The title is that Rolling Stones song that I love so much. I thought of it cause I was trying to think of a title and it's raining, so I thought of that Alanis song that talks about rain on your wedding day, then I remembered I don't care much for that song so I thought of the Stones' song where you could send dead flowers to the wedding. So there you have it. It' s still pretty random, but not entirely to me.
If the opening paragraph is any indicator, I have nothing to say today, but I'm bored, and I have found that if I don't write here when I have nothing to say I won't think of writing here when I do have something to say, So wade on at your own risk, you have been warned...yet again.
So, as I hinted about, or stated, it is raining today in North Hollywood, It was not raining in west Hollywood, so I did not bring an umbrella. It was also not raining in Hollywood, but when I came out of the subway there it is, this bitch cold rain. So I got wet waiting for my ride. So now I'm sort of annoyed at the whole god/mother nature thing.
Last night I did nothing, it was great. I would like to do nothing again tonight, but I doubt that will happen.
I did practice grady on the acoustic guitar, as well as check out a few other pieces. I've been really unhappy with the way I play Backdoor Jesus live so I was focusing on that a bit, I have a part that is a little rock-a-billy, it was fun. Amy wants to do a holy trinity section in our live shows, with Backdoor Jesus, Guaranteed Used and a yet to be written number. I've been thinking about a dirty acoustic electro hillbilly e.p. called "Rode Hard and Put Up Wet". We have several songs that I think would fit the theme well, and a few in us to be written. Sheesh, such fore-planning.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Ho Hummer
I have Peni5 written on my hand. Luckily I was not Wasted last night so I remember how it got there. Devin and I went to inspect a venue we are playing at next week, The Live Jazz Cafe, in Downtown La. It is rather neato, kind of tiny but we like that sort of thing. The promoter was good, he recognized us from our pictures, which is a decent trait in a promoter, at least it proves they look at the bands they book. Anyway, my had says Peni5 because they write it on your hand at the door, which I think is a pretty funny thing to do to someone.
We were fortunate because we were able to kill 2 bands with one show last night, ours by checking out the venue, and Dusty Rhodes and the River Band, by attending their show. Dusty Rhodes is a band we played with at the cat club last year, I think they were 12, but they got heart and it comes through when they play. They have actually improved a great deal since the last time we saw them. I like to see a band that is so young doing something so well. And I'm a sucker for their songs.
Tonight I believe I will get to do some work on the album and that I will be allowed to sleep well and long. I look forward to this.
We were fortunate because we were able to kill 2 bands with one show last night, ours by checking out the venue, and Dusty Rhodes and the River Band, by attending their show. Dusty Rhodes is a band we played with at the cat club last year, I think they were 12, but they got heart and it comes through when they play. They have actually improved a great deal since the last time we saw them. I like to see a band that is so young doing something so well. And I'm a sucker for their songs.
Tonight I believe I will get to do some work on the album and that I will be allowed to sleep well and long. I look forward to this.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
back up
The Internet is down in our office today. I am not happy about this. I type in something called a word processor, which has an annoying habit of making my cute word manipulations look wrong. I know that sometime within the next five hours I will be able to copy this into my blog, but I can't seem to touch the connection. I have nothing but time.
I am feeling better today than I felt yesterday, of course I am still rather tired. The effects of this weekend seem to have diminished.
I was able to evaluate my guitar performances last night. Slut Buffet was disappointing, The curse was and encouragement, Guerilla is workable, Guaranteed Used is tolerable, Mondo Di Corpo is confusing but functional, and R.S.O. may be salvageable. It is rather sad about Slut Buffet, I thought for certain that it was going well, in the end it turned out to be a combination problem of the bridge pick up and microphone placement.
Last night we ate in the train car on sunset. I have finally made a solid correlation between long weekends of debauchery and the desire for very bad food the following week. The body is desperately trying to replenish itself.
Devin was over last night. He laid a bass track to High and Tight, and a Keyboard track to Mondo Di Corpo. He also recorded the keyboards for Lady Slipper. Moving along we are.
An odd bit of fortune came our way this weekend. Yvonne found for Devin, at thrift store for $7, a flute, this is wonderful because Devin's does not actually work, and Amy and I promised last June to fork over the $100 to have it fixed. The $7 flute appears to work, but until we record the flute track for Grady I keep my fingers crossed.
I am disconnected here today. If a man blogs in the forest and can not connect to upload it, does he even blog at all?
I feel as if I should do a bit of creative writing to pass the time, but I am tired. It is currently not possible for me to feel like I am ever not tired. I can remember that just last week I was blogging on much coffee, and that I felt energized, but today those memories are not real enough to be believed. It's this ever present exhaustion, the annoying reality of working a day job while trying to accomplish something else, better, in your spare time.
Tonight it would do me well to change the strings on my acoustic guitar. I could then possibly record guitar parts for Grady and maybe even an acoustic part for High and Tight. First of course the messy messy house would need cleaned, and then really the nasty nasty laundry should be completed, of course when all this is done I'll be too tired to change guitar strings and play. So this is the essential hell I've often found when balancing work and separate ambition. While I have actually come to trust and desire the freedom of being able to live from something not connected to my art, allowing me the purity of expression to not need to create because my stomach is empty, I have found that it is constantly repeated hell that I am at work for 8 hours a day, thinking most of the time about the music I would like to be creating, and getting deep into the ways in which I would like to be creating it, only to come home and have too much other life to deal with, or no energy, or that my mood has been mind fucked by a day of drudgery thus keeping me from the space where I could create anything.
This lack of internet can really lead to whining.
I was just thinking to myself that I should probably run the bass line on Guaranteed Used through a compressor. I really hope that I can make the recording of that particular song work, it has always been such a favorite of mine.
I'm really just typing to hear my fingers clatter at this point aren't I.
I have not written a poem in a very long time. I am beginning to find this disturbing, probably just because I have the time, which is actually even more disturbing. I think I shall maybe exercise those less than oft used muscles now.
Suggestion by disconnection,
insinuation regime,
pony hat with blinders,
bound to the team,
teaming with secrecy,
off on the fact,
in service of services,
recorded and tracked,
day dream builder, be-er
the maker believer,
assumption deceivers,
attracting to reachers,
slap hand happy faces the awful truth
buried in bunkers receding from use
one slip symptoms
day trip customs
instead unsung
reused freedom
Math mad creature,
inbred feature,
after thought thinker,
post use teacher,
hindsight glasses,
show off classes,
back pat patches,
bitch slap lapses,
chore boy dealer,
down nose seer,
user re sealer,
mythical separation station
And on to yet another one I suppose. Really, I need to get back in the habit of poems.
The more haggard merry headed back west, distracted by uses that all lead to less, tip toed scales weigh nothing but fractions, more appropriate uses make actual actions. The stigma is shiny and draws the group in, attracted by places the wasted have been, the path of the narrow, and the travel less road, a no brainer of course the discourse of the knows.
comfortable loops repeat in the foreground, patterns are matching to lackings yet not found, perversions accepted and covered in gloss, retrofit formers to cover the loss, stubborn endurance, blessing insurance, a method grown lesson in life.
I am feeling better today than I felt yesterday, of course I am still rather tired. The effects of this weekend seem to have diminished.
I was able to evaluate my guitar performances last night. Slut Buffet was disappointing, The curse was and encouragement, Guerilla is workable, Guaranteed Used is tolerable, Mondo Di Corpo is confusing but functional, and R.S.O. may be salvageable. It is rather sad about Slut Buffet, I thought for certain that it was going well, in the end it turned out to be a combination problem of the bridge pick up and microphone placement.
Last night we ate in the train car on sunset. I have finally made a solid correlation between long weekends of debauchery and the desire for very bad food the following week. The body is desperately trying to replenish itself.
Devin was over last night. He laid a bass track to High and Tight, and a Keyboard track to Mondo Di Corpo. He also recorded the keyboards for Lady Slipper. Moving along we are.
An odd bit of fortune came our way this weekend. Yvonne found for Devin, at thrift store for $7, a flute, this is wonderful because Devin's does not actually work, and Amy and I promised last June to fork over the $100 to have it fixed. The $7 flute appears to work, but until we record the flute track for Grady I keep my fingers crossed.
I am disconnected here today. If a man blogs in the forest and can not connect to upload it, does he even blog at all?
I feel as if I should do a bit of creative writing to pass the time, but I am tired. It is currently not possible for me to feel like I am ever not tired. I can remember that just last week I was blogging on much coffee, and that I felt energized, but today those memories are not real enough to be believed. It's this ever present exhaustion, the annoying reality of working a day job while trying to accomplish something else, better, in your spare time.
Tonight it would do me well to change the strings on my acoustic guitar. I could then possibly record guitar parts for Grady and maybe even an acoustic part for High and Tight. First of course the messy messy house would need cleaned, and then really the nasty nasty laundry should be completed, of course when all this is done I'll be too tired to change guitar strings and play. So this is the essential hell I've often found when balancing work and separate ambition. While I have actually come to trust and desire the freedom of being able to live from something not connected to my art, allowing me the purity of expression to not need to create because my stomach is empty, I have found that it is constantly repeated hell that I am at work for 8 hours a day, thinking most of the time about the music I would like to be creating, and getting deep into the ways in which I would like to be creating it, only to come home and have too much other life to deal with, or no energy, or that my mood has been mind fucked by a day of drudgery thus keeping me from the space where I could create anything.
This lack of internet can really lead to whining.
I was just thinking to myself that I should probably run the bass line on Guaranteed Used through a compressor. I really hope that I can make the recording of that particular song work, it has always been such a favorite of mine.
I'm really just typing to hear my fingers clatter at this point aren't I.
I have not written a poem in a very long time. I am beginning to find this disturbing, probably just because I have the time, which is actually even more disturbing. I think I shall maybe exercise those less than oft used muscles now.
Suggestion by disconnection,
insinuation regime,
pony hat with blinders,
bound to the team,
teaming with secrecy,
off on the fact,
in service of services,
recorded and tracked,
day dream builder, be-er
the maker believer,
assumption deceivers,
attracting to reachers,
slap hand happy faces the awful truth
buried in bunkers receding from use
one slip symptoms
day trip customs
instead unsung
reused freedom
Math mad creature,
inbred feature,
after thought thinker,
post use teacher,
hindsight glasses,
show off classes,
back pat patches,
bitch slap lapses,
chore boy dealer,
down nose seer,
user re sealer,
mythical separation station
And on to yet another one I suppose. Really, I need to get back in the habit of poems.
The more haggard merry headed back west, distracted by uses that all lead to less, tip toed scales weigh nothing but fractions, more appropriate uses make actual actions. The stigma is shiny and draws the group in, attracted by places the wasted have been, the path of the narrow, and the travel less road, a no brainer of course the discourse of the knows.
comfortable loops repeat in the foreground, patterns are matching to lackings yet not found, perversions accepted and covered in gloss, retrofit formers to cover the loss, stubborn endurance, blessing insurance, a method grown lesson in life.
Monday, January 24, 2005
I could sleep forever
Long time coming.
Friday night, popstars...Boring foolish club, waiting for an aged pop princess to take the stage, decision time, Tiffany is not worth he wait. Back to the house w/ Amy and Daddy, followed by Devin, Marc, Robert, Charmer and Christofuck... Party out of bounds. Walking in the park w/ Robert, I got the story of an awful year, savage beatings at the hands of cars, homophobes and false positives, wrapped up in a sweet Marc end...
Sun shines on Saturday morning, Amy, Devin and I out, like three normal people, Coffee Bean at Hollywood and Orange, great disguise...
On to Runyon Canyon, met again by Bella and Wild. Hiking w/ a video camera... Don't know that I should ever be subjected to the tape.
On the drive to drop Devin in bed we pass a boy who can't out haggle Wild, his greed allows him to part with a punching bag and boxing gloves for a steal.
Devin in bed, the rest Amy, I and ride along to help Wild and Bella prepare their home for a scene. I dig a trench and bury wire ran for Malibu lights. I hang the punching bag. I spare with Wild. I am exhausted. We hang. We go searching for wood for a fire, which magically finds us.
Finally Amy and I relent. We sleep and it is good.
I wake several times in the night, Wierdos calling at all hours. I sleep like a dead baby. I awake, oddly feeling well.
Noah's Bagels, happy carbo stomach.
Load up equipment. Head to Satellite Studios w/ Devin. I crank George's JCM800, Laying down solid tracks for Guerilla, The Curse, Slut Buffet, Guaranteed Used, R.S.O. and Monster. Approximatly half of the guitar tracks for F.A.S., I am surprised at my progress as a guitarist. Somehow I have improved without really noticing. Feeling the amp helps a great deal.
Devin re-records the Bass Line for guaranteed Used through an Ampeg SVT, much more punch and warmth. Very Exciting.
Back to the apartment. Devin ads keyboards and vocals to the new Iw6. Improved to the max. So very exciting.
Amy is at the crack-light tranny bar with Yvonne, I pick her up so that we may indulge in more silly. We do. We go to wahoo's and eat a taquito or two.
Falling asleep during about a boy.
Monday sucks.
Friday night, popstars...Boring foolish club, waiting for an aged pop princess to take the stage, decision time, Tiffany is not worth he wait. Back to the house w/ Amy and Daddy, followed by Devin, Marc, Robert, Charmer and Christofuck... Party out of bounds. Walking in the park w/ Robert, I got the story of an awful year, savage beatings at the hands of cars, homophobes and false positives, wrapped up in a sweet Marc end...
Sun shines on Saturday morning, Amy, Devin and I out, like three normal people, Coffee Bean at Hollywood and Orange, great disguise...
On to Runyon Canyon, met again by Bella and Wild. Hiking w/ a video camera... Don't know that I should ever be subjected to the tape.
On the drive to drop Devin in bed we pass a boy who can't out haggle Wild, his greed allows him to part with a punching bag and boxing gloves for a steal.
Devin in bed, the rest Amy, I and ride along to help Wild and Bella prepare their home for a scene. I dig a trench and bury wire ran for Malibu lights. I hang the punching bag. I spare with Wild. I am exhausted. We hang. We go searching for wood for a fire, which magically finds us.
Finally Amy and I relent. We sleep and it is good.
I wake several times in the night, Wierdos calling at all hours. I sleep like a dead baby. I awake, oddly feeling well.
Noah's Bagels, happy carbo stomach.
Load up equipment. Head to Satellite Studios w/ Devin. I crank George's JCM800, Laying down solid tracks for Guerilla, The Curse, Slut Buffet, Guaranteed Used, R.S.O. and Monster. Approximatly half of the guitar tracks for F.A.S., I am surprised at my progress as a guitarist. Somehow I have improved without really noticing. Feeling the amp helps a great deal.
Devin re-records the Bass Line for guaranteed Used through an Ampeg SVT, much more punch and warmth. Very Exciting.
Back to the apartment. Devin ads keyboards and vocals to the new Iw6. Improved to the max. So very exciting.
Amy is at the crack-light tranny bar with Yvonne, I pick her up so that we may indulge in more silly. We do. We go to wahoo's and eat a taquito or two.
Falling asleep during about a boy.
Monday sucks.
Friday, January 21, 2005
After you, Noon...
I am in a mild befuddlement. I have just heard from my childhood's favorite person, whom I have not spoken to in years. It was nice, but I haven't yet had time to really speak with him, as I am here at the office. I sincerely hope that he is still in the mood to talk when I get out of here. I find myself confused...
To follow this and to enhance my sense of strange I was greeted by a letter, written by a friend of mine to Amy and Devin and myself, dated sometime ago, a letter that I had forgotten, but remember very well upon being reminded. The letter was posted on her blog, scant of comment...
What the hell...I'm going to post it here, mainly because I don't want to not remember it:
Date: Mon, 7 Jul 2003 15:42:47 -0700 (PDT)From: "******"To: [my buds in the band, who shall remain anonymous]Subject: this is a message from the Milwaukee County Jail...
What I'm gonna do when I get outta jail? I'm gonna have some FUN! Not sure if you've ever gotten a call or letter from jail, but they stamp them with the warning "this is a call/letter from the Milwaukee County Jail...I got arrested TWICE in TWO NIGHTS for disorderlyconduct. I'd been running a fever all week anddrinking just gallons of booze. It was my biggestbender ever. I even threw a huge tantrum at a hotelin hollywood because they had no ice, and the copscame. Luckily, LAPD have better things to do thanarrest drunks. Milwaukee Sheriffs do not.First, I decided the plane was too hot and I took offmy shirt. When they told me to put it back on Icussed them out. I spit on a guy. They put me inthose little plastic cuffs and I escaped. Thestewardesses had two big fatsos restrain me withblankets, like a terrorist. THen I went DOWN-TOWN, tothe clink. The next day I got out, got drunk, and got on a bus toSummerfest. As soon as I got off the bus, a big fatsheriff asked to smell my drink. I decided to runfrom him. 4 of his big fat buddies tackled me to theground and cuffed me. I got out of the cuffs andtried to run again. They roughed me up and threw mein the squad car. When we got to the jail, all thedeputies laughed at me because I had just been therethe night before. In order to avoid being with theregular inmates, I said I was suicidal. THat turnedout to be a good idea, because I went to this reallyfunny mental unit. And the next day, they sent me toa social worker and he suggested I go to detox at amental ward (separate from jail). I was hoping forlots of nice morphine or something, but all they gaveme was ativan, because I had the shakes.Guys, I was serriously alcoholic without knowing it.As I was withdrawing, I hallucinated, got sweats andchills, and was just generally confused. The shrinks said that with all my drinking and e use,I might have damaged the part of my brain thatregulates my moods and temper. I think that explainsa lot. I'm sorry.I've decided to give this AA thing a go. It pains meto think I'll never have another beer at the Palms,but I think it's the only choice.If you saw my prison underwear, you'd understand myfear.I won't be back to LA in a long time. I'll miss you.Love you.xxxxxx
I miss this friend. We've all been round and around some pretty sketchy blocks together. I have nothing pertinent to say. I told you I was befuddled.
In looking through my email now I just noticed something else... I had a reply to a message that I wrote, to one of my favorite people in my early 20s. The reply is from an email I wrote her 5 months ago, it does not address the questions I had posed. I was vagued by it when I read it this morning.
I am further befuddled. perhaps I need more coffee to understand all of this. There is no more coffee.
I have been bad at keeping up with some folks, and I've been really good with others. Befuddled.
To follow this and to enhance my sense of strange I was greeted by a letter, written by a friend of mine to Amy and Devin and myself, dated sometime ago, a letter that I had forgotten, but remember very well upon being reminded. The letter was posted on her blog, scant of comment...
What the hell...I'm going to post it here, mainly because I don't want to not remember it:
Date: Mon, 7 Jul 2003 15:42:47 -0700 (PDT)From: "******"To: [my buds in the band, who shall remain anonymous]Subject: this is a message from the Milwaukee County Jail...
What I'm gonna do when I get outta jail? I'm gonna have some FUN! Not sure if you've ever gotten a call or letter from jail, but they stamp them with the warning "this is a call/letter from the Milwaukee County Jail...I got arrested TWICE in TWO NIGHTS for disorderlyconduct. I'd been running a fever all week anddrinking just gallons of booze. It was my biggestbender ever. I even threw a huge tantrum at a hotelin hollywood because they had no ice, and the copscame. Luckily, LAPD have better things to do thanarrest drunks. Milwaukee Sheriffs do not.First, I decided the plane was too hot and I took offmy shirt. When they told me to put it back on Icussed them out. I spit on a guy. They put me inthose little plastic cuffs and I escaped. Thestewardesses had two big fatsos restrain me withblankets, like a terrorist. THen I went DOWN-TOWN, tothe clink. The next day I got out, got drunk, and got on a bus toSummerfest. As soon as I got off the bus, a big fatsheriff asked to smell my drink. I decided to runfrom him. 4 of his big fat buddies tackled me to theground and cuffed me. I got out of the cuffs andtried to run again. They roughed me up and threw mein the squad car. When we got to the jail, all thedeputies laughed at me because I had just been therethe night before. In order to avoid being with theregular inmates, I said I was suicidal. THat turnedout to be a good idea, because I went to this reallyfunny mental unit. And the next day, they sent me toa social worker and he suggested I go to detox at amental ward (separate from jail). I was hoping forlots of nice morphine or something, but all they gaveme was ativan, because I had the shakes.Guys, I was serriously alcoholic without knowing it.As I was withdrawing, I hallucinated, got sweats andchills, and was just generally confused. The shrinks said that with all my drinking and e use,I might have damaged the part of my brain thatregulates my moods and temper. I think that explainsa lot. I'm sorry.I've decided to give this AA thing a go. It pains meto think I'll never have another beer at the Palms,but I think it's the only choice.If you saw my prison underwear, you'd understand myfear.I won't be back to LA in a long time. I'll miss you.Love you.xxxxxx
I miss this friend. We've all been round and around some pretty sketchy blocks together. I have nothing pertinent to say. I told you I was befuddled.
In looking through my email now I just noticed something else... I had a reply to a message that I wrote, to one of my favorite people in my early 20s. The reply is from an email I wrote her 5 months ago, it does not address the questions I had posed. I was vagued by it when I read it this morning.
I am further befuddled. perhaps I need more coffee to understand all of this. There is no more coffee.
I have been bad at keeping up with some folks, and I've been really good with others. Befuddled.
I think I'll probably be learing Neil Young's After the Gold Rush...
Figure that out fuckers. Befuddled.
Speed up
Coffee! Yeah! Sleep! Yeah! Good vibrations! Good weekend. I am happy. I am exciteds.
Devin was over at our's last night, he has reprogrammed The Incomparable White Six, it is about 10 bpm slower and it helps a lot I think. The mood is even moodier and the form is different. I cannot wait to action it out and see how it sounds.
I am going to party tonight and tomorrow and record guitar on Sunday. How is it that I am 25 and able to be such a child with my life? I like that. I do my shit and my shit does me and I'm happy about it all today because I am FULL of coffee and happy.
Rock'n good times.
God. I am really feeling the vortex of finishing this record. I just want it in my hot little hands. There are a few cohesion points that are lost on me again, but I know that those will go away once I hear things with the guitars. I am an silly.
Devin was over at our's last night, he has reprogrammed The Incomparable White Six, it is about 10 bpm slower and it helps a lot I think. The mood is even moodier and the form is different. I cannot wait to action it out and see how it sounds.
I am going to party tonight and tomorrow and record guitar on Sunday. How is it that I am 25 and able to be such a child with my life? I like that. I do my shit and my shit does me and I'm happy about it all today because I am FULL of coffee and happy.
Rock'n good times.
God. I am really feeling the vortex of finishing this record. I just want it in my hot little hands. There are a few cohesion points that are lost on me again, but I know that those will go away once I hear things with the guitars. I am an silly.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Unrelated Title: Money Can't Sing and Dance
Again and Again, pull up a chair. I'm hyped up on Coffee Bean coffee. In the beginning of this little journal I did an entry on my morning commute, as it has changed a bit I think I'll do another one.
My initial alarm sounds at 6:25, this signals the start of "cuddle time" I know, it's sick, but really I'm like that. "Cuddle time" end abruptly at 6:55. I am fucked for about a minute as a lay there wondering what the fuck that beeping is. Generally the beeping is accompanied by a very harsh meow, this pulls me into the land of the sentient. I usually grab a dirty pair of jeans and pull them on, followed by a frantic search for a shirt. Then it's over to the sock cabinet, I always wonder why I don't put them on before my jeans, when it's easy. Into the bathroom to brush my teeth and avoid looking in the mirror. I generally put on some form of anti-smell product.
It should be noted that since I awake at such a god-horrible hour, I as a practice try and shower the night before. My hair doesn't bother me like it used to, so rather than "brush it" I "trust it", this has really elevated my relationship with my hair, we are pals, we get along.
Through out this mess the cat Henry has been meowing and going head first-kamikaze-style into my legs and any solid object around, meowing and purring, because he mistakenly believes that being cute gets him fed sooner. As a principal I make him wait until I've prepared myself before I give him the heroin (kitty food) that he really wants. After I feed Henry I kiss the person who is covered by a pillow goodbye and head out the door. It is generally 7:02 when I hit the door.
The bus schedule has changed, rather than strolling by as a 217 at the leisure filled time of 7:12, a limited stops 317 zooms by anytime between 7:05 and 7:06.5 . If I am fast I am on it, If I am not, I have a wait of anywhere from 5 minutes to 25 minutes. It should also be noted that my bus stop has changed, since I'm knocking down the time schedule... I now catch the bus at the intersection of Fairfax and Santa Monica.
If I do catch the bastard who drives the 317, I ride with him to La Brea and Hollywood Blvd., from there I walk briskly to the new Coffee Bean at Hollywood and Orange. The coffee ads a wonderful dimension to my morning, rather than sleep on the train, which I will do with out it, I'll stay awake and drink my beverage, and watch everyone else make stupid faces in their sleep.
I made some poor food choices yesterday, and enjoyed them a great deal. I did though go for a 2 mile walk on my 30 minute lunch break, and a 2.5 mile run n the evening. I also practiced my guitar for over an hour. I am a good human, I deserve a treat.
My initial alarm sounds at 6:25, this signals the start of "cuddle time" I know, it's sick, but really I'm like that. "Cuddle time" end abruptly at 6:55. I am fucked for about a minute as a lay there wondering what the fuck that beeping is. Generally the beeping is accompanied by a very harsh meow, this pulls me into the land of the sentient. I usually grab a dirty pair of jeans and pull them on, followed by a frantic search for a shirt. Then it's over to the sock cabinet, I always wonder why I don't put them on before my jeans, when it's easy. Into the bathroom to brush my teeth and avoid looking in the mirror. I generally put on some form of anti-smell product.
It should be noted that since I awake at such a god-horrible hour, I as a practice try and shower the night before. My hair doesn't bother me like it used to, so rather than "brush it" I "trust it", this has really elevated my relationship with my hair, we are pals, we get along.
Through out this mess the cat Henry has been meowing and going head first-kamikaze-style into my legs and any solid object around, meowing and purring, because he mistakenly believes that being cute gets him fed sooner. As a principal I make him wait until I've prepared myself before I give him the heroin (kitty food) that he really wants. After I feed Henry I kiss the person who is covered by a pillow goodbye and head out the door. It is generally 7:02 when I hit the door.
The bus schedule has changed, rather than strolling by as a 217 at the leisure filled time of 7:12, a limited stops 317 zooms by anytime between 7:05 and 7:06.5 . If I am fast I am on it, If I am not, I have a wait of anywhere from 5 minutes to 25 minutes. It should also be noted that my bus stop has changed, since I'm knocking down the time schedule... I now catch the bus at the intersection of Fairfax and Santa Monica.
If I do catch the bastard who drives the 317, I ride with him to La Brea and Hollywood Blvd., from there I walk briskly to the new Coffee Bean at Hollywood and Orange. The coffee ads a wonderful dimension to my morning, rather than sleep on the train, which I will do with out it, I'll stay awake and drink my beverage, and watch everyone else make stupid faces in their sleep.
I made some poor food choices yesterday, and enjoyed them a great deal. I did though go for a 2 mile walk on my 30 minute lunch break, and a 2.5 mile run n the evening. I also practiced my guitar for over an hour. I am a good human, I deserve a treat.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
oh blah
Today it was nice till I got to work, now it's just kind of hanging above me. I feel it, the kinetic energy of suck, other peoples bad mood. I drink coffee and type, pretending I was outside, somewhere on the other side of this hill. I'm over the hill. har.
Last night was all focused and shit. Eating at rock and toll hootchie koo koo roo. Cleaning the mess of this weekend's show out of our bedroom. Running, for the first time in ages, it was nice and sharp outside, I didn't feel as horrible and shiftless, I was able to remember the feeling, like riding a bike. Rehearsing guitar parts, simple.
It all leads back against today, and I'm going to have to deal with other people's shit, while my house is clean and my body has been exercised, my guitar parts have been practiced, I have even gone so far as to write here.
Last night was all focused and shit. Eating at rock and toll hootchie koo koo roo. Cleaning the mess of this weekend's show out of our bedroom. Running, for the first time in ages, it was nice and sharp outside, I didn't feel as horrible and shiftless, I was able to remember the feeling, like riding a bike. Rehearsing guitar parts, simple.
It all leads back against today, and I'm going to have to deal with other people's shit, while my house is clean and my body has been exercised, my guitar parts have been practiced, I have even gone so far as to write here.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Huge in Canada
Devin popped online with a nice IM this morning. Apparently we are being played on the radio in Canada!! Two tracks from our recent single, The Incomparable White Six, including the titular track and the first b-side, Calendar Girl, are in rotation. It is a weird good feeling, not only did we write these songs, but I produced them, in our fucking apartment, with no money at all... Sha La La...
Last night was easy. Amy had a focus group in Encino, I walked a few miles down Ventura Blvd., fun times. I stopped at the Ultra-Legendary Sherman Oaks Gallaria. I walked around and marveled at the beauty of all humanity, converging in one spot, a gateway to the great beyond!! Not really, but I'm jaffy. I did walk through it just cause, and I read some of HST's Hey, Rube, and some of Kurdt's Journals. The Kurdt stuff just sinks me, the guy always got under my being, like he did a lot of people. He ticked a lot like other kids, he was just really lucky and super unfortunate, skizzied with an ear/eye/mind for the brilliant. Fucking head trips.
The weekend was a couple easy pieces. Sunday Karaoke, like footloose, fighting for the right to keep James and Ginny's Convicted at Bananas... Such a fucked up slant, that stupid as bar should be groveling, but instead they are up up up in the air.
Saturday, Voices from the Tsunami... Woah. If we can win over that crowd in our current state of band being we are seriously riding a high and beautiful wave, it picked us up a few songs into our set in Kansas City, and is buoying us on, hopefully into some heavy and great recording... up into some better gigs and more radio, I get a sense that we all need to learn to hold on, fuck if we do and fucked if we don't... Fear and Loathing in America. Watch your back, the people that scratch it get have access your wallet. Fingers are sticky, and clear, they leave no marks that can be seen, only little felt tip pin pricks... okay....
Last night was easy. Amy had a focus group in Encino, I walked a few miles down Ventura Blvd., fun times. I stopped at the Ultra-Legendary Sherman Oaks Gallaria. I walked around and marveled at the beauty of all humanity, converging in one spot, a gateway to the great beyond!! Not really, but I'm jaffy. I did walk through it just cause, and I read some of HST's Hey, Rube, and some of Kurdt's Journals. The Kurdt stuff just sinks me, the guy always got under my being, like he did a lot of people. He ticked a lot like other kids, he was just really lucky and super unfortunate, skizzied with an ear/eye/mind for the brilliant. Fucking head trips.
The weekend was a couple easy pieces. Sunday Karaoke, like footloose, fighting for the right to keep James and Ginny's Convicted at Bananas... Such a fucked up slant, that stupid as bar should be groveling, but instead they are up up up in the air.
Saturday, Voices from the Tsunami... Woah. If we can win over that crowd in our current state of band being we are seriously riding a high and beautiful wave, it picked us up a few songs into our set in Kansas City, and is buoying us on, hopefully into some heavy and great recording... up into some better gigs and more radio, I get a sense that we all need to learn to hold on, fuck if we do and fucked if we don't... Fear and Loathing in America. Watch your back, the people that scratch it get have access your wallet. Fingers are sticky, and clear, they leave no marks that can be seen, only little felt tip pin pricks... okay....
Friday, January 14, 2005
Back at Cha
Another Friday is upon me, I am filled with fresh scent of Friday, it seeps deep into my nostrils, flaring them with rich minty flavors of weekend... Not really, but sort of. I'm rather indifferent about today, I'm sort of sleepy. The weekend is filling up already. I hate plans, they are such a drag.
"Be here at such and such, such and such" It's such rubbish.
Amy and I are going to come clean my place of work for extra cash tomorrow, that is a bummer, but we are broke, so you do what you do, and hope it's enough. After that we have a gig, a Tsunami relief thing, kind of like Band Aid, only at a slutty lesbian bar. How odd is that going to be? We are also scheduled to take a new group photo, rather like a family portrait, for promotional use. I am okay with the photo idea though, because I've shed 15 pounds in the past Eleven days...oh shallow me...
Last night was fun for the most part. I left work and headed to Pit Fire Pizza, which I used to love, as of late they have grown very cheesy cheap with everything, cutting happy hour times, haggling and nonsense... eesh. After a short while I was joined by Amy, then Daddy Wild, then Devin. After dinner we walked up the street to amp rehearsal studio, where we used to always practice. Amp was bad, they caught a case of the cheesy cheaps also, it made me yearn for Satellite Studios and George. We were off in rehearsal, I would find it then lose it, lose it then find it. Arghy. The rehearsal of our newest song, Static Cling, did not go so great, we had some issues with the pattern sequence length, and a I had a hard time finding my part in the midst of Devin's new one, I 'm sure he had similar problems with mine.
Afterwards we tried to go to "Here" but it was not too be.
I got a note from an old friend who is going to be in Las Vegas next month and wants to see me. Are old friends, friends? I started writing a song around that theme, or looping through that them. Maybe I'll be nice and bust a little lyric:
"concrete slab suggestion and I'm weathering the strorm calling in old favors and hoping somebody owes me one old friends ain't friends they got a different name and you can't predict how they'll behave with a passing smile a hug or a hey a vow of love or a punch in the face... oh me...oh me and my memories"
"Be here at such and such, such and such" It's such rubbish.
Amy and I are going to come clean my place of work for extra cash tomorrow, that is a bummer, but we are broke, so you do what you do, and hope it's enough. After that we have a gig, a Tsunami relief thing, kind of like Band Aid, only at a slutty lesbian bar. How odd is that going to be? We are also scheduled to take a new group photo, rather like a family portrait, for promotional use. I am okay with the photo idea though, because I've shed 15 pounds in the past Eleven days...oh shallow me...
Last night was fun for the most part. I left work and headed to Pit Fire Pizza, which I used to love, as of late they have grown very cheesy cheap with everything, cutting happy hour times, haggling and nonsense... eesh. After a short while I was joined by Amy, then Daddy Wild, then Devin. After dinner we walked up the street to amp rehearsal studio, where we used to always practice. Amp was bad, they caught a case of the cheesy cheaps also, it made me yearn for Satellite Studios and George. We were off in rehearsal, I would find it then lose it, lose it then find it. Arghy. The rehearsal of our newest song, Static Cling, did not go so great, we had some issues with the pattern sequence length, and a I had a hard time finding my part in the midst of Devin's new one, I 'm sure he had similar problems with mine.
Afterwards we tried to go to "Here" but it was not too be.
I got a note from an old friend who is going to be in Las Vegas next month and wants to see me. Are old friends, friends? I started writing a song around that theme, or looping through that them. Maybe I'll be nice and bust a little lyric:
"concrete slab suggestion and I'm weathering the strorm calling in old favors and hoping somebody owes me one old friends ain't friends they got a different name and you can't predict how they'll behave with a passing smile a hug or a hey a vow of love or a punch in the face... oh me...oh me and my memories"
Thursday, January 13, 2005
fastbacks
Cranky people annoy me in the morning. I, as a general rule don't take my personal shit out on anyone except those closest to me. And when I say closest, I mean people I'm either in a band with or people I have lived with. Get a hold of your fucking disappointments people, life seldom works out the way we want it to, it's your job not to go around fucking up everyone else's day. If you are unhappy then tell me so, don't be a fuck cunt about it. argh.
sheesh.
I could sleep forever.
We went to see a friend of a non-friends band last night. We were shanghai-ed. Said non-friend brings her bands friend to one of our shows, then prys and prods us to return the favor. We go, we were tired and not wanting to be there, the show was fine, in a whatever way. We leave.
I am thinking about music, really thinking about getting it across, really really thinking about. Coming up with solutions, but I need to be an accountant first. I can not pull the magic thousand dollar rabbit from my hat. I hate it. I am very distressed about certain issues involving our live sound, but for now nothing can be done about them. I sit and I know what would help, and I rattle, I wait. I am Buddha. I yearn for a few simple things, but I am not of the fold. We are stretched in all ways, always. We will prevail.
I could scream, so here I am taking my cranky out here, and I sleep with this blog, so fuck off of it already.
sheesh.
I could sleep forever.
We went to see a friend of a non-friends band last night. We were shanghai-ed. Said non-friend brings her bands friend to one of our shows, then prys and prods us to return the favor. We go, we were tired and not wanting to be there, the show was fine, in a whatever way. We leave.
I am thinking about music, really thinking about getting it across, really really thinking about. Coming up with solutions, but I need to be an accountant first. I can not pull the magic thousand dollar rabbit from my hat. I hate it. I am very distressed about certain issues involving our live sound, but for now nothing can be done about them. I sit and I know what would help, and I rattle, I wait. I am Buddha. I yearn for a few simple things, but I am not of the fold. We are stretched in all ways, always. We will prevail.
I could scream, so here I am taking my cranky out here, and I sleep with this blog, so fuck off of it already.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Tomalaberbone
Today's blog begins about nothing, but my back is up because my friend Carrie's blog is way better than mine. She is transcribing old letters, journal entries and crack scrawls, and it's coming across far better than my unbelievable needs.
I am now a member of ASCAP, The American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers. My publishing company is Believable TV Music. Let the money roll in... Sheesh.
My mail box is small, my physical, federal mail box that is, Yahoo is kicking Uncle Sam's ass when it comes to storage space. I am a child about getting to retrieve the mail, I race my domestic partner for it. I have been expecting a package from my Uncle Ronnie, also more generous that Sam. Upon opening the mail last night I was disappointed to see that it was not there, that is until further inspection proved that it was there, but lodged up in the very top portion, unretrievable by anyone but the asshat who put it there. I am angry. There, sitting in my tiny box is my item, and I can feel it, but I can't have it. Could anything be more annoying to a child who get's excited over the mail than to have your mail in your box but you can't get it out w/out breaking it?
My busses have been running late. I have missed my morning train 5 out the last 7 days. What are these people doing? I don't understand, evev through all of their fucking up I have still managed to make it to work on time, 7 out of these last 7 days. Why do I bother?
I am now a member of ASCAP, The American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers. My publishing company is Believable TV Music. Let the money roll in... Sheesh.
My mail box is small, my physical, federal mail box that is, Yahoo is kicking Uncle Sam's ass when it comes to storage space. I am a child about getting to retrieve the mail, I race my domestic partner for it. I have been expecting a package from my Uncle Ronnie, also more generous that Sam. Upon opening the mail last night I was disappointed to see that it was not there, that is until further inspection proved that it was there, but lodged up in the very top portion, unretrievable by anyone but the asshat who put it there. I am angry. There, sitting in my tiny box is my item, and I can feel it, but I can't have it. Could anything be more annoying to a child who get's excited over the mail than to have your mail in your box but you can't get it out w/out breaking it?
My busses have been running late. I have missed my morning train 5 out the last 7 days. What are these people doing? I don't understand, evev through all of their fucking up I have still managed to make it to work on time, 7 out of these last 7 days. Why do I bother?
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Reprieve
The sun has come. I am feeling much better, the effects of this weekend are now, for the most part behind me. I did not sleep much Saturday night, if at all. After the show there was drama and excitement, Amy and I just rode the wave and got along. While it was raining outside it was raining from the kitchen sink in Devin and Dylans apartment, the last thing those boys needed was more water in their apartment. They dealt with it, we visited them late at night. We had fun. Upon returning home Amy and I found ourselves too full of energy to sleep, so we walked out to Fairfax Avenue and caught a bus to Vermont and Fountain, from there we walked up to Sunset and stood singing songs under an umbrella. It was glory. Spent the day, spending a gift certificate at boarders books, we purchased cds. Amy got Ani Difranco's out of Range, and I Local H Whatever Happened to P.J. Soles. In the rain the Abbey was dead, and we sat in the V.I.P. booth and watched it fall...
we wound up the day eating a huge salad at Rocco's, and falling asleep early. All of that is to say that It was fun, and I feel good now.
I have lost 13 pounds in one week.
I have a strange alter-ego.
Tonight we may rehearse in our apartment, focusing on our new song "static cling".
I like the sun.
we wound up the day eating a huge salad at Rocco's, and falling asleep early. All of that is to say that It was fun, and I feel good now.
I have lost 13 pounds in one week.
I have a strange alter-ego.
Tonight we may rehearse in our apartment, focusing on our new song "static cling".
I like the sun.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Sinking
It is really getting bother some, all this rain just keeps coming down. It hates me, if it liked me it would spread itself out, not come crashing down over a two week period... Argh... It's rather depressing.
We had a show on Saturday, in support of our friend Tiger's art. The Location was CAL-State LA, in a medium sized room with almost no acoustic treatment, the natural reverb was really rather fun. The show actually passed as a silent marker to an achievement of which I am rather proud. It was the first time that we performed a show using all of our own equipment. It's not really that impressive, but I am proud that we are a self contained band when we absolutely must be.
We have been fleshing out a new song called "static cling", it is really fucking awesome! I really like my guitar parts, very fun to play.
We had a show on Saturday, in support of our friend Tiger's art. The Location was CAL-State LA, in a medium sized room with almost no acoustic treatment, the natural reverb was really rather fun. The show actually passed as a silent marker to an achievement of which I am rather proud. It was the first time that we performed a show using all of our own equipment. It's not really that impressive, but I am proud that we are a self contained band when we absolutely must be.
We have been fleshing out a new song called "static cling", it is really fucking awesome! I really like my guitar parts, very fun to play.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Half a Mind
Yesterday I had in mind to tell the tale of Nicolaus, the homeless drummer, who I had mysteriously vanished. As my day progressed yesterday my time ran out and I did not get around to it, and it's a good thing, becuase he reappeared. Now I only have to tell the story of Nicolaus, the homeless drummer who disappears and then reappears.
I met Nicolaus on the corner of Santa Monica and Fairfax, while waiting for the 217, he appreciated my good vibes and felt that he should tell me so. I was tired and weary from my last conversation with a homeless, so I accepted his appraisal and quietly boarded the bus. Nick followed me on, I was surprised that he had cash fro the bus fair. He sat on a seat opposite me and turning his back to the window continued our one-sided conversation.
"It's nice to see people with a good vibe, so many people out here don't have it. I'm from Chicago, I moved here to be in a band, but I can't seem to keep it together. It's that fucking crack man. I have moved out here about four or five different times, and every time I was homeless. I could go back to Chicago, and live with my mom again, but I can't do that to her. I told myself that this would be the last time, that I would stay out here. I don't mind being homeless, but I'd like to have a roof. When I moved out here, I had to live in the hills, I knew I would, I wanted all that, now I just want something. Fucking crack. I had 80 dollars the other night, today I got one. I'm done with crack though, it just eats you up. "
I like the way he talks, so I enjoyed listening to his rather ragged sum up of his personal history. I was more inclined to listen to him because of the drummer thing. I gave him 3 dollars when we got off the bus. He asked me where I was going and then guessed correctly that I was going to work. I asked him what he was going to do, he figured he'd go up to the park on Franklin and take a nap.
That night on my way home from work I saw him again. He was beating on coffee cans on the corner of Hollywood and Highland. I said hello but had to quickly board a bus home.
The next evening I had a bag of BBQ Ribs which I was taking home from work, I ran into Nicolaus, and offered them to him. He was hesitant, but when I told him what they were he accepted them.
"Did you guys have a cook out today?"
I told him that my boss had the night before and brought me the left overs, I think he was disappointed. I could feel the Nicolaus had wanted me to have had a cook out that day.
I saw him everyday for two or three weeks after that. On my way out of the subway tunnel I can hear the reverberated beats of his sticks, off coffee cans and pipes.
I have seen him discouraged, and angry because someone robbed him of three dollars. I have seen him high.
When he was high once, or at least I assumed by his manner that he was high, he slurred:
"I call you my old high school friend, that's what I call you."
I thought for a second that he died when he disappeared, and then I hoped that he went home to his mother in Chicago. I avoided him last night when I heard his drumming.
I met Nicolaus on the corner of Santa Monica and Fairfax, while waiting for the 217, he appreciated my good vibes and felt that he should tell me so. I was tired and weary from my last conversation with a homeless, so I accepted his appraisal and quietly boarded the bus. Nick followed me on, I was surprised that he had cash fro the bus fair. He sat on a seat opposite me and turning his back to the window continued our one-sided conversation.
"It's nice to see people with a good vibe, so many people out here don't have it. I'm from Chicago, I moved here to be in a band, but I can't seem to keep it together. It's that fucking crack man. I have moved out here about four or five different times, and every time I was homeless. I could go back to Chicago, and live with my mom again, but I can't do that to her. I told myself that this would be the last time, that I would stay out here. I don't mind being homeless, but I'd like to have a roof. When I moved out here, I had to live in the hills, I knew I would, I wanted all that, now I just want something. Fucking crack. I had 80 dollars the other night, today I got one. I'm done with crack though, it just eats you up. "
I like the way he talks, so I enjoyed listening to his rather ragged sum up of his personal history. I was more inclined to listen to him because of the drummer thing. I gave him 3 dollars when we got off the bus. He asked me where I was going and then guessed correctly that I was going to work. I asked him what he was going to do, he figured he'd go up to the park on Franklin and take a nap.
That night on my way home from work I saw him again. He was beating on coffee cans on the corner of Hollywood and Highland. I said hello but had to quickly board a bus home.
The next evening I had a bag of BBQ Ribs which I was taking home from work, I ran into Nicolaus, and offered them to him. He was hesitant, but when I told him what they were he accepted them.
"Did you guys have a cook out today?"
I told him that my boss had the night before and brought me the left overs, I think he was disappointed. I could feel the Nicolaus had wanted me to have had a cook out that day.
I saw him everyday for two or three weeks after that. On my way out of the subway tunnel I can hear the reverberated beats of his sticks, off coffee cans and pipes.
I have seen him discouraged, and angry because someone robbed him of three dollars. I have seen him high.
When he was high once, or at least I assumed by his manner that he was high, he slurred:
"I call you my old high school friend, that's what I call you."
I thought for a second that he died when he disappeared, and then I hoped that he went home to his mother in Chicago. I avoided him last night when I heard his drumming.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
no fun
I am eating better and less. I am not drinking.
Where does energy go? It can neither be created nor destroyed, but it can be given away.
later, energy permitting, I intend to do a little story about the homeless drummer I know who seems to have disappeared.
Where does energy go? It can neither be created nor destroyed, but it can be given away.
later, energy permitting, I intend to do a little story about the homeless drummer I know who seems to have disappeared.
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