Scream Thy Last Scream

When I was a teenager, playing around with the whole smoking pot thing, I would drive my friends slightly crazy renting all manner of cult movies. One stoney Friday night, I picked up Pink Floyd The Wall at the Tower Records video counter over on El Toro Road and my life was changed. I watched the movie over and over again, under the influence and not. It took me awhile to realize that it wasn't the film I was craving necessarily, it was the music. I got me a casette copy of The Wall and nearly wore that fucker out.

The movie acted as my gateway Floyd, and I dove in, slowly building up the CD collection. I didn't know from the get go though that Syd Barrett was the original lead singer/songwriter/guitarist for the band. Syd Barrett has left the building folks, permanently. The original leader of Pink Floyd died a few days ago.

For those of you not up on your Pink Floyd trivial history: Syd Barrett began the band with three others and helped to usher in the psychedelic movement in London. He is primarily responsible for the songs on their first album, Piper At The Gates of Dawn. But soon, through a previous condition or through the copious amount of drugs he was taking or both, Syd Barrett went apeshit nuts. He was released from the band, went on to record two solo albums, and then crashed with his mum to stew in a mess of his own crazy.

Admittedly, I was not the biggest fan of Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd; I was into the darker, harder, more nihilistic bent of The Wall and Animals. But I understand the man's influence and certainly appreciate it. Syd Barrett is almost solely responsible for the glamlicious direction that Marc Bolan would take T. Rex, and in turn provided David Bowie with the inspiration that would make him a superstar. I mean it's almost impossible to listen to sections of Barrett's The Madcap Laughs and not hear what Bowie would do with those ideas on Hunky Dory. Syd Barrett also made it possible for little talent musicians to indulge in drug use and messy playing and call it music.

"We're a little too Syd Barrett for most people to get." Yup, uh-huh...

But blah, blah, blah... Fanboy, fanboy, fanboy...

Anyway, goodbye Syd Barrett, I'm sure the ride from psychedelic pop star to cautionary tale wasn't an easy one. I hope the last 30 or so years in seclusion were nice for you, that you weren't haunted too much by the crazies. I will listen to Dominoes and think kind thoughts.

Peek-A-Boo

Okay, I didn't want to use this blog for baby stuff, didn't want to get into that all-baby talk that some parents assume is just as fascinating to the rest of the world as it is to them. But...

We went and got a sonogram yesterday. There is an actual baby inside that bump on Biffy's stomach. There are hands and feet and a freaking spine, which all things considered is a good thing, but seems a little freaky when you realize they are up inside your wife.

I was doing fine watching this fetus flicker on the screen, it all seemed a little unreal - as does this whole fatherhood thing by the by. It wasn't until we saw the brain, the two hemispheres of the brain, and the pumping heart that I got a little overwhelmed. Not in a "holy shit, I don't know how to be a dad" way, but in a "holy shit, I helped make that" kind of way. I just sat there as still as possible, barely breathing, feeling tears come.

One of the ways I've been able to sort of deal with this rationally and without taking a one way trip to Tierra Del Fuego, is to compare it to the reproduction of plants. I don't know, bringing myself down to the level of plant life makes me realize that this thing isn't a bigger deal than what we are built to do. But seeing all of these body parts... And a face!

It made me realize how amazing this is, us and plants. It made me think of our little critter all wrapped up in a mini-ocean in there, and I wondered if they would eventually have the same love of the sea that I do. It made me realize that there were so many things I couldn't wait to show them, so many people I couldn't wait to introduce them to.

Pretty wild...

Well I've Never...

Last Saturday, the show was called due to lack of audience. It was 11pm on the Saturday of 4th of July weekend, so not terribly shocking, but still a little disappointing. To make us all feel a little better, the cast went to the bar and played I’ve Never.

If you don’t know of the game I’ve Never, it’s a simple one. A drinking game which involves one person making a statement that starts with, “I’ve never…”. If anyone in the group has actually done this thing, you take a drink. For instance, Bobby says, “I’ve never had sex while someone else watched” you have to drink if you’ve done it – Bobby too.

Drink! You know who you are!

Anyway, the game started out with your basic, getting to know you, sort of degenerate sexual habits questions, but then moved on to just bragging about bad things we’d done in the past.

I threw out a “I’ve never talked a cop out of arresting me while I was on hallucinogens”, but I was not alone on that one. I’m not going to mention any names, but there is a member of the cast that has done some livin’. L-I-V-I-N.

As the game wore on, and we all got considerably drunker, one person began making his “I’ve nevers” so freaking specific it was impossible to drink along. Example:

“I’ve never been in a threesome with the female prosecutor that had my brother put in prison the week before, in a Radisson in Santa Fe while reruns of The Six Million Dollar Man were on TV. And then room service came to the door with pizza and I had to open the door with only a pillow over my penis, and the guy glanced in and knew the other girl by name.”

I started drinking along to his stories, ‘cause it was getting ridiculous for one thing, but they started getting so long that I was parched by the end.

Anyway, we all learned a little more about each other than was necessary. And I’m now feeling a little awkward about bringing up that whole bootleg Cabbage Patch Doll sweatshop thing…


Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Left Hand Luke and the Beggar Boys by T. Rex

Ode To The Gnome That Lives In My Coffee Pot

I know it was you that broke the latch that keeps the lid down.
And I know that it's you that sometimes pees in the pot.
I already told you that I was sorry for trying to wash you out with vinegar,
But you hold a grudge like nobody's business.
I'm always amazed that you don't drown up inside there,
But you're far too wily
Far too ornery for that.
I think it's mega-awesome that you often sing Karma Chameleon in French.
I know I spend a lot of time
Fussing around with the machine,
Measuring out the beans,
But I want to thank you Leroy,
For the magic you perform.
You help get my Sundays past that regretful, suicidal stage.
I'm sorry you didn't get on Rock Star:Supernova
You would have showed Tommy Lee a thing or two.

Harrah's, N.O.

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Ghosts Of July

I apologize, I’ve walked into a wild rat’s nest of work and angry customers. There’s much I want to write, but little time to do so.

I will say that yesterday was the 4th of July, obviously, and the highlight of every 4th previous was the same yesterday – lots of beer. And then there were the fireworks. We got to spend the evening at Mandy and Jason’s, and they have a prime view of the Lake Union fireworks. I think my personal favorites were this sort that I had never seen before.

These cones of sparkling wonder rose SLOWLY in the air, taking their time. They reminded me of Kleenex ghosts.

If you don’t know what a Kleenex ghost is, take a Kleenex (or your cheap, generic brand tissue) and make a ball out of the center, leaving the rest to hang down below the ball like a tissue skirt.


You can put tape beneath to bulbous head part if you choose, but my own preference is to draw a scary face as such:


Voila! Happy Birthday America!

Wild Sex (In The Neighborhood)

Okay, as the title suggests, this one will be about sex, not necessarily mine, but sex nonetheless. If you are easily offended, I'm warning you now, I don't want to hear about it later. If you're much like the rest of our society, you're probably much more comfortable with violence; go read a blog about a stabbing or someone beating the shit out of someone else.

So, I was coming home last night from the show, through a neighborhood that was much more quiet and empty than is typically so for 1 in the morning on a Friday. I heard what I at first assumed was an argument, a shrill and heated argument. As I got closer to home, I realized I was actually hearing the sounds of someone fucking.

Wow, I thought, they're right up against an open window. I mean it is warm out right now. But again no, upon still further examination, the now almost shameful sounds were coming from a house that is kitty-corner to our apartment building, and definitely coming from outside. This house has a fenced in patio area that faces the street.

I am assuming that it was in fact two men going at it.
1) Because it's a predominantly gay neighborhood.
2) Because it was a male making these sounds and they were the sort of sounds one makes when they are on the receiving end of a fuck. A particularly rough end, by the sound of things.

Now, I don't have a problem with making noise during sex. I don't tend to make a lot of noise myself, unless it's one of those nights that I like to fuck and sing the first half of Black Sabbath's We Sold Our Souls For Rock N' Roll, but I'm down. You wanna yell, you wanna scream, then fuck yes, yell and scream.

I also do not have a problem with people having sex in the out of doors, say on a fenced in patio, again I am down.

There's just something about having loud, rough sex outside in a heavily populated part of a large city seems a little... brazen? It seems like you're looking for attention a little bit. I had no problem with it, in fact I smiled at the idea of two people having a hot and heavy one in the wide open, but I was admittedly a little shocked. And then I may have been a little jealous.

And then I realized I had been standing in front of my building for about two minutes, theorizing about and listening to two men loudly fucking. And that felt a little weird.