Many years ago, before I knew any of you, when I was a completely different person than I am today, I lost my favorite hat. It was an Oingo Boingo baseball cap with this like, Latin American lizard design embroidered on it. That thing fit great and was well worn.
I put a hoop earring through the bill at one point and just left it there. I think I put it there just as a way to hold the earring, but it got left and I started giving insane and bullshit answers as to why it was there. Ultimately, it was a meaningless act that I ended up liking.
Well, imagine if you will, a twenty-two year old Billy in the back of pickup truck on the way to my first Grateful Dead show. The wind ripped the hat off my head and sent it in a slow-mo tumble under various automobiles traveling west along I-80.
I hadn’t thought about this hat in years, and then I remembered it strongly last night for some reason. I remember being pretty bummed as I watched that hat with an earring fly away, but then again it was just a hat.
But I got to thinking last night, that at that point in my life, almost to the day, my life was about to drastically change. And yeah, you can say that about any day – our lives change every moment – but check it out:
As I said, I was on my way to my first Grateful Dead show. This was an event that would effect me strongly and change my musical obsessions and concert going for years to come.
And I was mere days from moving from Chico to Santa Barbara, and what I couldn’t possibly know, and what perhaps that enigmatic I-80 that runs from the east coast all the way on in to my beloved San Francisco did know: Santa Barbara would only last 6 months for me before I high tailed it to the city by the bay.
My life in San Francisco changed me nearly to my core. I would fall in love with, and marry, the love of my life. I would meet an amazing collection of people that frankly feel more like family than friends. I would learn to trust myself more and respect myself more. San Francisco is a massive and massively important chapter in my life.
And maybe that pierced Oingo Boingo hat was a sacrifice for the entrance into this amazing adventure.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Candee
They were cruising the street, hopping from bar to bar and generally making asses of themselves all in the name of Randall’s bachelor party. The troop of testosterone rank boys were now drunk enough to enter the Lusty Lass.
“Lap dances everybody! Lap dances!” Peter yelled in a ‘charge ho’ motion as he led the way down the street and into the flashing lights and neon of the strip bar.
The bass heavy bump and grind music was thunder in the ears. It was dark as a cave, hiding the faces of the lumps shambled over in chairs, except for the blinding, fierce spotlight examining the performer on stage.
The group of boys was immediately swarmed by a midget fleet of scantily clad ladies, fresh meat and money had been sniffed out. Peter whispered something into the ear of a buxom lass who laughed amicably and took a wad of cash from him.
“Lenny!” Peter called. “You get a lap dance!”
Lenny was nervous and was trying not to show it. He had never been in a strip bar before, and frankly all of this in your face sexuality made him feel off balance. He stood himself up straight and laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“I think I need another drink first,” he said in his best, deep, self-assured voice.
“Go with Candee and get you a lap dance!” Peter boomed.
Candee put her hand lightly on Lenny’s arm and led him back behind a velvet curtain.
Peter turned his attention to the show on the stage. It was amazing the sort of contortions this woman could put herself into. There were things being done with a stiletto heel shoe that just shouldn’t be done. Dollars were flying onto the stage like slow drifting flower petals, long and green. Peter stood mesmerized through one bad song and was beginning to sway to another when Lenny tapped him on the shoulder.
“How was it my man?” Peter asked with a lascivious smile.
“She’s very talented,” Lenny said, pulling an orange balloon animal from behind his back.
Peter stared with disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”
“I think it’s a giraffe.”
“Lap dances everybody! Lap dances!” Peter yelled in a ‘charge ho’ motion as he led the way down the street and into the flashing lights and neon of the strip bar.
The bass heavy bump and grind music was thunder in the ears. It was dark as a cave, hiding the faces of the lumps shambled over in chairs, except for the blinding, fierce spotlight examining the performer on stage.
The group of boys was immediately swarmed by a midget fleet of scantily clad ladies, fresh meat and money had been sniffed out. Peter whispered something into the ear of a buxom lass who laughed amicably and took a wad of cash from him.
“Lenny!” Peter called. “You get a lap dance!”
Lenny was nervous and was trying not to show it. He had never been in a strip bar before, and frankly all of this in your face sexuality made him feel off balance. He stood himself up straight and laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“I think I need another drink first,” he said in his best, deep, self-assured voice.
“Go with Candee and get you a lap dance!” Peter boomed.
Candee put her hand lightly on Lenny’s arm and led him back behind a velvet curtain.
Peter turned his attention to the show on the stage. It was amazing the sort of contortions this woman could put herself into. There were things being done with a stiletto heel shoe that just shouldn’t be done. Dollars were flying onto the stage like slow drifting flower petals, long and green. Peter stood mesmerized through one bad song and was beginning to sway to another when Lenny tapped him on the shoulder.
“How was it my man?” Peter asked with a lascivious smile.
“She’s very talented,” Lenny said, pulling an orange balloon animal from behind his back.
Peter stared with disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”
“I think it’s a giraffe.”
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Now Just Warm Blooded, Check It And See
Wow, that posting seems like days ago! I’m feeling better, a lot more clear-headed anyway. For awhile there all I could do was laugh at my ridiculous situation; my first phone call this morning was a bute!
The whole experience reminded me of an idea. While I’m kind of a baby about getting sick (I want to be left alone and I want to feel better, NOW damn it!), I also kind of like that light headed, hallucinogenic come on feeling that a fever brings. It’s like doing drugs for free. I would probably be a bigger baby about things if I didn’t get a sort of perverse happiness from being sick.
Anyway, the idea was a story about plague junkies, people who pay for stronger and stronger diseases whose side effects got them off. Patches of mold could be sold on street corners. Dealers with connections would have this great pharmaceutical shit. Junky kids would experiment with growing their own cultures in their closets.
I might still take a crack at it, who knows.
Thanks to kc! I believe it your “Luck!” that pushed me through…
The whole experience reminded me of an idea. While I’m kind of a baby about getting sick (I want to be left alone and I want to feel better, NOW damn it!), I also kind of like that light headed, hallucinogenic come on feeling that a fever brings. It’s like doing drugs for free. I would probably be a bigger baby about things if I didn’t get a sort of perverse happiness from being sick.
Anyway, the idea was a story about plague junkies, people who pay for stronger and stronger diseases whose side effects got them off. Patches of mold could be sold on street corners. Dealers with connections would have this great pharmaceutical shit. Junky kids would experiment with growing their own cultures in their closets.
I might still take a crack at it, who knows.
Thanks to kc! I believe it your “Luck!” that pushed me through…
Hot Blooded, Check It And See
I called in sick yesterday due to a cold, but I think it’s something worse. I cannot tell if I have a fever, but I have that mushy-headed fever feeling. That feeling like I’ve been holding my breath for darn near two minutes and those negative image, black flashy spots are going to start popping at any time. I feel floaty and disconnected from everything.
Woozy seems like a good word.
I have to work my fingers twice as hard to type as it seems they are no longer my fingers.
I probably shouldn’t be here, but I feel weird about calling in sick again. I could possibly make it through the day all right if I didn’t have to sound like I knew what I was doing every time the phone rang.
Wish me luck!
Woozy seems like a good word.
I have to work my fingers twice as hard to type as it seems they are no longer my fingers.
I probably shouldn’t be here, but I feel weird about calling in sick again. I could possibly make it through the day all right if I didn’t have to sound like I knew what I was doing every time the phone rang.
Wish me luck!
Friday, June 24, 2005
And We Lived Beneath The Waves
A quick one for Friday evening:
Say what you will about the song Yellow Submarine by The Beatles, I'm betting it holds a special place in your heart. I bet as soon as you read the title above me here, the chorus kicked in somewhere in the back of your head.
This song is reviled by a lot of fanboy types, but why?
It's a Ringo song? Okay, granted.
It's childish and not serious? This may be it. I think we expect our "musicians" to carry about a sense of seriousness for their work to be great.
Imagine Pink Floyd doing Yellow Submarine....
Slow, more harmonies, scorching guitar... I can kind of hear it. But they started out with Syd Barrett.
Imagine Nine Inch Nails doing Yellow Submarine...
Imagine Radiohead doing Yellow Submarine...
Yeah, not so easy.
Say what you will about the song Yellow Submarine by The Beatles, I'm betting it holds a special place in your heart. I bet as soon as you read the title above me here, the chorus kicked in somewhere in the back of your head.
This song is reviled by a lot of fanboy types, but why?
It's a Ringo song? Okay, granted.
It's childish and not serious? This may be it. I think we expect our "musicians" to carry about a sense of seriousness for their work to be great.
Imagine Pink Floyd doing Yellow Submarine....
Slow, more harmonies, scorching guitar... I can kind of hear it. But they started out with Syd Barrett.
Imagine Nine Inch Nails doing Yellow Submarine...
Imagine Radiohead doing Yellow Submarine...
Yeah, not so easy.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
You're Cordially Invited to Rest Stop 27
My email has been down for the second day in a row and I’m getting a little angry.
This is even more frustrating as I laugh at those people who become paralyzed by technology breaking down with one of those deep-throated, ‘I fucking told you so’ laughs. It’s irony I tells ya! Mary Shelley and Stanly Kubrick would be sadly shaking their heads at me right now if they were here.
Which frankly, would be really weird.
I feel cut off and isolated, and I feel ridiculous for feeling this way. That’s way too much feeling! Yahoo is messing with my mind.
This is the same uncomfortable feeling that I get when I suddenly get all uncomfortable realizing that I’ve left my cell phone at home. A cell phone that I’ve only had for about 8 months mind you. A cell phone that I managed to get by without for over 30 years!
How does this happen? How have we duped ourselves into feeling nervous when there is an electronic communication breakdown? Frankly this is frustration that I don’t need, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. And this pissses me off!
I feel a storm of anger and apprehension under my calm, professional exterior that I’m doing my best to push down and keep down.
It reminds me of the feeling I would get when my parents made me go to bed early and there were people over visiting. I knew that there was a party going on, but I was being blocked from enjoying it. That’s what I feel like! There’s a gang of my favorite people, partying at a rest stop off the highway, but the exit has been blocked off to me.
I miss you guys… Sniff!
This is even more frustrating as I laugh at those people who become paralyzed by technology breaking down with one of those deep-throated, ‘I fucking told you so’ laughs. It’s irony I tells ya! Mary Shelley and Stanly Kubrick would be sadly shaking their heads at me right now if they were here.
Which frankly, would be really weird.
I feel cut off and isolated, and I feel ridiculous for feeling this way. That’s way too much feeling! Yahoo is messing with my mind.
This is the same uncomfortable feeling that I get when I suddenly get all uncomfortable realizing that I’ve left my cell phone at home. A cell phone that I’ve only had for about 8 months mind you. A cell phone that I managed to get by without for over 30 years!
How does this happen? How have we duped ourselves into feeling nervous when there is an electronic communication breakdown? Frankly this is frustration that I don’t need, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. And this pissses me off!
I feel a storm of anger and apprehension under my calm, professional exterior that I’m doing my best to push down and keep down.
It reminds me of the feeling I would get when my parents made me go to bed early and there were people over visiting. I knew that there was a party going on, but I was being blocked from enjoying it. That’s what I feel like! There’s a gang of my favorite people, partying at a rest stop off the highway, but the exit has been blocked off to me.
I miss you guys… Sniff!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Maybe It Was The Solstice
We went to see Dubh and Lisa get married last night. I’m not sure what happened exactly, I can only assume a combination of so many things, but I had this moment.
There was this fellow playing Spanish guitar and it sounded so nice. I listened to this combination of flurried runs and hard strummed chords that would never come through my fingers; it would never occur to me to play that way. There was a small child in one of the pews that was taking shifts crying and cooing. There was something in the combination of those sounds that soothed me to a degree I find hard to understand or explain.
I realized that I felt completely relaxed. I felt completely locked into a moment with both this wonderful guitar player and this child. I didn’t feel self conscious and it never entered my mind to worry about what other people might be thinking about me. And this is the important part: I didn’t question it, I just let that vibe roll on out.
I don’t know if it’s that I’m getting older, but I’m learning to quit trying so damned hard to figure everything out. I’ve realized that on those moments when you have managed to grab onto that stream that puts you as one with the universe, just smile and hold on.
There was this fellow playing Spanish guitar and it sounded so nice. I listened to this combination of flurried runs and hard strummed chords that would never come through my fingers; it would never occur to me to play that way. There was a small child in one of the pews that was taking shifts crying and cooing. There was something in the combination of those sounds that soothed me to a degree I find hard to understand or explain.
I realized that I felt completely relaxed. I felt completely locked into a moment with both this wonderful guitar player and this child. I didn’t feel self conscious and it never entered my mind to worry about what other people might be thinking about me. And this is the important part: I didn’t question it, I just let that vibe roll on out.
I don’t know if it’s that I’m getting older, but I’m learning to quit trying so damned hard to figure everything out. I’ve realized that on those moments when you have managed to grab onto that stream that puts you as one with the universe, just smile and hold on.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
You Made A Heart With Your Hand In The Air
Sunday was a good day. I woke up without a hangover when I REALLY deserved one. I made some breakfast and Biff and I took Brandi down to the Pike Place Market then on a monorail ride to the Space Needle.
The weather was amazing, it was one of those summer days that makes you glad that you somehow managed to get through the winter again. Clear and sunny – Puget Sound so blue it looks like a dream. Just one of those days designed to be played out in Seattle.
We went to Mandy and Jason’s and ate some kabobs on the porch. Flipping great! Brandi left for the airport, and it always makes me a little melancholy to see a friend leaving, but I managed to buck myself up by drinking more whiskey.
We moved a table out to the porch and played cards and had drinks and watched the sun slowly sinking in crazy, summer orange behind Lake Union. I was flirting with the idea of skipping the concert we were going to so we could just continue to relax and enjoy ourselves, but we were seeing the Mountain Goats. This is them:
That serious looking guy towards the front is John Darnielle. I don’t know how he does it, but this guy manages to lock so much emotion into a song that even after 182 listens, some of it still leaks out and slaps me around. His songs affect me in a way that no other song writer has been able to. And his shows always seem like a visit from a funny friend who knows how to push your emotional buttons all crazy; not because he’s necessarily vindictive, but because it’s exactly what you want and need.
Sunday’s show was strangely solemn. The crowd was whisper quiet. They all seemed to be into it, and John and Pete were giving their all, but it was almost spooky quiet in there between songs. It’s like we were all waiting with hushed breaths for something else amazing to happen. It was a good show, it was unfortunately a short show, but I again realized that I could scream out songs I wanted to hear all god damn day, but he was still going to play stuff that I didn’t even know was exactly what I needed to hear.
At every Mountain Goats show I’ve been to, and some that I’ve heard copies of, there are a large number of people shouting out unprovoked for him to play Going to Georgia. Sometimes thay just drunkenly scream, “Georgia!” It has become some sort of concert mandate now, like that drunken nimrod who shouts out, “Freebird!” It’s a crowd favorite, Going To Georgia, and John never plays it. I heard one person throw it out there Sunday night, as if in passing, and then he played it. It felt momentous and it felt perfectly in tune with everything else that day somehow.
My words always manage to feel clumsy when I try to talk about The Mountain Goats. There’s some kind of magic there that defies being brought to light. I will just say that I cried like a child who has his soul filled.
Sunday was a good day.
The weather was amazing, it was one of those summer days that makes you glad that you somehow managed to get through the winter again. Clear and sunny – Puget Sound so blue it looks like a dream. Just one of those days designed to be played out in Seattle.
We went to Mandy and Jason’s and ate some kabobs on the porch. Flipping great! Brandi left for the airport, and it always makes me a little melancholy to see a friend leaving, but I managed to buck myself up by drinking more whiskey.
We moved a table out to the porch and played cards and had drinks and watched the sun slowly sinking in crazy, summer orange behind Lake Union. I was flirting with the idea of skipping the concert we were going to so we could just continue to relax and enjoy ourselves, but we were seeing the Mountain Goats. This is them:
That serious looking guy towards the front is John Darnielle. I don’t know how he does it, but this guy manages to lock so much emotion into a song that even after 182 listens, some of it still leaks out and slaps me around. His songs affect me in a way that no other song writer has been able to. And his shows always seem like a visit from a funny friend who knows how to push your emotional buttons all crazy; not because he’s necessarily vindictive, but because it’s exactly what you want and need.
Sunday’s show was strangely solemn. The crowd was whisper quiet. They all seemed to be into it, and John and Pete were giving their all, but it was almost spooky quiet in there between songs. It’s like we were all waiting with hushed breaths for something else amazing to happen. It was a good show, it was unfortunately a short show, but I again realized that I could scream out songs I wanted to hear all god damn day, but he was still going to play stuff that I didn’t even know was exactly what I needed to hear.
At every Mountain Goats show I’ve been to, and some that I’ve heard copies of, there are a large number of people shouting out unprovoked for him to play Going to Georgia. Sometimes thay just drunkenly scream, “Georgia!” It has become some sort of concert mandate now, like that drunken nimrod who shouts out, “Freebird!” It’s a crowd favorite, Going To Georgia, and John never plays it. I heard one person throw it out there Sunday night, as if in passing, and then he played it. It felt momentous and it felt perfectly in tune with everything else that day somehow.
My words always manage to feel clumsy when I try to talk about The Mountain Goats. There’s some kind of magic there that defies being brought to light. I will just say that I cried like a child who has his soul filled.
Sunday was a good day.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Without Me, There's Nothing
Built to Spill played a show here on Friday night. This is them:
The guy in the back is Doug Martsch. He more often than not looks like some sort of half-crazed mountain man, but the man plays absolutely amazing guitar and sings in what is quite possibly the sweetest voice going. I heart him in a way that is probably dangerous.
Was that show on Friday one of the best shows I’ve seen? Yes it was. Did they play the shit out of “Dystopian Dream Girl”, one of my favorite songs by them and one that I’ve waited about 8 years to hear them do live? Yes they did. Was it the second song of the set? Yes it was. Will this posting be a series of questions that I will then immediately answer? Quite possibly.
I got a little worried when they hit the stage Skynyrd style with 3 guitarists, but their sound was so full and powerful all fears were driven to Modesto in some sort of super car, black and doing mach 5. They jammed out a couple of songs that do not normally get that sort of treatment and the audience, a sold out and large audience, was with them every step of the way. God damn! That’s all I can say…
Nope, actually I can say more. They played one brand new song, which we got to hear last year in San Francisco too, that is so good that I can still hear the ghosts of it bouncing around in my head. Again the entire crowd just dove in. When the song was over a guy behind me asked if it was a cover. I told him it was a new song and he said it was really good. I gave him what I can only assume was a John Cusack in High Fidelity “I know”.
Greta May once said that Built to Spill should be the soundtrack to our lives. Chris responded with, “They are”.
He was right. God damn!
The guy in the back is Doug Martsch. He more often than not looks like some sort of half-crazed mountain man, but the man plays absolutely amazing guitar and sings in what is quite possibly the sweetest voice going. I heart him in a way that is probably dangerous.
Was that show on Friday one of the best shows I’ve seen? Yes it was. Did they play the shit out of “Dystopian Dream Girl”, one of my favorite songs by them and one that I’ve waited about 8 years to hear them do live? Yes they did. Was it the second song of the set? Yes it was. Will this posting be a series of questions that I will then immediately answer? Quite possibly.
I got a little worried when they hit the stage Skynyrd style with 3 guitarists, but their sound was so full and powerful all fears were driven to Modesto in some sort of super car, black and doing mach 5. They jammed out a couple of songs that do not normally get that sort of treatment and the audience, a sold out and large audience, was with them every step of the way. God damn! That’s all I can say…
Nope, actually I can say more. They played one brand new song, which we got to hear last year in San Francisco too, that is so good that I can still hear the ghosts of it bouncing around in my head. Again the entire crowd just dove in. When the song was over a guy behind me asked if it was a cover. I told him it was a new song and he said it was really good. I gave him what I can only assume was a John Cusack in High Fidelity “I know”.
Greta May once said that Built to Spill should be the soundtrack to our lives. Chris responded with, “They are”.
He was right. God damn!
Friday, June 17, 2005
…And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt
I got a nice little guilt trip from my mom last night, consider this a post card. Wish you were here.
Mom called to see if we wanted to come to their place Sunday for Father’s Day dinner. I told her we would love to except that we’re really busy this weekend. And we seriously are. I think this is the first jam packed weekend (aside from the occasional guest) that we’ve had since we moved up here. Tonight we see Built To Spill. Let me repeat that for my own benefit: Tonight I’m seeing Built To Spill! Saturday, our friend Brandi will be in town for a short trip to visit. On Sunday, we see The Mountain Goats. And there’s the possibility of seeing Jenny this weekend as well.
When I told Mom this, and suggested perhaps pushing it to Monday night, I got my ticket. It wasn’t anything she particularly said, no, she’s better than that. The perfect guilt trip is all in the tone. She did however at one point say, “that’s too bad, Kyle’s going to be here.”
Let me put in a quick note about my brother Kyle. I love the guy, I really do. He is a much braver man than I, he is very charming and funny. I have however, had my fair share of favored son issues revolving around Kyle, so using him as a tool against me is not the best way to go.
This whole thing hasn’t bothered me as much as it used to. It is interesting that moving hundreds of miles closer to my mother has not eased up the apparent need to knock me down a little from time to time.
Mom called to see if we wanted to come to their place Sunday for Father’s Day dinner. I told her we would love to except that we’re really busy this weekend. And we seriously are. I think this is the first jam packed weekend (aside from the occasional guest) that we’ve had since we moved up here. Tonight we see Built To Spill. Let me repeat that for my own benefit: Tonight I’m seeing Built To Spill! Saturday, our friend Brandi will be in town for a short trip to visit. On Sunday, we see The Mountain Goats. And there’s the possibility of seeing Jenny this weekend as well.
When I told Mom this, and suggested perhaps pushing it to Monday night, I got my ticket. It wasn’t anything she particularly said, no, she’s better than that. The perfect guilt trip is all in the tone. She did however at one point say, “that’s too bad, Kyle’s going to be here.”
Let me put in a quick note about my brother Kyle. I love the guy, I really do. He is a much braver man than I, he is very charming and funny. I have however, had my fair share of favored son issues revolving around Kyle, so using him as a tool against me is not the best way to go.
This whole thing hasn’t bothered me as much as it used to. It is interesting that moving hundreds of miles closer to my mother has not eased up the apparent need to knock me down a little from time to time.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Creating Your Own Reality... Tom Kempf... Go!
Sort of running on a theme of talking about people this week…
The other day I had to do one of those sort of lame, let’s get to know you a little better by gathering useless information sort of exercises. I was asked to come up with 5 people I would like to gather in a room and what would we talk about. My discussion topic was, “Discuss creating your own reality”. I chose:
1. Ernest Hemingway – I’m not a big Hemingway fan, but for some reason he would not leave my mind when I was trying to come up with people. Sometimes you just gotta go with what you’re getting.
2. Luis Bunuel – Surrealist film maker – I’m a big fan. This guy fucked everything up in a great way and is almost single-handedly responsible for some of the more interesting directors working today.
3. John F. Kennedy – I’ve always sort of wondered if he’s considered great because he was a great man or if he’s considered great because he was a murdered man.
4. Cate Blanchett – I think that she’s an amazing actress, and beautiful of course, but I just get the feeling that it would be great to sit and talk with her. I have a feeling I would feel relaxed and that I would laugh a lot.
5. Tom Kempf – My best friend from Kindergarten and First Grade.
Tom Kempf… I lost track of him when I was 7 or 8, but he still holds such an important place in my mind and memories that it’s a little spooky. Tom was funny – not just 6 year old funny, my mom still talks about how funny he was.
While Tom was really friendly and we were very close, I think I could always sense a sort of dark streak in him, sort of a cloud of anger hanging just over the horizon. I feel like he would have become a seeker of negative knowledge – that he would have been the kind of angry kid in high school that distanced himself from everybody and held some sort of heaviness in his eyes that you may never understand completely. The sort of guy I would become frightened of a little bit.
This is all speculation of course, as I said I lost track of him when I was 8.
Memories of Tom that seem to be on that internal reshuffle are:
a)His mom asking the two of us what we would name our kids if we had sons; I said Tom and he said Billy, but neither of us could come up with a name for a daughter.
b)Sleeping in the pop top camper of his parents VW bus, spending most of the night reading Al Jaffee Mad Magazine books with a flashlight.
This all sort of falls in with my constant desire to reacquaint myself with my old grade school friends and my constant desire to squelch that constant desire as it’s probably a baaaad idea. I do hope that Tom’s doing all right out there. He was a great friend for those few years that we had together.
The other day I had to do one of those sort of lame, let’s get to know you a little better by gathering useless information sort of exercises. I was asked to come up with 5 people I would like to gather in a room and what would we talk about. My discussion topic was, “Discuss creating your own reality”. I chose:
1. Ernest Hemingway – I’m not a big Hemingway fan, but for some reason he would not leave my mind when I was trying to come up with people. Sometimes you just gotta go with what you’re getting.
2. Luis Bunuel – Surrealist film maker – I’m a big fan. This guy fucked everything up in a great way and is almost single-handedly responsible for some of the more interesting directors working today.
3. John F. Kennedy – I’ve always sort of wondered if he’s considered great because he was a great man or if he’s considered great because he was a murdered man.
4. Cate Blanchett – I think that she’s an amazing actress, and beautiful of course, but I just get the feeling that it would be great to sit and talk with her. I have a feeling I would feel relaxed and that I would laugh a lot.
5. Tom Kempf – My best friend from Kindergarten and First Grade.
Tom Kempf… I lost track of him when I was 7 or 8, but he still holds such an important place in my mind and memories that it’s a little spooky. Tom was funny – not just 6 year old funny, my mom still talks about how funny he was.
While Tom was really friendly and we were very close, I think I could always sense a sort of dark streak in him, sort of a cloud of anger hanging just over the horizon. I feel like he would have become a seeker of negative knowledge – that he would have been the kind of angry kid in high school that distanced himself from everybody and held some sort of heaviness in his eyes that you may never understand completely. The sort of guy I would become frightened of a little bit.
This is all speculation of course, as I said I lost track of him when I was 8.
Memories of Tom that seem to be on that internal reshuffle are:
a)His mom asking the two of us what we would name our kids if we had sons; I said Tom and he said Billy, but neither of us could come up with a name for a daughter.
b)Sleeping in the pop top camper of his parents VW bus, spending most of the night reading Al Jaffee Mad Magazine books with a flashlight.
This all sort of falls in with my constant desire to reacquaint myself with my old grade school friends and my constant desire to squelch that constant desire as it’s probably a baaaad idea. I do hope that Tom’s doing all right out there. He was a great friend for those few years that we had together.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Jen Jen The Panda Girl
I was just looking at pictures of my sweetness Jenny when I also heard my friend Kristel talking. Kristel sounds EXACTLY like Jenny. Seriously, it’s spooky – ask Biff. This combination of seeing Jenny and then thinking that I heard her made my soul flutter.
When I quickly realized she wasn’t really there, it broke my heart a little bit.
Jenny’s in Portland now, so hopefully I will see her soon. She’s funny as all get out and likes to drink whiskey at 10:30 in the morning too. When in Portland, you should look her up.
When I quickly realized she wasn’t really there, it broke my heart a little bit.
Jenny’s in Portland now, so hopefully I will see her soon. She’s funny as all get out and likes to drink whiskey at 10:30 in the morning too. When in Portland, you should look her up.
Issaquah
I got to see Doug and Suz last Friday. They were up in the area because Suz’s sister had just had a baby. We had to cross a lake, an island and a county line to get out to Issaquah where they were.
This took us all of twenty minutes.
I forget how compact Washington is compared to California sometimes. You get to the other side of Lake Washington and almost immediately, you are in huge evergreens – close to the mountains.
Issaquah is almost the quintessential Washington town: sort of small and quaint (until you get to where all of the new housing developments are), fir lined everything, a fun to spell Indian name and a general Twin Peaks sort of feel that might be a little too much for it’s own good. It is also where Modest Mouse hails from. Yeah, Issaquah!
We managed to find the perfect small town, dive bar. The jukebox was broken, so they turned on VH1 which was apparently doing a special on hair metal of the 80’s. A jovial gentleman at the bar asked where we were from and when I told him I had come over from Seattle, he asked with smile, “what the hell are you doing in Issaquah?” I love it! We drank bar whiskey (aah, Black Velvet, thy name is smoother than thy taste) and rattled on about whatever.
I love Doug and Suz. Suz is horror movie geek just like me and does not mince words – she’s adorable. Doug is one of the friendliest, funniest and most genuine people I have met. He is an amazing drummer who taught me in a very real way that a drummer is a musician, they don’t just bang on shit. It was great to see them again, and a great excuse to visit Issaquah.
Y’know, if you needed an excuse…
This took us all of twenty minutes.
I forget how compact Washington is compared to California sometimes. You get to the other side of Lake Washington and almost immediately, you are in huge evergreens – close to the mountains.
Issaquah is almost the quintessential Washington town: sort of small and quaint (until you get to where all of the new housing developments are), fir lined everything, a fun to spell Indian name and a general Twin Peaks sort of feel that might be a little too much for it’s own good. It is also where Modest Mouse hails from. Yeah, Issaquah!
We managed to find the perfect small town, dive bar. The jukebox was broken, so they turned on VH1 which was apparently doing a special on hair metal of the 80’s. A jovial gentleman at the bar asked where we were from and when I told him I had come over from Seattle, he asked with smile, “what the hell are you doing in Issaquah?” I love it! We drank bar whiskey (aah, Black Velvet, thy name is smoother than thy taste) and rattled on about whatever.
I love Doug and Suz. Suz is horror movie geek just like me and does not mince words – she’s adorable. Doug is one of the friendliest, funniest and most genuine people I have met. He is an amazing drummer who taught me in a very real way that a drummer is a musician, they don’t just bang on shit. It was great to see them again, and a great excuse to visit Issaquah.
Y’know, if you needed an excuse…
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Vibraslap
This is a Vibraslap:
It is a percussion piece that sounds like a sexy, hip rattlesnake. You slap the ball and it goes.
And it has a name that sounds like some sort of dirty, bondage game.
The band Cake uses this instrument to fantastic effect.
I would one day like to be the world's best professional Vibraslap player.
And Mom said I don't have goals.
It is a percussion piece that sounds like a sexy, hip rattlesnake. You slap the ball and it goes.
And it has a name that sounds like some sort of dirty, bondage game.
The band Cake uses this instrument to fantastic effect.
I would one day like to be the world's best professional Vibraslap player.
And Mom said I don't have goals.
Monday, June 13, 2005
I've Got One Hand In My Pocket
It’s been 10 years to the day since the release of Alanis Morisette’s “Jagged Little Pill”. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, “Billy, why the fuck do you know that?” I would tell you something sarcastic and untrue under normal circumstances, but I’m pressed for time today.
My new employer is releasing an acoustic version of said album in celebration of that 10 year anniversary. What does Starbucks have to do with “Jagged Little Pill”? I have no freaking idea. Who cares about the anniversary and release of this acoustic album? Apparently one desperate woman in Canada.
This woman, let’s call her Nancy – that seems Canadian enough for me right now – was practically in tears as she complained about not being able to purchase this album today as the store never had it shipped to them. “It’s like celebrating your birthday two days later” she whimpered.
Isn’t it ironic? Isn’t it?
Now I don’t hate Alanis Morisette, but I’m not a particularly huge fan either. And yeah, I understand that fan need – way too well. If Built To Spill released an acoustic version of “Perfect From Now On”, I’d hurt somebody trying to get to the record store.
But here’s my point: If let’s say Sonic Boom Records did not have that CD available on that day (and yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’d whine about it something awful) it would never enter my mind to call the corporate office of said record store in a tearful state. Especially if I lived out in the middle of nowhere Canada!
Ultimately, we shouldn’t be able to get whatever we want whenever we want it. We are becoming very spoiled people and some of us need to suck it up a little bit.
Jeesh!
…I did kind of freak out when I couldn’t find Wild At Heart on DVD back in December though…
My new employer is releasing an acoustic version of said album in celebration of that 10 year anniversary. What does Starbucks have to do with “Jagged Little Pill”? I have no freaking idea. Who cares about the anniversary and release of this acoustic album? Apparently one desperate woman in Canada.
This woman, let’s call her Nancy – that seems Canadian enough for me right now – was practically in tears as she complained about not being able to purchase this album today as the store never had it shipped to them. “It’s like celebrating your birthday two days later” she whimpered.
Isn’t it ironic? Isn’t it?
Now I don’t hate Alanis Morisette, but I’m not a particularly huge fan either. And yeah, I understand that fan need – way too well. If Built To Spill released an acoustic version of “Perfect From Now On”, I’d hurt somebody trying to get to the record store.
But here’s my point: If let’s say Sonic Boom Records did not have that CD available on that day (and yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’d whine about it something awful) it would never enter my mind to call the corporate office of said record store in a tearful state. Especially if I lived out in the middle of nowhere Canada!
Ultimately, we shouldn’t be able to get whatever we want whenever we want it. We are becoming very spoiled people and some of us need to suck it up a little bit.
Jeesh!
…I did kind of freak out when I couldn’t find Wild At Heart on DVD back in December though…
Friday, June 10, 2005
Stop Gap
As I mentioned before, I’m in training for my brand spankin’ new full time job type gig. I apologize for not updating with the sort of speed I’ve been used to, but hopefully next week I can get back to it in a normal fashion. Let me just quickly say that:
a) I love all of you, and that thing on your face has cleared up nicely.
b) Clear, plastic utensils seem fun at first but then end up disturbing me.
c) Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. Much. And you feel a little more embarrassed when you act like a complete ass after eating a bunch of candy.
d) We should all feel blessed to live in a world where there is a band like Califone.
If I could kiss all of you right now, I would. And let’s face it, I probably have sometime in the past – while all hopped up on Chick-A-Stix.
a) I love all of you, and that thing on your face has cleared up nicely.
b) Clear, plastic utensils seem fun at first but then end up disturbing me.
c) Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. Much. And you feel a little more embarrassed when you act like a complete ass after eating a bunch of candy.
d) We should all feel blessed to live in a world where there is a band like Califone.
If I could kiss all of you right now, I would. And let’s face it, I probably have sometime in the past – while all hopped up on Chick-A-Stix.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
In Training
I just wanted to take a moment to revel in happy memories…
Ok, now let’s get down to business. I’m in a training class for a couple of weeks and there’s this girl in it who I affectionately call Talky McTalkerson because she eats all the time. I’m just kidding – she yaks on and on like a crank fiend. Seriously! She will derail the class with some lame point, that has the barest connection to what we were talking about to begin with, and pound it home to the point of pain. She has no clue what a blathering idiot she sounds like – Strike that! She does! She often apologizes for going on and on, so she fucking does it on purpose.
Here’s an example of her interrupting a lesson: "I was watching a movie last night set in the tropics, and looked like so much fun. I’ve never been to the tropics before. A couple of years ago I went to San Diego so that’s as tropical as I’ve gotten. You know, it’s weird, when I made less money I had more chances to travel. Last year I went to San Francisco and Colorado, but I’d love to go somewhere with like blue waters and it’s warm all the time. And you know, while I’ve never been a huge country music fan, I’d love to go to Nashville. Country music people just seem so nice you know?"
She’s still talking. And talking fast.
The only reasoning I can come up with for this behavior is:
1)Talky McTalkerson is, as mentioned above, a crank head. I have lived with and known Crystal Meth users and I know how they tend to get a little, shall we say, chatty. If this were the true reason though I think she would be a little thinner.
2)Talky McTalkerson is attention starved. I love these people; if by love you mean a desire to beat mercilessly about the face and then rub cumin into the open wounds. Why cumin? Smells nice…
3)Talky McTalkerson likes the sound of her own annoying, already smoke raspy at 23 voice and is reveling back there in some sort audio-sexual masturbatory fantasy.
It’s taking everything in me to keep from screaming, "shut the fuck up you annoying little bitch. I would actually like to get out of this room in the next frigging year. Oh and by the fucking by, no one cares about what you used to do in your café. Nor do we care what you got at the flippin grocery store, or what flippin grocery store it was. The next time you feel like talking try putting your fist in your asshole instead!" The only thing that has stopped me is that at first I didn’t want to see her cry.
Now I kinda do…
Ok, now let’s get down to business. I’m in a training class for a couple of weeks and there’s this girl in it who I affectionately call Talky McTalkerson because she eats all the time. I’m just kidding – she yaks on and on like a crank fiend. Seriously! She will derail the class with some lame point, that has the barest connection to what we were talking about to begin with, and pound it home to the point of pain. She has no clue what a blathering idiot she sounds like – Strike that! She does! She often apologizes for going on and on, so she fucking does it on purpose.
Here’s an example of her interrupting a lesson: "I was watching a movie last night set in the tropics, and looked like so much fun. I’ve never been to the tropics before. A couple of years ago I went to San Diego so that’s as tropical as I’ve gotten. You know, it’s weird, when I made less money I had more chances to travel. Last year I went to San Francisco and Colorado, but I’d love to go somewhere with like blue waters and it’s warm all the time. And you know, while I’ve never been a huge country music fan, I’d love to go to Nashville. Country music people just seem so nice you know?"
She’s still talking. And talking fast.
The only reasoning I can come up with for this behavior is:
1)Talky McTalkerson is, as mentioned above, a crank head. I have lived with and known Crystal Meth users and I know how they tend to get a little, shall we say, chatty. If this were the true reason though I think she would be a little thinner.
2)Talky McTalkerson is attention starved. I love these people; if by love you mean a desire to beat mercilessly about the face and then rub cumin into the open wounds. Why cumin? Smells nice…
3)Talky McTalkerson likes the sound of her own annoying, already smoke raspy at 23 voice and is reveling back there in some sort audio-sexual masturbatory fantasy.
It’s taking everything in me to keep from screaming, "shut the fuck up you annoying little bitch. I would actually like to get out of this room in the next frigging year. Oh and by the fucking by, no one cares about what you used to do in your café. Nor do we care what you got at the flippin grocery store, or what flippin grocery store it was. The next time you feel like talking try putting your fist in your asshole instead!" The only thing that has stopped me is that at first I didn’t want to see her cry.
Now I kinda do…
Monday, June 06, 2005
2 Guys Walk Into A Bar...
"Do you remember that show about an animator who keeps seeing his creations everywhere? Like they’re rotoscoped into the scenes or something? Nobody else can see them, just him, and they say funny stuff in funny voices…"
"They were actually rotoscoped?"
"Well, I don’t know. I don’t do animation, I don’t know all the technical jubb-jubb."
"Have you gotten highlights or something?"
"What?"
"Your hair, you’ve gotten highlights haven’t you?"
"A friend of mine did it. Does it look good? I think he fucked it up a little bit do you see that huge white streak right there."
"Are you trying to hit on me?"
"What? Fuck you! How many drinks have you had?"
"Four. But seriously dude, highlights? Isn’t that a little gay?"
"Hey, a lot of hip guys get highlights!"
"Uh-huh. Do you know what the hardest part of rollerblading is?"
"No."
"Telling your dad that you’re gay. Those highlights should make it easier."
Friday, June 03, 2005
Watch Out!
We here at Billy Cleans His Plate are very interested in public service. So, in this spirit of public service, we offer you this picture:
This will allow you to ward off both large predatory animals and small children.
Keep it safe out there!
This will allow you to ward off both large predatory animals and small children.
Keep it safe out there!
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Red Right Hand (Flashing)
I almost got a ticket today... Fucking walking! I was crossing the crosswalk on a blinking red hand when the cop yelled out loud enough to be heard over glammy Shudder To Think on my headphones. The guy marched me over to his motorcycle with the kind of demeanor I probably march around with when the cat’s have woken me up at 3AM. He asked for my license - and this is sure fire to get you into hot water with a large number of people up here in Washington - I showed him my California ID.
“How long have you been up here?” He sneered.
I told him a few months and he pointed out none-so-politely that I hadn’t changed my license. I pointed out with only a smidge of sarcasm that he might notice that I was walking to work and not driving.
“Have you ever been charged with a pedestrian violation before?” He yelled over traffic. Some middle-aged woman was asking if there had been an accident or something.
I asked him fairly pointedly what I was receiving a violation for, and he then proceeded to tell me that it was not kosher to walk on a flashing red hand as you pesky pedestrians were getting in the way of people trying to make a left turn. I asked him if this was a specialty law of just downtown Seattle, because that was the craziest thing I’d ever heard of. I suggested to him that if the cars were having such an issue turning left with us pedestrians crossing, perhaps they should cut the pedestrian signal short and give the cars a green turn arrow.
He glared. I glanced back the way I was walking, glanced at my invisible watch.
“Am I getting a ticket?” I asked.
He handed me back my license. I am so calling the Washington Department of Transpo. I apologize, but I’m still a little pissed about this.
“How long have you been up here?” He sneered.
I told him a few months and he pointed out none-so-politely that I hadn’t changed my license. I pointed out with only a smidge of sarcasm that he might notice that I was walking to work and not driving.
“Have you ever been charged with a pedestrian violation before?” He yelled over traffic. Some middle-aged woman was asking if there had been an accident or something.
I asked him fairly pointedly what I was receiving a violation for, and he then proceeded to tell me that it was not kosher to walk on a flashing red hand as you pesky pedestrians were getting in the way of people trying to make a left turn. I asked him if this was a specialty law of just downtown Seattle, because that was the craziest thing I’d ever heard of. I suggested to him that if the cars were having such an issue turning left with us pedestrians crossing, perhaps they should cut the pedestrian signal short and give the cars a green turn arrow.
He glared. I glanced back the way I was walking, glanced at my invisible watch.
“Am I getting a ticket?” I asked.
He handed me back my license. I am so calling the Washington Department of Transpo. I apologize, but I’m still a little pissed about this.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Pellets I Tells Ya
Am I wrong or was the future a promise of pellets and pills? There was thus vague idea of whole meals in capsules, like some Willy Wonka treat without the ironic punishment of taking on the form of what you were supposed to be tasting. All the Red Lobster popcorn shrimp you could taste, maybe even with a side of a whole crispy, fried onion and a fakey handcrafted beer by Miller (or maybe an overpriced margarita that has all the taste of foul and cheap tequila, but none of the intoxication) inside a gel cap filled with time released pellets.
I’m kind of obsessamatic on the pellets right now. I have this strange desire to have everything in pellet form. It’s as unexplainable as my utter freaking delight at 1/32 scale exact replicas of things like liquor bottles and pumpkins, large wheels of cheese - just a quirk I gotta let ride. Pellets just seemed like the next wave of the future that started with the optimistic promise of Tang.
And it is possible that mango flavored Tang sullied that promise of a bright, shiny and efficient future filled with shitty instant orange beverage. And while I’m thinking about it, some food service geniuses have made space-age pellet ice cream. But frankly, that stuff’s fun for about a second and a half.
Yeah, I do understand that true advances take time, so I’ll let that bullshit, county fair swill, pellet ice cream stand as a brave foray into the pill future of food, but ultimately I do understand that it’s a failure. I’ll bide my time with those animal shaped sponges in pill form. Those things rule, even if they don’t taste so good.
I’m kind of obsessamatic on the pellets right now. I have this strange desire to have everything in pellet form. It’s as unexplainable as my utter freaking delight at 1/32 scale exact replicas of things like liquor bottles and pumpkins, large wheels of cheese - just a quirk I gotta let ride. Pellets just seemed like the next wave of the future that started with the optimistic promise of Tang.
And it is possible that mango flavored Tang sullied that promise of a bright, shiny and efficient future filled with shitty instant orange beverage. And while I’m thinking about it, some food service geniuses have made space-age pellet ice cream. But frankly, that stuff’s fun for about a second and a half.
Yeah, I do understand that true advances take time, so I’ll let that bullshit, county fair swill, pellet ice cream stand as a brave foray into the pill future of food, but ultimately I do understand that it’s a failure. I’ll bide my time with those animal shaped sponges in pill form. Those things rule, even if they don’t taste so good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
