasta Rebel. Or more accurately the Whiskey Rasta Rebel....born under the sign of the ram. Custom created by the gods to waggle his middle finger in your face; or maybe YOUR BOSSES face..or your Mothers...or Drew Barrymore's or Michael J. Fox..or Bono's..or the new pope....and maybe the Baldwin clan while I'm at it..UUUURRRRRRRRPP.
4/24/05
I woke up after 3 hours of sleep this morning at precisely 9:15 a.m. with a hangover..and of course my right hand swinging in a velcro brace like raw, crippled meat.
I vowed to edit a book chapter for another book query...and pulled it off one handed. I'll be goddamned if I didn't find myself during a rest break holding a bass pick...something I've been unable to do. I could play for an hour...but I'd do bigtime damage to my hand. Perhaps the specialist I'm seeing Wednesday will be able to provide a better brace that actually fits.
I can't help it...I'm a ballsy survivor..based on that performance alone.
I didn't drink at all during my work ( I rarely do). I can get blotto for a night or two and ignore m,y injury...but I want to save those nights for special situations.
Hey all you guys. How many of you have fucked up your hand puching out some scumbag??? That's probably similar to my injury.
Hey all you ladies?? Same question??? I love tough girls.
I suppose I'm one step "back" if I'm able to turn my thoughts to sexy, brutal ladies who hit other womyn or better yet guys.
UUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP.
One things for sure...I'll be hatin' the human race more than ever if I do indeed make it back. Especially doctors. I wish they were to be trusted...instead of avoided. It would've made my life easier 10 days ago. I've had a lifetime bellyfull of interpreting their corrupt nonsense. Doctors are slimeballs dedicated to winning toasters and bonus cash for getting people like you and me to accept prescriptions to pop drugs sponsered by the big drug outfits. DDDDDDDUUUUHHHHHHH.
I've tossed a half dozen "samples"of magic eilixer in the trash over the years dealt to me by eager quacks. It's a personal choice; some of the smartest people I know have accepted the sort of prescription medicines I'm avoiding...and are happy.More power to them. If I need medicine I'll turn to Doctor Jim Beam..or turn on to doctor Marijuana if need be..and become the "Rasta Rebel" for a while if need be.
UUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPP.
4/23/05
EAT SHIT MOTHERFUCKER
That might be you I'm addressing..sometime soon.
DROP DEAD CHUCKLEHEAD
If I survive my latest physical trial..and I may not...It's a sure thing I'm not going to be the jolly friendly guy I was for so many years.
I had a dream last night involving some old acquantances I have unresolved business with. Same old, same old shit interfering with my sleep. If I get my life back....unresolved disputes will be resolved in about 3 fucking minutes.
NO MORE GAMES. I'm too old for that shit.
If I recover...and I may not..I'll be a different man..with less patience for time wasters and fools.
No...I haven't resolved to cut people some slack and love everyone more. It's time for a sort of ultimate uber-Whiskey Rebel...a man with streamlined pasions...particularly those inclined towards hate. HATE. HATRED Of what?? silly human foibles.
Of course this may all be dying words from a corpse destined to play out his final years or weeks in front of a cable TV hook up.
IF I recover though, I'll try to be meaner, leaner, cruder, ruder, bolder and as unpredictable as a bag of snakes.
I did survive massive back troubles in the 80's..and enough shitty jobs to kill 10 of you. I've probably downplayed my ability to bounce back proven many times over the years. I've endured near blindness for a day...and had company over that night. I survived an infection from a rusty nail. Knee problems, ankle woes, rib spasms, a couple broken bones, I've got scars on my head dating back to 1960. I outlasted 3 attacks of bursitus (sp?) and at least 1 bout of tendonitus. I worked with hangovers for something like 25 years straight every day..including burning diareah. I even survived a strange illness rendering my ball sack unto the consistancy of leather.
Yeah...I've got a long way to go to match folks I know of who are dying...flatout...but I haven't exactly experienced a teddybears picnic.
My poor sweet Ma (biological) has been strapped to a gurney for years...and she's shown no signs of letting up I've been informed of.. Perhaps I can survive this wrist injury and live to make a few peoples lives worse for wear.
Then again, maybe I'm done. UUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPP..
Even though I feel like I've given up...I maybe haven't.
One things for sure; if I survive this..NO MORE Goddamned TV for 5 years minimum. I hate it. Maybe I should have a hook installed to replace my ailing wrist???
If you are offended by the above, remember it was written by a man whose had to learn to wipe his ass with the wrong paw.
4/22/05
UUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPP.
UUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP.
UUUUURRRRRPPPP.
For the sake of survival: 1)I've got an appointment with a bone specialist.
2) I'm focusing on my Sisters physical resilience..and on the toughness of my hillbilly Grannie. 3)......the key is low expectations.....hell, NO expectations to paraphrase the Rolling Stones.
4) I can cut out a lot of things from my life with no regrets..including this soap opera. My hand hangs like dead meat in a poor fitting Walmart brace with velcro patches.
What the hell...I've learned to wipe my ass with my left hand. More or less. That's more significant than I ever believed possible.
I slept well last night....because I got sauced and listened to a few hours of REAL country music where hardship is common place.
I've decided I have NO sympathy for most of you and your upwardly mobile careers, your childish bands, your superstitious clinging to childhood religious training,etc.
I may need to utilize my left hand to do so..but I still WIPE MY ASS with bible and Koran pages....as well as pages from "naked lunch", every inspirational book written to inspire one to self impowerment..AND the evil TV guide.
Will I be "back"? I don't know or really care.
I've had a plenty long life...too long.
Most of it has sucked. Oh well...yawn. So has yours.
Save your sympathy for somebody that needs it...like the poor bastards without booze who wind up in a similar death trap maze.
YUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPP.
4/21/05
It's amazing how sickeningly positive the last entry seems today.
It's a bad time for me (I'm tapping this out with one finger). Last night I felt things starting to close in on me. I resolved I would give today a chance...maybe a miracle will occur. NOPE. 1st things out of bed all bad. Dumbest ebay question ever. EVER. BY FAR. Everything that has followed has been equally uninspiring.
If you hate me..nows your chance to try to finish me off while I'm low, bitter, lonely and fatalistic.
I've been a terribly wimpy drunk lately..so don't chalk up my problems to the bottle. It'd be easy to drink away the pain all day or at least drink my self to sleep..but, no. I feel cornered and doomed..but I've always drank for fun...not to prop myself when my life seems as dead as a dried up puke stain on the rug.
I refuse to wither away slowly. Either I'll fight back and win..or this website will just vanish one day into cyberspace. My email account and telephone will go too...and I'll make a smoldering slab of my personal phone directory. No sense dramatizing my demize any more.
I might be back here..even later tonight. Or, maybe not at all.
I'm no different than other social misfits you've known who one day just weren't seen at their regular haunts. Everybody knows they didn't win the lottery. There won't be a happy ending for me...whether I'm beaten down now..or a year or two down the road.
Whether I'm destined to wind up giving in to my TV set..or maybe head off to join Ambrose Bierce in Mexico...thanks for stopping by. I hope I'm here tomorrow and the next day...but you never know. And, it's maybe best you don't know how it plays out.
UUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.
4/18/05
Pardon my still one-handed typing.
UUURRRRPPPPPP (that's my new catch phrase)
An improvement in my condition today. I can pull up my shorts by myself..although I've had to learn ambidextrous asswiping; what the hell...I've gloated about being "ambi" for years. Nows the time to prove I'm not totally full of bullcrap.
I've watched too much TV; THAT'S got to be what drives seniors in rest homes and hospices nuts. I doubt I'll be turning it on much for the next few years..except to watch "dallas" re-runs..which Marla and I are addicted to like visual, nostalgic crack.
I had to miss the chess tournament..FUCK.
At the risk of sounding disgustingly chipper, I've learned to appreciate my sometimes very shitty, bad-luck life. Things can always get worse when you least expect it.
I think it's safe to say that most people reading this will wind up physically reduced someday..sooner than they think. Knock on wood and all..but when it happens to you..I hope you have a pile of money to hire nurses and aides. Marla and Elvis have helped when they could (especially Marla) but are very busy. Most of the time it's been me trying to fumble around fending for myself howling in pain.
What the hell....I'm honestly inspired by aSister I've met whose beaten cancer twice. Not only does she have more guts than a packing house, her hubbie stuck by her tending to her both times. He's got a pair of grapefruit...for DAMNED sure. Well, I haven't actually checked him out...lets assume he does.
The pain behind my caterwauling and frequent animal screams is nothing compared to what she's been through 1000X over.
Still, I wonder WHY ME when I'm unable to swallow pills to deal with the pain (I chew 'em..Advils) and feel unloved when the fucking cats avoid me like I'm a frigging Rottweiller. What the fuck; they never Did "love me"..cat owners only pretend their cats do. I forced Dixie awake today and talked to him in my best Charles Manson voice; I warned him that theres gonna be hell to pay for Irwin cats who fail to soothe me when I'm dowmn..if I eventually recover;
Dixie cat called my bluff by giving me his coldest Darth Vader non-eyes-eyed stare. "Bring it on asshole...but let me get back to sleep now"he seemed to be saying.
Our normally friendly cat Mr. Jinx wasn't any better. He usually is eager for attention...but not when I need him. I'll resist subjecting them to kitty theme park clothes dryer rides..but I WILL get them back. Maybe I'll dangle kitty treats at them and then toss them out the door for neighbor cats to feed on. Vicious, aren't I???
REMEMBER!! NO MATTER HOW BAD YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT...THE GODS ARE ONLY TEASING YOU.
UUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP!
4/17/05
Dixie cat woke from a deep sleep. He was laying on the carpet by a large window that provided a view of birds, reptiles, and squirrels feeding in the Irwin's backyard. He wandered to the water bowl, took a drink and then headed to the litter box for his morning dump. Afterwards, Dixie set off on his ritual inspection of the house. When he got to the room of loud noises, he saw his grisled mentor Mr. Jinx, sniffing the out stretched form of the largest of the Irwins. Dixie was attracted by some red sticky stuff on this Irwin's head. Soon however, he was attracted to a horrible pungent stench from some brown pooh that had trailed down the Irwin's leg. Dixie and Mr. Jinx both lapped it up for a while, the Irwin didn't move. He had been dead already for two hours, he had accidentally tripped over Mr. Jinx's darting form, cracking his head hard on a table ledge.
The cats lapped away at the drying goo, and then having had their fill of Phil, trotted back to the window. A neighbor cat was stalking a pretty bird with bright red and golden feathers. A primitive guteral sound rose from Mr. Jinx's throat.
Neither cat was worried about the large Irwin, he seemed to be having his best day in months. The end.
4/15/05
A bad last couple of days for sure. Tuesday night for no apparent reason other than age, my extra thick pillow filled with duck feathers made in the post war (WWII I think) exploded and had to be tossed. I woke up howling in pain Thursday morning..I slept wrong leaning on my right wrist doubling it back a good deal subconsciously trying to make up for the missing pillow.
I've been in incredible pain since then. What the fuck??Is it a pinched nerve?? I'm typing one handed.
The irony is I had to cancell an appointment with a foot specialist to find out if my right foot is fucked up.
Of course my foot feels great..hHa ha ha ha.
I can barely wipe my ass.
I have to miss the weekends chess event in San Antonio...FUCK.
Can't pick my nose or pull up my shorts without agonizing pain.
I just watched a Lee Marvin movie "point blank" for therapy.
He was a mans man worthy of emulation in a case like this.
No bones are broken...it's hardly swollen.
Still, I'm helpless to scratch and pick and wipe.
It's hard to pop tops off of bottles too...but I've bravely faced that problem.
Of corse the immortal question I've argued around here for 40 hours is.."heat or ice"??? FUCK.......
A low point was when I rubbed my eyes after applying some Icey hot...DAMN it burned and I was blind. HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
LPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP...UUUUURRRRPPPPP........
4/09/05
YEP. It's that day again. It only comes around once per year..and I'm downing a shot to any of you that remembered it: THEE WHISKEY REBEL'S birthday.
UUUUUURPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!
Even though I'm proud to be selfish at heart, I'll spend much of the day thinking about the people older than me that I know who are still functioning. I'll also reflect on people my age or younger I've known who've gone on to that bar room beyond the sunset. You'll understand why when you get closer to my age. UURRPP.
4/06/05
WHISKEY REBEL REVIEW:
"the YUPPIE PRICKS" CD: "brokers banquet" (Alternative tentacles).
I've always been a sucker for concept bands that sport "unusual" get-ups. If I'm not mistaken this band has been seen about Austin clad in tennis duds..which evidently is their way of staying in charachter.
This is a well written and performed CD that rips into yuppies from all angles. It's not only funny, you can actually understand the words unlike some projects with misguided production. A Yuppie coke binge song "Coke party" leads off the disc. The band sounds great ..the marshalls are cranked. "Hummer in my hummer" is obviously intended as a slap in the face to Gov. Arnold. HHmmm....he might actually get a kick out of it. I don't think the Hilton Sisters would find the verse dedicated to them in "rich bitch" to be funny though. To me, the best number of all is "new rolls" which is a take off on the Damned's "new rose"..I quote: "I got a new rolls..I got it good..yes I knew that I always would..I can't stop to mess around..I'm driving the brand new Rolls in town". HAH...it's as funny as a yuppie cell-phone induced brain tumor and then some. My yuppie pal Jello Biafra joins the fun to close out the CD with "damn it feels good to be a yuppie". I suppose some folks might get tired of the steady stream of mean spirited yuppie jokes herein. TOUGH SHIT! I've been fed up with real live yuppies 365 days per year for a damn long time.
4/5/05
Marla and I ventured up to Austin to meet up with Buzz from the Melvin's last night. He was there playing guitar with Fantomas. We had to wait in line for awhile..but had no problem being waved in since Buzz was yaking near the front door. It was fun talking to somebody for once who has as little use for the Northwest and all of it's "charms" as me. I told him at one point that when Marla and Elvis get tired of hearing my rants about the stinking northwest I find a mirror to rant to.
I was impressed with him as an individual who understands life and what he wants out of it. I draw strength and confidence being around people like that.
On a lighter note, the visit brought home the fact that I need to re-read my damn books. He would ask questions from time to time that made me wrinkle my eyebrows wondering how he knew certain things about us. Of course he had simply read the frigging books. I'm still not used to remembering what I revealed in them in some instances. I have to concentrate to remember what got hacked out and what made the final cut.
It was a fine Fantomas set. They are a weird fucking band..challenging the brains of listeners. I heard a few people say they weren't their cup of tea..but others practically piss their pants with joy. That's a healthy reaction. It was likely a smart cuff to the ear of young people raised on popular MTV horseshit.
After saying goodbye and wishing the band well in the city of death...New Orleans..we launched our Taurus: destination truckstop. We picked up Elvis and hit Rip Griffin's on I-35.
I made a crucial error by ordering a bowl of chili as an exception to my ordinary bland diet. A couple hours after getting home I had to run to the bowl high stepping over furniture like an olympic hurdler. I blew brackish black pebbles out of my ass for a half hour..and then retreated to watch Elvis play video baseball. A few minutes later another volley surprisingly almost decimated my shorts. I had to sit on the stool squeezing it out for another half hour. Good thing I had an LBJ / MLK historical read handy. A 3rd blast later made me come to grips with my mortality.
UUURRRRPPPPP....
4/4/05
Alright, we've known this fucking pope was dying for some time now; I've been unable to get very excited over his imminent death...since it only means a "Jerry garcia X 10 " mourning period factor.
There will just be another pope soon..younger, stronger and likely chosen from a nation or racial group popular enough to put "butts in the seats" for the Catholic church.
I never had an ounce of respect for this last fraudulent pipeline to god...and I won't for the next. Maybe Thee Whiskey Rebel waffled when it came to Terry Schiavo...I have nothing but burning hatred for the Catholic church and it's holy king pin.
I'm ashamed to say I know quite a few "lapsed" Catholics who seem to think they can practice their moronic faith on Easter when their Mom's are watching or perhaps at funerals or at a time like this. HEY!! I have respect for people who walk the walk of their chosen religion 300+ days out of the year..and NONE for casual Catholics.
I'm not a "joiner"...I'm an agnostic and have been for a quarter century. But, needless to say I have a helluva lot more respect for my satanist (and other unrecognized underground faith types) pals who at least practice what they preach year round than occasional Catholics.
DID YOU KNOW??? The only column I ever wrote for a magazine in the last 10 years that was tossed back in my lap..was a Catholic-bash? (No, it wasn't Carbon14 who rejected it).
I heard a yuppie cunt on a radio show today trying to rationalize her coming and going from the Catholic church as a result of politcal stances assumed on the papal level. Hey bitch, IT'S EITHER THE ONE TRUE CHURCH...OR IT'S NOTHING. If the church is the direct hookup with god..you should follow it's holy teachings..even if you're told to murder all Eskimo's or people with red hair on sight.
Shouldn't this be obvious?? Since when do you pick up and drop a religion like you would an affiliation with a political party? I have more respect for a Mormon who sticks like a leech to their wacky teachings than a Catholic who waffles and makes a deathbed plea to be forgiven after a life of sin.
Yes, I even respect the lunatics who ruined my life in my formative years in the name of the Evangelical church of North America far more than casual Catholics.
Of course a loaf of shit still tastes like crap no matter how you slice it...but the protestants are largely humble, devout fools whereas the Catholics come across like short sighted, ignorant, game playing dickheads.
The malarky on the radio and TV and in the newspapers in the wake of the popes death is nothing but a media lapdance...plain and simple. 90% of journalists likely laugh as hard at those pictures of the dead pope fuck drooling in his holy high-chair or doubled over in the "popemobile" as much as I do.
I WIPE MY ASS...WITH THE POPES "FUNERAL CARD"!!!
3/31/05
Thee tale of THEE Whiskey Rebel and the 3 deer.
I like to piss outdoors in the middle of the Texas night outside my home sometimes weather permitting. This was one of those nights. When I went outside I smelled somethingly amazingly sweet. Hhmmm...what's that I pondered. I ventured to the front of our driveway....and wound up staring at a group of 3 young ( I think) deer standing like lawn ornaments in front of the rental house across the street. Hhmmm...I further pondered. These deer could wind up as HOOD ornaments due to the fact that we were all standing along the side of busy Ranch Road 12.
I stood and stared at them..and they stared back at me; just like the East Germans who stared at me when I visited the Berlin wall long ago (that particular staredown site was mentioned in the lyrics to the Sex Pistols "Holidays in the sun). It was a totally braindead gaze from them to me and from me to them.
It reminded me a bit of the TV news video footage of poor Terry Schiavo.
I was just remarking today to my Wife Marla how the whole issue that has the country wringing it's collective hands hasn't left me with much of a positive impression of the arguments for either side. I just don't think it'll be a disaster no matter how the courts decide concerning her fate. Why? There are a lot of other people dying in the U.S. and around the world while they argue about her fate. It's sure as hell not a NEW debate. I'd want to be allowed to die if I was in her shoes; but whats the rush if it upsets her parents? Why in the fuck is this particular woman the cause of such "pro-life" attention? It's bullshit when people imply she's being slowly executed. She's being allowed to die. But, if her parents are happy believing she has a chance of recovery after all those years...if they are willing to pick up the tab $$$ wise (are they?) the husband might be a coniving jackass and have ulterior motives (READ: money).
My 3 deer stared at me for awhile..and then began to drift away down the road. I suppose I could claim it was my precense that drove them off...but if they had all decided to charge at me at once I would've hauled ass for the front door. Deer make their own rules around here.
I don't hunt...but I'm pro-hunting and pro-gun.
As I walked back towards the house I noticed the sweet smell was gone. It had been replaced by a horrid skunk scent. Hhmmm.
When I plopped my ass back into my chair to edit some book writin', Dixie the cat came around me meowing like hell..and wanting to sniff my balls.
As for poor Terry Schiavo? It's a coin toss to me.
SHIT.
The end.
A CHALLENGE ...
I happened to check my chess rating today at the official USCF member services website today..and lo and fucking behold..my rating has been adjusted in my favor after a new computer program was put to work to catch errors that had occured over the last few years. My new official rating "1920" is the highest it's ever been in my lifetime. That means that I've suceeded in my 2 year old middleaged comeback to clearly surpass my accomplishments as a snotty kid long ago. I've thought it was inevitable..in spite of the billions of brain cells I've destroyed over the years having "fun". My understanding of the game is better thanks primarily to books written by a great chess teacher named Jeremy Silman. Far from feeling like I've reached my peak, I'm still working on my opening repertoire..and I'm seriously studying the "attacking" aspect of the game for the first time in my life with the right books.
What really makes my accomplishment remarkable is the fact that for a quarter century I've been expending mental energy playing music in bands that specialize in songs about drinking and wrestling and how fucked up the world is. Most casual observors would classify most of our stuff as being moronic, shallow and just a bit evil perhaps.
I've read a few particularly vicious reviews over the years in magazines that cater to underground indy label stuff like ours. There are a lot of psuedo-intellectuals (and straight edgers) out there who would have you believe that I personally am nothing but a blowhard drunk. Oh the SHAME! I hope Mother never see's those reviews.
The columns I've been writing for years for CARBON14, HITLIST and AMP have certainly earned me the respect of many who recognize my wisdom...but still there are plenty of readers who consider me to be a boob plain and simple.
I say, HOGWASH. I am fucking brilliant. I intellectually tower over 99% of column writers for music oriented magazines. And, I'm ready to prove it.
I hereby challenge any seasoned music rag columnist...or better yet ANY MUSICIAN from the realm of rock and roll who has built up a body of work over the years whether popular or obscure..to meet me face to face on a classic time control chess match. The duration of the match is negotiable. I'm willing to add Vince McMahon-like stipulations requiring the loser to kiss the winners foot or ass if need be.
Hey pal..you fancy yourself an "intellectual"? Come tackle me..a man who worships pro-wrestlers. Hey, Mr. Straightedge...shouldn't you be able to take down a "pitiful drunk"? HHmm? Come take on a man who has drank almost every day for 30 years and experimented with almost every substance in the book.
I've played over decent games by the late Ray Charles and John Lennon. I'd challenge them if they were still around. I'm ready to take on Sting..or anybody from his chess loving band. I'm well aware that the guys from Phish are chess players; hey guys, bring it on. I'm very impressed by the guys from a band called "Him" from Finland who have combined their love of chess and music with jagermeister publicly at events they've sponsered.
In a nutshell, I believe I can cut a better record than Fischer or Kasparov...and play a better game of chess than Bono or Phish.
I don't know of any music mag columnists who can play a decent game of chess. If there's one out there, I'm ready to mix it up. Come on...SHUT MY MOUTH!!
This offer doesn't apply to classical musicians (I know a lot of them could kick my ass) or chess masters who dabbled in a band or two over the years.
Come on Brothers and Sisters; you don't want an opinonated drunk like me to be crowned the ultimate chess/music role model do you??
3/24/05
My former boyhood hero Bobby Fischer has been released from Japanese prison and flown to Iceland where he has been granted citizenship. Yes, Fischer applauded 9/11 and has ranted against the Jewish "conspiracy" (in spite of the fact he's 1/2 Jewish) and hates Amercians, Japanese, etc. and declares that Pres. Bush should be hung as a war criminal..but he's wanted for violation of tax laws (he happily declared publicly he didn't pay taxes on $3,000,000) and for violating U.N. sanctions by competing for money in a country controlled by an alleged despot in 1992. He hasn't been prosecuted or persecuted for his anit-American, anti-semitic rants.
I've been arguing a lot at the chess discussion sites I visit (I gave up long ago on non-chess discussion groups) with people from other countries who claim all we Americans are brainwashed and that freedom of speech is "a joke" here.
I know a lot of people around the world blindly hate Americans, but I had no idea how many of them believe that people who disagree with Bush are routinely locked up.
If that were the case, how do you explain Michael Moore's freedom for openers? Is he perceived as being in league with Bush? How about the constant anti-Bush rhetoric on the part of much of the media during the election?
Fischer has been recognized in the chess world as a paranoid lunatic for many years..but somehow anti-Americans from around the world have decided that he is sane because he hates Bush and Jews and of course the rest of us.
God damn...I'm gonna have to drop the chess discussion forums too. Maybe if I go to a tiddlywinks fucking website I can find folks who don't hate me for being American..in spite of the fact that Bush's people wouldn't approve of me for my sacreligious rants alone.
Once again, to paraphrase Bukowski..politics is like trying to screw a cat in the ass.
3/20/05
Damn..what a 4 day weekend. Thursday nights summit meeting with Blowfly and his band and Jello Biafra (and a few other folks) worked out pretty well. Naturally, the life of the party was Mr. Blowfly himself. People sat in a rectangular seating arrangement in our living room that we had stumbled upon earlier that day. Some people drank like fish; others ate. But everybody focused on the mans pearls of XXX wisdom.
He pointed at Jello and declared: "I analyzed your name. It's Jello B-Africa. That's cuz you went to Africa..screwed a lion..and you did that so much your dick turned to Jello..and now it don't work no more. Jello B. Africa!"
When asked his preference of drink, he requested (in a jolly manner) "pregnant skunk urine".
When he turned to me, he referred to my stately Whiskey Rebel goattee as a "pussy scratcher". He suggested I shave it off; when I began walking to the bathroom to do so, he warned me that if I did..my pecker would fall off. I decided I'd best keep it.
Blowfly is a living oracle.
I saw him over the course of the evening talk in hushed tones to Elvis. It turned out he was telling him personal stories from his youth that are precious that were meant for his ears. I'd be a disrespectful shitheel if I repeated them here.
If you want to personally experience the wisdom of Blowfly, go to his website and order up some CD's. You'll laugh your ass off...and maybe a bit of his coolness will rub off on you if you're very lucky.
Unfortunately I couldn't attend his shows on Friday and Saturday night due to the need for me to haul Elvis's aspiring-actor ass up to Waco where he was scheduled to appear in a zombie film as an extra.
My hangover only allowed me to sleep until 11:30 am on Friday. After yakking with Mr. Biafra and directing him to a local record store we were off headed North about 2:30. We were damned lucky not to get stuck in Friday afternoon traffic in Austin. The trip went very smoothly until about 30 miles out of Waco when my bowels started to churn from the baked beans I had eaten the night before. I wound up sprinting into a convenience store shithouse to spray their bowl with black butt-stickum.
I usually eat very bland food these days, but in all the excitement I had slipped and gobbled something that tasted actually good for once down and had to pay the price.
We eventually checked into a Super 8 at exit 334 on I-35.
My head was swimming from not having slept well for 4 days, so I took a little nap. Upon waking we called General lee Drunk from the fine central Texas band the Hammercocks. He came by and lead us to his lakeside manor. A fine evening ensued featuring beef steak, Beam and beer. We were treated to Texas hospitality on a level far beyond that which I'll ever learn to deliver. I bet if I had asked to eat my steak in his bathtub he would've sent for the Mr. Bubble.
Eventually after a full night of yuks, General accompanied us back to the Super 8 where he and I bashed out a fine boozing anthem titled "Brothers of the bottle"..the lyrics of which we inscribed on a blank page from a Gideon bible.
The next day Elvis went off to the movie set and I managed to sleep for 12 hours. When I got up I needed coffee of course. I waltzed out of our room to grab some in the lobby. I didn't want maid service to interfere with my afternoon wake up period..so seeing 2 maids in the hallway I advised them politlely "you don't need to service room 302! We're fine until tomorrow".
I had forgotten I was in Texas where a lot of folks don't speak English. I later found that they made a bee-line for our room which featured an artsy mess Elvis inadvertantly constructed on his bed utilizing the sheets, a guitar and chords, underwear, newspapers, etc. They actually neatly stacked all his personal items from the bed and then made it up nicely. Meanwhile, I was trying to get coffee from a dispenser in the lobby. I wound up with a cup that was 3/4ths hot water..and a smidgeon of something that looked like pregnant skunk urine.
I walked to the Popeye's chicken emporium next door and learned they don't sell coffee. I returned to my room and discovered the maids had commandeered it. I returned to the lobby and took another crack at the coffee dispenser. It worked this time.
I took it outside to drink. A portly looking Texan with a brushy mustache stood by a bench guzzling a huge paper cup of steaming coffee..smoking. I bummed an Old Gold from him and talked for awhile (YEAH.....I know I rarely talk to people in public..I was chatty this day and refreshed from my long sleep). The dude was a charter bus driver. He regailed me with tales of servicemen with hired strippers cruising back and forth to casino resorts in his vehicle. Nice guy. Maybe I should make a point of talking to a couple more strangers this year.
I drank a couple more cups of coffee and sat smiling on the bench by the front door of the happy Super 8 feeling oddly content for once.
General came by later and after a trip to a grocery store for more BEEF and BEER we hooked up with Elvis and headed up to the Hammercocks practice compound located in a secret hidden corner of Texas I won't of course reveal. During the drive Elvis told us stories from the days shoot. He had been splattered with blood along with 150 others and filmed clawing away at the windows of a civic center building.
Most of the other extras turned out to be total rubes and morons...what I'd call "bad" rednecks as opposed to the loveable variety. A few yuppies managed to sneak onto the set for the lark of being into a movie. They made asses of themselves by complaining about having their nice clothes smeared with "blood". Yeah,....WHY IN THE FUCK WERE THEY THERE IN THE FIRST DAMNED PLACE???
3 creepy looking fuckers evidently were hauled off by the Waco police and questioned for groping female zombies during the filiming. DAMN.
We got to watch the Hammercocks blast through some songs in their practice space and ogle their recording setup. At one point MEAT was served..heh, no vegetarians in THAT band. It was fine steak and sausage that squirted delicious juices.
Meanwhile, I wasn't there...but Marla and Mark went into Austin and braved the SXSW horde of music industry morons in order to see Blowfly and company perform. Thanks to our good pal Uncle Tom they were ushered to a dressing room so they didn't have to mingle with major label nostril-miners. Preparing for a show Blowfly was intense and focused I am told.
His set had a funky 70's-ish sound which is perfect for the nasty assed rhymes he dishes out. At one point he asked all the big booty Women in the club to climb up on stage; wouldn't you know it...only a stampede of scrawny butted, lily white broads were in attendance.
Back up North the guys managed to record a version of the song we had come up with. Vocals tracks were eventually added by me, Elvis and 2 guys from the band. The song sounded great..and I can't wait to get a copy. They're a great band...and I've never witnessed another combo that could grill up hot meat while recording with sophisticated recording equipment.
General drove us back down the interstate to the Super 8...guzzled several more beers and left us to rest up from another full fucking day. SHIT FUCK. It occured to me that Elvis had appeared before a camera on a movie set and howled out a couple vocal tracks in a studio on the same day. Damn, that's the sort of day Dean Martin would have.
We got another night of sleep..then promptly upon waking hit an "Asian buffet". It was the weirdest fucking buffett I've ever been to by a long shot. Waco sure as fuck is a strange place. In the middle of the meal a well dressed black man approached our table and asked in a sincere voice if we could direct him to the Branch Davidian (sp?) church.I felt like snorting.."hey pal! They're out of business!" Instead I politely said "no" and went back to eating something described as "house chicken" that wasn't too bad. There were almost no dishes at all layed out that included vegetables of any type. HHmm. Weird for a szechuan joint. Maybe NOBODY in central Texas eats much else but meat?? They didn't have an ice cream machine..which explained the fact that there were no children or families in the place. Just single guys who looked like they had come straight from a peepshow.
We took our time and eventually made it back home. I wish all the activities had been spread out over 2 or 3 weekends...but what the fuck. That's not the way things work. UUURRPP. I'm waiting for my bowels to act up again from all that good meat. BBRRAAPPP. Hippie sprout and toe-food (tofu) eaters best avoid Waco in my opinion....or else pack food in.
3/15/05
Could be a wild one here Thursday night. Not only are Mark's Mother and Sister in town (which would make it wild enough) by a strange set of circumstances that have unraveled dating back even several years, we have a planned summit meeting involving our old pal Jello and none other than the immortal Blowfly (go look him up dummy..he is to black music what Rudy Ray Moore is to black cinema..a TITAN).
Blowfly has recorded some of the absolute filthiest records ever. He's a talent and a visionary. He's also likely gonna waltz through my front door wearing a Blowfly mask and start chasing some hand picked local guests. Let's hope he does.
I've seen Jello chew the fat in person with lots of legends ranging from Rose Maddox to Frank Zappa. I'm sure the two icons will get along famously.
The next day I'm hauling Elvis to Waco to be a zombie extra in a film. I hope to crush some cans with the Hammercocks boys while I'm up there.
Damn..all this excitement.
Right now it's just me and the cats on night watch. Dixie is standing at my feet meeyowing. He wants me to rub his ears so he can back away suddenly..rejecting me. He loves fucking with me like that. If I rub Jinxies ears..he won't pull away..he pushes his head into my hand until his skull feels like a baseball being ground into a mitt. They both deserve to have a cloud of potent marijuana smoke blown into their unsuspecting ears. All I have is my fifth of Beam..and an assortment of corporate beers. They don't show any interest in alocohol though; it's not like I haven't tried to turn them on to it. UURRPP. Fucking ingrates.
Go lick your bungholes, guys.
3/11/05 WHISKEY REBEL REVIEW!!!!
BANDS...LABELS...remember..I've made an open offer to review your commercial releases from 2003 to date. I'm not soliciting individual releases from people I know..I'm just reviewing what comes to my P.O.Box. COME ON YOU FRIGGIN' Chickenshits..send in something I may not like (of course I don't mind getting stuff I do like).
JEFF DAHL "cursed,poisoned,condemned" CD (Steel cage).
If Jeff Dahl was a food item...he'd be a dependable cheeseburger. If he was an airline pilot he'd deliver a smooth cosy flight you'd easily sleep through.
You won't sleep through this CD though. It's good, dependable rock and roll from a legendary guy whose devoted a large chunk of his life to delivering the goods music wise. He's not an experimenter or a trend hopper. He sticks to what he knows best..the same sort of hybrid punk/rock sound that worked for bands like the Dead Boys, Ramones, Dictators and other worthies from that generation. There are thankfully no programmed drums or samples and absolutely no consessions to "alternative" whine-rock.
There's a good flow at work here from song to song. It starts with a catchy number "lost faith" that acclimates your ears to Jeff's good, solid band. By the time the last track "weak as a kitten" is over my ears at least were happy that I have another disc to add to the elite PLAY STRAIGHT THROUGH pile of CD's I reserve for get boozy togethers and occasions where I don't want to keep having to leap to my feet to skip over dud filler tunes.
The one song that might've gone wrong (but didn't) is a cover of "no matter what" by Bad Company (unless I'm on drugs and it was somebody else who is responsible for it). I've never been a fan of Apple label type bands..but the song works pretty well. I'll cite my favorite numbers here though as "SXSW whore" (pertaining obviously to this weeks upcoming Austin music industry kiss-ass-a-thon) the randy "cock O' the walk" and the aforementioned "weak as a kitten" which ends things on a nice sweaty note.
This isn't retro-punk..since Mr. Dahl is a pioneer of the genre since way the hell back. Fans who are into the glut of well intentioned but pretentious bands of that ilk should have this CD brought to their attention..in a forcible manner if neccessary.
Just think....Jeff's been at it so long..I was an aspiring young businessman when he was starting out; Marla still wore dresses back then..and we both still attempted to please our suburban parents on occasion.
I'm glad Jeff Dahl is a diehard..and that I've had the pleasure to pump his hand in person.
3/10/05
I'm sitting here at 7:00 a.m. with a fifth of Beam and a grouping of mutt beers that have accumulated in the frig. I have a purpose..overnight I recorded a mockup of the first disc from an upcoming 2 CD set to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Rancid Vat. The official date is next new years eve. The release date of the collection (tentatively titled "the competition STILL stinks..25 years of Rancid Vat") is next Nov. 1....a long way off..but this anthology will include video crap and some new recordings on the 2nd disc that will require attention. It's best to start disc one now..what's the point of waiting?? It was all recorded many years ago.
If you love it or hate it all it doesn't matter. Somebody out there does. Our 1st LP sells for $122 or so on a website in Europe. It all brings back lots of personal memories to me. I rarely play guitar any more (why should I? Mark is amazing. I'll stick to bass)but I do on most of these songs anyway. It's like looking in a goddamned fucking audio scrapbook. I'm proud of the fact that we've maintained a 24+ year history of refreshingly "negative" debauchery. Most of the songs are based on hideous concepts from a normal persons standpoint. That's what we always wanted to do.
Hey..."Born to lose" just started. DAMN. I lost about 5 years off my life seeing that single song through. We didn't compromise with a dickhead jackass grunge legend producer.
Steve belts out the Johnny Thunders vocal well...and here I go on my guitar solo..probably the best I ever did. Yeah..sure sounds like it. GODDAMN. I had to fight to keep the dumb bastard from panning it into oblivion.
Oh well...we won. We're still here..where is he??
Plopping down wadded up singles at the meat rack of some titty bar in Longview Washington. His eyes are red from cheap Pacific Northwesttrailer park crank. He'll wind up at home once again..a jerkoff fucking failure.
Wow..."the competition stinks" is playing. The title track in a way. Few bands bragged more than us. FEW DESERVED TO...HA HA. They're all a bunch of p.c. pussies afraid of offending somebody and blowing a big deal with a major label. Yunno....the almighty goal of getting "signed". "Making it". Yeah, sure. 90% of the bands I've known who've been signed over the last quarter century wound up getting fucked over by the labels creative accountants.
It's better to fuck knotholes in oblivion than get fucked by corporate A&R men up the ass.
We've never done a "love" song in 25 years...except love songs about ourselves. Now that's my idea of maintaining a grip on reality.
We're working on the details of a split release with the MELVINS too.
That'd be cool. UURRPP.
Oh...it's "H.H.H.H."...from our first split with our Antiseen brethren.
It's a gruesome song..."headaches and heartaches..hard-on's and head'ons" is the complete title. Wow. We topped triple H (triple Z) from WWE before he ever slipped into a pair of trunks.
BRAP.
3/07/05
There are obviously a lot of websites where you can read party line political rhetoric. I of course have no party. Well, I guess I'm a registered Libertarian now..but I read so much nonsense from those folks these days I'm ready to switch to ondependant status.
Anyway, I'm capable of making statements day in and day out that seem ultra rightwing..and in the next paragraph something too liberal for comfort from a Republican standpoint.
Case in point..the fiasco involving the Italian dude who got shot draping his body supposedly over that of the commie bitch reporter who had been "rescued" from kidnappers in Iraq thanks to the Italian's knuckling under to kidnappers and shelling out a lot of dough.
I totally agree with the stance of the great nation of Israel...it's assinine to negotiate with kidnappers because if you do it'll only lead to further kidnappings. If you're a rich fuck and a relative is kidnapped by people out to make a buck..Okay. That's different. But when it comes to matters of State the only way is to freeze the fuckers out and do your best to seek the bastards out and kill them.
The fact that the cunt writes for a communist newspaper makes me doubt whatever she has to say about all this. Does that make me some sort of reactionary capitalist pig? Maybe.
I'm suspicious of what our media "reports" and am very leery of what I read in newspapers or see on TV. I believe both parties exaggerate in their own interests on a routine basis. Still, a decent amount of reasonable stories slip through since our government doesn't actually control the media.
For years and years anytime I've been exposed to a commie news sheet I've been amazed at how gullible the dopes must be who accept the slanted crap they read in them. All the references to "the people" and "workers" just make me laugh. Communism is a failed experiment to me. I'm not against certain socialist leaning programs I suppose..but the hardline commies are a fucking joke with all their ancient buzzwords and rhetoric dating back 80 years.
In case you think I've never been exposed to much commie crap..let me remind you I'm a practicing competitive chess player. I know a lot about what went on in the Soviet Union from reading about the lives of great Soviet chess masters both alive and dead who lived under communist rule. Over the last 20 years a lot of those guys have been free to speak up and relate what was going in...not in mainstream newspapers (average Americans don't give a shit) but in chess related publications. I've met a lot of Russians and Eastern Europeans at chess tournaments for that matter.
I don't know for sure what went on that day in Iraq...but I doubt the commie cunts story as a matter of common sense. "propaganda" is their stock in trade.
On the other hand, I have come to a complete and full understanding of just why so much of the world seems to hate Americans and our culture. I've decided that their opinions are fair and just..and that we should chastize ourselves as a nation and set ourselves on a correctional path.
What's that?? You think I've flipped?? You think I've tippled one too many shot of Beam this morning??
Hey, it's common sense also.
It all became clear to me the other night when Elvis and I were watching TV. I don't know what fucking show..probably the food channel.
The cable network at hand kept showing previews of some upcoming gala show featuring Paris Hilton and some of her chic friends in various stages of casual media manipulation.
Elvis turned to me...and summed it all up: "you can't blame the world for hating us..can you?"
Look around you. How many women do you see on a daily basis who have fallen for the Paris-Hilton-ization of America?? Your girlfriend or Daughter or Wife may be cultivating that look at this very moment, guys. Ladies?? How many of your friends and co-worker cunts try to act intentionally like a bimbo to get the attention of males??
It's partially all the fuss over Paris and Michael and Kobe (sp?) and those goddamned Simpson Sister cunts that has the Arab world and everybody else hating us.
I can't blame 'em...even though I don't want to be like THEM either.
If Americans could only get back to behaving like individuals I think naturally the rest of the world will gradually learn to simply be jealous of our consumer goods and not so afraid that their countries might fall into the same insane trap.
UURRPP.
3/04/05
WHISKEY REBEL REVIEW: "We're getting closer to the grave each day- a Hank Williams tribute" CD (Devils shitburner records..Germany).
This one wasn't exactly submitted to me since I play on a track; oh well..so fucking sue me. I make the rules here and I can change, break or augment them at will.
Actually, it's not a bad thing to point out that from the perspective of a guy who has appeared on a jillion compilations and a few tributes over the years, this one is one of the very best without doubt.
We can thank the fine Devil's shitburner label for that. A helluva lot of hard work went into this as opposed to many a comp I've played on that frankly stunk. The absolute worst one Rancid Vat ever appeared on was by the "Mystic records" label based out of some fucking gutter in L.A.
Not only did I have to buy my 1st copy of it (the "city of thorns" LP) from an overpriced Melrose St. record shop, I had to later buy my 2nd copy on Ebay from a record dealer I know. Not only did we never get a copy (and it was the only vinyl appearance ever for some of the bands) from the notorius loser who ran that label the imbecile who layed out the lettering on the sleeve spelled our band name wrong (Rancid Bat!). It was a really low budget piece of absolute garbage from a notoriously shitty label that fucked a lot of bands up the poop shute without benefit of lubricant.
This Hank tribute is a complete mirror image opposite. The booklet is full color and professional looking; there is a brief note giving this project a nice thumbs up from Hank III himself...and all the bands names are spelled correctly even though the graphics were likely layed out by someone to whom English is a 2nd language. Best of all, the music is damned good from start to finish. I expected of course great songs from long time friends who appear here. I was surprised how the bands I've never heard of seemed to do just as well. The spirit of the great Hank Williams Sr...MY FAVORITE RECORDING ARTIST OF ALL TIME...has been well saluted with this project.
The order of the songs is even very well handled. I haven't completely figured it all out..but it's only right that "ramblin' man" by the Arizona A Bombs kicks off the festivities. The bookend ending tracks are "long gone lonesome blues" by the V 8 Wankers...which would've been a great track to end on..but is a lead in for a version of "alone and forsaken" by Wyldfyre that raises goose flesh on my arms.
The disc passes through a varied batch of moods that Hank layed down himself back in the day. "Jambalaya" by Before I hang" and "Hey good lookin'" by Bootleg Bill are both irreverant renditions that I'm sure Mr. Williams would've slapped his thigh over. Yep...it's not "verboten" to alter his words..legend has it he loved to do it himself in sing along fashion in the back seat of his Caddy burning down the highway to his next show.
In a more somber mood, Germany's Karamasov Bros. provide a salute to Hank (and a deceased pal of theirs at the same time) with a version of "6 more miles" that'll have you bawling in your Jagermeister cup unless you're a cold hearted dickwad.
Right before that, A trio of mighty American "H"-bands rip their way through 3 rousing numbers: The Hammercocks blaze through "settin' the woods on fire", Hammerlock lashes out with a medley of "mind your own business/ I got rights" and the immortal late great Hellstomper romps through "move it on over".
I could continue and comment on every track, but you might think I was over doing things a bit because I like them all and would gladly buy 3 rounds for every damned band represented here. Every damned band that appears seems to understand Hank. It shows...and even though there are some appropriate somber moments, there's not a DAMNED bit of wimpy "alternative" country polluting the works I might add.
If you love Hank...you will track this down. I'll buy it back from you if you do on my word and then end up thinking I'm exagerrating here.
3/2/05
WHISKEY REBEL REVIEW: The GENERATORS cd "excess betrayal...and our dearly departed (Fiend music/People like you records).
What we have here to my understanding is a band that achieved a significant amount of commercial recognition in the realm of modern commercial punk rock, played some damned big stages in this country and overseas...and then crashed and burned losing a couple band members along the perilous path of "success". Hell, the title spells that out.
Quite a few of the songs are a bit too civilized for my personal taste which tends to lean towards the bizarre and the tasteless, but I could say the same thing about David Allan Coe or the Buzzcocks. I always focus on songs that I like by acts like those and ignore tunes written in the interest of paying for the groceries as Jeff Clayton once put it. I want to extend the same courtest to the Generators.
There's a song on this CD that is so fucking good I declared it a table thumping smash the first time I heard it. It's titled "dying in a rock and roll band"..and it kicks fucking butt. I mean, it REALLY does. I'll be playing it for everybody that happens by my turntable probably for the next couple years. It perfectly reflects the immortal "what the fuck!" attitude that has inspired punk rock nihilists to carve their arms up, get shitfaced and romp around in a fun but stupid manner since 1977.
These guys are on the right side of the fence for sure. It's not easy to come up with even one timeless classic like "dying in a rock and roll band". I also like some of the other songs such as "wasting your time" which reminds me of many pests of both sexes I've known over the years, but HEY...how about that "Dying in a rock and roll band" song??
I must have 4 Buzzcocks LP's around here, but I always wind up playing "orgasm addict" and "noise annoys" over and over again in spite of the fact that they have other good songs. That's the way I'll likely deal with this CD....UURRPP. Got a problem with that???
2/28/05 #2
Damn what a week. I'm rather drunk so pardon my grammer. Let's see..I lost a half-Brother whom I never had the chance to meet; my Mom I grew up with suffered a stroke (she's recovering well) and then I got an email out of the blue from one of my childhood chess heroe's...the man who gave me the best advice I've ever been given.. about avoiding TV if you want to really accomplish something chess-wise or otherwise. He gave me an email address for a man now in his 80's probably who not only handed me my first beer ever, he gave me a couple talkings to about competition and life and chess that my Father was simply unable to deliver. I haven't emailed him yet, but I will.
3 days or so ago our water heater conked out; we didn't know it at the time but our house almost burnt to the ground. Burnt electrical system connectors were eventually found that almost caused the 2nd housefire of Marla and my lives together (grammer?!?).
Life is rolling along too damned fast.
I have something like 6 commitments ranging from Waco to San Antonio I'd like to be able to keep for the 3rd weekend of March. How will I juggle them all??
Urp.
Oddly enough, instead of cracking like I should I seem to be drawing some sort of odd strength. I attended the tattoo show in San Antonio last weekend and was priveleged to have Mark lay a Hank Sr. portrait on my arm that makes me grin like a Giraffe who is having his balls rubbed by a little monkey.
Unfortunately, the contest it was entered in was rigged..and a broad who wisely flashed her tits for about 4 lingering minutes to the judges won the prize. Maybe next year I'll have to have my weiner tattoo'd?? HHmm?
I'll eventually post a picture of the Hank tattoo. It really is joyful.
I just discovered I have 3 different cans of beer at my side opened and drained about a 3rd. That must be a sign...but I have no idea whether it's a good one or bad. URp. Brap. Urp. Brap. Urp Brap.
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