All 8 inches

My mother sends me pictures of snow in kansas. I was going to post it here but then blogger tolda me it had to be hosted remotely and I got offended. It was a pretty silly notion anyway.

I am excited as hell about the trip to Kansas and the show we get to play there. I think it will certainly be a wonderful time. I hope that we get a little snow to go with it.

It is far too early and I have far too little to say.

I think I found a vocal booth to record the vocals for F.A.S. in.

Clean up

A weekend spent in divergence of the last six. No all nighters, much less neglect. The apartment is clean. The car is clean. Laundry is clean and put away. I finished my parts on the song "the amnesty party" both acoustic guitar and bass. Amy even added vocal scratch which I must say sounded fucking great. It's amazing what a stolen re15 microphone can do.
We are all very excited because we scheduled a gig in Kansas city while we are there for Christmas. It's so cool to not waste any travel without getting in a gig.
The funniest part of all for me is that a good High School friend of mine, Chuck Bliese, is the guy who booked us.

Okay, A Good Day

I am really just blogging so that I can say I blogged everyday this week. I have nothing else of any worth to note. I slept well last night and woke up hungry for laffy taffy. I stop almost every morning at liquor time liquor for them. Luckily I have nearly eaten the entire supply at liquor time liquor, I will have to stop soon. I love those stupid little taffys.

Buddy Insists on licking my hands, maybe because they have been covered in laffy taffy.

I thought about the album all day yesterday, and when I finally got home I didn't even work on it. We did go out for a nice dinner at CPK, and then we looked at doggies. We talked ourselves out of buying new jeans.

I am hungry now. I wish there was laffy taffy at the Mexican market. I would purchase some if there was, hint hint, MR. Mexican market worker who I know reads my fucking blog. Why don't you order laffy taffy? ASSHAT.

Almost good head

Last night after dinner I fell into a coma that lasted for several hours. Afterwards I awoke to an empty house and two funny kitties. I pulled myself up and set up the recording equipment. I managed finally to get what I consider to be "the" take for the bass part on the song "Amnesty Party". I then went back to bed.

I have blogged 4 days in a row. I am winning.

Better Head

I am improved today. Last night I had a dream that I was ill, I woke up and had to go into the restroom to see if I was going to puke because I still felt all willy-nilly inside. I sat in there until I felt like a fool then I went back to bed. That was a bad dream.
Devin and I worked on the album again last night. I fucked around on the bass guitar and Devin programmed Buy Nothing. We recorded most of the backing tracks for Grady. All is moving along.

My Head is Awful today.

EEshka.
I have such a stupid cold stemming from the aforementioned Hollywood cold. What a dork I am. Last night was catch up night. Too lazy to do much laundry we went and purchased new socks and underwear. Then we came home and cleaned our messy life as best as we could. An attempt at an early retirement did not go so well, the laugh track on the bad sitcom show was just too much and I had to leave the room and play the bass some.
I have been thinking about the bass a fair deal, I am liking playing it. My fingers hurt today and I did not even get a decent take on anything except "The Amnesty Party". I did decide that I'll play the four string on "High and Tight", "R.S.O." "Grady" and "Guerilla".
I can't think for all this snot in my head.

Time Well Passed

Such a weekend gave me a Hollywood cold. Found Amy and I walking down Melrose between Fairfax And La Cienega at 2:30 A.m., picking items out of the store windows. Almost leaving a brand new journal behind. Then in a cab into Weho proper where we stood amazed at 4:00 a.m. estimating the value of one night at the Abbey by the amount of dead liquor bottles piled on the sidewalk, a homeless man could retire in a beautiful park on the recycling value alone. Into the park where I talked all about my new friend Nicholas, who plays rhythm and can't seem to stop smoking crack, who used to want a house in the hills, and still does, but now really just wants a roof, but rather than go back to Chicago and be a burden on mom he'll sit in his bus stop and beat on cans. A long walk back home, meeting yet another homeless friend "Robbie", who we used to see frequently on our little excursions, who looks all the more tired and all the worse for wear. I wonder if Robbie still runs into traffic on Sunset Blvd., while commuters commute yelling, "can you hear me now?!" We gave him a penny and the last of our water.
pried for a destination we develop and idea. For $3 we purchase a day pass and board the metro bus number 217. The exact bus I ride nearly every morning now. It takes us from Santa Monica and Fairfax to Hollyood and Vine. At vine we catch the redline subway train. Amy has never used our fair subway, she digs the ride. Talking non-stop we reach downtown, where we meet David, Just released from county, who believes in Jesus and still comes up 60 cents short.
Exiting union station into a sky held by Amy's wish into the grey blue tone of overcast. A light sprinkle collects on the yellow and white flowers. The buildings and sidewalks seem alien but warm.
Looking for coffee we spot a jovial man with an empty cup, He leads us into an alley way of closed shops until we find the one place a person can still get 2 Large coffees for under 5 bucks. We drink and stare at the huge Gazebo on Alvarado.
Gushing the whole time we finally find our way back to union station and the gold line. Slow ride to Pasadena. The African community arrests itself. Pasadena doesn't much hold our interests, but it was fun to watch from the train windows. The creeps are different out here, and they don't seem to catch our drift.
We ride back, stopping in union station only to pee, buy water and switch trains. Onward, thinking together out loud. Where do we get off? Split decision at the West Lake/Macarthur Park exit. A fine decision made on the fly. Rain still falling very light. The park is wet and almost empty. Two good old boys need help finding the tar pits, we point them straight of course and speculate on the deep nature of their tradey man boy lovin'. We find our theme slogan pressed into the ground: "Crazy as two mice waltzing". Of Course.
The train to Hollywood goes first to Universal City because of the sill gay book editor/computer programmer who's pink back pack contents is more interesting to us than watching for our stop. A little lay over to learn about the Mexican American War. Then to Hollywood and Highland and the good old 217, chatting us just as we come up fro air.
Home for one hot second and then onto Wholefoods for frilly banana shakes. A quick dash on the Metro number 4 leads us to the Willoughby dog park, we stay longer than the three old dogs and find that without them this park is just a park, with no dog in front of it or in it, and that will not do.
Back onto the 4 and a wild whim about a little bus that can and does climb laurel canyon. The bus is not a myth and it does come. On the bus a familiar Jesus loving lesbian tells us a secret that we won't keep. An old man hides in his pants a secret not even he can keep, and I've told far to many people myself.
The large dog park in the sky off Mulholland. We are larks, happy as pigs in shit. Many funny loving doggies. We want to take them all home.
Christofuck delays our day, disappoints us and dips our dinner in pretense. He talks in a loop and never listens. He makes us a little sad. Gabi helps.
We are avoiding a party, beware invitations delivered with and Iron fist and ending in "Or Else!"
Tiger stops in, funnier than ever, just what the doctor ordered and a nice warm cap on the night.
After Tiger departs Devin and Dylan Arrive, followed by the funny lady from pink dot. We eat, the boys attend the party, I scrape myself up to deliver a begrudged social service, but stick my foot before the door when the swarm follows me home. I am firm and correct and will not waver. Nyquil is the post man, that delivers us to sleep.

It's working, just working slow

It appears that forcing myself to abandon the political has allowed me to start blogging again. I seem to have forgotten that paying attention and caring only seems to encourage those fuck faces.

Last night we ate barbecue, liked the fine meat eaters we are then headed home where Amy crawled into bed with a host of ailments. Devin and I held fast to the front room and plowed throughout the waters Free Alongside Ship. Last night we worked on the infant song The Amnesty Party; rich in concept and beauty, such high hopes i have for it.

I dug the bass guitar I inherited from Billy out of the closet the other day, I checked it's neck and changes the strings. I have not played much bass on SG recordings, but I have the bug to play those fat strings and I imagine that I'll work them in as often as I can.

Further...more

Four years ago while Bush was stealing an election, I was wrecking my car. I was heading down De Soto in the San Fernando valley, on my lunch break at 8:00 in the morning. If you do the math, lunch comes at 8:00 am if you go to work at 4:00 am.


I was trying last Tuesday to do a little election reaction blog with a huge back story of how Bush has fucked up my life. It simply would not come out. That pig fucker had me stopped up like a diet of cheese. So I'll leave it at the above few sentences, which was all the further I could get. Maybe now I'll be able to type stupid again.

I've been playing the game dope wars online during work. It is very fun.

The band has been recording and writing and generally trying to get a handle on the album. It seems to be helping. We played to no one last week in Costa mesa, with a drummer who was a little eager. It was fun but I would not have liked it if people had been there.