The Whiskey Rebel's Diary Archive
07-0407 to 09-30-07
you are visitor #
since 05/28/01
09/30/07
I think a lot of my fellow hobby musicians will agree that sometimes when you drive 20 hours round trip to play a show somewhere you often arrive home tired and womdering if it was all worthwhile. I've felt that way before; I have no such feelings about our weekend trip to Hattiesburg.
It was a fun Alcoholics Unanimous show..period. We saw old friends, drank a mess of booze and played to a room of people who aren't as jaded or stuck in some retro-nostalgic mindset as you find in many towns on the band tourstop "A" list.
We played a set that included quite a few classic drinking tunes dating back over 50 years. It's a thrill when you find that people in an audience actually recognize some ancient classic..like the "Ballad of thunder road" or "Six pack to go".
We played our version of "Bloodshot eyes" ( one of the new tracks on our soon to be released Steel Cage label cd). I introduced it as a song by Hank Penny..who wrote it. He recorded it with his Western Swing combo 55-60 years ago. The version I've been familiar with the longest is that of our early 50's R&B hero Wynonie Harris. The beauty of a great drinking song is that it can span genres.
I'll be damned if after our set somebody from the club who had clearly recognized the song popped on a Wynonie CD. We all found that to be extremely tasteful and maybe a little bit surprising. It made my night, since one of the main reasons we do the band is to carry the torch in our own humble way for the purveyors of fine drinking songs over the years. We also played a G.G. Allin number incidentally. We don't aim to get stuck into one period of cover songs. The drinking songs of the 20th century work together as a whole. That's the "message" or our purpose if you want to get eggheaded about it.
Man, they don't spare the horses in Hattiesburg. In front of the floorspace we played on a fifth of Bacardi 151 was passed around and sucked up like Koolaid at a Sunday school picnic in nothing flat. That's what I like to see...along with a full tip jar on the bar.
Personally, I held back to an extent until about an hour before we went on. I sing about 50-60% of the songs and have to remember a fuck load of words. In spite of our often besotted past, in this millenium we're not presenting ourselves as some sort of noise act, or as a gaggle of falling down sloppy drunks. We have to play together, but still lead by example when it comes to draining glasses. It's like "walking the chalkline" as Tiny Bradshaw might say.
It was one of those nights in which I felt like I drained about 15-20 beers, but oddly enough I never got around to gargling a whiskey shot..NOT ONE. It was a beer bar, but since when has that been an excuse? Oh well...I don't need to say I'll make up for it in the future, since a zillion times I've clearly drank myself into a stupor on stage even the old master Amos Milburn ( look him up!) would probably smile at.
Uurrpp.........
09/23/07
Happy birthday Elvis.
When we got together today with him and his new wife I busted his balls over being old now. It was all good natured. Seriously though, at the age of 23 he's getting up there. To turn 23 on the 23rd can't be a happening that he'll experience too often. Urrpp...
We all talked for a time about the unfortunate but clear truth that all TOO MANY suckers seem to be falling blindly for conspiracy theories these days.
Hook, line and sinker.
You know, if you apply percentages of error to conspiracy theories taking into account the preconceptions of advocates and spokespersons for them you're at least still holding on to your brain to some extent. If you suck it down whole with gusto and few questions ON FAITH..CONGRATULATIONS...you're as pathetic and lame brained as religious converts you probably enjoy criticizing.
I'm here to say that I'm damned glad that family get togethers around here entail maybe 5 minutes devoted towards unprovable partisan political crap. We recognize it collectively for what it is and get on with our selfish eating, drinking and obsession with sports or other hobbies or interests.
No, our leaders on both sides of the aisle aren't beyond suspicion..but don't flip your fucking wig or make a faith based decision response or you're the fucking dumbest ass of all.
If that's what you choose...HAH! We'll remind you of your idiocy sometime down the road....Urrppp......................
09/18/07
My classes are really dominating my life. I haven't done shit in weeks with the exception of A.U. practices. I have about 2-3 hours of drinking time per night after I can no longer produce brain wise. I looked at a chess position from the world championship tournament in Mexico city and I'll be goddamned if the board looked unfamiliar. It seemed like somebody elses hobby.
That's the way it must be.
I read somewhere a story about an authority on fish..a professor of some sort who vowed one day to learn his students name's for the first time. He gave up soon after..declaring that every fucking student name he learned made him forget that of a fish.
I haven't forgotten how to enjoy that beer time every night though.
A NEW BEER THRILL tonight. I know it must be old hat or old fish to most people, but for the first damned time I bought Budweiser in 16 ounce aluminum cans. They are strangely light and deceptively slim. If you guzzle them as fast as longnecks you can get a real buzz going. Especially with a few shots of Beam.
Oh yeah..I can now drink shots on Tuesday and Sunday nights since I dropped a class that met early in the afternoon on Mon-Wed. It was my writing class. No, I didn't quit because I got my ass roasted in the "workshop" ritual. I'm overloaded...and it was interfering with my Physics class that followed it in a distant building. The writing class was purely for "pleasure"..the Physics class I need to graduate.
From a writing standpoint I don't give a rats ass about becoming "main stream" in the clearly formulaic, rule driven literary sense. I hoped to learn a few things and did. I got the marked up copies of my story and several students liked it in spite of the fact that none of them had the urge to defend it in class.
I got a "b" for the story based upon how it fit the course. I could revise it and bring that up to an "a". That's the way it works. Unfortunately, I don't have time. My German class is really heating up..and I don't dare fall behind in that. It's my main hurdle towards graduating. No time for fluff pleasure classes.
I got a nice email from good old Joel Mclemore who has been through the workshop experience ( remember him? he won the 100,000th post sweepstakes here ). It's a strange ritual. In the end I'm just a lone wolf. I can't get into other peoples heads. It would be easy enough to finish the course if I had time.
I just picked up a full sleek aluminum bottle of Bud..and man, it seems like you only have a swallow left, when there's still about 12 ounces in it. That's good.
Hey, how about ol' O.J.?
I really was hoping for Bronco chase II. Not this time..nope.
I couldn't help remembering back to the day he was let off the hook by the criminal jury. TV news show types often refer to the "division in our nation" revealed that day. I sure as hell experienced that. I was working a shift at the title insurance plant in Philly. When the verdict came down every black person in the building and out on the streets seemed to be high fiving somebody..grinning and clearly tickled. Everybody else seemed to be very disappointed. We all looked at each other and had one of those moments of realization.
In reality, I doubt that things were so clear cut. I'm sure quite a few ( though I doubt more than 10-20% or so ) of folks crossed racial lines. It was strange and unexpected to me. I had grown used to overlooking race. I guess that was wishful thinking.
Will racial divisions ooze into the picture during this O.J. trial?
Who the fuck is he these days anyway? He's a frigging relic sports wise. His accomplishments on the gridiron have been long ago surpassed by his significance as an alleged murderer who was set free by the jury in a criminal court and then lamasted in a subsequent civil trial.
O.J. has made a much more lasting mark on our legal system than on the football field.
Yawn. Of course..everybody knows that.
The question is, will this trial heat up? Is it all just chicken shit charges that will soon be dismissed? Or will it break new ground?
Who would've thought we'd be thinking about O.J. again.
09/13/07
Wednesday was a weird fucking day at school for sure. I was the first to be crucified ( er, "workshopped" ) for my writing class and man...they tore me a new asshole...left, right, up, down the literary cock ripped.
The way this wordsmith collective tradition works, you're supposed to sit quietly and not respond for the hour whether you are praised, raked over the coals or simply mauled from all directions like I was. It doesn't matter if they say something completely offbase, missing something from the story..you sit there and take notes.
I thought about 1/3rd of the criticism was valid..and hope to improve from it. Some of it got pretty hostile and crossed the line as far as I was concerned. I expected that sort of reaction, but was surprised the Professor let it get very near personal.
My major mistake was taking a chunk from a "memoir" book and trying to adapt it to the rigid format of the class which is strictly short stories delivered in an academic and I guess arguably formulaic fashion.
I never write with workshop writers in mind anymore than Abdullah the Butcher or Mick Foley wrestle with the notion of impressing olympic wrestlers. They turn their noses up at "genre" fiction and of course pretty much anything that strays too far from their artistic format. Their stories are published largely in academic literary journals. Bully for them; their art isn't any more "valid" than the "genre" fiction they loathe though. Written matter like painting and of course music is really just a matter of opinion.
Their kin folk are jazzbo's and classical devotee's who refuse to recognize "shallow" forms of music such as pop or rock and roll or country.
Ever met anybody like that? Of course you have.
Again, they remind me of wrestling purists who hold their noses when exposed to the putridity of professional wrestling.
Like it or not, pro wrestling and genre fiction and rock and roll and hey..even the crud I trowel out here or elsewhere has an audience. I don't put that many butts in the seats with my endeavors, but CHRIST...these people who live to be published in some tiny prestigious literary journal hardly ever have their work see the light of day. That's OK..more power to them.
It's not for me though...and I can fucking assure you in spite of my goddamned drunken typo's here every few words that if I wanted to I could crack into their circle.
If this is coming across like sour grapes because I had a bucket of shit dumped on my noggin in the "workshop"...I repeat...I know I did some things wrong and I'll try my bset to ipmroove en the footure.
The miracle came the class after. I fought the university forces for a year to get them to accept my ancient science credits. I was pretty sure I couldn't get a passing grade in a science class. Elvis talked me into taking a class called "conceptual Physics".
My Professor..as I may have pointed out..is a brilliant man with a beard that is a cross between that of Santa Claus and Jeff Clayton.
I got my 1st test back and gingerly lifted up one corner prepared to be pleased with a 70. Including a "curve" adjustment..I got a fucking 101.
I apologized later that night to Marla and Elvis for subjecting them to my rants over the years about my idiocy concerning science.
The class I'm in is as I have pointed out is about 90% at least female. Most of them are education majors. I'll say this..if you as a heterosexual male don't sense your member swelling occasionally in this class...as Louis Jordan said "Jack, you're dead!".
Which combined with my newly discovered prowess and knack for science makes Physics class one helluva lot more fun a place to be than 99% of liberal arts classes.
Who would've guessed it???
09/11/07
Well, give me credit for trying. In my Philosophy class today during a discussion of ol' Descartes ( Father of :"I think therefore I am") I treid to argue my own take on that abstract chestnut "I DRINK therefore I am". I don't even remember where I first argued it. Luckily, the Prof. isn't stiff.she's good. It was a good question. I pointed out that whereas I've imbibed many a time ( like Descartes I presumed ) no matter how drunk I've been, I've NEVER dreamt I was drunk. Usually when the most shitfaced I dream really smooth, painless dreams..and wake to a throbbing hell. I can't recall ever dreaming I was drunk. Hence, I suggested all Descartes needed to do was take a couple quaffs from his wine goblet to prove his existence.
Wouldn't you know it; a handful of folks raised their hands and claimed to have dreamed they were drunk.
In the eyes of the Prof that was enough logically to sideline my assertion.
On the one hand I realize they probably are rum rookies, but what could I say? Lot's of academicians wouldn't have even done more than sneer at me. I couldn't exactly question their credentials as veteran tipplers. In fact, I'm not sure that would have mattered. I figured that since I never dream I'm drunk nobody else has...and I suppose I have to tolerate their chalking it all up as a fallacy.
I tried though. The bottle is my master..and I'll keep trying to serve her. No matter how many times squares shoot me down..Uurrppppp
09/08/07
A busy as fuck day; why does it seem that nothing happens for 6 weeks and then WHAM!! Life goes Up yer ass with 4 fat phallic devices.
It goes without saying I hope that I spent much of the last couple days preparing for my first round of tests, papers, assignments, blah blah blah. I mean, so much time that I actually got to lay back and relax for a few hours tonight. Tomorrow I'm right back at it.
I'm turning in a 10 page creative writing story Monday, taking the first physics test of my life and dealing with a boat load of work involved with my senior history seminar with the Texas State historian. I've been wrangling over and over and over the approach to my research paper on Crockett. One thing is for sure: as I told Marla last night, you will NOT want to watch any sort of Alamo film with me by the time I get done with this semester's paper. They all seem to be 50% razorback hog shit. Don't even try to argue with me past November. I'm gonna be booked up.
I'm going to polish off a few more shots this evening ( well, early a.m.) and try to channel the great man Davy himself. What facet of his brief life in Texas does he want me tackle? Point the way Colonel Crockett.
We got our mastered copy of the new A.U. cd today...sounds great. I can't fucking wait.
In the same batch of mail ( remember, the mailbox goes too often dry for months ) I got an issue of the worlds "most read" chess magazine..Chess Life..which I first started getting in the mail in about 1970. It's a main stream look at the game...the official pub of the United States Chess Federation. Lo and behold as some of my Chessgames.com pals told me..there it was...a lovely half page shot of me concentratin' to my upmost at the National open down in Vegas. I actually look smart in this photo. A contrast from 98% of the pic's of me in the boxes of A.U. photos I sifted through a week ago.
SAME DAY a few hours later...I get an email from a pal in Snoreland Boregon I haven't seen in 15 years. His name is Joel Barnett; McNally knows him. We all drank scores of times together. Anyway, for those of you with copies of Jobjumper...he's in it. Go Find 'em.
I don't have all that many friends. He was a good one. He was a rare "nice guy" in our circle...sort of like Mark these days. Welcome back man...thank the internet in general and Chessgames.Com specifically ( he's a chessplayer..used to be a musician of note too..)
Why does all this happen in the same fucking day? I don't know. I'll do some more 12 ounce pulls and contemplate it all.......UUurrrppppp
09/05/07
OK, last Sunday when Elvis had to have his Caddy towed away there was another bit of action around here.
About 11:00 a.m. or so, some local clown knocked on the door. He said his name was Roger and he had an appointment with Elvis to see about selling him the car. Marla was getting ready for work; she was an easy target for his Texas style whopper of a lie. She actually rousted Elvis out of bed with a phone call..but not before she naively allowed the dude to take the battery from the car to "test" down at the local Autozone shop.
When I awoke about 2:00 p.m. Elvis was here..furious. Roger hadn't come back. He hadn't made any arrangement with the guy. We ( having lived in Philly..which trumps Texas for sleaziness ) seriously doubted he'd return. Marla was off at work.
I was furious too. I had some serious homework to do and my day had been minced by all the bad vibes. Elvis eventually had his first car...one he loved..towed off forever. It was like sending out an old faithful dog to be shot.
Then, after tapping out the diary entry preceding this, he hopped in the car his Wife brought into their marriage...and I'll be goddamned if it didn't start..even though they had just replaced the battery.
2 hours later ( and another emergency call answered by me to deliver a wrench to where it failed to start after being revived for the first time ) I got home. No more disturbances I hoped as I sat down to begin my homework hours behind schedule.
Uhh uhh. DING DONG!
I opened the door..and lo and behold if it wasn't the catalyst for this whole shitty day; FUCKING ROGER.
What would you do? The motherfucker had lied and upset my wife, son, daughter in law...and delayed my homework in the bargain.
No. I didn't pop him in the face.
Instead, I went into my intimidation routine.
"Oh...so YOU'RE ROGER!" I cheerfully warbled.
My facial features morphed into my nastiest scowl.
"YOU FUCKING Son of a bitch! You're the cocksucker who has my whole family in an uproar. You lied to my wife...you told her you had some sort of appointment with my son. Didn't you?"
Roger stood about 5' 9" or so. He had a sweaty mustache.
"Uhh..yeah". Just that. He didn't even try to lie about it.
About that time he was backpeddling and I was lurching towards him in Cactus Jack like stagger steps.
I didn't intend to hit him...only to scare the fuck out of him. Of course, when you play this gambit you've got to be ready to go fist city...and I certainly was if he threw the first punch in my driveway.
"GET OFF MY PROPERTY..and DON'T COME BACK!!" I pointed towards his car which was sitting there idling..with his wife and at least one kid I could see sitting in it.
"whoa..whoa..whoa!" he bellowed...as he was backpeddling.
"I said GET OFF MY PROPERTY...you FUCKING LIAR!"
By this point he had backpeddled behind his car. He blathered out some sort of horseshit conjob hokum. Then, he reached into the back of his truck and extracted a battery. The battery for Elvis's former car.
"They tested it...and said it was no good" he volleyed.
He began dutifully carrying it a few steps into my driveway away from me.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! Set it down and get off my fucking property"! I bellowed..
"Hey" he stammered..."you don't have to swear in front of my children!"
I kid you not. Just like the asshole I wrote about years ago who was so upset that I cursed in a thrift store 20 feet from his Daughter.
Before I had the chance..his wife finally yelled at him from the passenger seat...
"Just set it down and let's GOOoooo!"
He set it down and glanced to where the Caddy used to be.
"So where is it?" he meekly asked...
"It's FUCKING GONE...OUT!!!!" I screamed pointing my finger to the near by Ranch Road 12.
He looked really sad..as if he thought up to that moment he still could calm me down and buy the Caddy.
He climbed in...watching me all the while..and booked out of there.
It's not often enough I get to go into my maniac routine.
It's very soothing to me actually. It can't be beaten as a tonic for getting my head straight.
I called up Marla...who was delighted to hear I got to rip into the fucking puke.
Elvis was the next call on my list. He put the phone on Speaker setting so his bride and brother-in-law could hear about it.
Then, I dug into my homework..
Marla and I talked about it later. We agree that there's some sort of Texas thing about telling whoppers that we don't dig or understand. Roger was just an average Joe. He seemed shocked about being called on his horseshit. He didn't look any different from guys you see in taverns around here.
I wouldn't be surprised at all if I see him again. Maybe he's one of Mark's friends?
Mark??
09/01/07
Hello to you all, This is the Whiskey Rebel's son Elvis.
You've heard my name popped up here and there if you've been reading this diary, and occassionally I write a diary entry myself...well today is not on the happiest of circumstances, today I am selling my first car ever....a 1989 Broughm Cadillac with red soft interior....a real pimp ride.
We bought the car initially for my father around the new year of 2002. Well, it wasn't quite fitting his needs and I needed a vehicle , so they gave me the car to compensate for being a main cog in the move from Philly to Texas.
I loved that car, there are so many memories that I have.
I drove my band Cats From Mars around in that car, writing songs, moving equipment, booking shows, going off on stupid little errands that you do with your bandmates. There were photo sessions of us around the cadillac, it was our car.
As a kid in high school, it was the coolest car on the lot. It rode just low enough to where it had a low rider feel to it. I made a funk tape to play at certain times of funkyness. (Did you leave school with a cadillac full of cats and kitties playing 'Love Rollercoaster' nice and loud?)
To not go into too much detail, I began my social and love life in that car. In Philly all of my friends lived in Northeast, and I lived in South 22 miles away. In San Marcos, if there was a girl I liked, or a friend needed a ride, or someplace I needed to be...nothing was finer than hopping in my land yacht and crusing on over.
My namesake Elvis Presley was a cadillac fiend, and as you can imagine my relationship with him is very unique, and because of that cadillac and his name I got in the paper to comemorate his death! (Thanks Beer for giving that guy the heads up)
I've said for years that that is my ideal car, it was huge! I am a big guy and I've gotten used to Sarah's Focus, but there's nothing that can top stretching my 6'5 stature in that Cadillac....and now I am waiting for the tow company to take it away for $100 to sell the parts for scrap.
Its demise has been a long, slow and painful death.
It's had brake problems, oil leaks, overheating/air conditioning problems, and a couple others....the final blow was a carborator that just got so gunked up, I couldn't clean it, or anything....I had to either replace the carborator, or get rid of it....well, I just couldn't afford it.
On my night of graduating high school it over heated with a car full of friends and cohorts. The breaks locked to a point so intense, that it went down a hill, forked to the right and went through somebody's fence! My band and a girl I liked were in the car along with hundreds of dollars in equipment....everyone was fine, but it was a moment in my caddy's life will ever forget.
It doesn't matter if you're a gear head, if you have ever loved a car then you know what it's like.
I'll miss my pimp ride, my beast, my land yacht.....my Caddy.
08/31/07
I fought for a year with the university to not have to redo the meager but valid science credits I scraped together 20-25 years ago. I've always considered myself completely scientifically uninclined. A MORON in that field.
After only a few days of instruction ( with a physicist who has a beard that is a cross between that of Santa and Jeff Clayton ) I've decided I really enjoy it after all.
Yeah, it's a bit tough when math equations surface. I'm a stubborn ass when it comes to wanting to do everything in my mind..calculators are for PUSSY'S as far as I'm concerned.
Obviously this makes me a relic from a different age...
Well shit, I'm in good company. Newton didn't need no squat to piss calculator. neither did Einstein.
If I can keep my stodginess from getting in the way I'll do just fine in this physics class.
I really feel like I can learn from this professor. He exhibits signs of being your classic eccentric genius. And shit..the girl to men ratio is something like 15-1. I'd much rather attend a class loaded with education major eye candy than a bunch of dumbass dudes any damned day.
My Philosophy class is about as difficult as eating pudding.
Why didn't I just major in THAT years ago? I feel as if the Professor ( and she's good..I like her..don't get me wrong ) fell ill I could step in and teach the class on 2 minutes notice. Most of the study of Philosophy..like fucking 99%..is History. Think about it. The broad overview of the subject I'm going through concerns primarily whom amongst the noted philosophers took what stance and when. It's really ( like the other liberal arts ) just an offshoot boner sized sprig from the mighty tree of History.
Lastly on the school front, I've been immersing myself in CROCKETT...David that is. My Senior seminar paper will focus on his involvement in the Texas revolution. My paper will largely tackle popular misconceptions of him by the masses thanks to all the bogus pop history nonsense. It's ground that's been covered many, many times by sophisticated Historians...but I'm working on a few fresh slants. Hey, the original slants MUST be there..I am ME. I am bound to look at things differently. I settled in for a Crockett mini film fest last night. I watched 2/3rd's of the 50's Disney product and then the Alamo film from just a few years ago with Billy Bob Thornton as David. I'm still chasing down the John Wayne film, a 50's film that predated Disney and a rare (?!) "new age Crockett" film Disney issued in the late 80's apparently to little fanfare.
In a nutshell, I'm trying to figure out WHY differing ideological groups from each generation feel like they have to see Crockett as someone sensitive to their generation's way of thinking.
I won't go into anymore detail here at this stage. I'm being guided along with a couple other senior History majors by the History department chair..who just happens to be the first official Texas State Historian..appointed by none other than Gov. Rick Perry. I really respect this man. He's such an authority I know I could drop the rest of my classes and study any aspect of the Texas revolution 24/7 for the rest of the semester and not begin to tap into his knowledge.
I'll just take it one step at a time and do my best.
I've learned ( and I hope the top hand History students from around the US who read this damned diary agree ) that if you let your curiosity GO...if you just try to look at things that occurred in the past with fresh eyes rather than simply try to impress a professor or make a good grade you can actually come up with some fresh ideas. It's the role of the Historian to put things into perspective for a factual assessment of things after the Political science types and the musicians and artists and film people and writers and sociologists have taken their creative shots.
So sayeth Thee Whiskey Rebel.
8/24/07
I get asked all the time why in the hell living in Texas I'd choose to study the German language instead of Spanish.
I have nothing against Spain, Mexico, Rome or any of my Tejano friends and neighbors here; the fact is, I can't figure the language out.
German makes sense to me. It follows a set of rules that are only broken 10% of the time or so...exceptions to Spanish patterns of pronunciation seem much more frequent.
For instance..I've had a bug up my ass lately about how to correctly pronounce the name of the site of the great Texas revolution victory at San Jacinto. Local's pronounce it with an English like "J" sound..."J" as in jaws or Jew.
Yet, we have the San Joaquin valley ( pronounced san wa-keen) San Jose ( hoe-say), San Juan ( wahn ), Jesus ( hey soos ) etc, etc.
So, why is San Jacinto pronounced with a big rockhard "J" as in jabber, jackass and jack-off? Hhmmm?
At first I suspected crude anglo Texan's are to blame, but I checked the word on 2 different internet dictionary's. What gives ( or "wie gehts?" pronounced "vee gates" in German class)?
While we're at it, how in the hell do I pronouce "Nacogdotches" without sounding like an asshole?
08/23/07
At the moment ( and it can change quickly ) I think the most over rated Hollywood "legends" of my lifetime are probably Jane Fonda and Robert Redford. I just watched a half hour or so of a film both of them were in; Y-A-W-N.
I'm not factoring in their politics or personalities. They just bore the fuck out of me. Jane was/is just a fucking stiff. Very uninspiring. Mediocre. Of course she gets the star treatment. Redford is like a baseball player who never gets his uniform dirty. He's just too pretty and soft to take seriously. The movie I just saw "the chase" has good moments when Brando and Duvall and plenty of unheralded folks are on the screen. Ol' Bob is seen running through the woods and hopping a train...he's a prison escape named "Bubba"..his prison duds are immaculate; his hair perfectly coifed. Go check out Lee Marvin in "Emperor of the North" if you want to see how Redford should have looked. Even the Carradine Brother ( David I think ) looks like he crawled out of a boxcar. Speaking of baseball, Redford's diamond "classic" is amongst the worst portraying the sport. A guy like Steve McQueen WAS everything Redford is not. Imagine him in any role Redford played...think about it. Steve would've made him look sick.
Redford always looks exactly the same no matter what the role. Shouldn't that raise the audiences suspicions? Consider the makeovers guys like Brando and Pacino and DeNiro and even Dustin Hoffman and Dennis Hopper went through over the years. Redford was just a fucking marshmallow out of the bag. If you want the damned things to taste good you have to run a stick through 'em and char them up a bit.
Redford's charisma is no better than the average lower card, curtain pulling wrestler.
Back to Hanoi Jane. She's clearly the weakest on the screen of all her family. How can the movie channel people keep a straight face setting up her tribute night intro's? She isn't all that hot looking either...compare her to ( from her generation ) Stella Stevens for instance. Now THERE was a hot looking woman. I'd love to see JUST ONCE a Stella Stevens night on cable. Her look in the REAL "Nutty Professor" with Jerry Lewis makes me hot and bothered. Ann Margaret smoked Jane too. Nancy Sinatra was much better looking and was approximately an equal actress.
I guess while I'm at it, I should mention the "Mad men" series. I usually have to choke back vomit watching lame attempts at "retro" shows. Mad men has a fantastic look and they deserve a lot of credit for depicting a lot of 1959 era casual activities like kids crawling around unbelted in station wagons and of course constant smoking and drinking. The only real problem with the show was summed up by Marla: there's just too much aimless romance that's boring and not really sensual or exciting. The office and the employees look and act closer to what I remember as a child occasionally visiting my old mans office job in the early 60's than anything I can remember off hand.
Hell, even well into the 70's people used to smoke EVERYWHERE. It's assinine to have modern actors and actresses displaying modern sensibilities if you want the project to look like an older time. None of that seems to permeate Mad men. The furniture on the show is just perfect too. The ad agency bosses include a guy who is appropriately modeled directly on "Larry Tate" on the old "Bewitched" show and a crazy eccentric dude everybody brown noses.
I just hope they smooth out the scripts a bit.
Let's cross our fingers and hope it doesn't take a turn in a sensitive, enlightened and cause oriented psuedo-retro direction.
08/22/07
It's the night ( well, morning technically ) before the first day of classes. I note that the party house of students across the street is strangely darkened here at 4:00 a.m. They must be taking it seriously.
I'm not nervous like I was a year ago first day. I know my way around and have prepared for my classes better than most..of that I'm sure. I got my last book delivered by UPS today.
I wisely avoided early morning classes. My earliest will be Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 11:00 a.m. That's still earlier than I like, but C'MON. I have no classes at all on Fridays and don't have to show up until 2:00 on M's & W's.
I get to experience for the first time tomorrow an almost impossible walk I'll need to make straight uphill from the lowest part of the campus to a building farther on the fringe's of things than I've experienced yet. It's at a high elevation and I have only 15 minutes to get there. Considering how it's gonna be in the mid 90's for a few more weeks I'm gonna be showing up to that one ( my freshman physics course ) sweaty as fuck. Worse though, I'll be trying to get a seat in the front row both due to my shitty hearing and the fact that I may need to be teachers pet to survive a science course.
We've fought for a year to get it waived. The university is holding firm. Oh well. I'll just fucking take it. Elvis did well in the exact same course and actually thinks I'll do well too.
That's surprising that he suddenly has confidence in me.
I've got to rid my noggin of the notion that "I can't do it". I thought I couldn't learn a foreign language..I had been convinced all my adult life. Maybe I'll wind up eating my words; maybe I CAN'T pass a physics course. At least I'll bloody try. I will try very hard and study long hours and ask questions and do what it takes.
My other class tomorrow is the senior creative writing seminar. I hope like fuck it doesn't turn into a series of lectures on how to conquer writers block. I DON'T HAVE IT already. I don't need doodling excercises to get me in the mood.
I edited the completely new chapter for the upcoming 2nd printing of Jobjumper again last night. I actually found myself using what I picked up from my other writing class last Fall. I actually changed the ending with a discussion from the class in mind.
I'm not sure what I'll submit for my fellow students to roast this time around. If I find myself with my dick shriveled and brain fried from my Physics or German courses I'll probably coast and use something "in progress". If I have time I'll try to lay down something fresh along the lines of conventional short stories. The Prof. is a serious veteran with awards to his credit. I hope his work doesn't make me puke..and if it does that he doesn't like to read it in class.
My god, I had to buy a text book crammed with all the short stories I've been forcefed over and over since high school. Nothing over the top in the pages, just the familiar stuff. I can think of worse stuff to read, but I had hoped for something earth shaking and new.
I hope we don't have to talk about the crap AGAIN. I'd rather stick to the hit or miss efforts of my classmates.
I've been told one of the benefits of this course is the help we'll get from the Prof. in terms of getting some of our crap published or at least in a decent format for being submitted.
We've got the first Alcoholics Unanimous set in a while coming up in Hattiesburg Mississippi to help celebrate "Before I Hang"'s sweet 16th band anniversary.
Hattiesburg is one of my favorite places to play and visit. The jaded asshole ratio is very low. The folks there are hospitable and drinks won't cost you an arm and a leg there. If you're one of the people who read this diary and occasionally travel to one of our extravaganza shows with our friends, I'd consider coming to this one if I were you. There's other stuff to see within striking distance ranging from New Orleans to the Jimmie Rodgers museum in nearby Meridian. Hank's grave isn't all that far a haul either for that matter. Just a few hours.
I've just learned that another act on the bill is called "the Cooters"..my god. What a great band name.
With the "20 years of tanked up tunes" A.U. cd coming out this Fall we've got to start maintaining a higher profile. We'll put a "poster" for the show on the webpage somewhere sometime soon. Uurrpp...I've got to go eat some nuts so I have something rattling around in my colon when I'm making that uphill mountain climb tomorrow.
08/17/07
Fuck, I feel awful. All the normal sodium level food I ate on our 12 day vacation has caught up with me. It's a delayed reaction. I've come to expect it. I'm sleepy and weak and miserable. It's like having a cold..a bad fucking one without any symptoms. Back to the low sodium martyr routine.
I've already started getting ready for my upcoming classes. It's gonna be 4 1/2 months of pressure. Lots of writing. I'm actually going for a double major History/English and I'm taking the "capstone" ( as the History department chair calls it ) History and writing courses. I'll be writing a major research paper on the Texas revolution. That calls for some real ass deep reading and thought. I'm also taking the 3rd of 4 German courses I need as well as freshman numbnuts Physics and Philosophy I need to make up.
Wow, what will my Philosophy Prof. think of having a real live philosopher in her class? Uurrpp.
I need to finish my Carbon14 review assignments this weekend as well as the liner notes, bio, etc. for the grandiose Alcoholics Unanimous retrospective release on Steel cage which will be out in the early Fall.
Vacations over, buddy. I haven't even looked at a chess book in weeks and probably won't for a long while. THAT'S how serious the work is stacking up.
When we were in Vegas we were supposed to see Tom Jones live. Unfortunately Tom got sick and the box office called and let us know they were refunding us. We decided to buy tickets to see 3 epic doo-wop acts at the Sahara: the Coasters, the Platters and the Drifters.
We knew we weren't likely to see many if any original members.
I've been a big fan of the Coasters for years. They were a solid rock and roll act. The Drifters aren't really my cup of tea..the Platters sang some of my favorite ballads although I'm not much of a ballad guy.
We got "inner circle" seats. When the guy in the monkey suit seated us I deliberately didn't tip him a dime. They had enough of my money. I'm not out to impress anybody with what a deep pocket tipper I am ( huh ). Fuck it. I'll save it for cocktail waitresses I thought. let's see where he seats us. We wound up with Marla's shoulder brushing the stage. Great seats.
The Coasters went on first. It was a good set. I expected the most from them and was disappointed that there was no live tenor sax player. The band leader was a Cousin of a major member and it still was a great set. They really looked and sang like they should.
The "Platters" we later learned were one of 11 acts world wide that has paid to use the name. They sang just fucking great. Beautiful. The lights were brought down during "smoke gets in your eyes" creating an eerie melancholy mood that was worth the price of the tickets. The musicians backed down and let the singers go at it.
The Drifters were the outfit I expected the least from.They turned in the best set though clearly. They had a good batch of singers who are veterans from other acts including a dude from the Temptations and the Brother of Frankie Lymon. Yeah, Lewis Lymon stole the whole show. He must be 72 or so and he danced around more than the rest of 'em combined. He never stopped. He even clapped a sombrero on his head and delivered a very un-p.c. "Cornholio" sounding rant.
All the bands worked the crowd hard. They ended it with a strange patriotic dittie they all joined in on ( "stand up America") that confused the audience who appeared to be 95% from the tri-state Jersey, N.Y and Pa. region and 98% over 55.
With the audience clapping politely they launched into an ass kicking work out of the Isley Brothers "Shout" that had members of the bands loping around in circles on stage and in the audience.
Marla and I talked for days about whether we should be disgusted with these bands as being frauds and pirates or not. We didn't come to any conclusion except to agree we had a good goddamned time. We agreed that if there was any real money to be made from our obscure bands, ex-members would undoubtedly pop up with their own lineups. Of course we realize the chances of that are less likely than the possibility of me being recruited to fill in a role for a once lucrative synth-pop Brit act.
At least Tom Jones is still himself and won't be replaced by a drone or emulator any time in the near future.
08/16/07
CONTINUATION OF EARLIER ENTRY
I left off with Marla and I chasing endlessly around a Nevada desert detour around a deadly freeway wreck; the gods were all gazing down from Olympus laughing their fucking asses off. Bachus alone refrained from laughing..he found the punishment too cruel..
"Come on guys..this is just SICK...let 'em get to their hotel already!?!"
Mediocre road 30 miles from anything. Sun down an hour or so away..a blown belt on the rental car and we'd be spending the night in the desert with only very warm beer.
Finally, believe it or not we reached the edge of a town. We approached it from a sort of blind angle around a massive rock formation. There it was...a sign happily inviting us to a town we NEVER expected to stumble into..
"WELCOME TO PARUMPH!"
Oh my god...we were in the kingdom of Nye all along..the infamous and rarely seen by human eyes home of Art Bell.
At least it meant that we HAD to be safe, didn't it?
And I swear on holy BEER that loa and behold we passed a lonely house on the far extreme edge of Parumph with an additional out building with satellite equipment sticking up everywhere. I've read Art's book; I remember a picture in it of his compound. It HAD to be his pad.
We barreled downhill into town and stopped at a convenience store that I bet ol' Art buys bread and milk at. Marla went in and asked for directions. Some other sheep who had been detoured were there. They all were told to "turn right at the stop sign" where Las Vegas awaited them 67 miles away. A local lady stopped Marla in the parking lot...she told her that there was 3-4 hours of road construction on that route...and that personally she recommended turning LEFT and returning to our original route.
I bought into that line of reasoning pronto...prawntoe.
We turned left and headed a ways in the wrong direction. Eventually the road turned in an arc and we wound up in a half hour back at hiway 95 where there was a bunch of smokies waving at us to keep moving (?!? as if we were gonna stop ) and a helluva lot of trucks waiting for the hiway to open back up.
After 10 minutes of barreling down 95 at 76 MPH we realized we hadn't seen a car traveling in either direction. We had a State hiway to ourselves for the time being.
I reared back and broke into a verse from Wayne Hancock's Drive On Brother song..
"aint got time for nothing but cigarettes gas and coffee...
Yayyy Brother drive-on..."
I had been behind the wheel for awhile and was getting a case of the jollies.
Yeah. When I told Mark about all this he guessed that by this time hellish sulpher smoke was pouring out of my ears, but I was doing better than you'd expect. We BOTH were looking on the bright side of the wacky day.
THEN we got to the freeway system of Las Vegas.
I-15 was like a testicle that had been ripped out of it's socket, the road weaved back and forth utilizing tiny narrowed lanes. I had HAD ENOUGH finally. No more bouncing back and reasoning that things could be worse.
I got bum directions from Marla who had gotten bad advice from some phoneline cunt at the Imperial Palace. We blundered and in a moment of weakness made a mistake that you should learn from our sad example never to duplicate.
We actually intentionally drove our car onto Las Vegas boulevard.
Yeah, our brains have to have been FRIED.
L.V. Blvd looks cool on TV, but anybody whose visited sin city knows the locals use the network of streets BEHIND the casinos. Only rubes and studs in convertables on the make and bitches like Britney in their limo's drive on the strip.
It's the equivalent of sticking your erect cock in a jar filled with blazing hot tar. Now, you would never subject your weiner to that twice, would you?
And we were suckers for getting on L.V. Blvd.
Once on it, I couldn't get off..which is one of the hazrds of traversing it. Eventually whilst slamming my fist on the dash repeated and blowing my top FOR REAL for the first time that day, I wound up somehow in the valet parking section of the Hotel Venetian. I screwed my face up into a pathetic beggars expression, cranked down the window and pleaded with a parking lot dick to get us out of there and away from the strip.
Once safely behind the string of Hotel's we still weren't out of the woods. Unlike all the other hotels bordering it ( they all fucking connect ) the Imperial Palace only marks it's lot with a couple tiny and vague logo's in abstract circles..very hard to see at all. I wouldn't have found them without the help of a couple bike-cops whom I used my rock bottom beggars expression on again to good effect.
This is where I'll end the narrative. We had more "fun" awaiting us in the hotel, but I needn't go into it due to the domestic banter that accompanied it. It was ugly.
We wound up much too many minutes later in a swell room with a balcony overlooking the strip that had almost swallowed us up.
We had 5 days ahead of us..and apparently we'd be sharing the hotel with what seemed like hundreds of exuberant roller derby broads ...Uurrpp...
08/12/07
Ahhh...back to this chair after almost 2 weeks on the road and in the air.
Some ups, some downs..sure. 5 days-4 nights in Vegas was fun. The rest of the trip was memorable..but perhaps not as exciting as being presented with a $3,900 bill by our slimey rental car company upon returning the car clean and undamaged ( we had expected a $213 fee!).
That's a story still in progress obviously.
It was good seeing all the relatives we came across..even though we almost lost Mother in a restaurant to a garbanzo bean that lodged in her throat.
I have a lot to relate here and most of it is good. Of course veteran readers KNOW I've figured out nobody wants to read anything heartwarming here. People want me to SUFFER. We had a day that will please all but the most vicious minded who visit this page.
We kept getting slammed by strange twists of fate and hardships over and over and over and over. It was a day that rivals every single one I described in my book "Hostile city or bust" perhaps with the exception of my near death on Mt. Rushmore. Oddly enough we kept bouncing back laughing and giving the finger to the gods up until the last couple beanballs from Olympus.
It all started on a bright Nevada day in Reno..not too hot..just right for a drive through the desert to Vegas. We climbed into our rented Chevy Malibu ( yeah, they still make 'em ) and looked for the highway South to Carson city. The day before had been our 30th wedding anniversary. We had traveled well, ate well, gambled without excess loss and drank well.
I had made 2 seperate and stunning mental calculations that amazed both of us. First off, when entering a remote mountain range in California I decided to check the radio for the first time that day. I stated out loud that it looked like a perfect locale for melancholy and old fashioned "music of your life". I switched the radio on hoping for it. Mind you, I've only been on that road once before a few years ago.
The seek function of the radio brought up "music of your life" instantly. Eeerily enough there were NO OTHER stations to be heard.
Later, relaxing on our king bed in our hotel room I suddenly realized it was Monday and the the final episode of "Hell's Kitchen" would be programmed that night. I don't wear a watch and we were a couple time zones away from Texas. I had NO fucking idea when the show was to be broadcast in Reno if at all. Marla grabbed the remote which we hadn't touched uo to that point. She switched it on and..MY GOD. The opening segment was showing on the channel ( one of 100 or so ) last visited by the last people occupying the room.
Anyway, the next morning on a lovely sunny morn we were sitting at a light heading South when..WHAMM! We felt somebody bump into our car. We climbed out a bit stunned. A cab driver had hit us, but had caused no damage luckily. Shit..for a moment we were terrified of course. This set the table for the unfolding feast.
About 20 minutes into our drive I had another psychic moment. I KNEW without looking at a map that Marla was steering us down the wrong road. Ordinarily we would argue and bicker over whether we going the wrong way but we both acknowledged I had some sort of bizarre visionary track record going.
Marla pulled over at Carson city to gas up and get a map.
I had tried to check our route on a California/Nevada map bought in Yreka but the area we were approaching was blotted out by an inlay diagram extolling the virtues of the map company's other products. So, we bought a Nevada map investing $5 in an unimpeded look at the States roads.
We planned out a "short cut" through remote secondary roads to get onto Nevada State hiway 95 which is the main route. It was remote and desolate by TV standards, but fit the bill as far as what we wanted to see. What's wrong with the desert? We have decent attention spans for roads lacking foliage. Only the boring get bored.
Yeah, we were pissed off having traveled 30 miles in the wrong direction and on edge from the mental jolt of a fender bender that could have been serious. We drove our balls off though and made good time for a few hours.
No music of your life on this day. The only radio station was a topnotch classic country broadcast from Fallon Nevada. Nothing else could be found by our "seek" button.
We traveled through a town we hate named Tonopah that peaks out at an elevation of 6,200 feet. We rolled down the range next stopping at a great, first class travel plaza in a tiny burg named Beatty on the edge of the Death Valley national park. Like a couple veteran paranoid travelers we prudently gassed up even though we had enough to get to Las Vegas. I bought a tiny pack of the first beef jerkey I've eaten in maybe a year ( high sodium! ) along with a big fucking coffee.
I wolfed the jerkey and nursed the java.
We were maybe 2 1/2 hours from Vegas. We were in high spirits from having overcome a slow start. The road was good, the temperature not too bad and we had just managed to pick up a radio station that was playing one of my favorite cranky and eccentric nut talk show hosts Michael Savage. We cheerily eyeballed the bordello's along the side of the road and looked forward to an evening of cold bev's and gambling. About 15 miles after passing a large sandy mound the signs referred to as "big dune" I noticed that on the horizon there appeared to be a mass of unmoving vehicles. Oh oh. My fingered punched the off button on the radio.
"SHIT! " I screamed.
Sure enough, traffic had come to a complete halt on hiway 95 in Southern Nevada.
I slammed the gearbox into P and shook my head at the sight of approximately 40 cars, buses and trucks in front of us completely stopped. Many passengers had climbed out of their stopped vehicles for smokes and conversation.
"SON OF A BITCH!" I wailed.
For the next 15 minutes we tried to figure out how bad a wreck was up ahead. First a couple ambulances made their way to the front of the pack. Next, a huge fire truck. We started to see an increasing number of car, tour buses loaded with probably a bunch of frigging limeys or frogs looking for some action in Vegas U-turn and head back the way we came.
Marla spread open our brand new and now ESSENTIAL Nevada map to look for an alternate route. She proposed a massive circuitous route through an old missle test sight would connect us with 95 up the road.
I scoffed. "There's NO FUCKING WAY I'm gonna leave this road and travel some backass bullshit Billy goat fucking route!"
"It would work!" she insisted.
I blew it off. But, for the first time in well over 30 years of traveling the highways and byways of our fair land I had run into an accident that was so bad and lethal to dog knows how many splattered corpses ahead, I was forced to turn the car around like everybody else and at the instruction of a female ( I think ) State highway safety employee with teeth so bad they resembled gravel hunks coated in mozarella cheese we found ourselves hurtling back down past the "big dune" to take a detour route she had described that matched the one Marla had selected more or less.
Pissed off? We were LIVID..but realized how lucky we were to have just bought a map, not to mention gas and a huge coffee. Marla predicted the detour would take an hour or so. UH HUH! SURE! It was her turn to be wrong again.
We angeled off 95 on a flat, straight road headed to no fucking where. A shredded tire at a time like this could be fatal at worst or uncomfortable and dangerous at best considering Marla had worn down her cell phone. There were no services advertised on what sparse roadsigns we saw. My clairvoyance predicted we were on the wrong bloody route....but after 22 miles or so of white knuckling it we finally found the road we told to turn onto.."state line" road which was narrow and not promising.
State line road swerved and bucked like one of the Nevada whorehouse bitches with a bad case of tapeworms in her tush. I've traveled with gusto and zero anxiety the bad lands in Dakota, treacherous snowy hinterlands in Alaska, the Eastern Boregon flatlands chock full of missle silo's and salt flats in Utah that are creepy looking to most people. THIS state line road looked like one of the dust bowl sets in the old "grapes of wrath" film. It wasn't all that long until sundown and we were worried. NO TIME for any more of fate's gonzo anomaly screwballs. We recognized it would be par for the course for our day to have car trouble. If we did, our AAA good status for many years wouldn't mean shit. Hells bell's, every tow truck in the region had to be back at the death scene. If we had to spend the night in the desert due to a snapped belt it'd be without the comfort of a beer supply. Well, not exactly. We had plenty of really warm ones.
The road randomly went in all directions..no signs..except for an insane turtle crossing warning that had us shaking our heads as if we had penetrated the outer limits for sure.
To my credit, I hadn't completely freaked out and hadn't gotten to the fist slamming on the dashboard phase.
That was to come though..still to come as all my senses knew it would.
TO BE CONTINUED..
07/31/07
After all the bitching and ranting I've done about cell phones over the years, imagine how much one of the paparazzi assholes following me around could get for a photo of me yakking on one in a car?
Rather than expose myself to accusations of hypocrisy down the road, it's time that I came clean and acknowledged the fact that a cell phone has been purchased for MY PERSONAL USE in the near future. It's sitting charging up on a table right now; some of you would be thrilled and itching to program numbers into it and learn about all the features. Me..I'm a bit embarrassed.
To me, cell phones and karaoke machines have quite a bit on common. People bellow into both mostly unaware of the tacky residue of their communicative attempts.
When I can PREDICT with certainty who will be at what intersection or public destination with a phone pressed to their SAYING words that I can also predict..well, let's just say I have a handle on the problem.
Folks, it's no more pleasant to watch you bray away on 'em than it is watching you floss your stinking teeth or apply a "Tucks".
So, why did I cave in? Why has a cell phone been acquired for my use? It's simple; there've been a couple instances in which I needed to find a payphone but COULDN'T. They've been removed from hotels, airports, restaurants, etc.
I've been an AAA member for many years..what's the point of having towing service if you can't call them when you have engine trouble or a flat?
Hey, time marches on. It's just time to get one and realize that all my rational commentary on the subject has done and will do no good.
I bet it won't be a week after owning it 'til I figure out a way to fuck with peoples minds with it. THAT'S my revenge. Look out..........UUrrppppp
07/28/07
Busy days. Writing my ass off about miserable shit for the next Carbon14. No Rancid Vat history this time. Just meat...I hope somebody chokes on.
Writing about heavy shit I'd be happier to forget can leave me drained and pissed and in a state of anxiety. Oh well. It's part of the process.
Happy stuff to write here. We mixed down 5 brand new Alcoholics Unanimous songs for a CD for Steel Cage that will be titled "20 years of tanked up tunes". Beyond the 5 new songs it was difficult settling on the rest of the 70 minutes. Fuck, we've done plenty well I think over the years. The capper on the disc will be the first CD appearance of our 90's studio recordings with Jeff Clayton that produced the "Dixie Fried" vinyl e.p. which only appeared on vinyl in Germany way back when. No doubt, it's one of the best projects we've ever been involved in.
Oddly enough, when Mike McNally visited Mark and I played rough mixes of the new 5 songs for him; in all our years of recording it's the first time he ever liked what he heard. Well, yeah..he was a bit drunk. Not THAT drunk though that he didn't mean it when he promptly grinned and shook our hands.
A nice gesture from the man who rescued me from a possible adulthood as a Beatles fan by playing me some Gene Vincent that quickly set my ass straight.
The lead off song is a version of Jimmy Liggin's immortal "DRUNK".
A favorite of mine is a version of "bloodshot eyes" ( written by Western swing guru Hank Penny but topped by a Wynonie Harris R&B version ) that Elvis sang drunk in a bathrobe and sunglasses in the studio, shitfaced. Ahh..the Bacardi kid. If I weren't his old man, I'd adopt him.
Marla and I are going on a long trip in a few days out West. We'll see relatives on both sides and wind up spending our 30th wedding anniversary in Reno. The next day we'll take a drive I love so much I dream about, but Marla is leary of. It's the backass route within Nevada from Reno to Vegas. Maybe one of us will snap and murder the other on this trail, which is a great place to leave a body to bleach in the sun. If so, the A.U. cd should do even better.
It's been a busy damned Summer and I've got an intense schedule of classes this Fall. Marla has worked her ass off all year. We need to rest and be lazy by some swimming pools.
We decided to spend the bucks neccessary to see what should be a great live show in Vegas...none other than TOM JONES. Yeah. Really. Marla may be wadding up and hucking her panties upstage. We have good seats. I can't wait.
07/24/07
I played in the Houston open Chess tournament this last weekend. The actual chess was good, I had a really great first 3 rounds. Good, strong competition..one guy a Fide ( world chess fed ) master, another guy new to this country from somewhere ( a Filipino?) just a hair under master level and a rising star kid..a solid expert who has won his share of adult events. I managed a couple draws and a loss in which the master had to sacrifice and play brilliantly to win. The next morning I played against a guy merely at my level and lost. I didn't pitch pieces, I just played a misguided move in the opening before I had a chance to drink my coffee. He played well. My last round opponent was the son of the FIDE master. He forfeited the point due to some sort of auto fracas. I hope he was ok..he and his old man are good people.
The guy I lost to was an incredible dick...he irritated others playing in the event too..it's not just me. I was able to ignore him during our game..he never distracted me. He comported himself like a cocky 14 year old at a little league game even though he's no better than me. His ball cap which was glued to his head looked stinky. Tufts of simian hair rose up the back of his b.o. stained T-shirt. He looked overall unwashed, obvious, dull and as loathsome as caked dandruff..yet clearly swaggered like the sort who thinks ladies love him.
It was a good event for people watching. There was guy about my strength with wild eyebrows..about 62 or so. I noticed he kept his sharpened pencils ( why isn't one enough for a 4 hour game?) and scoresheet arranged JUST SO. He developed his pieces in geometric, anal fashion. His apparel looked imactulate, but of the sort that if somebody 28 wore it you'd assume they were being "ironic". His facial reactions were about as exciting as watching a rump roast lay in a marinade bath. He looked like the sort whose idea of a wild night would be a meal prepared with a couple cloves of garlic, followed by a sitz bath.
Not all the players were dullards or creeps.
I hung out and yakked with a small handful of acquantances I see at various chess events.
I spent 2 nights at the "suburban extended stay suites" where I had a room with a full kitchen, 2 Queen beds, an almost comfy TV chair and a strong A.C. set up. I sat in my underwear and drank beer until the early hours..which is bliss for me. As I've mentioned many times, it's an integral part of my "Whiskey Rebel lifestyle" to drink in motel and hotel rooms JUST THE WAY I LIKE IT. It was bliss...and I admit to watching portions of the stupidist shows available..because after a day of chess I don't want anything mentally stimulating. I want D.U.M.B....like "sex and the city" level mind rot...or say, a romantic comedy or one of the "American pie" imbecilical movies. After 8-10 hours at a chess board I'm NO SMARTER THAN YER M.B.C. GIRL FRIEND.
I noticed something frightening on this trip about you humanoids during periods in which my brain was activated. I was DISGUSTED. I realized how many events and activities you all feel compelled to stuff your gaping maws at.
You climb aboard an airplane for a 1 hour and 20 minute flight..and you have to tote along some huge bag of whoppers? WHAT? You go to your local movie theater to watch 25 minutes of previews followed by an 80 minute "film"; you feel awkward and deprived if you don't during this less than 2 hour period shovel down a greasy $6-8 popcorn washed down by a $4-6 watered down soda. You scarf down huge quantities of food BEFORE big stadium ball games..WHY? How does a full gut heighten your enjoyment for athletics?
I stop for a coffee at a convenience store near I-10 and see whole families following that white line trail loading up on huge armloads of horrid, low quality chow to cram into their facial slots whilst packed into minivans 3 per seat. EEWW. Happy road trip vacation, DUMBASSES.
How do you do it? I can't. I eat when I GET THERE. If I eat some big meal I just wanna take a nap..not watch some professional ball game or drive a vehicle or watch some stupid by the numbers Hollywood extravaganza.
The most incredible nidwads of all are the chess players ( mostly in the low rated sections ) I see stocking their guts full of fast food before a rated tournament game. I see loving "chess parents" bringing bulging bags of happy meals to feed their spawn while they're playing serious chess. REAL chess players don't eat gut bombs during games you fools! They might drink juice or nibble on a hippie cookie bar..but not MSG laden, brain numbing CRAP. How can so many of you think you or your kid are gaining strength from blue collar glutton-crud?
7/19/07
There are a total of 3 cooking "chef competition" shows shown regularly on our TV right now. This doesn't count of course one off cookoffs or one of my most dreaded and hated type of shows..fucking pussy ass "Cake" decoration competitions.
FUCK CAKE. Particularly, FUCK CAKE prepared to win a contest based on looks and not TASTE.
People who specialize in baking cakes or one dish such as Chili are NOT chef's. If you enjoy watching them bump dickheads with each other or with some clown-celeb-chef like Bobby Flay, more power to you.
I like watching CHEF'S in action. I loved the REAL Iron Chef show from Japan, I loathe the American version for the most part.
As far as the cooking competition shows of this Summer go, the absolute worst is the one shown on Bravo..I think it's called "top chef". It's clearly meant to be elitist, high brow, snotty, etc. Everything I'm NOT. I'll never watch it again after seeing parts of 3 episodes.
The "next best" is the food network "next star" gala. I enjoy this show for the most part. It's pretty good...but clearly reduced to an also ran status by the BEST chef challenge going: "Hell's Kitchen".
I stumbled across this show by accident while a guest at the Sahara hotel in Vegas in June. The reason it's so much better than the other 2 shows can simply be attributed to the "star"..Chef Ramsey..a veteran chef from the U.K. with high standards and a knack for amusing Jekyl and Hyde type outbursts. Is it staged? I don't really care. If it is it's always convincing and enjoyable to watch him cuss out the contestants. This sure as hell isn't a "nice" or "high brow" show. Yuppies who love the pussy chef shows might condemn it, but I bet they secretly watch it; it's GREAT TV.
Is it "reality" TV? perhaps. I think there's a script at work. So what? That's clearly the standard for the most popular rating wise reality shows as well ( none of which I watch ).
Can you cook? Can you cook with a guy bellowing in yer face worse than any boss you've ever experienced? Can you deal with hellish, greedy, back stabbing bastards as both "team mates" and foes?
I personally am much more amused by people screaming and reading each other off in a clear, vile way than watching trendy upper crust Flay-holes sashaying about a set in a well mannered ( albeit self centered ) fashion. It's like the difference between watching a classic HEEL vs. BABYFACE wrestling conflict as opposed to a couple dry technical workers demonstrating "moves".
What about you? Have you discovered the pleasures of the current top show on TV "Hell's kitchen"?? Or are you sucking tool and watching "Bravo's" wine and cheese-nerd fest?
07/16/07
Mike McNally and I have known each other since we were both in different high schools in the Southwest Portland / Beaverton area. It was great to have him as a guest for almost a week after Elvis's wedding last weekend.
We're alike in many ways, but very different in others. One of our common traits is our track records for pissing off male friend's spouses and girlfriends. I've lost count of how many women have accused me of being an "enabler" booze wise. As for McNally, in my opinion he simply can't conceal his attitude towards guys who are pussywhipped and their bitchy partners. He can be brutally honest. Even in his best "polite" mode he can irk the hell out of people.
So, what did we do for a week?
I recognized right off that since he was escaping Snoreland Boregon's pretentious boosterism and "progressivism" it'd be best to stick to showing him stuff that was traditional in nature..to avoid any of the alterno-nonsense he's stuck with 365 days out of the year.
We took a few field trips and filled in the remaining time drinking beer and bullshitting about many subjects, the most frequent one being the wretched state of the city we grew up in and used to love but now HATE.
I'll point out right here and now I feel just a bit p.o.'d at McNally for having not left the fucking shithole long ago. HE KNOWS BETTER. Why waste your life in a place where you are clearly outnumbered by people who make you sick?
They have to add a post-hippie twist to everything in Snoreland. McNally and I have ALWAYS hated hippies. They make us urp. Always have, always will. I'll be overjoyed if and when he gets his ass out of there to a place where the conventional wisdom is not hippie ( or any other breed of hipster ) based.
Bearing this in the back of my mind, I took him to Cabela's for lunch. Cabela's for those of you who aren't familiar with it is a world class, HUGE emporium selling fishing, camping and other outdoor goods and of course tons of GUNS. He enjoyed the charms of the cafeteria at Cabela's a lot.
For musical entertainment McNally was taken to Dale Watson's Monday night shift at the Continental club. He's not a huge country fan, but he LOVED it. He said it made the trip. Later in the week we caught my pal Jim Goad crooning trucker friendly tunes at a club in Austin that doesn't deserve a plug. McNally oddly enough was the guy that rented THEE CAR to Mr. Goad if you've read Jim's "shit magnet". A good night.
We took McNally to a weeknight at a bar here in town that specializes in being a real live traditional BAR and not a haven for trendmongers.
We made sure to take him on his first visit to "Cracker Barrel" ( a chain that is too practical and bumpkinish and downright "Southern" for a monkey see monkey do trendy barfhole like Snoreland ).
We spent a good deal of time just driving around the streets of the towns within a 30 mile radius. We tried hard to find poor neighborhoods with dilapitated crap to laugh at ( this is an old pleasure of ours) but didn't find enough.
It was a very simple week. Most guests crave more exciting things to do. Not Mike.
I've said it before: you can tell what kind of week we've enjoyed around here by how heavy the recycle bin of empties is when you haul it to the curb Sunday night. It was FUCKING LOADED this time..which means we had a good time..doesn't it?
07/15/07
It was semi-jokingly said before Elvis's wedding that the ushers would know whether to seat the folks attending based on their looks. All the freaky looking people would be there for Elvis. That was a reasonable guess. His wife is a normal gal and her family is normal looking.
Nothing wrong with that.
When I waltzed out of the back room where we got dressed in our tux's I saw right off a gaggle of band members and friends who of course had a nice snicker at my predicament. They had never seen me where a tux..and may never again. Hell, maybe I should buy one to surprise them.
My greatest worries about the wedding were that I might fuck the whole thing up by some sort of crude blunder. We weren't allowed to wear bandana's of course...which meant I knew I'd sweat like a pig.
I stayed back "stage" until the last minute; Elvis's wedding guys Joe, Josh & Dustin ( who looks like Jesus ) did a fuckava job keeping him relaxed the whole weekend and helped me out too. They helped me strap and buckle on the niggling little parts of the monkey suit. Mike McNally my longest running pal ( 3 years pre-Schuppe believe it or not ) was there and helped somewhat in an abstract sense. I couldn't act like a silly twat with him there. Anyway, they dressed me and told me when to get my ass out into the church big room for my cue.
Oh yeah; it was held in a Methodist church.
Another "first" in many years.
Plus, Marla and I sat in the front row as is customary.
I yakked for a couple minutes with the brides Grandpa up front waiting for the signal to march in. Eventually music from "gone with the wind" ( my Daughter in law's favorite movie..a good choice..could you imagine the music from "erasurehead" at a wedding) was bashed out by an elderly organist. Jesus came back to the front of the hall and walked Marla in with me behind.
I expected to sweat like mad and maybe get emotional. I really didn't care. Why hold back? Marla worked through a few packs of kleenex, but I sat there dry eyed and feeling very aware of the fact that I was in a christian church.
The last time was my old mans funeral; my cousin in-law Ralph the "youth for christ" director in Seattle misquoted and in my mind soiled Dad's ceremony by misreading his favorite poem. It was like a garbled joke..and cemented my status as a budding non-believer and cynic.
The preacher for the wedding was ok..I must admit. Elvis made clear his hedonist, non christian views ahead of time. The preach focused on the two of THEM. Their attributes and ways. There was only one prayer. During it, I gazed at Elvis's guys and flashed back to Marla and my wedding in the mid 70's.
We were married of course by a guy who looked like Jimmy Carter..too many teeth.
I wondered how many band members and friends struggled with just that one prayer.
It wasn't that bad though. I shook the parson's hand afterwards and thanked him. It could've been a religious-regatta that made me sick. The whole thing lasted 20 minutes.
Oddly enough, McNally and I were designated to drive the bride and groom to the reception..after about 45 minutes of tedious photo's of course. That felt good. We were in a rented white and black jeep.
When we got to the hall I was sweating like a bastard for the first time. I felt good to see the Texas Stud, Bobo, Mrs. Bobo, thier kids, good old Marilyn and Mark shoveling BBQ down their maws.
Next came a blur of relatives from both sides. Finally I glad handed "friends" from both sides. My tux began to wilt.
I drank lots of beer, some champaigne and a good blast of Glenlivet Scotch with Sarah's old man and his lifelong pal who had done the cooking.
I ( for the first time ) didn't dance with a lampshade on my head at a wedding reception.
Later, we wound up back at the Rodeway inn...a couple of Elvis's guys, one girlfriend, McNally, Marla and me getting shitfaced by the "closed" pool. I had the monkey suit off at this point. Elvis and his bride were at a hotel by then.
Everybody wound down by 3:00 a.m. or so and I ended up closing the day out watching Tiger Woods kick fanny on the golf channel while sucking down a few last Bud's.
The wedding was over, but the post wedding week just beginning...
7/14/07
Sure as hell it's been one of the biggest gaps in this diary. Couldn't be helped of course...Elvis got married and we had to deal with the pre and post wedding rituals and preparation and entertain company that came from the farthest away and stayed until now. The new "other" Mr. and Mrs. Irwin are home from their honeymoon..the last guest ferryed to one of two airports used for this event.
It's all been grist for the mill diary wise. I have a lot to write about.
The bottom line though is, if you have Daughters..pray to whatever force in the universe you believe in they become old maids or elope. We only did 2% of the planning and work and we're burnt out. If you have a son and he gets married it won't be much more than what we've gone through in all likelyhood...lots of it pleasant but most of it involving a myriad of details, emotions, plans, unseen complications, more details, etc. that would task an army quartermaster and make you feel as busy as the only whore in a motel filled with horny away from home construction workers and carnies.
If you don't have kids and don't foresee ever having any, pat yourself on the back. Getting out of this is one of the blessings.
Elvis's new father in law invited me to have a blast of Glenlivet with a buddy of his in the wedding reception shindig kitchen when it was winding down. He's a good family man and a mature guy from a long stable marriage. So what had him riled up enough that he ( to use his words..note the similarity to an Antiseen 7" cover ) was so pissed off at the people who he rented the hall from that he was ready to "paint the walls with their guts"? They had allowed the air conditioning to wind down leaving the guests hot and fanning themselves. Just one of 25,000 details he's overseen over the last 5 months or so.
For a couple years I've toyed with the idea out loud it might've been a good idea to have a Daughter. Marla reminded me of this and gave me the finger. If you're one of my friends with a sweet young Daughter you love with all your heart...TAKE MY ADVICE. If she says she's getting married and wants you to plan and finance a formal wedding..BEG HER and her beau to let you take out a 2nd mortgage on your home to enable you to PAY THEM to do the deed in Vegas.
I'm told Elvis himself looked to be ready to snap on the way to the airport to the honeymoon. He was probably sick of all the GODDAMNED SMILING and pretending to be interested in the feminine decisions made concerning china patterns, flower arrangements, etc. I'm not implying there was any problem with any of the choices made. His bride and her Mother worked their fannies off with a matrimonial task list book and got it all done. He was expected to pay attention and know what was going on though...and I think he got worn down.
I guess maybe I'm just some old sexist fossil..but I don't think men stand up as well to all the perma-grinning for the cameras at these things.
Did I cry at the wedding? I didn't feel any macho need to hold back, but...uhh..no. If it was my Daughter getting hitched I would've started sobbing about last March.
Poor Gary ( my fellow Father inlaw now ). The newlywed's are on their way over to tell us about the honeymoon. I'm eager to hear a report about his hopeful recovery and return to sanity. Poor Gary.
7/04/07
So, Al Gore's son was busted for DWI, possession of various drugs and driving 100 MPH..in a hybrid car?
I have this to say...and the kernal of this thought didn't originate with me ( thanks Mike McNally for passing this pearl of wisdom on from your old man ): when they bought him the hybrid car, what did they do with the old one? It's quite a "statement" isn't it, earth friendly to drive a hybrid auto, isn't it? BUT WAIT! That just depends.
What did they do with his old eco-monster of a car? Trade it in? Sell it? Give it to somebody else to drive? If any of the above are true..they didn't do DICK to help our environment.
The only path of true p.c. righteousness I can see here is if they destroyed his former vehicle..which if you think about it was probably a pretty nice ride. That's not likely, is it? Then again, even if they destroyed it, HOW did they destroy it? In a "green" manner?
You don't get to wear a "green" p.c. badge if you pass your gas guzzling freakish car on to somebody else anywhere down the line when you buy your new hybrid.
Do I care? No. NO. Peddle your hysteria elsewhere. But, those who CLAIM to care should be aware of this important distinction or I'm calling 'em out as a hypocrite.
I see no clearer sign that this climate change horsepoo is going to explode in the faces of its staunch supporters than the fact that Gore is behind it.
I'm in the final days before Elvis's wedding. Am I nervous? Yes. I'm not sure why. OK...I have to go pick up my tux tomorrow. We're wearing black everything according to El. Jacket, slacks, shirt, shoes, cumberbun, etc. I'm gonna try to use it as a photo op to get some nice Whiskey Rebel Tuxedo pics away from the wedding.
Since I'm fat I'm being issued my first suspenders to wear to keep me from having to hitch up my slacks constantly. Yeah, gotta get some photos of that.
Will I start crying at the wedding? Only if I focus on the lot of the inlaws who have to pay for the whole shindig. We get off easy. Elvis is marrying into a good old Texas family. He says they like him.
I'll be drinking at our motel in the manner in which we used to at supershows. On the night before, Elvis and his best man and ushers will be sucking 'em down in another room at the hostelry. I'll help 'em along. The wedding night they're staying at some fancy place somebody from the bride's side provided. The next day we haul 'em to the Austin airport where they'll fly to a Vegas honeymoon, baby.
Am I hoping for Grandchildren? Fuck yeah.
I just realized today I don't have any "dress" socks you wear with tuxedo's. I'll buy some. I also don't have any wifebeater's or plain white T-shirts you wear under dress shirts of any kind. I'll be chintzy and tacky and wear a sleevless undershirt from my closet since we're wearing black shirts. Why not? Will I get caught? Maybe. Who the fuck am I, Ricardo frigging Montalbon? Sebastion Cabot? Merve goddamned Griffin? UUrrpp....
.