The Whiskey Rebel's Diary Archive
04-03-08 to 06-28-08
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since 05/28/01
06/28/08
I'm in touch with a large number of new Fathers and soon to be Fathers. Since my son Elvis is now a full blown adult and has done well I and I brag about it here I get quite a few questions and comments from new Fathers.
Incidentally, I know I wasn't a perfect Father. I've talked Elvis about his upbringing quite a bit. I could've done a few things differently, but he and his wife feel like they have a lot in common due to the upbringing me and his Father-in-law provided the two of them seperately. Mothers are important of course, but it's more uncommon to have an uncaring Father than Mother though. New Fathers probably need more help.
First off, I'm amazed at how seriously most of the many Fathers I know take their duties. Most of them are hellraisers and misfits. They take their new responsibilty really seriously though. I'd name names, but HELL...YOU GUYS KNOW who you are.
The most important concept concerning parent-ship (PAY ATTENTION HERE!) can be explained by a chess concept; you need to maintain THE INITIATIVE. You don't need to know the rules of the game to understand this. You need to stay not only on top of the situation for the entire raising of your kid, you need to stay a bit ahead. The time to figure out where your kid is going to attend school is about 2 years ahead of time. The time to begin teaching them the alphabet and early reading concepts is BEFORE kindergarten. The time to instill values such as the greatness of being truthful is WAY BEFORE they enter the squirrly junior high school years. You don't wait until your Daughter is 14 and dressing like a Maury Povich dropout hooker to discuss why that's a fucked up option. You deal with it years before the problem tends to come up.
It's called maintaining the inititiative. Example: When your child is first learning to walk and grabbing everything in their path...is NOT the time to kid proof your house. Don't wait until they destroy something.You're supposed to be the smart one in the relationship when they're at this age. You should anticipate their stage of developement. I don't care if you're a raging daily alkie, you can still deal with easy stuff like this.
Don't be timid about wading in and changing diapers guys.
Why? With the expanded life expancy of our/your generation you can expect your child to pay you BACK IN KIND. Yeah, go ahead and giggle...it sounds funny, but there's a kernal of truth there.
If you change 'em today, they're gonna love you for it tommorow..because it's a way of saying you care. I love to describe to Elvis the messes he made. It's a way of reminding him that I WAS THERE in case he ever forgets.
As far as you folks with newborns to 2 year olds go, yeah. It's a lot of work dealing with them isn't it? A litmus test as to whether you're doing your job as a new parent is whether you are able to realize that everytime they cry they WANT SOMETHING. The next step is figuring out WHAT THE HELL THEY WANT. A bottle? A pacifier?
If you think for one minute that it's time to start spanking a baby because it's crying, you're WAY OFF BASE. Book up...or ask one of the kids Grannies. Learn what it is they want. I fucking guarantee you....if you maintain a forward looking initiative, anticipating what the kids gonna do, you're gonna be able to deal with a little crying and screaming with a sense of humor.
If you find that the kid is causing all sorts of problems eventually, at school for instance, don't give up...BOOK UP. Realize you are in part guilty for not anticipating a common "bad" stretch of behavior.
When you've got a bad situation though to deal with concerning a growing kid in school, whomever's fault it is...is secondary. It's up to you to save your kid the same way you would have from a moronic, well meaning relative tossing the little thing in the air when it was a baby.
Hey, at certain stages of his developement I was ready to wring Elvis's neck. It's gonna happen. There will be days they hate you; and you them. Whatever problems there are will be easier to deal with if you anticipate them. You're not really home free until they're married off and looking to have kids of their own. THEN they will understand the sacrifice you made and thank you for it. THEN you can shoot pool with 'em...or have 'em cook for you or just pamper you when you're sick from THEN ON.
YES my friends, bear in mind...the tables will turn one day...and YOU will be repayed for your efforts. You'll very likely get just what you have coming....
06/25/08
Elvis and his wife were by last night. We had an interesting discussion about what constitutes as "funny" according to Hollywood these days. They were told by friends that they just had to see "knocked up"..that it was hilarious. So, they rented it.
They got halfway through it before bailing on it and agreed it sucked.
Now, if you're 35, male and single, if you're not perceived as a mighty cocksman lots of folks are going to assume you are gay. Likewise, if you're my age and don't like a beloved example of pop music or an extremely popular movie they consider you over the hill. That your oldness doesn't permit you to "get it".
In my case at least, that's a load of crap.
I keep waiting for something to happen music wise. Popular music has been stuck in neutral for many years. My Fine Arts professor Morris Nelms explained to our class that there's a cycle dating back centuries. New things happen only every great once in a while. I keep waiting.
As far as films go, remember I'm the guy that refused to waste his money on "Borat".
I've seen enough previews for films including "knocked up" that let me know that there's a wave of 'em out there meant to profit off of the "Beavis and Butthead" generation. Now, I am to this day a big B&B fan. Mike Judge wasn't suggesting that people behave like them. But, somehow a huge number of juveniles that grew up on it have developed the notion that it's cool to be dumb. The proof of their existance is the fact that movies keep being made to suit them.
No, I AM NOT shocked or offended by the obligatory jokes about guys caught masturbating, people being caught in naked, compromising situations, Hollywood farts, etc.
THAT'S my point. It's not shocking to me. I consider it to be "crude light" film making.
It's all light fluff stuff, hardly more shocking than Letterman (who bores me). For christs sake, even the hippie generation had a battery of film directors that pushed the boundaries (John Water's for instance). True oldschool guys like H.G. Lewis and Russ Meyer make them look all like frigging prisspantses.
Do we dub these "knocked up" fan jerkoffs the "Jackass" generation?
Maybe. I don't really care what you call them. Why glorify them in any way?
I'm glad my son knows what the good stuff is when it comes to films. That's all I care about.
06/20/08
Now don't get me wrong; I'm not into sunshiney literature. Jane Austen romances leave me cold and bitter. I enjoy a nice sick novel, but the European's I've been reading for my final 3 hour class (I'm taking it as an internet correspondance course) are ruining my summer.
Don Quixote in his 1,000 page splendor was ok. Madame Bovarie was a cheating cunt and deserved her horrible death. Voltaire's "Candide" was nice as a devils advocate sort of philosophical book. I had to grit my teeth through Solzhenitsyn's "one day in the life of Ivan Denisovich..which is a grim look at life in a prison camp. Next I was disgusted by "the metamorphosis" by that nerdy little kraut Kafka. It's about a dude who wakes up transformed into a frigging cockroach. Tommorow and probably the next day I get to re-enjoy "the death of Ivan Ilych" which is about a guy dying a slow death from cancer.
I read it long ago for another class when my old man was dying of cancer himself. Since he was a huge Tolstoy fan I got him a copy of it at the time. For some reason he was comforted by it..although I'll be goddamned if I can remember why.
After that I get to tackle Mann's miserable "Death in Venice".
What the fuck is it with these guys? Must all Euro lit either be disgustingly proper or depressing as crib death?
I'm already sad and depressed enough most of the time as it is. How many people have these guys pushed over the edge over the years? Is that how we should judge this work?
This stuff makes Americans like Faulkner and Selby look like jolly optimists.
Call me a pussy, but it's no wonder I gave this sort of lit up when I was in my 20's.
06/17/08
I never did get around to commenting on anything concerning my trip to Vegas aside from my attending a Sex Pistols show.
I've flown a lot over the years for both business purposes and pleasure. Oddly enough, even though I've flown on probably 10 airlines at least, I've never had the pleasure of flying the friendly skys of United. Of course, 30 years ago they were considered a prestige outfit..and now they're a few steps from the fucking dumpster.
Man, they reeked of a business going down the toilet. Both of my flights were severely altered by reasons not clear to me. Flying out to Vegas my flight was delayed for an hour. I cleverly booked a flight that required a 3 hour layover in Denver anticipating that sort of petty shit. Dozens of my co-passengers missed their connecting flights though. As Kurt Vonnegut would say "so it goes".
United is pushing (perhaps as a last gasp strategy) an "economy plus" flight class that guarantees one (and I quote) "up to 5 extra inches" of leg space. The guy at the United check in desk offered to seel it to me for $70 and then upgraded me for free. It was great to actually have leg room. The second leg of my flight wasn't as comfortable.
Incidentally, I still had a 2 hour layover at the Denver airport.
What do you do with the hours? Well, in my case I needed about that long to find a stall in a mens room that wasn't soiled by 1) piss all over the stool seat 2) a huge puddle of piss on the floor my pants would be dangled into 3) a handicapped stall in which there wouldn't be two men one of whom was purched sideways 4) a semi-clean seat but no hook for my carry on bag 5) a pot load of disgusting unflushed, clogged turds.
Such a big fucking airport. Perhaps they should consider hiring a few janitors.
My flight home fell into place nicely, but it was also fucked up bigtime.
I checked out of the Sahara at 12:50 pm to meet a 1:15 pm shuttle to the airport. My flight was due to take off at 4:10. You need to allow extra time at McCarron airport in the tinsel fucking city. I get searched every damned time I travel through there. That's fine by me. I'd search me too.
My shuttle service didn't fucking show up. Another dude ( a shriner from Alaska!) was left in the lurch too, so we divied up the cost for a cab. I got adjacent to the United desk at about 1:35. After scanning my credit card into their selfserve machine I learned I was scheduled to fly out at 6:15 am the next bloody day!
Now, those of you who have witnessed my temper might expect me to flip. I didn't though. I was ready to rebook a flight much later than that the next day and head back to Terribles for another night of fun.
An airline employee saw my situation though and advised to immediately go to the customer service window. I learned by flipping my part time cellphone on that I had about 9 text and voicemail messages. Marla had gotten a message from the airline and booked me onto a 2:35 pm flight.
I asked the airline dude if I had time to make the flight. He thought I did. It was gonna be close though. Las Vegas isn't like your hometown airport at all.
I had to double time it through the security line which usually takes an hour, catch a short train to the "D" terminal, jog another 1/2 mile and arrive early enough to change the middle seat Marla left me swinging with to something I could fit into
I hauled ass, trotting around dumbasses on both sides. When the security point was in sight I began peeling down, off went my shoes, my bandanna, my official Whiskey Rebel vest. I wadded everything into a ball and double timed it..and was encouraged to see the line was very short for the first time in my experience.
When I got through the checkpoint, I redressed and booked for the train to terminal D. I arrived at D43 about 15 minutes later. They were already seating people on the flight. I explained my situation to a guy at the airline departure desk. He got me an aisle seat. OH FUCK. My first in 20 years. I ALWAYS book ahead and get a window.
Oh well. I ran back to the mens room and grunted out a few turd-flakes whilst calling Marla. I hope I thanked her whilst bellowing for a minute about booking me into a middle seat. I think I did.
It was the latest I've ever climbed onto a departing plane. The whole plane load stared at me as I walked the aisle. Oh well. I fit into the aisle-job and didn't need a seatbelt extension (a guaranteed humiliation on SW airlines).
My seat row partners? A couple of scrawny, thinner than girls goth guys. Yunno, Beavis and Butthead dress in trendy black effeminate clothing and fly to Denver. They both looked scared of me. That's a wise decision of their part. I wasn't in the mood for even a peep out of them.
Surprisingly it wasn't too bad a flight. I was "early" in Denver to meet my connecting flight, but I needed most of the 3 hours to find a semi-clean shithouse. I called Marla and apologized for my earlier bellowing.
I asked her why the fuck she hadn't called me to warn me at the hotel when the airline called. She informed me that the Sahara had sworn that I had left a 12:15 sharp. FUCKING LIARS.
Yunno, looking back I'm glad she didn't get through. Imagine how nervous I would've been if I knew I had so few minutes to make my flight, especially when the shuttle cunts didn't show up. Being very early saved the day...bear this in mind my friends.
Why did United cancell my flight? I'll be damned if I know. Their "economy plus" 9 row section was empty in my final flight home to Texas. They shooed people away from sitting in it for free though. Man, that is one airline going down the fucking toilet. I'll never fly with them again.
06/13/08
I hate crowds.
I hate people.
I avoid all situations in which there are so many people I am not in control of my fate.
I hate backing out of social commitments.
I like playing music live, but am not the proverbial "whore for a gig". It's got to be a worthwhile endeavor or, fuck it. If I've agreed to it though...I show up. That's been the case 99.8% of the time for 28 years.
The Hammerlock folks asked us to play a couple shows with them this week..well, of course they asked many weeks ago. We love them. They are our pals. We happily agreed to play a show in San Antonio.
Unfortunately, we parted company with our long term drummer Bobo (thanks for the years of service, man) and cancelled out a couple weeks ago. The show was rebooked for another venue and unfortunately cancelled at the last minute after Hammerlock was already in Texas.
They stayed with us Wednesday night. Well, Mikey stayed down the road with Mark. You get the idea. They stayed in Austin somewhere Thursday night. This was probably due to the sometimes funeral atmosphere around here since Marla's Granny died. We told them we'd see them at Emo's Friday night.
I knew there was a biker rally of some sort going on up there. I thought it was one of those "bikers for tards" sort of things. We found out today that it was a rally that was set to be attended by 200,000 bikers. Austin was closing off a huge swath of streets.
We wanted to go up there. The Texas Stud was going to be performing with another of his bands at Headhunters in the same vicinity. We had planned to drive Mark and a female pal of his there.
When we heard what a big deal this was going to be though, neither one of us wanted to make the trip.
Note to visitors from out of town: We don't live in Austin.
You have to deal with a crowd any night in Austin near 6th street, but we're used to that. We're not used to dealing with another 200,000 bikers.
If we were booked to play, we would've simply gone there really early like the Hammerlock folks did at the suggestion of the club (Emo's) and toughed it out.
Look, I don't care if it's 200,000 girl scouts or Phish fan imbeciles or what have you. If we're booked, I'll be there. If we're not...I want to avoid it.
I fucking HATE SXSW. Why?
I hate crowds. I hate people.
I just had a fantastic time in Vegas at a Sex Pistols show. Would I deal with the humongous crowd Austin expected to see them? FUCK no.
Sorry Texas Stud. Sorry Hammerlock.
Mark got a ride up there with other people. Hey, he likes crowds. He does pretty well with people. Not me..or, should I say us.
Marla just lost her granny...and was in no mood.
I hope the bands did well up there. I'm pretty confident they did.
It's a fine line. I enjoy going to MLB games where there are 20,000 people in a stadium biult for 50,000. Pack 40,000 in there and...FUCK. Get me out of there.
If we were booked to play in front of a crowd of any size...that's different. I'm a performer. I'd have access to performer facilities backstage. I could play a stadium tour (which of course we'll never be asked to do).
I hope the shows went well.
By the way, the motto of this rally was quite amusing: "no shirt, no shoes....no problem!". I bet the streets of Austin were crammed with bare tittie jiggling and drunken theatrics. I approve! Let the gutters run green with vomit. BRAVO. Just don't expect me to be there unless I'm booked.
06/12/08
My earlier posted description of the Sex Pistols show I saw in Vegas seems frigging bland upon rereading. I wrote it not long enough after hearing that Marla's good Grandmother (there is a bad one too) died at the age of 96. She was a damned good woman. She always had a beer ready for me in her frig whenever we visited her in Modesto California over the many years I've known her.
Even though her own Daughter (my Mother-in-law) despised me eventually, Ruth was still friendly to me. We once took her to Reno and Lake Tahoe and Virginia city and had a great time. She enjoyed being around gambling facilities. Evidently she was quite the "flapper" girl back in the very late 20's. Look that up if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about.
Bottom line: I never bellyached about going to see her, unlike certain other relatives. I'll miss her.
I had an uncanny related experience in an elevator at the Riviera over the weekend in which a woman who looked exactly like Ruth talked and joked with me for the duration of our ride. I held the door open for her, we chatted a bit more and parted company. I actually broke out in gooseflesh on the spot, the woman looked so much like Ruth. And then I get home and find out the news she is gone.
I'll add some more juicy details about the show at some point soon. Last night I was simply too stunned to do much more than go through the motions of relating basic data.
06/11/08
I was lucky enough to see the Sex Pistols last saturday night while I was in Vegas. That whole morning I had focused on chess and the tournament I played in, but when the evening came around I switched gears and got ready for the show which was held at the Hardrock Hotel.
I was supposed to meet up with drunk Ted and his friend Amy, but that never came about.
Instead I wound up alone at first in the back of the room filled with 1200 loaded fans wishing I had a drink.
FIRST bit of luck. A guy I remembered from Portland recognized me and bought me a nice glass of whiskey.
SECOND bit of luck. My pal Buzz from the Melvins happened to spot me. He and fellow Melvin Dale and Mrs. Dale drove in from L.A. for the event. What great company. I lucked out.
Mr. and Mrs. Dale waded into the audience for a position to watch the show from. I later learned they saw a guy whip out his weiner and piss all over the floor. Wow, what a devoted fan.
I sipped slowly at the glass of whiskey as the Pistols kicked off their show with a bar band modern country-ish version of "pretty vacant" followed by an authentic version. The band presented their old songs with a sense of humor, sticking very close to the original recordings 80% of the time. The exceptions were their lower tier of songs that could stand improving. "Belsen was a gas" for instance was delivered with a much improved 5-6 minute long arrangement.
Now, I've seen a lot of veteran bands try to perform their songs in a tasteful but updated manner. The Sex Pistols pulled it off as well as any band I've seen within memory.
John Lydon talked a lot to the audience, working them at times to participate by singing along. That's standard fare for many rock shows, but it seemed to work well in this case. The audience seemed to really suck it all up. They had a great time, clearly. He ripped into an over eager front of stage security guard yet declared that stage to be the property of the band just like my own band has many times.
The Pistols play medium tempo songs that ROCK. That's always been their forte. Steve Jones played the Chuck Berry leads you expected, Paul Cook and Glenn Matlock delivered the goods on drums and bass. The sound level was surprisingly not so loud that I even needed ear protection.
I bought a ticket and took a "bye" for one round of the chess tournament in order to see the Sex Pistols play their goddamned songs. They did exactly what they should do by performing their songs in a straight forward way. They obviously could have fucked around a lot given the fact that the bandmembers have made so much music over the years with different projects.
They just kept it simple though. Buzz later referred to it as the show of a lifetime.
He's right. This was the fucking Sex Pistols. Their gigs are as rare as hens teeth. They just "KISS" kept it simple, stupid. This was a goddamned great band doing eveything you'd hope they'd do..right. Damn, I hope I get to see them again sometime.
05/30/08
I've been busting my ass, getting ready for the chess tournament in Las Vegas that has become a real tradition for me..the "National open". The 2 best players in the U.S. will be there along with another dozen grandmasters at least. People come from all over to play in this event.
The event has a sentimental meaning to me in that I met one of my many sisters for the first time there one year.
This year, I get to meet drunk Ted in person as we meet up to go see the Sex Pistols; a band I thought I'd never see live. The number one band on my wish list to see.
To add to all this, a guy from Oregon will be there who wasn't so much a friend but a friendly rival who was there the first time I got high from weed. I slaughtered this guy when we played as kids. Wouldn't you know, the tables turned and he eventually became a powerful master while I retired for 23 years..a washout.
I'm pretty sure I was a real dick to this guy 35 years ago. I'll be going out of my way and grinning to make his acquantance now..not because he improved as a player, but because there's something perverse and magical about meeting people you knew way back when.
I only partially identify with the me from back then. I had to learn some stuff in my 20's and early 30's to become who I am today.
Marla reminded me tonight of a time when I was a real jealous dickhead in the 70's when she wanted to do something with co-workers. Well, I admitted I was wrong, but also that I wasn't even the same person. I won't be held accountable for stupid shit I did then, although I'll admit my own ignorance.
So, will this guy be a dick? Or will we have a blast, drinking to the long list of mutual acquantances in one of the Riviera casino bars?
Friend or foe? It's his choice.
05/29/08
There's not too much to say about the upcoming Presidential election. It'll be a battle between sheer, blind, idealism vs. comparative middle of the road pragmatism.
I don't love McCain, but compared to the slippery, happy face sloganeering Obama he seems like a standup guy. It's a sign of the collective stupidity of Americans that he's even in the race.
After examining the Libertarian candidate, I'm frigging embarassed that I ever registered as a party member. No wonder I heard him first on George Noory's whackjob talkshow.
This latest topical Obama pal Father Pfleger guy takes the fucking cake. How many levels can I hate this guy on? The Obama apologists rush to remind us that Pfleger isn't running for office...like Wright or Ayers. Or Farrakhan.
I really like the way a commentator expressed the Obama question; who should we believe he is..the man he claims to be..or the man his friends show him to be.
Politicians lie to survive. Obama is a politician like all the rest. His campaign battlecries are as empty as have ever been spouted.
Don't let your hatred of Bush drive you to support a manipulative, fad feel-good-word spewing, handsome collectivist. If McCain is bland oatmeal, Obama is cake frosting..or cotton candy. think about it.
05/26/08
I got to thinking about the things I did today and what it says about who I am.
I started out by reading a French novel from the early 19th century. The, I played and defeated my Fritz chess computer software (set on a "sparring" mode"). Next I turned on the TV and partially enjoyed a couple hours of pro wrestling (er, "sports entertainment"). After that I watched "baseball tonight", slapping my thigh with joy over the poor year the Yankees are having. I studied chess for a few more hours and then began cracking corporate beers open, guzzling 'em as I played my PS2 baseball game. My current PS2 project is a "career" mode for a great grandson of good 'ol Ty Cobb..a vicious and widely hated superstar athlete.
So, what am I? A high brow intellectual, or a low brow slob?
I thought about it and remarked to Marla how few people would enjoy..much less be capable of doing the combination of things I did today.
I know I'm an oddball. What I'm really interested in is exactly how I can use my ability to operate both in sophisticated and simple circles to some sort of advantage.
Will I always be an intellectual, cultural halfbreed in a negative, awkward, unproductive way? Or can I figure out some sort of way to make it all pay off?
I'm open to suggestions at this point.
One would think that I'd be able to find some sort of niche, but I haven't yet.
As it is I mostly just fail in both circles, disqualifying myself as belonging to either high brow or low brow worlds when I reveal my true ways.
Yes, I get attention for defying stereotypes, but I want more than that.
05/21/08
I finished off my first chess tournament back after my extended 8 month academic break with a game against a veteran expert who statistically (compared to my rating that is) should beat me 8 times or so out of ten at least. The opening phase of the game I outplayed him. I made a few 2nd or 3rd best moves in the middle game and found myself down a pawn. In the endgame I fought hard to try to give him fits. His hand wavered he told me later over a move that would have turned the tables on him. I lost an interesting enough game that afterwards a handful of strong players analyzed it. It's like getting a free lesson to take part in a rehash of your own game with stronger players.
Besides chess study I've been reading my eyes out of there fucking sockets. If you recall from earlier entries, I'm fulfilling an upper division course requirement for one of the final two hoops I need to jump through to get my degree with an internet correspondence course sponsored by the university. It's a European lit course.
The first book was a ballbreaker....Don Quixote, which weighs in at 940 pages.
I polished it off in a couple weeks. The next book is "Madame Bovary" which I'm about 80 pages into.
I'm a bigtime reader, so I don't mind digging through these "continental" classics. For that matter I've read a few of them over the years.
I just finished a course on the "American novel" taught by my across the street neighbor.
There's no doubt that in comparison to the Americans the Europeans from over the years are talented, visionary but depressing sons of bitches.
If I had my druthers, I'd read modern Americans like Selby, Der Buker, Faulkner, Sinclair Lewis and Hemingway. Their collective work seems jolly compared to the Europeans.
Flaubert who wrote "Madame Bovary" clearly hated mankind.
Kafka's "metamorphosis" is a terrifying tale of a poor bastard who wakes up in bed in the form of a giant cockroach.
Tolstoy's "the death of Ivan Ilyich" is the most depressing book I've ever read. It follows step by step the slow death of a poor bastard by cancer. My old man died in such an identical manner that I gave him a copy of the book to read for "comfort" in his final days since he was a big Tolstoy fan.
"The stranger" by Camus I'm very familar with. It's about as good a novel to shrug your shoulders and GIVE UP to that I've ever read.
Then there's a Solzhenitsyn novel tossed in.."one day in the life of Ivan Denisovich" which is undoubtedly an upbeat page-turner.
All kidding aside, I knew what I was getting into when I read the entire reading list; I've only touched upon the joy awaiting me.
These Europeons are all guys I can deal with. If there had been one frigging Jane Austen novel tossed into the pile I would've signed up for another course.
There's no doubt I'm gonna get depressed though, since I tend to immerse myself in books I read. Oh well...BBrrappppppppp...Euro lit is not for pinks and mollycoddles.
05/16/08
I won't make any friends from this post..but since when has that ever mattered?
It's bothered me for a long time that this town, in spite of the fact that its only reason for existance is the University is chock full of fucking Pure dee fucking morons.
Don't just take my word for this. My neighbor/Professor stated it well in front of a class..WHY are there no bookstores? None! In a college town. Why is it that every time he wants to see a film oriented towards people over 19 he has to drive to Austin or New Braunfels or San Antonio? People who graduate from the university LEAVE here and go somewhere they can pursue a career or at least a normal life. Those who remain are fucking rubes..or express it in a nicer fashion if you want: they're low achievers who are here because the demands of living in such a lowbrow burg are less than neighboring towns.
I've lived here wayyyyy long enough to realize that the "fixtures" in the local bars are dumbasses, into stupid shit that I don't fathom for a second.
No wonder Joey left. (Hi pal, how you doing?)
Don't get me wrong; I'm not any more into fancy pants "enlightened" types. I prefer being around good old blue collar types to allegedly witty, "Mr. and Mrs. Volvo" types (thanks Mike McNally)..but guess what? These underachieving rubes are too stupid to hang with honest blue collar workers for the most part.
For me, the epitome of local Hooterville-like ignorance is summed up by the TWO signs I've seen recently hanging on store walls referring to renting stuff for the local past time..tubing. You see, they don't refer to it as tubing..they have to alienate me FOREVER by spelling it "toobing".
All my loved ones and what few friends I have are into "tubing". To this very day, Marla has tried to talk me into going "tubing". We've had several house guests including Travis and Liza from Hammerlock make a point of going "tubing". Mark, Elvis and his Wife...they all do it.
Everybody but me. Why? It seems disgusting and nerve wracking.
Hey, I didn't get the neccessary white-trash gene. I could try to blame my adoptive parents, but I damn well know Bob Irwin would have loved to go tubing with 'em.
How could I "relax" in a tube floating around when surrounded by rubes? HUH?
Never mind all the floating scum and algae protected by local environmental nuts.
The potential floating human scum guarantees I'll never do it. I told Marla that for $10,000 in cash up front I'd try it for an hour.
The fact that they have to call it "toobing" means I've just raised my price. I'll need $25,000 for an hour of "toobing".
OK MARLA? Tubes are for "rubes"....but Toobs are for BOOBS.
You got that??
05/12/08
Fuck yeah..I got my grade report today. I wound up on the frigging Dean's list for the 3rd time out of 4 semesters. If I was just taking History and English courses I would yawn. I had to nail down "B's" in Physics and German to earn this one. I did. For me, to wrangle a "B" out of Physics for the second time was a real achievement.
The subject matter included electromagnetics and quantum nuclear physics.
Hey my friend, if you think these topics are easy even in a non-math pussy setting, you're full of shit.
I've amazed myself, once again.
It's easy to succeed in an area of your own choosing academically. Passing muster Dean's list style burying your nose in stuff that's not your chosen field is another matter.
My most highly esteemed Professor the State of Texas historian confided in me that he'd get a goddamned "D" if he was lucky studying Physics. Knowing what infamous universities he got through with distinguished honors I know he was just being nice, but he'd have to work his butt off.
I've got to admit, I have a lot of respect for people who come close to scoring 4.0 gpa's. I talked with one lady during finals week whom I would have classified as a simple blonde big-chested ditz. She had a 4.0 with a DOUBLE MAJOR going into the same Physics final I took. She already had some sort of job lined up in Washington D.C.
Man, she was hot looking and had a brain that is unique for women sporting her physical attributes. I've been really critical of women who look like her accusing lots of them of only attending college to earn an "mrs" degree. She certainly defies the profile. Good luck baby.
I played my second tournament chess game "back" from my self imposed 8 month cometitive break from the game. I played another 14 year old, this one has been red-hot lately. Nobody gave me a chance in hell of beating him. I felt like the Brooklyn Brawler booked against HHH. I played well and aggressively though. He was lucky I offered him a draw in an endgame in which I had an extra pawn. I had less time on my clock to use and didn't see a simple path to victory, so a draw was fine with me. He will be very hard to touch for even a draw by the time he reaches 16.
Next round I get an adult for a change. He's been rated an expert for about 15 years from what I can tell. I hope he thinks I'm a dummy and comes to the board lazy. I've played a couple blitz games against him and lost miserably, but that has no bearing on my skill playing slow chess. I hope he assumes it does.
A good strong foe to get me ready for the National open in Vegas.
05/10/08
Even though I consider it amongst the worst 5 hours spent in my life, it actually occupied about 3 hours according to Elvis. I was bullied, browbeaten into attending his graduation ceremony. One thing for sure is, when it's my turn to pick up the diploma later this year I'll demand that they mail it to me.
Take an arena that's built to hold 7,000 basketball fans and overload it with a no-limit crowd of absolute rubes..MORONS..with few rules to dictate their behavior and you'll see what I had to deal with.
Hey, I don't deal well with crowds. It doesn't matter if they're there to see music or a hokey, traditional graduation or what have you..they make me physically ill. They spent hours trying to crawl all over me from all angles.
When I was trying to back out of it Marla called up Mark and asked him if he could save the day and drop me off outside of the arena a half hour before the fucking soiree began. He did..and it surely minimized my pain and agony, but what I wound up with was worse than going to church or shoe shopping with my Mother and Aunt.
Besides people crawling all over me I had to deal with imbeciles nearby with deafening airhorns, cornball hicks bellowing "OWW!" for little reason, rubes toting platters of dripping, greazy nachos, angry boobs who were late due to their own incompetence who none the less blamed it all on the fact that the mini-world within the putrid arena didn't revolve around them and automatically pardon their mistakes.
Amongst hours and hours of discomfort I did manage to deliver one zinger, one perfect Al Bundy line. Trying to select a seat I climbed into the nosebleed region of section "e". I saw a seat placed so that if I sat in in my back would be to the wall..a frigging pillar. I began to sit in it..and a bloated woman with a hideous face stuck her puss in mine and bellowed "HEY! This seat's saved"!
This of course was nonsense. The printed programs specified that seats weren't to be "saved" by subhumans attending the ceremony.
Taking a visual whiff of this gal, I realized I didn't want any part of her. I clambored up over the row of seats on to another section. I bade her goodbye though: "HEY! I barked back at her..."I didn't wanna sit next to YOU anyway..!!"
It was only a brief moment of satisfaction, but it helped.
To think....the fucking disgusting twat was some poor students Mother..!
Eww......
Now you know why I don't go to any football games or arena rock shows down here.I'm a performer...I need to be backstage or miss the event.
05/04/08
I had a return to tournament chess after 8 frigging months of having to obstain from it in favor of my studies. I played a fast improving 8th grader whose rating has been going straight up for years. He's rated just a tad bit higher than me..for now. He's obviously being coached and coached well. His opening preperation was damned good. He worked his way to an advantage snapping his moves out in seconds.
I played very scrappy chess though tonight and fought my way back to an advantage with aggressive play. I made a couple 2nd or 3rd best moves and suddenly he had an advantage again. Then, I played another aggressive not very obvious move and wound up with a material advantage..a winning advantage according to my Fritz9 computer. I was running out of time on my clock though. I didn't really have time to spend 10 minutes looking for the perfect way to win.
No excuses though; I used up my time and that's the price you pay. He managed to pull out a stunning draw out of a lost position. I've done it before myself. It happens.
I didn't feel bad after the game. It was the last one of the night to finish. My games always seem to go long. That's good; it means you're not being blown out too often.
My opponent next week is another kid who I believe is an 8th grader. I beat him handily a couple years ago, but he's been on a rampage lately. He's beaten one of the strongest masters in the club twice in two months. I'm sure he'll be out for revenge.
I'm sure most of the club members might figure I don't stand a chance in hell, but I do. I love playing the underdog. He's another player who just snaps the moves out. The dumbest thing you can do is try to snap 'em right back at him. I'll play my own game.
My stamina was good considering I have an allergy reaction that is making me cough and has swollen one of my eye tear ducts up and a hunk of a tooth resting over a root canal from long ago dangled by a thread all game.
Big deal. It's not a game for pinks and mollycoddles best stick to online poker.
05/01/08
Oh halle-fucking-luyah, oh halitosis fucking booyah. Imagine the sound of 1,000 damp asscheeks being slapped in rhythm in a bevy of shower stalls. This is the backbeat to my completion NOT just of a 2 year academic program, but to the ultimate rectifying in a new millenium of a poor course of student behavior initiated 33 years ago as I first lurched my way into the University of Oregon.
I was an eager amateur imbiber and stoner then and could not plot and follow a strategy to get me through the rough moments. The middleaged, veteran functioning alcoholic me has intellectually kicked the ass of the pink cheeked, bitter, confused jackass from Beaverton Oregon.
Let the bottles be hoisted in my honor. Even though you may have slaughtered countless billions of braincells in your adult life, you can still cling to hope upon my example that you can top your younger self in an intellectual pursuit.
I've personally hoisted our pal Mark's half gallon of Maker's Mark that he left on our bar after a band practice. As Rachael Ray would say: "Yummo".
As I sat recovering from the final German class of my life I pondered, what would the me of 1975, failing German, failing astronomy, confused, unable to realize what he was doing wrong; what would he think if he could look in a frigging crystal ball and see some older version of himself finally, FINALLY in 2008 figuring out how to pass foreign language and science courses?
I don't completely identify with that guy. He was too cocky, too loud in proportion to what he knew. Too influenced by friends. Too much in the orbit still of his parents to figure out his next move.
Beyond the ivy halls of academe, I could kick his fucking ass across the chess board too for that matter.
What it all comes down to, is the fact that idealism and youthful over confidence is TRUMPED by good old fashioned common sense. There's not much reason to expect that 19 year olds should be able to top seasoned, well prepared, strategic middleaged people in any field of endeavor. In a perfect world of course. Don't expect your lazy parents who have regressed philosphically since 8th grade, dropped anchor musically with acts like the Doobie Brothers and haven't read any books besides those sold in airport "top 20" displays to follow my example.
You people entering middleage, take my word for it or suffer the conseqeunces; don't be fooled by simplistic, dumbass conventional wisdom. As the old saying goes: youth is wasted on the young. In spite of current pop culture dictates, there is no reason to believe you shouldn't be peaking in your middle age. I'm not talking about penis extensions. I'm saying, develope your brain..use the wisdom that naturally comes your way with all the mistakes you make early in life.
Remember: You can't be a legend without some grey in your temples. Uurrp.
04/29/08
So, tomorrow is the big day. I've already been awarded another great certificate on stage and have an A in my American novel class and have done an entire semester of A work in my Public History class..meaning that even if I fall to a B in the takehome, easy final I'll get an A in that too.
Tomorrow is the last day for my two toughest classes intellectually speaking. Yeah, yeah..my Communications course was a humiliating 4 month trail of tears and glimpse into the dark side of academic political correctness, but I always knew I'd get a decent grade.
I'm finishing my second and final physics course. It's been rough as hell, but you earn a degree in large part due to your ability to get through required courses in subjects you're not strong in. When I see how many students are working on bullshit degrees in non-intellectual subjects like Communications and business (which is no longer considered a serious subject by many thinkers who see it as "buzzword studies") and special minority group and gender p.c. studies, I'm glad of the fact that these cakewalk degree under achievers have to buckle down and work their way through something they may find tough.
I'll probably only get a C in physics..maybe a B..but unless I really fuck up ( and I just might ) I'll get the requirement over with. I'm very interested in the concepts, but have no knack for it whatsoever. I don't know why.
The big watershed moment in my life that takes place tomorrow is my completion of 2 academic years of German. The reason I never finished college long, long ago is the fact that I washed out of German. Foreign languages don't agree with me. I've never really enjoyed my two years of being back in college because I've always had the possible failure in German hanging over my head. I didn't really know if I had it in me. I should be getting a B..although upon looking at my grade record earlier today I realize I'm not far from a sympathy A.
I've sweated blood practically to get through German.
And it all ends tomorrow in a presentation of the fairy tale I wrote with my two crack partners who translated. I think we're acting it out with cat sock puppets and falsetto voices.
I actually plan to find a quiet corner or clump of shrubbery after the class is over. I could find myself misting up..and I don't want to do so on a student shuttlebus. Why? Not because classes for me are 99% over, but because I completed 2 years of German. The rest has been relatively easy.
As I mentioned, I still have to complete a solitary take home final in my strong subject by next week...but it's pretty well over for me tomorrow.
Next Fall I have to take a single credit hour Physics lab in which there are no lectures or books, just blowing soap bubbles and rolling balls down ramps and playing with balloons. It's one afternoon per week. To satisfy my other final requirement I'm taking a correspondance English lit course from the university. I'll read 10 books by the likes of Camus, Tolstoy, Cervantes, Kafka and others and complete two assignments which I'm sure are papers. I won't even see a human being in the entire process. Just 3,500-4,000 pages of reading which is a cakewalk for me.
Then, my diploma will be mailed to me unless I'm talked into graduating publically.
I'm hoping this diary can get back to normal after tomorrow. It's been a couple years of sparse posts since my mind has been on other stuff.
Urpppppppp.....
04/26/08
Here you go, by request. This is my swan song assignment for my German classes. A real, bona fide German fairy tale. I have a couple partners who'll likely edit it a bit, so I figure I'd post it in english before they get ahold of it. Note: many of the things about the story that may seem awkward to you are simply common elements of the art form. Urp.
The two Cats and the Pig faced Catamount.
Two cats named Mr. Jinx and Dixie lived in the yard of a large house. Mr. Jinx was an orange cat and Dixie was black. They were both a bit crazy. The people who lived in the house were generous and thoughtful. They provided the cats twice a day with his own bowl of catfood, catnip and beer.
There were few mice or snakes to chase from the yard, or other work to do. Twice a day the cats would eat and drink until they were very full and crazy from the catnip and beer. Then they would take long naps.
One day at feeding time, Dixie the cat approached his bowls. He saw that they were tipped over and empty.
"sad I am, mad I am
Meeew meew
Who eats my food
on their flesh shall I feast!"
Meanwhile, Mr. Jinx approached his bowls and saw that they too were tipped over and empty.
"sad I am, mad I am
Meew meew
who drinks my beer
their blood shall I drink!"
The cats began crying loudly together.
"sad we are, mad we are
Meew meew
Whoever gets happy with our catnip
Will be sad and dead Before the day is through!"
Mr. Jinx and Dixie talked together, trying to figure out who the thief was.
Suddenly, they saw a fluffy white neighbor cat named Cuddles strolling along in the yard next door.
Whereas Dixie and Mr. Jinx were mean cats, Cuddles was always happy and friendly.
For this reason, the cats did not like Cuddles.
Mr. Jinx said "Cuddles looks a bit fat today, doesn't he?"
Dixie said "fat and happy too. I don't see anyone else around, so he must be the thief.
And they cried:
"sad we are, mad we are
Meew meew
But happy we shall be
When our deadly work is through!"
The two cats fell upon the little white pussy cat, dragged him to the ground and plucked his eyes out. Then, they ripped his throat open and drank his blood. Next, they ate his flesh until there was nothing but a pile of bones laying in the yard.
The cats licked their paws after the bloody feast.
They were very happy now and sang together:
"Now, we are not sad.
Now, we are not mad
Meew meew
The thief is dead
A happy meal we have had
But even happier shall we be
If catnip we have for our desert".
The very full cats walked slowly to their dishes to see if their masters had brought them their other daily portion. They could not eat another bite, but wanted catnip to make their naps better.
When they got to their dishes, they saw that they had been filled again.
But to their horror, they saw a huge creature ten times their size eating and drinking from their dishes. He had the body of a panther but the face of a pig.
The cats screamed together:
"Meew meew...who are you?"
The ugly beast, turned to them and belched.
"Hello fellows. I am a pig faced catamount. As you can see, I love to eat catfood and drink beer and get happy with catnip. This is just an appetizer though for a big fellow such as me.
For my main meal I prefer cats. Nicely stuffed fat ones".
The pig faced catamount sprang at them. Since they were fattened from their own meal, it was easy for him to snap the two cats necks with his powerful jaws. He settled into the finest feast he had eaten in days.
04/22/08
I know a lot of people will look here to confirm the fact that our buddy and ex-bandmate Emilio died yesterday in a motorcycle accident (on his way to work I'm told) down in Jacksonville Florida. I've heard it from two sources..it's unfortunately true.
Marla and I are stunned; he was 28 years old, a long time husband and a proud father of 3.
I've never had the pleasure of meeting his wife or kids. They must be devastated. We've thought about them all night.
I'm gonna say a few things about Emilio that need to be said, in spite of the fact that I'm not sure how much of it his kids are aware of.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but good things to say, although they show a side of him he probably was glad he outgrew. At the time Marla and I met him he was a 17-almost 18 year old. He had a horrible childhood complete with stays in rotten foster homes.
He rode with Marla, Elvis and I to the C.O.S. supershow held in Lawrence Kansas.
He annoyed the hell out of me frankly, for reasons that we eventually laughed together at. Every gas stop he seemed to have to tell everybody he saw he was in a band. He was constantly trying to rush our trip along so he could back to his girlfriend. He was ungracious and never thanked us at the time for the ride. Well, that's par for the course for an 18 year old, eh?
The difference between him and a lot of other jerks who I've eliminated from my life is the fact that he immediately made something of his life. He joined the navy.,..which did him a helluva lot of good. he started a family and immediately lived up proudly to the responsibilities.
A few years down the road, he made a big production out of apologizing to us for his behavior as an 18 year old. He didn't have to; but he did. We happily befriended him as a guy who had made a good life for himself. Over the years he showed up at a few shows of ours here in Texas and we emailed back and forth.
Believe it or not, he took up chess in a big way. He emailed me a game of his he played on line with some questions. I was proud to see him playing the old Robatsch defense that I used as a younger man. I was surprised that he was as accomplished as he was...and proud.
The last email between us was a year or so ago. He asked me for clarification of some sort of rant I had made about religion. I don't think Emilio was a heathen like me. That's fine of course. We all have to make our own decisions.
I've thought about him quite a bit recently. It seemed about time he'd leave the service. I hoped he'd move to Texas, maybe Corpus where he was once stationed.
Bottom line, I admired Emilio for turning his life around and creating the family he always craved. He became a man's man. A role model.
I want to publicly salute our old pal Cosmo for taking interest in Emilio's life when he was at that crucial, awkward, age. I know he's taking it hard. We exchanged brief emails. Cosmo and Emilio were better than blood relatives..
He was a good family man, a proud member of our armed forces...and we'll miss the hell out of him. Adios Julio Justice.
04/21/08
Again, it's a small, small world. Whilst loading up to go to our show last night in San Antonio I happened to yak with my English lit Prof. who lives across the street. I pointed out what a massive load of cans he was toting out to be recycled.
I told him we were playing music in S.A. and he asked about what sort of music we played.
I already knew since he was from North Carolina and attended a lot of music shows in the 80's and early 90's that it was a strong shot we'd know some of the same people.
Sure enough, he's quite familiar with our pals from Antiseen. I informed him that Jeff has stayed in our home right here across the street from his home.
He's evidently got a younger brother who actually is a musician and likely knows even more people we know, such as the infamous Todd Goss from the tri cities area.
There are limits to how familiar you can get in a student-Professorial relationship without violating all sorts of codes. One things for sure, once the semester is over in about a week we'll be legally able to really talk about this shit.
We're having a sort of open house night and day of mayhem to celebrate Elvis earning his degree on the 9th of May. The theme I have dictated is B+B+B...beer, bourbon and beef...with another "b" blasting rock and roll as an accompaniment. I may invite the Prof. over for a couple, although I sense he's a true recluse whereas I'm one by situational neccessity.
UUrrpp...Anyway, good story, huh? Long live Antiseen.
04/19/08
I'm worn down, but still am looking forward to playing tomorrow night in San Antonio. I knew when we accepted the booking for the show what sort of mood I'd be in...or I guessed...and I guessed right.
Only one week + one sick, added day and my classes are over.
I got a myspace message from my Uncle and Aunt about their Grandson who lives in Portland and is in a band and wants to get in touch. I want to help him...he's my own flesh and blood. I'll likely tell him to do everything opposite of the way we've done things if he wants to "succeed". On the other hand, if he wants to piss people off (which I dobut..but you never know) he should follow in our footsteps. I like the thought of a cousin of Elvis's (I guess) making racket in some of our old haunts in stinky, worthless, Portland.
Uhh.....Uurrppp
04/15/08
Three more reasons why I have the bestus wife going.
1) I just watched Hillary suffer through 4 sips before knocking back a campaign trail whiskey shot. Marla prides herself on banging 'em back without chaser (like some of us pussy men). Actually, drinking isn't a contest..I nurse my booze on occasion..which translates to whenever I feel like it. Still, Marla showed that Clinton bitch, huh?
2) Marla made the last trip to the liquor store. She returned with two large bottles of Beam instead of the one I always buy. Why? She chalked it up to common sense; hey, the sign clearly said you save $2 if you buy two.
3) She pointed out a commercial she saw that seemed to answer one of my longterm gripes. We're a Scott tissue family. Charmin' wads up in little balls in my arse. It's a hideous product. I've noticed lots of people who host us seem to stock up on it as a superior product, but it's anything "butt". She said the commercial she saw showed a cartoon bear couple in close proximity to a wooden outhouse. The Mama bear had to get out a vacuum cleaner to run over the Papa bear, cause Charmin's "normal" brand rolled up in little balls in his bum. This was a tacit admission that Charmin' needed to deal with the problem; they've henceforth introduced a new stronger asswipe that doesn't disintegrate in male bears assholes..and presumably mine.
Marla pointed out that I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG and Charmin' must have an employee monitoring the net who read my analysis at some point.
Thank you honey.
04/10/08
Wow, after last nights bleak perspective things have picked up in two ways. First off, after almost 2 years of effort we have convinced Texas State to accept my math credits from long ago meaning I don't have that hanging over my head. I've been waived.
The other thing seemed too good to be true at first. It popped up on my screen since I happened to join a website a month ago.
I'll be goddamned if the Sex Pistols aren't playing in Vegas the same weekend I'm already booked to play chess there. John Lydon hates ticketmaster's system almost as much as I do. He arranged a pre-buy program for members of his website that was to take place at exactly my hour of wakening today.
It seemed too easy, but..goddamn it; I got a fucking ticket to see the bastards in a club room of the Hard Rock cafe hotel. The capacity has to be the smallest they've played in a long time (1400) in the US. It seems it's a warmup show for a summer tour outside of the U.S.including a date in Russia.
I've thought for a long time I'd go to my grave without seeing these guys play.
Well, yes I need to accept a half-point "bye" for one of my rounds of chess.
The price is a few bucks less than the Doo-wop review we saw at the Sahara last year.
The tickets will go on sale for real Saturday and will quickly be bought up by scalpers.
Thank you John Lydon .com for giving a shit enough to get some real fans a chance to buy some tickets.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop with all the bad that's happened around here, but it hasn't yet.
Unless they cancel, I'm gonna see the Sex Pistols in my favorite city in the U.S.
And I won't spend a penny of travel expense except maybe a cab back and forth.
One, two three......UUUURPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP......
04/09/08
Happy birthday to me.
Marla and Elvis and his wife all did a good job on it; I ate lasagne with great venison sausage in it. We had great home made chocolate cream pie. We listened to magnificent country music.
In the end though, it didn't pull my body and mind together.
I'm like a distance runner who may or may not collapse in front of the finish line.
My latest torment is a mysterious rash..is it from stress? Who knows. I never, ever get rashes.
It's hard to keep the end of the semester within sight as a reasonable, attainable goal. Is it worth all the physical and mental pain? Of course not.
I'm drifting..and more in tune with wondering what'll happen next to stop me. My work is slipping. I'm forgetting why I'm supposed to care.
Birthday my ass.
04/03/08
I get sick and tired of railing about my various injuries and illnesses here, but sometimes have to..particularly when something unusual comes about as a result.
Over the last week I've sufferred 5-6 days of a fever accompanied by a reaction to a brand of deodorant that left me with a couple horrid pus spewing wounds..one in each underarm signifying a symbollic crucifixion.
I took 3 tests with a bit of a high temperature including one following a bout of insomnia that left me with no sleep on a night my body really needed to recover. That particular no-sleep, feverish state test is going to result in the highest test score I've gotten for the class (Physics).
Is it worth it? NO. But, that's the way the cards were dealt. You "play with what you have" is a concept used by both poker and chess players.
Going into the 2nd feverish day/night I decided to try to direct my locking groove fever dreams constructively. That worked pretty good. Over the next few nights I received "advice" from my brain on matters ranging from genealogical questions to ideas for songs. Even though you're contorted into some painful, sweaty, condition with blood and pus forcing the bandaids off your wounds in order to drip drip drip onto the sheets leaving you in the morning stained in sticky brown goo, you may as well make the most of it.
I certainly am not the first to try to direct feverish dreams; to my knowledge plenty of American Indians (including the ones who probably used the hill our house is on for a cemetary) deliberately induced fever to receive vision such as for coming of age rituals for young men.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
When I was 15, I fell into a fever after spending an afternoon experimenting with a saxophone fingering chart. When I came out of it I picked the thing up and played every note of the chromatic scale over and over accurately. I already knew how to play a couple other woodwinds...but the Saxophone is the one I still can play easily to this day. I never received any other lessons or instruction.
Am I trying to be some sort of super optimist here, trying to find a good side to one of the most fucked up weeks of my life? Hell no. If there's a pie cooling on the windowledge and you're the one standing there, you might as well snag it.
Another bit of insight coming from my fevers stems from the fact that we're dealing with the final, final details of the long time coming JOBJUMPER 2nd printing.
My fever brain displayed in simple fashion the connection between that original suffering bastard Job from the bible and the word "job". Interesting, isn't it..how Job's children died, he lost all of his wealth, received a full coating of boils similar to my own sores to mention only a few of the torments he went through, but HE NEVER had to face a Monday morning job interview/application itinerary. Still, give the man credit..his name has been used for a long time now in connection with the common mans most common means of suffering.
.