Oh, tonsils. Those dirty little bastards in the back of my throat. They've been evicted and their move out date in 9/29.
I hear it's going to be pretty damn awesome. And by awesome I mean wicked painful. I'll be off work for two weeks, without pay which makes it double awesome, and living off liquidy type things. I hear tell I'll lose 10-15 pounds that I'll put right back on when I start eating again. So I'm just not going to eat anymore. I mean, screw food. What has it ever done for ME?
Both of my parents, count 'em - both, are driving out to take me to the hospital and bring me home. I knew it would take a medical malfunction to get my parents to come visit me. They don't get out so much.
I get tonsillitis at least twice a year, usually in the summer and then around Christmas. I have to see a doctor 3 times for each infection they're so bad. Sometimes they swell up and touch each other in the back of my throat leaving me a pea size opening to breathe through. Those are the best times. Then I go to the ER and get shot full of morphine and vicodin and go home and halucinate strange creatures jumping out of the shadows trying to kill me. I know you're jealous.
So I've had about enough of that shit right there. Time to scrape 'em out. I've read some down right horror stories about how painful it is and I'm trying not to think about it. I'm just tired of being sick and hopefully this will cure me of that. I'ma see if they'll let me keep them. In a jar. I can shelack them and make an amulet. Who wants first dibs?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Man without a country
As the NFL season starts cranking through its hell week I am again reminded that I am football team-less. LA doesn't have a team and I refuse to be a Raiders fan as they simply suck ass as a fan nation. My college, despite ruling in men's & women's basketball, and kicking some rugby & lacrosse ass, doesn't have a football team, either. This doesn't stop me from walking down Mill Ave on New Years Day and screaming at all the Tostito Bowl fans that "The Gauchos are gonna take it all!!!!!" How did Jim Rome cope with this? San Diego and San Fran are too far away to feel like they are MY team.
Do you have to root for a team from your home state/town? Most east coasters, I find, are going to tell you it's sacrilege to do anything less. Others would say who the hell cares, pick a team! How does one go about picking a team to be a fan of? What elements does one consult? Or is it a flat out crapshoot? I suppose I could just suck it up and be a Chargers fan. Or possibly a 49er fan. But I'm just not feelin' it. I don't know that my dad is a fan of any particular team. And he's from West Virginia so no luck their, either. He's a fan of our high school football team and follows them religiously. You think YOU know a fanatic? Get in line.
And for college ball, do I pick the school closest to me? It's either UCLA or USC. Does that make me a traitor? Or simply a sports fan?
Basketball? Done. Laker fan. Always have been. 5 years of rec ball and a fanatic Laker fan Grandma long behind me. I am also a Celtic fan, never having known of the rivalry growing up. I knew I liked Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Simple.
Baseball? Dodgers. I'm from north of them so I was more exposed to them growing up. The Los Angeles Angles of Anaheim piss me off. Those are two different cities, people. Knock this shit off! But they are in two different leagues so I can rock them both. I am also a Giants fan simply because I went to high school with their pitcher Noah Lowry. I'd be a fan of whatever team he happens to be playing for. If he would get off the DL, that is.
Hockey? Never cared. Been to one game and it was a good time. But I don't care enough to follow it. Though I never get enough of Miracle. I could watch that movie all day long. Hell, I have.
Living in Phoenix one might ask me, why not be a Cardinals fan? Next. No thanks. Suckville. The only thing good about them is their new stadium way out in West Bumble Fuck. Suns? Eh. Dbacks? Eh. Coyotes? Eh. If I had to root for a team it would the Kings or the Ducks.
Does any of it matter? I dunno. I was a cheerleader and I loved rooting on my team, whether it was football, basketball, swim team, water polo, whatever. I am truly a cheerleader at heart, rooting people on in anything they do. I want to see people succeed at what they love. This is why I rule at promoting bands and the like. So in that regard I am totes a Professional Cheerleader. Now I need to audition for the Phoenix Suns squad…
Do you have to root for a team from your home state/town? Most east coasters, I find, are going to tell you it's sacrilege to do anything less. Others would say who the hell cares, pick a team! How does one go about picking a team to be a fan of? What elements does one consult? Or is it a flat out crapshoot? I suppose I could just suck it up and be a Chargers fan. Or possibly a 49er fan. But I'm just not feelin' it. I don't know that my dad is a fan of any particular team. And he's from West Virginia so no luck their, either. He's a fan of our high school football team and follows them religiously. You think YOU know a fanatic? Get in line.
And for college ball, do I pick the school closest to me? It's either UCLA or USC. Does that make me a traitor? Or simply a sports fan?
Basketball? Done. Laker fan. Always have been. 5 years of rec ball and a fanatic Laker fan Grandma long behind me. I am also a Celtic fan, never having known of the rivalry growing up. I knew I liked Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Simple.
Baseball? Dodgers. I'm from north of them so I was more exposed to them growing up. The Los Angeles Angles of Anaheim piss me off. Those are two different cities, people. Knock this shit off! But they are in two different leagues so I can rock them both. I am also a Giants fan simply because I went to high school with their pitcher Noah Lowry. I'd be a fan of whatever team he happens to be playing for. If he would get off the DL, that is.
Hockey? Never cared. Been to one game and it was a good time. But I don't care enough to follow it. Though I never get enough of Miracle. I could watch that movie all day long. Hell, I have.
Living in Phoenix one might ask me, why not be a Cardinals fan? Next. No thanks. Suckville. The only thing good about them is their new stadium way out in West Bumble Fuck. Suns? Eh. Dbacks? Eh. Coyotes? Eh. If I had to root for a team it would the Kings or the Ducks.
Does any of it matter? I dunno. I was a cheerleader and I loved rooting on my team, whether it was football, basketball, swim team, water polo, whatever. I am truly a cheerleader at heart, rooting people on in anything they do. I want to see people succeed at what they love. This is why I rule at promoting bands and the like. So in that regard I am totes a Professional Cheerleader. Now I need to audition for the Phoenix Suns squad…
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Continuing Desert Adventures of a Daughter of Poseidon
Two Saturdays ago Krystl accompanied me on my triumphant return to Nick*Star Karaoke at Deemo's in Phoenix. It was a Humpty Dancin' good time. Great food and booze, classic drunken songs, and tons of great new people.
Tuesday brought the comedic slayings of one Mike Birbiglia at the Tempe Improv with Jodi, Ryan and Debbie. Dave & Stacey, Bethany, and Andy & Mandy…awww…happened to snag a front row table. Mike's set was a great combo of what I consider some of his classic stuff plus a bunch of new material. And it was game on when he discovered the Clan Gould up front were also from Boston. The two drink min was a pain in the ass, as I wasn't expecting LA prices, but damn I wanted a Strawberry Daquiri. I hung around after the show to shake Mike's hand and tell him I knew his roommate Daniel from his college days at Georgetown. He said he liked my starfish necklace. We had a moment.
Wednesday night Jodi mixed up some fanfuckingtastic burgers that Jason grilled up while Mel, Andy Jenson and I supervised. It was an undertaking but I think we did the job justice.
Thursday brought us Krystl's first art reception at Scottsdale Community College. She had one of her awesome collages picked to be shown and was awarded an Honorable Mention and a sweetass $50 gift certificate. So rad. She better get some pictures of these badboys up right quick. This was followed by a viewing of Iron Man at the Cine Capri with Mel, Krystl, Joel, Fax, and Maggie. It was a great movie and we were hysterically obnoxious during the previews. At least I was. Ha.
Friday Miss Toni and I took in a showing of As You Like It at the Desert Rose Theatre in Mesa. Shakespeare is simply boring. There, I said it. Christ. There were some stellar performances by select cast members and the second half was far more lively than the first. I have a special place in my heart for tiny theatre companies with little to no money who pull spaces and costumes and sets out of thin air. And this current home was a far cry from the stripmall box they once inhabited. Here's to good luck in finding a new space! Same goes to Stray Cat Theatre who are, once again, stray cats. Let's go back to the old theater. Who needs electrical?! Toni and I then set up shop at Starbucks on Mill and discussed men, life, religion, art, theatre, health…you know, the light stuff, and lamented the queerness of the cute emo boy behind the counter. Toni then may or may not have had her car towed and may or may not have had to dip into her NYC savings to get it out. But I ain't one to gossip so you ain't heard that from me.
Saturday I met Fax at Kate and Blake's son's 2nd birthday party in North Scottsdale. I haven't seen them in almost two years. I was surprised to see Ivan there, but then learned that the night before there had been a full blown Elliots reunion at a corporate event. What I wouldn't have given to be there for that. I miss the hell out of that band. It was so good to talk with them all and to meet little Blake 2, and Ivan's daughter Willa Rose. Now there's a darling little couple in the making. It's amazing the paths our lives take us on. Kate, Blake and Ivan were in a band called The Elliots. They were an incredible band and we followed them all over Arizona. The band broke up and Ivan went solo while Kate and Blake remained a duo. Ivan got married and became a dad and before we knew it Kate and Blake were knocked up and married. To each other. They moved off to Nashville and rock the east coast and Ivan still plays locally. Friday night they all reunited after at least 4 years. Old wounds healed with the magic salve of music and love. I miss all those bastards. Thank you for the music. Keep rockin' it.
I then moved on down to Dave & Buster's to help Ryan ring in his birthday. Shot and Bloody Mary's and fun not seen since Vegas. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults and Debbie is a whiz at these games. I'll let Ryan describe the evening for you in the form of one of his famous drunken rambles from his message board:
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo im fivckin drunn,k!!! thank you to nikik and devbbie for making theis it ghe grastaest birtshday! ever!!
seriolusyy! thsi was awesome . ti t waws just the three f su aat dave nu busters and we had a swell time! we woj over 10,000 poiunts on our carsds. We got a xsweetr adss poker set and a vcoin sorter!. I tw as awesome. Devbiibr and i acould fcujkin looose! we kept hitting javckopot after javckopot! I love this pbirthaday! Michele still holds the red[code]ord for the vbestr brithday hparty but this was the grweatseast birthday overall better!
we started wit h libnch at Red Robin, which is the clostest thing to bob's big boy we can get without being in california. the n we wetn to swee iron man which was totallyh badf asstical. the we came home and chiolled for a little whil and went to dave n busters. fgood times. I hafd liotrs of rum n cokes and a few shot of jac k and played lots fo games. I won the diup truck thing dfopr sa shitload of tivkets and then played different games and then debbie plaeyhd the diumptruck game with niki and they won an assload more tiuckets while I played some other dhiit i don ;t even know. OPh yeah. Debbie played some hautned house gaem and she won 15oo tickets off that. anyway we won a lot of stuff! It was radical. you mother fisklckers should have hcome out and played with us we didnt'g et get picturess. whate we dd get was sweet ass poker chips and a coin sorter. jealous? fcccu k yead yhou are. I drank olalot. opps. I dfcu cked that up abbut then ai ficxed tit. . I don't even known. good tiome.s . I love ou all. i love you debbie gfof r majkking theis a radaSS bithday and taking me to dave n busteres and the movie and liunch and stuff and I love you niki for being rad too. ther rest of you bmuther fukers sons of bitches tath didn t show up can kiss m balls. jdub vcan be first in line cuz I nkow he likes the cock.
anyhwhiooa.y. thanks everybodyh for the wells wweisheds and the happyh vbirthdays. You're all rad. but not as rad as me. im radder athan all of yhouul.
i totalyh copy and pasrtted this fromn the other board. I don';t know if you knew rthat or not. but i did. love you fickers. thak you all for coming here and supporteinng this board. for all i know, you all hcould think im just some big assjholle and not gave a fuck. but instead yhou come fhere day after day and that rellaly meqans a lot to me. thank you all. I m a better man for knowing you and I'm a better man for having you all as myh friends. there's nothing I wouldn't do for youl. and the fact that you come here aeveryday means the world to me. thank you brothers and sister. when i finally rule the world you r;'e all on m cool list. II;d' toatoolay bury some priock in the fuclking desert for you.
I love yhou , degbbie. thank you baby for making this tha besst birthday ever.
Slim rocksl. he drew me titties.
Can you handle that?
Sunday brought the great move of Jodi into her own place. Jason, Jodi, Krystl, Jeremy and I managed to pack everything into the U-haul in about an hour and then unloaded it, upstairs, in less. We are a lean and highly toned moving machine. Hugeass pizza, comraderie and our usual wacky banter was our just reward. It was all one hell of a workout. This brings us to my official move in as I took over Jodi's lease here with Mel. Despite everything I own being back home in California, I have clothes hanging in the closet and goodies in the shower. I spent one last night with the fuzzy kitty faces of Danzel and Sydney and still, when I walk in the door, expect to see them both. Taunting each other. Or being unbearably cute. I miss my fish. I'm comin' for you, FeeshMoch!
The job hunt continues and may wrap up nicely by the end of this week. Big weebles out there for me, my friends. Let's get this girl a job! And I believe it was about a year ago today that I had my strabismus surgery. (Eyeball muscle cutting & retying surgery) Wow. An entire year. I saw Doc Graham before I left town and he said my vision was beyond perfect and was incredibly impressed with the precision of the adjustment Doc Deemer did at UCLA. There's not enough info on my rad disease for anyone to know how or when I'll ever need to have either of my surgeries again so I'll do my best to not worry about any little imperfection I come across. Like waking up this morning with my eyelid red and purple, swollen and hurting. I took some Aleve and rocked the frozen pea eye patch, but it's still swollen and tight. It makes me worry about the sling in my eyelid, and it's been a bit hard to not freak out and feel squeamish. Allergies? Did a kitty give me the smack down last night? Was it all the exercise from moving? I cried yesterday but I've cried since my surgery and not had this problem. Get Scoob and the gang in on this one.
Stay tuned for more adventures from Hotter Than the Hinges of Hades central!
Tuesday brought the comedic slayings of one Mike Birbiglia at the Tempe Improv with Jodi, Ryan and Debbie. Dave & Stacey, Bethany, and Andy & Mandy…awww…happened to snag a front row table. Mike's set was a great combo of what I consider some of his classic stuff plus a bunch of new material. And it was game on when he discovered the Clan Gould up front were also from Boston. The two drink min was a pain in the ass, as I wasn't expecting LA prices, but damn I wanted a Strawberry Daquiri. I hung around after the show to shake Mike's hand and tell him I knew his roommate Daniel from his college days at Georgetown. He said he liked my starfish necklace. We had a moment.
Wednesday night Jodi mixed up some fanfuckingtastic burgers that Jason grilled up while Mel, Andy Jenson and I supervised. It was an undertaking but I think we did the job justice.
Thursday brought us Krystl's first art reception at Scottsdale Community College. She had one of her awesome collages picked to be shown and was awarded an Honorable Mention and a sweetass $50 gift certificate. So rad. She better get some pictures of these badboys up right quick. This was followed by a viewing of Iron Man at the Cine Capri with Mel, Krystl, Joel, Fax, and Maggie. It was a great movie and we were hysterically obnoxious during the previews. At least I was. Ha.
Friday Miss Toni and I took in a showing of As You Like It at the Desert Rose Theatre in Mesa. Shakespeare is simply boring. There, I said it. Christ. There were some stellar performances by select cast members and the second half was far more lively than the first. I have a special place in my heart for tiny theatre companies with little to no money who pull spaces and costumes and sets out of thin air. And this current home was a far cry from the stripmall box they once inhabited. Here's to good luck in finding a new space! Same goes to Stray Cat Theatre who are, once again, stray cats. Let's go back to the old theater. Who needs electrical?! Toni and I then set up shop at Starbucks on Mill and discussed men, life, religion, art, theatre, health…you know, the light stuff, and lamented the queerness of the cute emo boy behind the counter. Toni then may or may not have had her car towed and may or may not have had to dip into her NYC savings to get it out. But I ain't one to gossip so you ain't heard that from me.
Saturday I met Fax at Kate and Blake's son's 2nd birthday party in North Scottsdale. I haven't seen them in almost two years. I was surprised to see Ivan there, but then learned that the night before there had been a full blown Elliots reunion at a corporate event. What I wouldn't have given to be there for that. I miss the hell out of that band. It was so good to talk with them all and to meet little Blake 2, and Ivan's daughter Willa Rose. Now there's a darling little couple in the making. It's amazing the paths our lives take us on. Kate, Blake and Ivan were in a band called The Elliots. They were an incredible band and we followed them all over Arizona. The band broke up and Ivan went solo while Kate and Blake remained a duo. Ivan got married and became a dad and before we knew it Kate and Blake were knocked up and married. To each other. They moved off to Nashville and rock the east coast and Ivan still plays locally. Friday night they all reunited after at least 4 years. Old wounds healed with the magic salve of music and love. I miss all those bastards. Thank you for the music. Keep rockin' it.
I then moved on down to Dave & Buster's to help Ryan ring in his birthday. Shot and Bloody Mary's and fun not seen since Vegas. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults and Debbie is a whiz at these games. I'll let Ryan describe the evening for you in the form of one of his famous drunken rambles from his message board:
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo im fivckin drunn,k!!! thank you to nikik and devbbie for making theis it ghe grastaest birtshday! ever!!
seriolusyy! thsi was awesome . ti t waws just the three f su aat dave nu busters and we had a swell time! we woj over 10,000 poiunts on our carsds. We got a xsweetr adss poker set and a vcoin sorter!. I tw as awesome. Devbiibr and i acould fcujkin looose! we kept hitting javckopot after javckopot! I love this pbirthaday! Michele still holds the red[code]ord for the vbestr brithday hparty but this was the grweatseast birthday overall better!
we started wit h libnch at Red Robin, which is the clostest thing to bob's big boy we can get without being in california. the n we wetn to swee iron man which was totallyh badf asstical. the we came home and chiolled for a little whil and went to dave n busters. fgood times. I hafd liotrs of rum n cokes and a few shot of jac k and played lots fo games. I won the diup truck thing dfopr sa shitload of tivkets and then played different games and then debbie plaeyhd the diumptruck game with niki and they won an assload more tiuckets while I played some other dhiit i don ;t even know. OPh yeah. Debbie played some hautned house gaem and she won 15oo tickets off that. anyway we won a lot of stuff! It was radical. you mother fisklckers should have hcome out and played with us we didnt'g et get picturess. whate we dd get was sweet ass poker chips and a coin sorter. jealous? fcccu k yead yhou are. I drank olalot. opps. I dfcu cked that up abbut then ai ficxed tit. . I don't even known. good tiome.s . I love ou all. i love you debbie gfof r majkking theis a radaSS bithday and taking me to dave n busteres and the movie and liunch and stuff and I love you niki for being rad too. ther rest of you bmuther fukers sons of bitches tath didn t show up can kiss m balls. jdub vcan be first in line cuz I nkow he likes the cock.
anyhwhiooa.y. thanks everybodyh for the wells wweisheds and the happyh vbirthdays. You're all rad. but not as rad as me. im radder athan all of yhouul.
i totalyh copy and pasrtted this fromn the other board. I don';t know if you knew rthat or not. but i did. love you fickers. thak you all for coming here and supporteinng this board. for all i know, you all hcould think im just some big assjholle and not gave a fuck. but instead yhou come fhere day after day and that rellaly meqans a lot to me. thank you all. I m a better man for knowing you and I'm a better man for having you all as myh friends. there's nothing I wouldn't do for youl. and the fact that you come here aeveryday means the world to me. thank you brothers and sister. when i finally rule the world you r;'e all on m cool list. II;d' toatoolay bury some priock in the fuclking desert for you.
I love yhou , degbbie. thank you baby for making this tha besst birthday ever.
Slim rocksl. he drew me titties.
Can you handle that?
Sunday brought the great move of Jodi into her own place. Jason, Jodi, Krystl, Jeremy and I managed to pack everything into the U-haul in about an hour and then unloaded it, upstairs, in less. We are a lean and highly toned moving machine. Hugeass pizza, comraderie and our usual wacky banter was our just reward. It was all one hell of a workout. This brings us to my official move in as I took over Jodi's lease here with Mel. Despite everything I own being back home in California, I have clothes hanging in the closet and goodies in the shower. I spent one last night with the fuzzy kitty faces of Danzel and Sydney and still, when I walk in the door, expect to see them both. Taunting each other. Or being unbearably cute. I miss my fish. I'm comin' for you, FeeshMoch!
The job hunt continues and may wrap up nicely by the end of this week. Big weebles out there for me, my friends. Let's get this girl a job! And I believe it was about a year ago today that I had my strabismus surgery. (Eyeball muscle cutting & retying surgery) Wow. An entire year. I saw Doc Graham before I left town and he said my vision was beyond perfect and was incredibly impressed with the precision of the adjustment Doc Deemer did at UCLA. There's not enough info on my rad disease for anyone to know how or when I'll ever need to have either of my surgeries again so I'll do my best to not worry about any little imperfection I come across. Like waking up this morning with my eyelid red and purple, swollen and hurting. I took some Aleve and rocked the frozen pea eye patch, but it's still swollen and tight. It makes me worry about the sling in my eyelid, and it's been a bit hard to not freak out and feel squeamish. Allergies? Did a kitty give me the smack down last night? Was it all the exercise from moving? I cried yesterday but I've cried since my surgery and not had this problem. Get Scoob and the gang in on this one.
Stay tuned for more adventures from Hotter Than the Hinges of Hades central!
Two Weeks Notice
I've done more in the two weeks I've been back in the mystical desert that is Tempe than I'd have done in two months back home. I think it's a sign that this was the right move to make.
I rolled into town to dinner and drinks with Jodi in downtown Phoenix, some acoustical stylings of Jeordie and Jason at The Paisley Violin, a shot from a pissed off bartendress who thought we were underage, and some Kilt Lifters and rock karaoke at The Yucca Tap. Nick and Ali came out to welcome me back to town for this short stint and we knocked 'em back and laughed 'em up, 'Twas a grand beginning.
Friday night brought the whole gang out to The Chuckbox, a great flamed-grilled-in-your-face place we were under the impression was going out of business, for some sweet-ass burgers and shocked and elated looks at my presence. I re-re-reintroduced Mike to Ryan, Morgan, Debbie, Mark, Emge, Nick, Joel, Chole, Terri, Maggie, Lorie, Joe, Taylor, Melissa, Fender, the Fenderlings…it was so wonderful to have the family back together. Most of them, anyway. Many were AWOL that evening. There was laughter and stories and love and bacon laced food and brews…what more could you want? It's what I've been missing for so long, and only had in bites followed by long dry spells. It was a balm, a tonic, a thick gel filled with various cut fruit for the soul. I heart you people.
Mike and I searched for and procured a DVD player in order to introduce each other to the sweetness that is Fletch and Memento, respectively, on his ungodly huge 64 in screen TV. It's like Chevy was right there in the room with us. And there are few things more thoroughly entertaining than YouTubing people being hit in the head with shit. Hours of gut busting laughs. Why did we stop? Hmmmm….Oh yeah. Ha.
We hit snooze a half dozen times before finally getting up to crock pot a pretty bitchen pot roast. The mouthwatering scent would torture us the rest of the day. It's amazing how quickly one sharp knife between two people can cut up a boatload of veggies. We day drank ourselves into a margarita bliss and then met Dave and Shana poolside for cervesas and silliness. A group of kids showed up with beer and a volleyball and it wasn't long before Team Guacamole took on Team Edward James Almos. Unfortunately, the sand in the sand volleyball court was more like shards of glass than sand, so those with more delicate feet…Mike…came away far more than unscathed. Pretty damn scathed, actually. Poor bastard. I have feet of kryptonite and therefore walked instead of hobbled away. They were a great group of kids…Kelso, 1983, Red Shirt, Guy and Chick, Jail Bait…hot tubs, pools, at least 80 beers, upstairs for amazing pot roast, wrestling matches, and balcony heckling Kelso and Guy's one on one v-ball match, and eventually passing out in front of a gloriously life-sized Guy Pierce in Memento. Sunday was a long, lazy day of recovering, the Lakers, and baseball. My fantasy team, Hot Drunk Hate, is kicking some fantasy ass.
Tuesday night Pat and I trekked to North Scottsdale for three hours of sweating our asses off with some East Coast swing dancing followed by pancakes and a Heart Attack burger at Denny's. It's breakfast on a burger. Hash browns, eggs, cheese…one of these days I'll pony up to that bad boy. I think Pat's going to marry it. Another pair of soul mates reunited.
I rocked Third Thursdays at Tempe Marketplace with Fax and Joel. They've got a great outdoor stage and a screen, sold alcohol and the event was free. The world needs more of these. I wish anywhere near my hometown would put something like this together. I wish I could see that actually happening. The first band, Dimonet, was ok. Not horrible, slightly rockin'. The headliner, MGMT, was a bastardized version of emo that I kept waiting to kick in, and they never quite did. I ended up sharing cocktails with a girl named Maria and her Maltese, Ronin. And, of course, lusting after Chuck Powell, DJ from The Morning Ritual on The Edge, who was hosting the event. OK, maybe I did a little more than lust…
I picked Mike up from the airport Friday night and we lounged through Saturday afternoon before tackling the delightfully overwhelming maze that is Ikea. TV: 1, coffee table: 1, couch: 0. Up a wok, down a kitchen rug. Oh, but Ikea has many more wonders in store. Ron, one of my favorite directors ever, scored me a ticket to his sold out final performance of Pulp at the Stray Cat Theatre in downtown Phoenix. It was amazing. So funny, such great costumes and sets, and truly fantastic acting. And so good to see live theatre again. Ahhhh, home. I met my former castmate Mr. Joe Kremer and the cast and crew of Pulp at Icepics where we pulled a pint of the gay, caught-up, drank-up, and laughed-up the rest of the night. Mike set the alarm for 6am to throw the delectable whole chicken and veggies he'd prepared the night before onto the crockpot so it would be ready in time for the gang's Movie Late Afternoon. I was so proud of him for getting up because lord knows I was blissfully in sleepy-land. Craigslist produced a rad couch/love-seat combo for cheap and Mike snagged it. Sweet seats for the afternoon Lakers game with Phil and Brian. We packed up that scrumptious chicken and headed back to Jodi's for a Friday/Harold and Kumar double feature with The Cool Kids.
More swing with Pat, dinner with Toni, Fat Elvises with Jodi, Kelly and Danalynn, my new kindred spirit, acoustic rounds at Yucca with Jodi, Jason, Shelby and Jim, job interviews, thrift store excavating, bookstore pilfering, reacquainting myself with my old stomping grounds, kicking ass at the gym I no longer have to drive half an hour to, fall theatre audition season to gear up for, live music to rock, and planting the seeds for more adventures.Two months in Ojai? I might have had the pleasure of a Shades of Day show, lunch with Chuck and his boys, and a movie alone. Oh, and a hopeless, neverending job search, good friends either an hour and a half south or 45 minutes north, spendy gas and spendy cocktails. What does all of that add up to? A big fat boo, that's what.
No official move yet, but it's safe to say this was the right decision to make. One I have labored over for far, far too long. "Sometimes the wrong direction is better than no direction at all". IS this the right decision? I'd like to think so. For so many reasons I have gone over time and again. Affordability, friends, social life, job opportunities, acting opportunities, and the sense that I made this place my home when I moved here years ago. It's hot as death in the summer, but there's opportunity and possibility here. The Phoenix molts once again, the Russian stacking doll reveals her new layer. Stay tuned, people. The party has only just begun.
I rolled into town to dinner and drinks with Jodi in downtown Phoenix, some acoustical stylings of Jeordie and Jason at The Paisley Violin, a shot from a pissed off bartendress who thought we were underage, and some Kilt Lifters and rock karaoke at The Yucca Tap. Nick and Ali came out to welcome me back to town for this short stint and we knocked 'em back and laughed 'em up, 'Twas a grand beginning.
Friday night brought the whole gang out to The Chuckbox, a great flamed-grilled-in-your-face place we were under the impression was going out of business, for some sweet-ass burgers and shocked and elated looks at my presence. I re-re-reintroduced Mike to Ryan, Morgan, Debbie, Mark, Emge, Nick, Joel, Chole, Terri, Maggie, Lorie, Joe, Taylor, Melissa, Fender, the Fenderlings…it was so wonderful to have the family back together. Most of them, anyway. Many were AWOL that evening. There was laughter and stories and love and bacon laced food and brews…what more could you want? It's what I've been missing for so long, and only had in bites followed by long dry spells. It was a balm, a tonic, a thick gel filled with various cut fruit for the soul. I heart you people.
Mike and I searched for and procured a DVD player in order to introduce each other to the sweetness that is Fletch and Memento, respectively, on his ungodly huge 64 in screen TV. It's like Chevy was right there in the room with us. And there are few things more thoroughly entertaining than YouTubing people being hit in the head with shit. Hours of gut busting laughs. Why did we stop? Hmmmm….Oh yeah. Ha.
We hit snooze a half dozen times before finally getting up to crock pot a pretty bitchen pot roast. The mouthwatering scent would torture us the rest of the day. It's amazing how quickly one sharp knife between two people can cut up a boatload of veggies. We day drank ourselves into a margarita bliss and then met Dave and Shana poolside for cervesas and silliness. A group of kids showed up with beer and a volleyball and it wasn't long before Team Guacamole took on Team Edward James Almos. Unfortunately, the sand in the sand volleyball court was more like shards of glass than sand, so those with more delicate feet…Mike…came away far more than unscathed. Pretty damn scathed, actually. Poor bastard. I have feet of kryptonite and therefore walked instead of hobbled away. They were a great group of kids…Kelso, 1983, Red Shirt, Guy and Chick, Jail Bait…hot tubs, pools, at least 80 beers, upstairs for amazing pot roast, wrestling matches, and balcony heckling Kelso and Guy's one on one v-ball match, and eventually passing out in front of a gloriously life-sized Guy Pierce in Memento. Sunday was a long, lazy day of recovering, the Lakers, and baseball. My fantasy team, Hot Drunk Hate, is kicking some fantasy ass.
Tuesday night Pat and I trekked to North Scottsdale for three hours of sweating our asses off with some East Coast swing dancing followed by pancakes and a Heart Attack burger at Denny's. It's breakfast on a burger. Hash browns, eggs, cheese…one of these days I'll pony up to that bad boy. I think Pat's going to marry it. Another pair of soul mates reunited.
I rocked Third Thursdays at Tempe Marketplace with Fax and Joel. They've got a great outdoor stage and a screen, sold alcohol and the event was free. The world needs more of these. I wish anywhere near my hometown would put something like this together. I wish I could see that actually happening. The first band, Dimonet, was ok. Not horrible, slightly rockin'. The headliner, MGMT, was a bastardized version of emo that I kept waiting to kick in, and they never quite did. I ended up sharing cocktails with a girl named Maria and her Maltese, Ronin. And, of course, lusting after Chuck Powell, DJ from The Morning Ritual on The Edge, who was hosting the event. OK, maybe I did a little more than lust…
I picked Mike up from the airport Friday night and we lounged through Saturday afternoon before tackling the delightfully overwhelming maze that is Ikea. TV: 1, coffee table: 1, couch: 0. Up a wok, down a kitchen rug. Oh, but Ikea has many more wonders in store. Ron, one of my favorite directors ever, scored me a ticket to his sold out final performance of Pulp at the Stray Cat Theatre in downtown Phoenix. It was amazing. So funny, such great costumes and sets, and truly fantastic acting. And so good to see live theatre again. Ahhhh, home. I met my former castmate Mr. Joe Kremer and the cast and crew of Pulp at Icepics where we pulled a pint of the gay, caught-up, drank-up, and laughed-up the rest of the night. Mike set the alarm for 6am to throw the delectable whole chicken and veggies he'd prepared the night before onto the crockpot so it would be ready in time for the gang's Movie Late Afternoon. I was so proud of him for getting up because lord knows I was blissfully in sleepy-land. Craigslist produced a rad couch/love-seat combo for cheap and Mike snagged it. Sweet seats for the afternoon Lakers game with Phil and Brian. We packed up that scrumptious chicken and headed back to Jodi's for a Friday/Harold and Kumar double feature with The Cool Kids.
More swing with Pat, dinner with Toni, Fat Elvises with Jodi, Kelly and Danalynn, my new kindred spirit, acoustic rounds at Yucca with Jodi, Jason, Shelby and Jim, job interviews, thrift store excavating, bookstore pilfering, reacquainting myself with my old stomping grounds, kicking ass at the gym I no longer have to drive half an hour to, fall theatre audition season to gear up for, live music to rock, and planting the seeds for more adventures.Two months in Ojai? I might have had the pleasure of a Shades of Day show, lunch with Chuck and his boys, and a movie alone. Oh, and a hopeless, neverending job search, good friends either an hour and a half south or 45 minutes north, spendy gas and spendy cocktails. What does all of that add up to? A big fat boo, that's what.
No official move yet, but it's safe to say this was the right decision to make. One I have labored over for far, far too long. "Sometimes the wrong direction is better than no direction at all". IS this the right decision? I'd like to think so. For so many reasons I have gone over time and again. Affordability, friends, social life, job opportunities, acting opportunities, and the sense that I made this place my home when I moved here years ago. It's hot as death in the summer, but there's opportunity and possibility here. The Phoenix molts once again, the Russian stacking doll reveals her new layer. Stay tuned, people. The party has only just begun.
Rock, Roll, Climb, Drink, Repeat
The first trip of the year under my belt. In my pocket. Out in the trunk. Under foot. Up in a tree. It's a bird! It's a plane! It was a 6.5 hour drive across the desert. I is fast.
Kirsten, Patrick and I got shitty while wine tasting, had some swank Mexican food, and took obscene pictures at the bar across the street from her house in San Clemente. We were up at my crack and on the road, blazing through sleet and rain, wind and sand, uphill both ways to finally land safely in the arms of Tempe, AZ.
We descended upon Last Exit like homing pigeons. The gang was all there and the Kilt Lifter was quickly poured and consumed with fervor. Hugs and kisses, catching up and car bombs, laughing until we were on the floor. Happy hour was the musical stylings of half of Pants, which we usually call Shorts but that night dubbed Culottes. I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite originals of theirs. "I'm so vain I probably think this song is about me..." Oh, wait. It is one of the songs about me. *sigh* It's a rough life I lead.
The next band up was some emo brothers who probably weren't bad. I mean, I didn't leave the bar, so they must have been OK, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them. And who was that hooded creature rocking the tambourine and feigning back-up vocals? Oh, that crafty Robin Wilson. Up to his old tricks again! I got to lay on the flirt with Devon, my favorite bartender and bar owner ever, and he gifted me some of his Love Nectar. Devon indulged me a few times that night and stole a big juicy kiss at the end of the evening.
Like the uber responsible person I am, we drank until 2am. There were some shenanigans on the car ride home and I believe I made out with Melody. She was the only person in the car I hadn't made out with, or so I thought. But Jodi was driving. She would get hers later...
Cancer walk? CANCER WALK?! Wake up, fuckers! It's 6 in the AM and time to get the FUCK up and walk up a GOTdamn mountain to kick cancer in the nads. I was wicked smaht and slept in my jog bra and shorts. Go Team. Up, awake, driving, AT the meeting place at 10 til 7. Dig on THAT. Alas, our team leader was not. And so, with heavy heart, and awesome team shirt design-less, we jumped on the bus to get to the mountain. It was a delirious and laughter riot filled trek as three of our clan decided to take a shortcut. Yep, a shortcut. They left the road and took off through the desert brush. We kept looking off into the foliage, searching for signs of life, or death, or carnage. I was hoping for carnage. We postulated their various fates, who might have beaten up whom, who would have turned back and headed for the hot dogs at base camp, who would appear with a gnawed off femur in his mouth. And three miles in, low and behold, there stood Faxman, voted least likely to survive the shortcut! And he was entertaining phone calls, no less. Rysham and Hobbit were half a mile ahead of us. Those dirty bastards. I still owe them all a punch to the testicals.
It felt like eons, but we made it to the top of the mountain! There was no cure for cancer waiting there for us, but there WAS a lot of Propel Fitness Water and pastries. Score. On the banners available to sign in dedication to whomever you might have walked for, Ryan wrote: "I cheated cancer". He so did.
We walked the half-mile back down the mountain to join the line to take the bus back down. Some crazy assholes actually walk BACK down. The bus is right here, man! Don't be a sucker! We gorged on sweet, sweet hot dogs back at base camp and then headed home for naptime. Yay, naptime!
The girls and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner. Now, I know that you're thinking. They have food? Oh, but they do. And it was some of the best food I have ever had. Ever. The lamb, spicy chicken, salad…I'm drooling. Crimminy, it was tasty deliciousness. We got our beer margarita pre-party on and then sauntered over to Last Exit for the big rock show. Shades of Day had rolled into town at 4 that morning. They made their obligatory trip to Guitar Center and spent the day lounging…I hear my couches are as comfortable as they ever were… before dining on sushi at Ra and tying some on, Irish style, at Rula Bula before hitting the venue.
I was greeted on the patio by half of my boys, Micah and Matt, and the delicious surprise of Robin, Matt's girlfriend. Brendan, Richard and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on the tuning and the drinking inside. We set up the swank merch table, refilled our cocktails, and set in to rock our ever lovin' faces off. And rock we did. I took a bazillion pictures, conveniently located in my pictures. It was a big crowd for an out of town band and the applause and cheering were thunderous. I absolutely loved seeing the crowd being won so completely over. We put a lot of hard work and love into that show and it paid off big time. Tramps & Thieves took the stage and killed like they always do. The Kilt Lifter kept flowing, shots were downed, cameras flashed, and madness not fit to print unfolded.
We stumbled back to Jodi and Mel's, grabbed guitars and had ourselves a good old fashioned sing along. Chapstick, a rolling pin, and plates substituted for drumsticks. Mr. Andy Jensen serenaded us with his acoustic "Kiss Me Deadly" Lita Ford cover. It rocked superhard balls. We drank the house out of booze around 5am and drifted off into drunken slumber. We all managed to be awake around lunchtime and pulled ourselves together for the mouthwatering grub of Four Peaks. The boys were wonderfully hung over and exhausted from an incredible night. And we weren't too shabby ourselves.
Jodi and I had appointments with an incredibly accurate psychic. I have always dabbled in the world of the new age and fancy myself an astrologer and tarot card reader, amongst other things. I had Mrs. Rita, of Gin Blossoms song fame, read my cards years ago, and a palm reader on Venice Beach read my palm one spring break in college, but a psychic I had never seen. She knew uncanny things about me she had no way of knowing…and her predictions are coming true. Dig on that. Oh, there are grand things in store, people. Grand things.
We watched some red carpet highlights of the Oscars and I was glad not to be in Hollywood trying to fight that traffic. Kirsten and I headed for the sunset and rolled back on into San Clemente late that night. I got the first hours of actual sleep from the weekend that night and the longest of the long showers in the morning. I moseyed on back up the coast and stopped in The Valley for some sushi and sights. It was one hell of a weekend. It felt so good to be back in my hood with my homies. You people are the light of my life. I was on fire being with you again. You make me laugh like no others. You're my heart and my home. And I'll see all you Betches sooner than you think.
Kirsten, Patrick and I got shitty while wine tasting, had some swank Mexican food, and took obscene pictures at the bar across the street from her house in San Clemente. We were up at my crack and on the road, blazing through sleet and rain, wind and sand, uphill both ways to finally land safely in the arms of Tempe, AZ.
We descended upon Last Exit like homing pigeons. The gang was all there and the Kilt Lifter was quickly poured and consumed with fervor. Hugs and kisses, catching up and car bombs, laughing until we were on the floor. Happy hour was the musical stylings of half of Pants, which we usually call Shorts but that night dubbed Culottes. I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite originals of theirs. "I'm so vain I probably think this song is about me..." Oh, wait. It is one of the songs about me. *sigh* It's a rough life I lead.
The next band up was some emo brothers who probably weren't bad. I mean, I didn't leave the bar, so they must have been OK, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them. And who was that hooded creature rocking the tambourine and feigning back-up vocals? Oh, that crafty Robin Wilson. Up to his old tricks again! I got to lay on the flirt with Devon, my favorite bartender and bar owner ever, and he gifted me some of his Love Nectar. Devon indulged me a few times that night and stole a big juicy kiss at the end of the evening.
Like the uber responsible person I am, we drank until 2am. There were some shenanigans on the car ride home and I believe I made out with Melody. She was the only person in the car I hadn't made out with, or so I thought. But Jodi was driving. She would get hers later...
Cancer walk? CANCER WALK?! Wake up, fuckers! It's 6 in the AM and time to get the FUCK up and walk up a GOTdamn mountain to kick cancer in the nads. I was wicked smaht and slept in my jog bra and shorts. Go Team. Up, awake, driving, AT the meeting place at 10 til 7. Dig on THAT. Alas, our team leader was not. And so, with heavy heart, and awesome team shirt design-less, we jumped on the bus to get to the mountain. It was a delirious and laughter riot filled trek as three of our clan decided to take a shortcut. Yep, a shortcut. They left the road and took off through the desert brush. We kept looking off into the foliage, searching for signs of life, or death, or carnage. I was hoping for carnage. We postulated their various fates, who might have beaten up whom, who would have turned back and headed for the hot dogs at base camp, who would appear with a gnawed off femur in his mouth. And three miles in, low and behold, there stood Faxman, voted least likely to survive the shortcut! And he was entertaining phone calls, no less. Rysham and Hobbit were half a mile ahead of us. Those dirty bastards. I still owe them all a punch to the testicals.
It felt like eons, but we made it to the top of the mountain! There was no cure for cancer waiting there for us, but there WAS a lot of Propel Fitness Water and pastries. Score. On the banners available to sign in dedication to whomever you might have walked for, Ryan wrote: "I cheated cancer". He so did.
We walked the half-mile back down the mountain to join the line to take the bus back down. Some crazy assholes actually walk BACK down. The bus is right here, man! Don't be a sucker! We gorged on sweet, sweet hot dogs back at base camp and then headed home for naptime. Yay, naptime!
The girls and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner. Now, I know that you're thinking. They have food? Oh, but they do. And it was some of the best food I have ever had. Ever. The lamb, spicy chicken, salad…I'm drooling. Crimminy, it was tasty deliciousness. We got our beer margarita pre-party on and then sauntered over to Last Exit for the big rock show. Shades of Day had rolled into town at 4 that morning. They made their obligatory trip to Guitar Center and spent the day lounging…I hear my couches are as comfortable as they ever were… before dining on sushi at Ra and tying some on, Irish style, at Rula Bula before hitting the venue.
I was greeted on the patio by half of my boys, Micah and Matt, and the delicious surprise of Robin, Matt's girlfriend. Brendan, Richard and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on the tuning and the drinking inside. We set up the swank merch table, refilled our cocktails, and set in to rock our ever lovin' faces off. And rock we did. I took a bazillion pictures, conveniently located in my pictures. It was a big crowd for an out of town band and the applause and cheering were thunderous. I absolutely loved seeing the crowd being won so completely over. We put a lot of hard work and love into that show and it paid off big time. Tramps & Thieves took the stage and killed like they always do. The Kilt Lifter kept flowing, shots were downed, cameras flashed, and madness not fit to print unfolded.
We stumbled back to Jodi and Mel's, grabbed guitars and had ourselves a good old fashioned sing along. Chapstick, a rolling pin, and plates substituted for drumsticks. Mr. Andy Jensen serenaded us with his acoustic "Kiss Me Deadly" Lita Ford cover. It rocked superhard balls. We drank the house out of booze around 5am and drifted off into drunken slumber. We all managed to be awake around lunchtime and pulled ourselves together for the mouthwatering grub of Four Peaks. The boys were wonderfully hung over and exhausted from an incredible night. And we weren't too shabby ourselves.
Jodi and I had appointments with an incredibly accurate psychic. I have always dabbled in the world of the new age and fancy myself an astrologer and tarot card reader, amongst other things. I had Mrs. Rita, of Gin Blossoms song fame, read my cards years ago, and a palm reader on Venice Beach read my palm one spring break in college, but a psychic I had never seen. She knew uncanny things about me she had no way of knowing…and her predictions are coming true. Dig on that. Oh, there are grand things in store, people. Grand things.
We watched some red carpet highlights of the Oscars and I was glad not to be in Hollywood trying to fight that traffic. Kirsten and I headed for the sunset and rolled back on into San Clemente late that night. I got the first hours of actual sleep from the weekend that night and the longest of the long showers in the morning. I moseyed on back up the coast and stopped in The Valley for some sushi and sights. It was one hell of a weekend. It felt so good to be back in my hood with my homies. You people are the light of my life. I was on fire being with you again. You make me laugh like no others. You're my heart and my home. And I'll see all you Betches sooner than you think.
Fuck Alcohol
Seriously. Fuck it. I can't do this shit anymore. I am so far out of practice that I am half past embarrassed by the amount I can put away anymore. Put away and not be on my knees, swimming in my own insides on my college roomies bathroom floor.
I can't do this shit anymore. The two-day hangover is not worth it. The no longer being able to remember all the events of the evening is not cool. Being hosed the entire next day and forced to eat at McDonalds to cure the gut rot is not acceptable. I drink like I still go out six nights a week. It must be the end of an era. I suppose it had to come sometime and it's never when you expect it. If I could get shitfaced without hurling to the point of wanting to die and begging my babysitter to take me to the hospital because I'm convinced I have alcohol poisoning, and without being laid out all day feeling like an utter pile then I would be all for it. Hell, if I could manage to simply have A cocktail. One. Singular. Solemente. But it's a slippery slope and I slide fast.
It's no longer fun. No longer a good time. Someone sign me up for a class on moderation because I apparently have lost my capacity for it. And I've got trips planned, people. Send help. Quick.
I can't do this shit anymore. The two-day hangover is not worth it. The no longer being able to remember all the events of the evening is not cool. Being hosed the entire next day and forced to eat at McDonalds to cure the gut rot is not acceptable. I drink like I still go out six nights a week. It must be the end of an era. I suppose it had to come sometime and it's never when you expect it. If I could get shitfaced without hurling to the point of wanting to die and begging my babysitter to take me to the hospital because I'm convinced I have alcohol poisoning, and without being laid out all day feeling like an utter pile then I would be all for it. Hell, if I could manage to simply have A cocktail. One. Singular. Solemente. But it's a slippery slope and I slide fast.
It's no longer fun. No longer a good time. Someone sign me up for a class on moderation because I apparently have lost my capacity for it. And I've got trips planned, people. Send help. Quick.
Rushing
Cold. It has been cold. So this is the perfect time to go to the river bottom. I like building dams in the rushing river. Watching the water dry up and move elsewhere. Tossing rocks into the big swirly by the boulder in the middle of the river. Ice friggen cold. So cold is the water that you can't even feel cold you just hurt. And yet my feet stay in. Nothing but wilderness as far as you can see, snow capped Topa Topas to my right, the ocean over the hills to my left. Reverting back to childhood. Splashing in the water, determined.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Damn the NAMM!!
The NAMM show is this weekend in Anaheim. I have always wanted to go. It's a musical buffet and I fancy music. And musicians. I have word into my peeps who I know go every year to see if they can get me in. Damn it all. It seems like tight security, otherwise I would just waltz in. I'm good at waltzes.
Be my savior, John Stack!
Be my savior, John Stack!
10 Little Knowns
10 RANDOM THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ME!
1. Growing up I wanted to be a paleontologist and dreamed of going to the Bad Lands in Wyoming. I wrote a book about dinosaurs when I was 8 that got an honorable mention at the county fair.
2. I'm far too much of an open book.
3. I love emeralds. I'd take an emerald over a diamond in a heart beat.
4. I've spent 12 hours reading in a bookstore. It's my retreat from the world. I'll my own library when I get my own place.
5. I love cleaning bathrooms. You get everything wet and wipe it all down. How much easier does it get?
6. I loathe candy corn and coconut.
7. I could live anywhere in the world for a year. And I'd like to.
8. Choreography is something I am extreemly good at.
9. Kitsch, thrift store, leopard print, Hollywood antique: feelings and designs I want to decorate my own place in.
10. If I could cover myself in tattoos, I would.
1. Growing up I wanted to be a paleontologist and dreamed of going to the Bad Lands in Wyoming. I wrote a book about dinosaurs when I was 8 that got an honorable mention at the county fair.
2. I'm far too much of an open book.
3. I love emeralds. I'd take an emerald over a diamond in a heart beat.
4. I've spent 12 hours reading in a bookstore. It's my retreat from the world. I'll my own library when I get my own place.
5. I love cleaning bathrooms. You get everything wet and wipe it all down. How much easier does it get?
6. I loathe candy corn and coconut.
7. I could live anywhere in the world for a year. And I'd like to.
8. Choreography is something I am extreemly good at.
9. Kitsch, thrift store, leopard print, Hollywood antique: feelings and designs I want to decorate my own place in.
10. If I could cover myself in tattoos, I would.
We Close Our Eyes
I've been living my life from the rear facing seat of a Volvo station wagon. Dear God, someone help me turn the fuck around.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
We close our eyes and dream and the world has turned around again
When everybody is running in the big raceAnd having a good timeWho am I to cast a shadowWho am I?
I looked death in the face last night
I saw him in a mirror
And he simply smiled
He told me not to worry
He told me just to take my time
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
And if you come to me
And if you touch my hand
I might just slip away
I might just disappear
Who am I?
And if you think I'm worth it
And if you think it's not too late
We might start falling
If we don't try too hard
We might start falling in love
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
We're on the healing path
We're on a roller coaster ride
That could never turn back
And if you love me
And if you really try
To make the seconds count
Then we can close our eyes
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
I think I'm gonna be sick.
We close our eyes and dream and the world has turned around again
When everybody is running in the big raceAnd having a good timeWho am I to cast a shadowWho am I?
I looked death in the face last night
I saw him in a mirror
And he simply smiled
He told me not to worry
He told me just to take my time
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
And if you come to me
And if you touch my hand
I might just slip away
I might just disappear
Who am I?
And if you think I'm worth it
And if you think it's not too late
We might start falling
If we don't try too hard
We might start falling in love
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
We're on the healing path
We're on a roller coaster ride
That could never turn back
And if you love me
And if you really try
To make the seconds count
Then we can close our eyes
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and and another year has come and gone
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream ...
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
Dirty Blonde
I have found a frightening new role model. I feel dirty and wrong even considering it but here goes: Courtney Love.
I know.
I picked up Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love and opened it to the middle. Honestly, I was looking for what she might have written about Kurt's suicide and any pictures that might accompany those entries. I'm morbid and like that kind of stuff. Deal. I was surprised to see only two pages, one photo of a fan vigil, a few words and not much else. Interesting. I sat down and started flipping through the entire book and walked away astonished.
One thing to be said for Courtney Love – she never censors herself. She says what she feels and without fear of reprimand. Or so she comes across, at least. And I know these are her diaries and a place where one would feel free to do so, but many people aren't even honest with themselves let alone the world. She comes across on paper the way she does in life: without apology.
I want to be as tenacious, bold, aggressive, confident, brazen, outlandish, determined, inspired as Courtney Love. She never doubted herself. She went after what she wanted and she got it all. Most of the diary is filled with song lyrics and I read them for the first time. Hole was never a band I was into. I couldn't get past the off-key screaming to listen to the lyrics. I saw the passion in her words. It's just plain honest. It's that stark vulnerability shining through. Choice words and no apologies. She never let anything stop her. Not having a child or her husband's suicide. She had a two-page list of all the things she wanted to teach her children about being good and creative people. I was astonished. I had no idea how much thought and love and desire she had put into having a family. Not something she projects in her outward celebrity life. She had lists of her goals while pursuing acting, her goals for her band, plans, ideas and strategies, photographs, fliers, drawings and letters. She bulldozed over roadblocks and took side streets, never sat on her laurels and always bounded forward to the next project or adventure.
Courtney is an intelligent woman who reads and researches. She had lists of important women throughout history and their accomplishments, spiritual ideas and books to look into and read, and her reaction to all of it. She's eloquent and well versed. She can't type for shit, that's true. And her handwriting is damn near illegible. But she's not spewing forth empty, regurgitated popisms. She's not talking about the latest TV show or inane, vapid bullshit. She wrote with depth about art, spiritualism, politics, literature and she had real heroes. She has never tried to make herself a brand to sell. She's truly an artist unlike all those little lost and empty musical outfits clogging the airways with inane claptrap.
Courtney is certainly no saint, but her diaries showed me a side of her I didn't know was possible. I had written her off as a drug addicted lunatic attention whore who fucked her way to the top. And while all of that may still be true there is that raw, honest, loving side of her, an intelligence and depth that her media focused shennanagins belie. She's a devout Buddhist. Who knew? She is honest with herself and, what's more, she's honest with the world. She's not tripped up by things that would derail so many others' plans. She's not always pretty and clean or agreeable but she is undeniable. And I admire the hell out of her.
I know.
I picked up Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love and opened it to the middle. Honestly, I was looking for what she might have written about Kurt's suicide and any pictures that might accompany those entries. I'm morbid and like that kind of stuff. Deal. I was surprised to see only two pages, one photo of a fan vigil, a few words and not much else. Interesting. I sat down and started flipping through the entire book and walked away astonished.
One thing to be said for Courtney Love – she never censors herself. She says what she feels and without fear of reprimand. Or so she comes across, at least. And I know these are her diaries and a place where one would feel free to do so, but many people aren't even honest with themselves let alone the world. She comes across on paper the way she does in life: without apology.
I want to be as tenacious, bold, aggressive, confident, brazen, outlandish, determined, inspired as Courtney Love. She never doubted herself. She went after what she wanted and she got it all. Most of the diary is filled with song lyrics and I read them for the first time. Hole was never a band I was into. I couldn't get past the off-key screaming to listen to the lyrics. I saw the passion in her words. It's just plain honest. It's that stark vulnerability shining through. Choice words and no apologies. She never let anything stop her. Not having a child or her husband's suicide. She had a two-page list of all the things she wanted to teach her children about being good and creative people. I was astonished. I had no idea how much thought and love and desire she had put into having a family. Not something she projects in her outward celebrity life. She had lists of her goals while pursuing acting, her goals for her band, plans, ideas and strategies, photographs, fliers, drawings and letters. She bulldozed over roadblocks and took side streets, never sat on her laurels and always bounded forward to the next project or adventure.
Courtney is an intelligent woman who reads and researches. She had lists of important women throughout history and their accomplishments, spiritual ideas and books to look into and read, and her reaction to all of it. She's eloquent and well versed. She can't type for shit, that's true. And her handwriting is damn near illegible. But she's not spewing forth empty, regurgitated popisms. She's not talking about the latest TV show or inane, vapid bullshit. She wrote with depth about art, spiritualism, politics, literature and she had real heroes. She has never tried to make herself a brand to sell. She's truly an artist unlike all those little lost and empty musical outfits clogging the airways with inane claptrap.
Courtney is certainly no saint, but her diaries showed me a side of her I didn't know was possible. I had written her off as a drug addicted lunatic attention whore who fucked her way to the top. And while all of that may still be true there is that raw, honest, loving side of her, an intelligence and depth that her media focused shennanagins belie. She's a devout Buddhist. Who knew? She is honest with herself and, what's more, she's honest with the world. She's not tripped up by things that would derail so many others' plans. She's not always pretty and clean or agreeable but she is undeniable. And I admire the hell out of her.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Climb to Conquer
Cancer, that is. I and my fellow Peacemaker fans and friends are going to kick some serious cancer ass this February 24th in our 4th annual Climb to Conquer Cancer. We haul our hungover asses out of our warm and comfy beds long before the crack of dawn to gather at South Mountain in Phoenix and walk 5 increasingly steep miles to the top and to victory.
This year's walk hits home for me and the crew as our good friend Phil Rowe is taking on his third battle with cancer. Phil is a wonderful, passionate, endlessly entertaining man, and the talented guitarist for Suspect Audio. I am walking for Phil, his delicious wife Mandy, and their adorable daughter Kira.
If you'd like to donate to our awesome cause feel free to swing by My personal page an drop some cash on me. :)
Or, for the slightly more daring, those who would like to join our team, Loco Locals, can do so here. I don't even live in Tempe anymore and I joined. Today is the last day to join our team and qualify for our badass team shirt!
Fly in, drive out, hitchhike, teleport. I'm-a be there. What more reason do you need to join?
Thank you all and remember: when you see cancer, kick it in the nads.
This year's walk hits home for me and the crew as our good friend Phil Rowe is taking on his third battle with cancer. Phil is a wonderful, passionate, endlessly entertaining man, and the talented guitarist for Suspect Audio. I am walking for Phil, his delicious wife Mandy, and their adorable daughter Kira.
If you'd like to donate to our awesome cause feel free to swing by My personal page an drop some cash on me. :)
Or, for the slightly more daring, those who would like to join our team, Loco Locals, can do so here. I don't even live in Tempe anymore and I joined. Today is the last day to join our team and qualify for our badass team shirt!
Fly in, drive out, hitchhike, teleport. I'm-a be there. What more reason do you need to join?
Thank you all and remember: when you see cancer, kick it in the nads.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
This used to be my playground
I fucking hate this town but it's mine to hate. I hate feeling like an outsider in my own town. I come downtown on the weekend, namely Sunday, and I feel like I am intruding on everyone's experience. Faces aren't familiar and they're giving me weird looks. This town is too fucking small for all the shit they try to put on every weekend. There is one road through town. One. Everything else is a residential and even those streets are packed in with cars, people walking their dogs, baby strollers, their hats and sunglasses, fanny packs and arm loads of Ojai Visitors Guides. And they are all 50 and older. All of them. They take their sweetass strolling time crossing the streets and think it is perfectly acceptable to drive 10 miles an hour…10 miles an hour…down our one road. I know you're sight seeing and all but some of us actually live here and have shit we need to get done. There is not enough parking for anything, ever. The farmers market sends them out in droves and then there's the peddler's fair down the street. All the pretentious environmentalists with their organic this and save that, hemp this and purified that. And the artists. The artists! I consider myself an artist but I must not be as I'm just not an asshole. I guess I should work on that. The snotass theatre in town, Theatre 150, just moved into the funeral home. The funeral home. I'm all for using all kinds of spaces for anything but seriously, I'll never be able to see a show there and not think of the friends funerals I have been to right there in that very room. They're such fucking snobs and I shouldn't be surprised. They aren't community theatre but they're not equity either. I sent my headshot, resume and letter to them when I came home from college and no one ever contacted me or returned my calls. Like this town needs more elitism. If you ever thought Malibu was bad then you truly haven't been looked down on. And that's what I don't get. I'm not supposed to feel this way in my town. MY town. I was born here. I was raised here. That's my jr high and my high school and, what's more, that's my parent's jr high and high school. This is where I hung out as a kid, this is where I hung out as a teenager, this is where I did my first play, this is the park my family gets together at every Easter, this used to be the Christmas tree farm where we went every year the day after Thanksgiving to cut down our tree. I went to high school with the families that own Rains, Boccali's, Serendipity, The Hut, Rubens, Bonnie Lu's, Corrales, and zillions of other companies and eateries in town. And yet because I am not pretentious, loaded with cash, a famous actor or writer, or a tourist, I am made to feel like vermin. Is this Les Miz? I wanna go home. And I thought I was. It makes me want to wear a bright pink shirt that says, "I was born here! Ojai Native, make way!" I fantasize about getting into an argument with someone about a landmark or an event and them trying to impress me with, "I've been in the valley for 15 years!" and I say, "I've been here for almost 30 so suck it." I over heard a man once who was so impressed by this woman who said she had been here since 99. I wanted to scream, "I've been here since 78!" I've had tourists totally shocked to hear I was born here when they roll through town for the tennis tournament, creatively called The Ojai, the countries oldest amateur tournament. Yes, this really is more than a vacation destination to some people. Yes, we have a hospital and schools and even banks! And more art galleries and hoity toity shit than you could ever want to see. The actual living here part is lost on people. It really is a community with families and gatherings and our own histories. It's one thing to walk into Tombstone and be surprised it's a functioning town with a post office and natives all it's own. That town has a huge history and is a national landmark. We're no Tombstone. We have our own major events for the much less informed and even less interested as they're of a spiritual and new age nature. Yes, all the movie stars live here and yes, The Bionic Woman took place here and that show Brothers and Sisters, and we were the final shot from East of Eden that represented Shangri-La. Guess what our city nickname is? But we're not what you'd think of as a tourist mecca. I never felt like I lived in a tourist trap and goddamn if I don't. This town used to feel warm and worn and broken in and comfortable. Now everything feels shiny and plastic and straight backed and rigid. And it's just too fucking small. Why do I feel like a stranger walking into a coffee shop? And the two chairs at the bar at the Starbucks we now have, outside the city limits of course, were taken this morning. Along with all of the other chairs. And in one fell swoop I have nowhere to go to write. Done. One shot. So I drove out to the other end of town to Soule Park and am squinting vigorously at the screen that wasn't made for outdoor use. Maybe this is the cosmos telling me my time here in this valley is done as it slowly squeezes me out. I would agree with it. But this used to feel like home. And more and more often I feel like a ghost walking the streets of a once familiar land. The clock is ticking down.
Dig, if you will, a picture
Upon discussing his exclusive male modeling prospects with my burgeoning scarf empire Local H beguiled me with his vision for our future...
"Simple modeling ain't gonna make us Fortune 500. You know what will? That's right, a super sweet commercial on cable access television. Let me lay this on ya...
We fade in on me in an upscale European looking bar, except that we're low budget so it's probably not gonna look like the good Europe, but we'll settle for nothing less than Bulgarian looking, this much I promise you.
All right, so I'm working my craft on these uppity Bulgarian broads, but I'm gettin' no play whatsoever, when suddenly I see in the corner of the bar a super foxy snake charmer. She lures me in with her piccolo (recorder?) and lo and behold what pops out of her wicker basket? Not a snake, but a fabulous KitaBan scarf!
So I wrap myself in awesomeness and suddenly the Bulgarians think I'm the second coming of Swayze, but I pay them no mind as I kick open the bar door and hit the streets.
And as the wind catches the scarf and it dances playfully off my shoulder I become the center of attention. I mean, I'm like a black hole covered in super glue, no one can resist my animal magnetism.
But I show my sweet side by stopping next to a downtrodden minority child jumping rope and use my scarf to get the most extreme session of Double Dutch going. But pretty soon my shoulder gets tired and I leave.
And as I round the corner I see the requisite love interest you've been patiently waiting for me to introduce about to board a city bus. I must have her, but she's out of earshot. Well, for your average joe she's gone forever. But for the savvy scarf-dressed man, she's just a lasso throw away. I hook her around the waist and pull her firmly to me. Freeze there as we stare longingly into each other's eyes.
And we finish by having the low budget equivalent of Antonio Banderas whisper, "KitaBan Scarves... Are You Exceptional Yet?"
Oh, and did I mention that everything but the scarf is in black and white? Cause it totally is.
Tell me that shit won't make Scorsese punch an orphan."
Wisdom thrown down from the mountain. Mt. Local H.
Are you exceptional yet?
"Simple modeling ain't gonna make us Fortune 500. You know what will? That's right, a super sweet commercial on cable access television. Let me lay this on ya...
We fade in on me in an upscale European looking bar, except that we're low budget so it's probably not gonna look like the good Europe, but we'll settle for nothing less than Bulgarian looking, this much I promise you.
All right, so I'm working my craft on these uppity Bulgarian broads, but I'm gettin' no play whatsoever, when suddenly I see in the corner of the bar a super foxy snake charmer. She lures me in with her piccolo (recorder?) and lo and behold what pops out of her wicker basket? Not a snake, but a fabulous KitaBan scarf!
So I wrap myself in awesomeness and suddenly the Bulgarians think I'm the second coming of Swayze, but I pay them no mind as I kick open the bar door and hit the streets.
And as the wind catches the scarf and it dances playfully off my shoulder I become the center of attention. I mean, I'm like a black hole covered in super glue, no one can resist my animal magnetism.
But I show my sweet side by stopping next to a downtrodden minority child jumping rope and use my scarf to get the most extreme session of Double Dutch going. But pretty soon my shoulder gets tired and I leave.
And as I round the corner I see the requisite love interest you've been patiently waiting for me to introduce about to board a city bus. I must have her, but she's out of earshot. Well, for your average joe she's gone forever. But for the savvy scarf-dressed man, she's just a lasso throw away. I hook her around the waist and pull her firmly to me. Freeze there as we stare longingly into each other's eyes.
And we finish by having the low budget equivalent of Antonio Banderas whisper, "KitaBan Scarves... Are You Exceptional Yet?"
Oh, and did I mention that everything but the scarf is in black and white? Cause it totally is.
Tell me that shit won't make Scorsese punch an orphan."
Wisdom thrown down from the mountain. Mt. Local H.
Are you exceptional yet?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
