super reasonable distraction

I've been playing a video game for an entire week of work.  I have completed my tasks, and rewarded myself with completion of this evil distraction.  It is now back to productive town, where important things such as blogging and reading message boards are common place.

In preparation for the new S.G. album I reviewed our recorded history late last night.  Driving around with Amy, realizing that Post No Bills is not nearly as bad as I had tricked myself into thinking and that Sexy Clown Circus is a tidy little package that can actually pack a bit of a punch.  R SO has my favorite guitars thus far, but I'm looking to vastly improve upon that. 

This weekend we head to San Diego, what awaits us there we do not yet know.  

Ground Break In

Tonight we begin recording on the Incomparable White 6 Single.  There will be a brand new single backed with several updates of old songs as b-sides.  I'm very excited about this project as a guitar player and a producer.  As a guitar player this marks my first ever opportunity to record a very loud electric guitar, this excites me far more than it should.  As a producer I'll be working with many new and improved elements... My fingers are already crossed.

Tired And Burned

Hot skin all over, beach hangover replaced by show hangover.  Last night at fabulous Mr. T's Bowl, in fantastic Highland Park  California.  An under rehearsed Shitting Glitter, mussing up a few changes and breaking a string.  When things are not going technically all that well is the time to at least give a little more performance wise.  I was tired, but I felt that I rocked, dripping sweat, bashing it out.  Fun times, even when tired.
 
Tonight is forced catch up night.  The laundry must be done.  The kitties need more food and a clean place to shit.
 
S.G. begins recording on a single this week. 

The Sunny Side of the Street

It was real nice this weekend, waking up in the middle of the night because the room was filling up with bees, searching the room for my girlfriend, my very allergic to bees girlfriend. She is nowhere to be found, the bees have doubled 40 times over, I am screaming. I must get out of the room. I cannot run fast enough. I bolt out of the bedroom and through the front room, I tare the chain away, Twist at the bolt. I am screaming loud enough to let god know what he is doing to me.
And then it all changes. Amy is behind me. I have been asleep. The cat is now, nowhere to be found. He has squeezed himself betwixt the refridgerator and the cabinet. Henry is pulled out with a gentle hand of tuna. It is hard to go back to sleep, knowing that I must finish out the R.E.M. cycle that brought on such horror.

And then when finally I am awakened again, it's by the call of the wild, and an odd misplaced desire to hit the beach. Lots of sun, and beer bust at the Friendship (the only gay bar on the beach). Another wasted dinner at the Coyote.

Spidermen

After my days work I ride the subway back to Hollywood, exiting the train at the Hollywood and Highland station. This stretch of Hollywood Blvd. is always filled with all sorts of out of work actors and musicians, who parade around or play their instruments in an attempt to wizzle money from the tourists. To me the most comical group are the "actors" who pick a particular character or public figure, dress as them and stand around in front of the Chinese theater waiting to be human props in photographs. For this service they are awarded some type of tip, the exact rate remains a mystery to me. Some of these people I see almost daily, so I am allowed the privilege and horror of watching the daily progression of a costume put to hard use. One man is a rather large Michael Myers, from Halloween. Michael has the rather difficult task of wearing a full body coverall and latex mask in the 85 degree heat. I have watched daily as the sweat stains grow.
One day I felt particularly blessed to have witnessed the universe as it reached down and changed the course of one mans life. I had noticed over over the months that Spider Man was fading in the sun. He was far to skinny, and his spider suit was beginning to fray at the ends. Spiderman was in a funk. One day as I stepped out of the tunnel I saw Spiderman, but not as I had come to know him, instead his Spider suit was deep blue and bright crimson red, the ends were tidy, this Spider works out and it shows. Spiderman soaks up the sun faster than Sheryl Crow at music industry gang bang, tips can't hit his fresh little hand fast enough.
I feel a little sick. I turn onto Orange Street, thinking about this new guy, what a prick. Isn't there a code amongst these cut throats? If there is already a Spiderman, be Superman if there is already a Superman, be Wonder Woman. There are plenty of available characters, don't take someone else's. Asshole.
Walking down Orange I chanced to witness something that I hope sticks in my mind the rest of my life. Overtaking me at a angry, purposeful gait is the Spiderman I knew before. He is faded, he is stained and frayed, he pushed the whole gig just a little too far. "One more summer, then I hang it up and head back to Indiana, just you and me Spidey, and the boulevard of broken actors."
As he passes me I see that Spiderman has removed his Spider head cover, his skin is as pasty as his costume is faded. He smokes a cigarette like a super hero. In his walk is the lust for revenge, the need to strike back at the assholes that lead him to this place, he's been fucked around by his share of evildoers, and he is just fucking ill about it.
As his stride puts Fifteen Feet between us he passes an older tourist cow coming the opposite direction, her face splits into the look we all know of the erroneously clever, and she says: "I didn't know Spiderman smoked!"
I wish that he'd grabbed her and thrown her into the chainlink fence screaming "Look bitch, there is a lot you don't know about Spiderman! He's One Fifty shy of his past due rent! His girlfriend fucks everybody but him! His parents won't even return his calls anymore. His cat scruffers is hungry! Spiderman has problems, and now that Asshat up there has stolen my fucking cash cow."
He should have put his cigarette out in her eye, but he never even broke stride.
If there is a God worth my believing in I hope that he went home to his studio apartment in the industrial section of downtown, I hope he crawled beneath the covers and rolled up against the wall he shares unknowingly with a toxic chemical storage area. The exposure over the years has forced his system to mutate, the next morning as he looks in the mirror he comes to see that he has become a mutant, half man half spider. He is vengeful and mighty.

In depend dance

Friday night, playing to an empty leather bar. All the leather boys had gone to spread their legs and fly at the largest leather party of the year, stiff competition really. We at least had a chance to sport our brand new speakers, two 15" subs to thump the electro drums and bring the keyboards. The speakers worked great, but Amy had trouble hearing the less then ideal no monitor house P.A. system. Myles came to record the event. Dylan showed up a little angry at Kiki and Herb. M.Q. Musik was in attendance, supportive as all get out. The Art Ghetto was there, providing the much needed reassurance that out new speakers did in fact bring the beat intact.
Saturday, sleep until the Improv group practice next door focused on the laugh of the hyena, the call of the wild. I had to shut the windows but could not block out the next door wildlife.
Brunch @ the Abbey, I'd love to hate it but there is just so much there, sometimes I can just kick back and enjoy everybody being so fucking pretty around me.
Wine tasting in a machine shed called Bev Mo, in the new Target complex. They won't wash your glass, or give you a new cup with each wine, but you can cop a buzz while a new mother holds her baby and brags. I wouldn't advocate bringing your baby to a bar, but a cordoned off wine tasting area in a big tin room is very appropriate.
Body Worlds, or how I learned to stop looking and realize that if something is sick enough to actually shock me then I probably don't want to see it anyway. Very interesting, beautiful at times, but a plastinate is no longer a human.
Second partial meal of the day washed down with PBR at Pete's Downtown.
Evening to see Demonika and the Darklings play downtown. Follow the sound of Demonika's voice and the glow of the moon. Many friends are there. One Friend for whatever mis-guided reason attempts to tell my brother, that our band is held back by all of us holding full time jobs. A completely laughable idea, a basic notion of being in our band is that we don't starve, we don't want to go without, we are clean, well fed, well drank individuals. The notion of the starving artist is the old model, a new model, with a level of sophistication and self reliance is emerging. Art and business shall not be at odds. Our art comes from the fact that we all have jobs, from the fact that we all wish to live in the best possible world we can personally provide for ourselves.
Saturday again refuses to yield Sunday. After downtown we are charged, curious about a bottle of alcohol that just may contain cocaine. The committee commences at tigers, the findings at the bottom of the bottle are in the negative.
Home, how long can Saturday go on? A store window taking picture exhibition, eyes and noses captured.
the last two songs for F.A.S., "Backyard Wildlife" and "Zero Cool" partially flushed out in the kitchen with one tiny quiet speaker.
Mayhem, three 12 packs of beer for two people, finally the longs sleep.
Monday: Michael Moore, says what must be said, nothing to do except vote.

Fence Post

I'm in a halfway way mood, kind of annoyed at some things, kind of excited, kind of tired but feeling much better rested than yesterday.
Two nights ago we had a birthday celebration for a friend, M.Q. from M.Q. Musik. The event took place at the Spaghetti Factory, it was all rather fabulous. I myself had never before been to the S.F., I found the high ceilings to be very exciting. Dinner was charming as I found myself sitting next to Todd, who travels around making music with machines, and his wife Kerri, who puts music to T.V.. Turns out that Kerri is a drummer, so of course we in S.G. decided to speak to her about our desires for a drummer, she in turn related her desires to be in a band again after a year lapse. We casually spoke of "jamming" in the near future. How delighted would I be to play again with a drummer!
Last night the exhaustion from sleep deprivation neared it's pitch. Amy and I went to Benvenudo in WeHo for a fabulous dinner and happy hour. Swilling beer and pasta on the roof top patio, soaking in the gloaming. The clear blue light of the sky had me reminded of my last weeks in Hays, Ks. prior to my first move to California. It was spring then and a little chilly, and I seemed to always have the time and desire to walk out along the creek near my house, just as the sun was setting. I had a sense of the huge changes undertaking my life at that time, and it was nice to be awake and alive, feeling cool air on my skin and open thoughts in my mind. I had that same sense last night, feeling very open and aware of the idea that life can always offer up a proper surprise.