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.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
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.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
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.
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.
Monday, July 19, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
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.
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.
Monday, June 28, 2004
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.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
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.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
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.
Monday, June 21, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, June 18, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
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?
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".
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".
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, June 11, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
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.
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.
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