All In the Journey

I am a hero in the field of the tired this morning, forsaking sleep Saturday night, and staying out late last night, I have earned myself a much deserved exhaustion.
Last night we played at Mr. T's Bowl in highland park with our friend bands M.Q. Musik and The Art Ghetto. The venue was nothing short of bizarre. Nice barfly locals, happy go lucky bar tender and a useful sound man. There is even ample free parking!!
Prior to the show Amy and I were laying down wondering if we could call in sick to our rock n' roll night job, but we knew we could never cancel, it's just not punk to call in sick. We sucked it up like the heros we are and drove to the show. It turned out to be a wonderful performance, in an odd bar that began it's life as a bowling alley. Just another dot on the map, a dash on the timeline of very sleepy life.

Marathon

Saturday was ripe with purpose. Clean the house, the car and the laundry. Purchase lottery tickets and shelves. Write a brand new song. Saturday refuses to yield to Sunday. Sunday's rehearsal takes place late Saturday night. It's all confused and exhausting, worth every precious over-extended moment.

The Tired Coyote

Last night my girlfriend and I took our brother out for dinner for his birthday. See if that sentance makes any sense.

I have come to the garden

Out of one of my bosses office softly comes the voice of the late Johnny Cash, he's singing his mother's favorite hymns, my computer screen pours light which my brain interprets as words. I have to admit to being a sucker for good music journalism. It's a pretty sure fire thing, being a music journalist, combining two universal cools, bringing the truth about music, to the people who need it. It is really a big lie, but one that I'll buy, or get for free from the internet. I used to get it for free in my mailbox, from a postman who was obviously sympathetic to the starving musician, who only gets credit card bills and music gear catalogs. I think I really over-estimated my motivation when I started to write here today, writing like I was going to show you some truth about a musicians realationship to music journalism, I think I should have just mentioned that I had a nice relaxing morning, not working at work, hearing second hand Johnny cash do second hand hymns, and filling up my musical motivation with the excitement and envy that I get while reading about other people and their music, and their clothes and the way their hair falls into their eyes, and they way they talk all slow or all bombastic or the way they aren't really like those other things I've read about them, believe me, I did read those other things, and I believed them if I wanted to. In the end I've known since I was sixteen that it was silly to believe it or not to believe it, but I crave my personal soap opera, just like some people need to be involved in their church functions or some people are politically active. Cause it fills up my person a bit, and it makes it easier at times. Would I make music with out music journalism? Would politicians politic without newspapers? I don't even care right now, I'm going to read about The Strokes meeting fuckin' Lou Reed, and dig it the whole time.

Let us be gay not humble

Rather fantastic push of heights, additions of length to already long nights

We played Los Angeles Gay Pride this weekend, It was quite wonderful. We went onstage at 4:05 Saturday afternoon, complete with 2 go go dancers and my brand new pink hair! Dancing with us for the first time was Melissa from MQ Musik, she and Dylan did a fabulous job and made it so fun to be up there playing while they are switching off genders and bouncing about. The crowd was happy and gay and really seemed to enjoy our set. It was great to have a whole group of friends show up and help out. My new neighbor Katarina was very awesome at hawking the wares on the side of the stage. Tiger was there with his trusty camera, and Miles was there to video tape. It was a nice feeling seeing our friends backstage, and knowing that the effort the three of us put into our music allowed us all to reap a small amount of benefit.
I also got to Sumo wrestle in a big plastic suit and party my nuts off.

Mission Precision

I leave the house every weekday morning between 7:03 and 7:06. I exit my apartment with a can of soda and a book in my hands, and I proceed to my bus stop, just a little over a half mile away. The ideal time for me to leave is 7:03, at that time the the earth is open and awake.
The bus picks me up on Sunset Boulevard, in front of a large house which has been converted into an office building. The building is still rather attractive and has retained a beautiful lawn, no doubt aided by the expensive timed sprinkler system. The sprinkler head in the corner of the yard nearest the pole that I lean against as I wait for my bus does not function properly, instead of spreading the water into a fine airborne mist, it acts as a spring, and creates a puddle on the ground. Watching the puddle spread outward soothes and excites me, I enjoy predicting the course it will run as it forms tiny rivers in search of lower ground. The broken sprinkler head provides not only entertainment, but acts as my commute clock. If I round the corner and I see the puddle has already crossed the sidewalk I know that I am running late. My bus arrives shortly after the water has made it's way from the yard to the street.
Today the world was willing to heed my schedule, but the driver of my particular bus was not. For some ridiculous and inane reason my bus driver decided to be early today. This was not the good early, the good early being the early where I round the corner, walk to my stop and the bus pulls up just as I arrive offering me a place to sit, instead of a poll to lean on. Today, with no regard to my sense of an ordered well maintained universe, I watch my bus drive past my stop from a distance, without me on it.

Cheap Sleep

99cents Only Stores offer several potent sleep aids. The most special and effective of these tiny chemical lullabies comes in a small golden gel cap, just like gold they are precious.
Last night around 11pm, I enjoyed the warm sledge hammer caress of just one little pill, and now 8:45am almost 10 hours later, I still feel the pull of the womb.

Is it possible to be prepared for the arrival of the aliens?

Today I'm reading a great deal about Australian aborigines. Upon their arrival in Australia the British found them disagreeable because they had no law, or single ruling entity. It was impossible to negotiate with these people. How do you easily conquer a people who think and behave as individuals?
When the aliens come for us will they have a difficult time understanding our system? Will they ever be able to comprehend why George W. Bush is able to speak for so many who despise and disagree with him?

Massah

I have found it's rather helpful to work a job where you have plenty of free time to surf the internet. It's nice to get paid to learn about the things that interest you, if nothing else I've found that a low score in Mah Jong solitaire is much easier to accept when you can calculate how much money someone just paid you to play Mah Jong poorly.
Today I took it upon myself to use my time here in the office to learn all about the mysterious process of mastering a record. I really very much enjoyed my reading and in approximately six months time I will put that information to use in choosing a mastering facility for the Shitting Glitter album "Free Alongside Ship".

Flying requires lubrication

Free hotel rooms cost a great deal in cab fare and carbohydrate filled beer. Gay bars take great pictures. Long walks home through window shops and horn honks, stumbled steps and exposed asses.
A magic wand of safety need not bother white girls, they know better then to pack heat where they eat. They may be strapping, but rubber doesn't beep.
Early morning sound check should have been a head check. Sun beaming down, drowning out sounds, making sober karaoke come off like art. An old joke six pack, hits the "boom boom", still sounds the same when it's the exact same track. Does it still get stuck in your head Paul?
The politics of being queer. Too many drag queens, not enough mirrors.

Alba Queer Kee

I'm all bundles of excitement, thinkin' bout travel. I'm always traveling forward in time, but I'm not always aware of it. Today I have the privilege of traveling not only in time, but in space as well and if my good luck holds, tonight my head will hit the pillow in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
I play very queer guitar in a very gay band called "Shitting Glitter". Apparently a group of gay New Mexicans are getting together this weekend, and they wanted some other gay people to come play music for them, we had told them if they were going to do that then we would be really interested in playing our music and they said "we want you guys to be a part of this thing, it would make us proud." So Shitting Glitter is heading to Albuquerque to play queer music for gay pride.
***
I have an obsession with traveling to Easter Island. I've heard it costs around $8,000 to fly there. I'm not really that into the huge head statues, but I bet they are okay. My attraction stems from the history of the island, and from the complete isolation. I have been told there are really great shopping malls there.

Friction

The wearing off of a hard drunk is a function patience. It's important to remember that your head will feel better, your ass and stomach will regain their composure, it's just going to take time. Luck would have me having time today, so I take that to mean I'm lucky! Sitting here in my little office, lucky.

The twink in the desk across from me is probably starting to resent the fact that he is doing all my work while I type away at something mysterious and secret.