"It's 3:24 am. If i stop drinking and smoking now the pt cruisers win."
Arizona
My mother picked me up at the airport in Tuscan and were driving along and I say Jesus. I swear I just saw a dead pig on the side of the road! and she says Those are just Javelina. Theyre everywhere. I let this sink in and then say No. Youre not understanding. I just saw a DEAD PIG by the side of the ROAD. She laughs. I let it go thinking about how it will be harder and harder for us to communicate as she gets older. We drive to a restaurant to meet some people for dinner.
So Im eating dinner and its dark out. Theres a big glass window that surrounds the dining area and everyones enjoying their food and drinks etc and I say Shit balls! Theres a pack of wild pigs outside the window! And my mom says Those are Javelina. The restaurant puts food outside so the diners can watch them.
So by then Im starting to get that my mom is far from senile and Javelina, in Arizona slang, means wild fucking pig, but we dont give a fuck because we see them all the time.
Its kind of like when people visit me and while walking down the street an old, crazy ass black guy jumps out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us and my guest says Holy shit! An old, crazy ass black guy just jumped out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us! and I say Ohhh thats JUST a hobo. A funny, funny hobo. Give him a quarter hell leave you alone.
Hmmm what else.
- chased a road runner
- meditated in front of a cacti
- I either got life insurance, bought real estate, or sold my soul to the devil. not really sure. I just signed a bunch of papers my mom handed me. she says they will make me rich someday.
- hung out with my hot niece (dont ask)
- thought up get rich quick schemes with my stepdad/moms boyfriend (who, besides having worked on the blues brothers was once a stage hypnotist no shit.)
- got my ass handed to me in poker
Grunge 2006
So my grunge band, Hate Nevada, is going into the studio next week for a couple days to kick out some jams. Mp3s coming soon. Go buy some flannel now.
Portland Trip part 3
(this is the summer trip not to be mistaken with the Christmas trip I just made. Ill write about that later)
Okay, so the other night Dylan and Bennett came over and the plan was to drink whiskey and finish up the Portland story I had been writing about in previous blogs. See we took a trip to Portland in, like, September and my idea was that we each would write conflicting accounts of the same trip and I would post them here. So they came over and I gave Bennett the typewriter and Dylan my computer and we started drinking whiskey and writing. Problem is the whiskey got us before the prose did and all I was left with at the end of the night was a bunch of unintelligible, drunken nonsense. So heres what I could scrape together spelling errors etc. This is, for better or worse, Dylan and bennets version of our Summer Portland trip.
To put Dylan's version in context you have to understand that he had just read a version of the trip that i scrapped, but had the lines:
Heres my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes youve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
Dylan's Version:
Heres my objection.
Objection: The whole this trip has a purpose thing is bullshit. Joshua made it up after the trip was logged in and written in, and plugged in. I believe in God (Joshua does not) and I did not bring Him past Yreka.
Objection: I did love Justine. Some people just cant understand love. Before their time. The name Gallelio didnt come on accident. Im a REVolUTIONary. The next day Id moved on to Joshuas ex girlfriend. Cassandra or Karissa. Flattered by repeated I love you telephone calls, Cassandra turned her phone to off.
Objection: Joshuas first meal came on the second day. An ice cold can of slim-fast. Hes not concerned with his weight. Nor are the vegetairians waiting for us in the Black Clad Kingdom north in The City of Roses.
Objection: Bennet is not as funny as he seems. The whole drunk driving thing, while it fulfilled everyones Hunter Thompson fantasy, wasnt safe at all. OK, I might be wrong. I do believe in God after all.
Written out of fright: Bennet does not get drunk. Like Socrates in The Symposium, Bennet possesses the uncanny ability to drink pleasurably without knowing alchahols negative side affect: Drunkenness.
Dictated by Bennet: Bennet is pro side affectsof alchahol and furthermore, he can handle the side affects of alchahol better than any man known to man. Period. And furthermore, makes mere mortals look like, a bunch of wannabe demurges, like himself. But he makes it look easy.
Addendum: The ATM machine at the Indian Casino was a win every time. The tables were allright, but not as lucky. NOTE: On the drive home we stopped in at some hippy Diner in Ashland (the Shakespeare festival). Bennet ordered his first burger since learning the immorality of vefetarianism. After quoting: this hockey puck of meat: YUK!
A Reasonable Mention: Theres nothing so sad as Los Blingos writing about it instead of living it. -Moses. Formerly known as Bennet.
Another reasonable mention: Joshua to Moses: you are art.. I think he means it. I refuse to wonder what implications the compliment might have.
Objection: Still in Arcata. Because Bennetss friend recommended the gas station (30 minutes out of our way, she had a gas card) I blame Bennet. It is the only gas for which Ive paid in excess of five bucks a gallon. I do blame Bennet. Stay tuned the startling moment when I suddenly fogive the bastard.
Addendum: North. North drive Los Blingos. Chasing the blearing sun hiding behind our mutual drunkenness. When Portlands steel bridge awakens me from my stupor, I know Im home. Self-realisation turns out to be half what I hoped. Or less. Shit. Shit? If God aint it, lifes got a chance. We head for the liquor store. What town was that?
Addendum: I swear it had meaning. Or experience. One example. It doesnt matter much from where or to where we were driving. The convertible top was down. Two or three chicks made the back seat less comfortable than on the drive up. I think we were just out of the strip club. Heres a big parenthetical: (Strip club. Im a sensitve guy, as Joshua admonishes me. Previously no strip club had entertained me beyond the pool table, the burrito club next door or the embarrassed looks Marys girls mad when they had to ask for at least a buck to pay the juke box for one more song. But at Union Jacks (a few blocks east of the bridge on burnside) I discovered something. Art. Not the tired stuff in museums. Not the shock of a urinal with Ks sigriture on a gallery wall. No. Im talking about a pussy, legs, hips and a facial expression moving to the sounds of nine3teenninteesgrunge music. Art. Were telling you.
Addendum: So we all had a decent time at the museum. At the strip club. Lets go. It must have been one of the women proposing the proposal. All decent guys, we left. Then the thing happened. I really dont mean to hit Joshual when I mention it. But fuck, Im protected by god. So is he for all Im concerned. OK. All five or eight of us are in the back of the convertible. Get ready for the climax, because denouement from here. Joshua broke out crying. No big deal huh. But it was. Somehow I had this idea wed been doing it all right immitaing pop fuck ups. Hunter S thompason. W. s burroughs. Dostoyevsky for all I care. Rimbaud. Someone with a brain between his un-apathetica and his poetic. Pity
The Truth: Well, Im a deciple arent I?
OK. Joshua starts crying. In the bhosom of some woman he might have slept with in his rockn roll days. I ask myself why. Only answer is the degenerate way were living our lives on this so called road trip. You really cant respect anyone except yourself, but we all want someone else . Josbhua starts to cry in the back of the convertible.. I blame myself. Im on his side. Ive been up to this point. For the past two days. Is there a time before that? Hes cryig, but I cant even sweat. It has something to do with the low life were using to convince ourseves not much matters. Sarchasm,. Grandma says, is the worst form of humor. If she were alive now, shed know it was the only kind of humor left. I swear. Were figting for ourlives, with the only wqeaponns weve got. Sarchasm. Guns and swords belonged top the nobility, Were smart too, los blingos.
OK, so Joshua started cryuing. Into his ex girlfirnecxds breasts. I thought it was my fault. Dont expect me to see past myself. It meant something. No shit. Meaning among the meaningless. Is that what w3e were.
OK, So no I believe inGOd. Got Shit? Didnt think so.
Although Bennett at times appears to be a blingo, when push comes to schoves he retreats ointot a bitch like cacoon. Forever hampering our ability to findo out what bennet rally isOH I guess a bitc
Bennets Afterwarsd: He, by the way gave no afterward.
Addendum. Back to the thning with Joshua Cryingt somewhere in East Portland. Tell the truth I didnt know what drew tears
OK heres the thing Its not mine Its this thing buk wrot down
IOta sbnouty this thing where everyones flipping each otheddr off. It ends with hjm beig very annoyed with
]
and the last thjing he worte
and I felt like afucking fool
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
Thursday, November 3, 2005
what's so funny about peace, love and understanding
We broke up in April
as people do
and for all the right reasons
We bought a kitten about three months
before the end
She used to crawl onto our chests every morning
and give us kisses
I moved to Berkeley
and am living alone for the first time
For the most part
I love it
But of course the walls shout once in a while
and I picture awful things
which bite at my ego
I know she’s found someone else
already
It’s what people do
But when the stomach aches
and the imagination screams
It’s not her folded in the arms
of another man
that makes me see red
It’s the thought of
some guy on a sunny, Saturday morning
in bed with my fucking cat
as people do
and for all the right reasons
We bought a kitten about three months
before the end
She used to crawl onto our chests every morning
and give us kisses
I moved to Berkeley
and am living alone for the first time
For the most part
I love it
But of course the walls shout once in a while
and I picture awful things
which bite at my ego
I know she’s found someone else
already
It’s what people do
But when the stomach aches
and the imagination screams
It’s not her folded in the arms
of another man
that makes me see red
It’s the thought of
some guy on a sunny, Saturday morning
in bed with my fucking cat
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one
I was sitting in the acme the other night alone and this guy who was way more drunk than i was sits down on the next stool and starts talking to me. Here’s what we talked about:
Guy: That’s a small notebook.
Yours truly: It IS a small notebook.
Guy: You got a cigarette?
(hand him a Winston light)
Guy: My great-grandfather died re-shingling a roof at ninety-three. He fell off.
Yours Truly: damn….
Guy: He was smoking a Winston when he fell off.
Yours Truly: Fuck. That’s tough.
Guy: Yeah and when I was five my grandfather took me aside and told me I was going to be the man of the house pretty soon. Then he threw himself in front of a mack truck.
Yours Truly: What’s a mack truck? Like a big-wheeler?
Guy: Yeah.
Yours Truly: Damn. How are you going to top that?
Guy: Top it?
Yours Truly: How are you going to top that? Die fighting a grizzly bear with a whiskey bottle or something?
Guy: I’ll don’t know. What are you writing about?
Yours Truly: Your fucking grandfather!
I’m in desperate need of a hair cut so I’ve been staying in a lot more lately. My big plan was to not write another blog until I finished the Portland trip, but seeing as how it’s been a month and I’ve still only written about the first day I’ve decided to throw it up in sections.
Portand Part One
Portland was Bennett showing up at my house smiling wide in a rented white convertible. Bennett is mad li po 2005. An alcoholic angel with one left arm, all cool, on the window (wrist hanging off outside of car) and Winston dangling out of his mouth. I hop in with a battered backpack and we’re off to pick up Dylan in south berkeley. Then it’s me leaning against the car, not flipping a coin over and over again with a toothpick in my mouth, but that kind of vibe as Bennett runs in to grab Dylan. Dylan is a handsome genius. A furry chested Galileo. We all jump in the ride and eye each other conspiratorially for a second before deciding that just this once – it’s OKAY to drink beer in the car. We’re off and the sun shines down on a white blur of content speeding north over the Richmond bridge. Dylan plays bartender in the back seat bringing forth drinks on command while we pass through the invisible line in marin that separates the bay and wine country. Watch as the digital temp gauge rises eight degrees just like clockwork. We stop off in cotati to show off our cherry ride to dangerous dave wiseman and pick up some maps. Somewhere past willits paper cups are laughable and pabst blue cans sit in cup holders where they belong when Bennett’s at the wheel. I’ve never seen the man without a drink and I’ve never seen him drunk and there’s no one I’d rather have at the wheel and he was never without wheel or drink the whole adventure and I think that’s the way his gods play it. Neither you nor your god is that awesome so don’t try drunk driving kids. He’s the exception to the rule and the type of soul the bloody drivers ed videos don’t tell you about. So try not to focus on THAT aspect of this trip too much as there’s going to be a lot of it. Pulling off the vein in Arcata we grab a friend of Bennett’s and hit downtown for some action. Mexican food ensues. The people I’m with insist on ordering Mexican food with the thickest Spanish accent they can muster as you often see annoying people do. “yes I’d like a TOOOOSTAAAAADAAAA and also can I grab a FAHEEEEETAAAA”. I launch into a comedy bit about some Mexicans walking into a mcdonalds and with thick Spanish accents and ordering food. Each word is spoken in perfect Spanish up to the (picture a very bad American hillbilly accent here) HAMBUUUURRRRGER. I am sure that’s how my friends sound. Fucking gringos. Meanwhile the convertible is blasting Mexican rock music the whole time. We get it. You’re NOT racist. You’re one of the good guys. Give me a fucking break. Off to downtown for some drinks! Cowboys and hippies diffuse a surprisingly excessive amount of bars in this pot smoking college paradise. We spread some of that city money around in the local watering holes. I work up the courage to go in for a hi with a woman who has been eye-fucking me for twenty minutes and am thwarted when the woman orders buffalo wings. Bennett and I spend a few minutes trying to work out what kind of weird issues i have and why buffalo wings were the catalyst. Dylan falls in love with local scenester Justine. We all split up and I wander around the square and try to soak up some local culture. Last time I was in Arcata was about ten years ago. A friend and I were hitchhiking up to Canada. I remember there being topless hippy girls selling burritos in the square. No such luck this time, but of course, topless girls aren’t really the novelty they were when I was eighteen. At some point Bennett screams to a stop in front of me with Dylan and Bennett’s friend in tow. I convince some chick standing on the sidewalk nearby to come with us and we both hop in. Dylan starts screaming ‘I love Justine! I LOVE HER! We have to go find her!” So we tear around the block looking for Justine. We get all the way around the block and sidewalk girl gets her wits together, realizes her bad judgment, and hops out of the car. Justine (who I don’t know if Dylan actually ever TALKED to) is M.I.A. so we head back to Bennett’s friend’s house where I promptly pass out.
Ahhhh summer mornings in the uncharted pacific northwest. Bennett is making breakfast for everyone with a pabst in his hand. It’s like ten a.m. I reintroduce myself to Bennett’s friend and her roommate and we all eat and chat for a bit. Dylan is still heartbroken.
Here’s my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things – highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes you’ve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
We pile in the car and head north.
After a minor fist fight Bennett agrees to take I5 the rest of the way to Portland. He had his heart set on driving along the coast, but we agree to go that route on the way back. Just before cresent city we spot an Indian casino and run inside, hands full of cash, giddy as schoolgirls. $120 lighter and three bloody marys smarter we’re off again. I can tell this is going to be a long day. Speedy we are not. Between beer runs, gambling, roadside urination and a desperate need on Bennett’s part to drive through EVERY little town on the map, just so he can say he’s been there, we are not going to get to Portland at any decent hour.
More soon.
Guy: That’s a small notebook.
Yours truly: It IS a small notebook.
Guy: You got a cigarette?
(hand him a Winston light)
Guy: My great-grandfather died re-shingling a roof at ninety-three. He fell off.
Yours Truly: damn….
Guy: He was smoking a Winston when he fell off.
Yours Truly: Fuck. That’s tough.
Guy: Yeah and when I was five my grandfather took me aside and told me I was going to be the man of the house pretty soon. Then he threw himself in front of a mack truck.
Yours Truly: What’s a mack truck? Like a big-wheeler?
Guy: Yeah.
Yours Truly: Damn. How are you going to top that?
Guy: Top it?
Yours Truly: How are you going to top that? Die fighting a grizzly bear with a whiskey bottle or something?
Guy: I’ll don’t know. What are you writing about?
Yours Truly: Your fucking grandfather!
I’m in desperate need of a hair cut so I’ve been staying in a lot more lately. My big plan was to not write another blog until I finished the Portland trip, but seeing as how it’s been a month and I’ve still only written about the first day I’ve decided to throw it up in sections.
Portand Part One
Portland was Bennett showing up at my house smiling wide in a rented white convertible. Bennett is mad li po 2005. An alcoholic angel with one left arm, all cool, on the window (wrist hanging off outside of car) and Winston dangling out of his mouth. I hop in with a battered backpack and we’re off to pick up Dylan in south berkeley. Then it’s me leaning against the car, not flipping a coin over and over again with a toothpick in my mouth, but that kind of vibe as Bennett runs in to grab Dylan. Dylan is a handsome genius. A furry chested Galileo. We all jump in the ride and eye each other conspiratorially for a second before deciding that just this once – it’s OKAY to drink beer in the car. We’re off and the sun shines down on a white blur of content speeding north over the Richmond bridge. Dylan plays bartender in the back seat bringing forth drinks on command while we pass through the invisible line in marin that separates the bay and wine country. Watch as the digital temp gauge rises eight degrees just like clockwork. We stop off in cotati to show off our cherry ride to dangerous dave wiseman and pick up some maps. Somewhere past willits paper cups are laughable and pabst blue cans sit in cup holders where they belong when Bennett’s at the wheel. I’ve never seen the man without a drink and I’ve never seen him drunk and there’s no one I’d rather have at the wheel and he was never without wheel or drink the whole adventure and I think that’s the way his gods play it. Neither you nor your god is that awesome so don’t try drunk driving kids. He’s the exception to the rule and the type of soul the bloody drivers ed videos don’t tell you about. So try not to focus on THAT aspect of this trip too much as there’s going to be a lot of it. Pulling off the vein in Arcata we grab a friend of Bennett’s and hit downtown for some action. Mexican food ensues. The people I’m with insist on ordering Mexican food with the thickest Spanish accent they can muster as you often see annoying people do. “yes I’d like a TOOOOSTAAAAADAAAA and also can I grab a FAHEEEEETAAAA”. I launch into a comedy bit about some Mexicans walking into a mcdonalds and with thick Spanish accents and ordering food. Each word is spoken in perfect Spanish up to the (picture a very bad American hillbilly accent here) HAMBUUUURRRRGER. I am sure that’s how my friends sound. Fucking gringos. Meanwhile the convertible is blasting Mexican rock music the whole time. We get it. You’re NOT racist. You’re one of the good guys. Give me a fucking break. Off to downtown for some drinks! Cowboys and hippies diffuse a surprisingly excessive amount of bars in this pot smoking college paradise. We spread some of that city money around in the local watering holes. I work up the courage to go in for a hi with a woman who has been eye-fucking me for twenty minutes and am thwarted when the woman orders buffalo wings. Bennett and I spend a few minutes trying to work out what kind of weird issues i have and why buffalo wings were the catalyst. Dylan falls in love with local scenester Justine. We all split up and I wander around the square and try to soak up some local culture. Last time I was in Arcata was about ten years ago. A friend and I were hitchhiking up to Canada. I remember there being topless hippy girls selling burritos in the square. No such luck this time, but of course, topless girls aren’t really the novelty they were when I was eighteen. At some point Bennett screams to a stop in front of me with Dylan and Bennett’s friend in tow. I convince some chick standing on the sidewalk nearby to come with us and we both hop in. Dylan starts screaming ‘I love Justine! I LOVE HER! We have to go find her!” So we tear around the block looking for Justine. We get all the way around the block and sidewalk girl gets her wits together, realizes her bad judgment, and hops out of the car. Justine (who I don’t know if Dylan actually ever TALKED to) is M.I.A. so we head back to Bennett’s friend’s house where I promptly pass out.
Ahhhh summer mornings in the uncharted pacific northwest. Bennett is making breakfast for everyone with a pabst in his hand. It’s like ten a.m. I reintroduce myself to Bennett’s friend and her roommate and we all eat and chat for a bit. Dylan is still heartbroken.
Here’s my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things – highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes you’ve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
We pile in the car and head north.
After a minor fist fight Bennett agrees to take I5 the rest of the way to Portland. He had his heart set on driving along the coast, but we agree to go that route on the way back. Just before cresent city we spot an Indian casino and run inside, hands full of cash, giddy as schoolgirls. $120 lighter and three bloody marys smarter we’re off again. I can tell this is going to be a long day. Speedy we are not. Between beer runs, gambling, roadside urination and a desperate need on Bennett’s part to drive through EVERY little town on the map, just so he can say he’s been there, we are not going to get to Portland at any decent hour.
More soon.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Any way you want it That's the way you need it Any way you want it
Last Weekend
Thursday.
Thursday night I took the train to San Francisco to see The Lovemakers at the Great American Music Hall. I was supposed to meet my friend Nina there at nine, but greatly underestimated the Bay Area Rapid Transit system and showed up wicked early. I chain smoked out front and read a book until she arrived. Some dude wanted fifty cents from me or he would “start blazing – we’re talking straight fireworks on the street”. Fair enough. The Lovermakers were pretty fun to watch. A hella fine dude and a hella fine chick dancing around on stage to some catchy, if not familiar, tunes. I have a feeling the guy in the back, hunched over the keyboard, might be the mastermind of that operation, but I’m almost always wrong about everything. Oh shit. The band before them was way awesome. They’re called Drunken Horse I believe. Check them out if you want to get your socks rocked off.
Friday.
Friday night I was planning on staying in and getting some much needed writing and bad television time in. Unfortunately, my friend Bennet (he’s what’s known in Alcoholics Anonymous circles as an ‘enabler’) showed up and dragged me out. Not much to tell about that night except I really wish I had just stayed in.
Grad School Party where two people had the same birthday as me.
Piano Bar where we hijacked a reserved table.
Frat party up in the Berkeley hills somewhere.
Two lame ass parties and $40 dollars poorer we move on to…
Saturday.
In the morning I drove out to the 707 with a friend and rocked the fuck out of some grunge music. The night we start playing shows you will all know it because everyone’s hair will grow two inches in two minutes. Mother fucking grunge.
That night I attended Morgan and Daisy’s “dress as your favorite 80’s rockstar” party in historic Cotati, California. Cotati looks like a big peace symbol when viewed from the air. This must have been a godsend to the mountains of hippies who flocked there in the late sixties. The exact source of the design for the city center remains a mystery, but most likely it was fashioned after the radiating star plan which is prevalent in the layout of many European cities, as well as Washington, D.C. and Detroit, Michigan.
Sunday.
I went record shopping in Berkeley with Caroline. Caroline HATES myspace. After she dropped me off at my studio I dove headfirst into the soul searching depression I like to call Sunday through Thursday. That’s when I freak out about going out too much and wasting too much time that could be spent writing or meditating or mountain climbing or whatever the fuck my thing is that week That’s where I am now. So if I haven’t returned anyone’s calls it’s because I need to be alone and try to get something constructive done before this road trip I’m taking on Thursday.
Labor Day
This Thursday I’m renting a car with some friends and high-tailing it for Portland. Road trip in the hizouse!!! My Portland Brethren - be ready to rock the house. I’m growing a mustache just for the trip (that is, I’m trying to grow one – not sure if I actually can. Either way it will be creepy).
A Play
The curtains open and we see two young ladies at an after party. A bar, sixty feet long, has been erected. Every variety of beverage is provided. A well-lit fireplace casts dancing shadows on the seventy-five men and fifteen women passed out cold around the girls. A feeling of melancholy floats down on our stars as the party has, clearly, reached its end.
Amy: The party was totally gay.
Judy: Um… can you, like, not use hate talk around me?
Amy: Hate talk?
Judy: Gay?
Amy: I think you may be confusing the word ‘Homosexual’ or the often derogatory ‘Fag’ for the word ‘Gay’. You want me to grab a dictionary?
Judy: I want you to shut up.
Amy: Get fucked.
The End.
A Poem
A woman
walking in the morning
with a Nalgene water bottle
has more purpose in
her little toe
than I’ve ever had
in my whole
life.
An excerpt from a nine year old diary grammar mistakes and all
“…that night we went to a Mushface show. Last time I was in L.A. it was when Davie and I toured with Punky Rockit and Hutch, but they weren’t too big and when they played they played small, illegal clubs in bad parts of town. Do-it-yourself kind if shows where punk rock veterans argue about the past just loud enough to awe the newer punks while you barter your way inside with a few cigarettes and of course that’s not really juice in your Snapple bottle. The Mushface show was a different story. I had no idea that they had a following, CDs, and a manager. The show was pretty fucking big. It was the cushy, glossy-photo side of the punk rock scene that I had never really experienced before because none of the local bands where I live are very big. But it wasn’t bad, just different. It seemed like there was this wild energy in the air. Maybe I was just excited about meeting so many new people and being in a new environment but really I think it was being in the middle of such a big city. I mean, all around me things were going on… Movies being filmed, young struggling actors and actresses trying to make their dreams come true, gang warfare, and tons and tons of people doing tons and tons of everything. It was all happening around me and I could just feel it. I made it my goal for the evening to meet every single person at the show… I didn’t succeed, but I did get engaged to this one girl who gave me a loll-i-pop ring. We smoked and planned out our honeymoon. Does she remember me? Anyway it was a great show and afterward I went to some party which was cool too, but by the time Chris and I got to his house I was completely exhausted. It had been a long 24 hours. The whole trip had been a rollercoaster. Long, fun days that always ended with Chris and I smoking and talking on his back porch. The next night I went to a crazy beach party in Malibu. It was perfect. Me and this girl sat watching UFOs and drinkink beer all night… Midnight kissing in a drunken bliss. The next morning I found out that the whole time we were making out Chris and some other people were holding off her angry boy-...”
Thursday.
Thursday night I took the train to San Francisco to see The Lovemakers at the Great American Music Hall. I was supposed to meet my friend Nina there at nine, but greatly underestimated the Bay Area Rapid Transit system and showed up wicked early. I chain smoked out front and read a book until she arrived. Some dude wanted fifty cents from me or he would “start blazing – we’re talking straight fireworks on the street”. Fair enough. The Lovermakers were pretty fun to watch. A hella fine dude and a hella fine chick dancing around on stage to some catchy, if not familiar, tunes. I have a feeling the guy in the back, hunched over the keyboard, might be the mastermind of that operation, but I’m almost always wrong about everything. Oh shit. The band before them was way awesome. They’re called Drunken Horse I believe. Check them out if you want to get your socks rocked off.
Friday.
Friday night I was planning on staying in and getting some much needed writing and bad television time in. Unfortunately, my friend Bennet (he’s what’s known in Alcoholics Anonymous circles as an ‘enabler’) showed up and dragged me out. Not much to tell about that night except I really wish I had just stayed in.
Grad School Party where two people had the same birthday as me.
Piano Bar where we hijacked a reserved table.
Frat party up in the Berkeley hills somewhere.
Two lame ass parties and $40 dollars poorer we move on to…
Saturday.
In the morning I drove out to the 707 with a friend and rocked the fuck out of some grunge music. The night we start playing shows you will all know it because everyone’s hair will grow two inches in two minutes. Mother fucking grunge.
That night I attended Morgan and Daisy’s “dress as your favorite 80’s rockstar” party in historic Cotati, California. Cotati looks like a big peace symbol when viewed from the air. This must have been a godsend to the mountains of hippies who flocked there in the late sixties. The exact source of the design for the city center remains a mystery, but most likely it was fashioned after the radiating star plan which is prevalent in the layout of many European cities, as well as Washington, D.C. and Detroit, Michigan.
Sunday.
I went record shopping in Berkeley with Caroline. Caroline HATES myspace. After she dropped me off at my studio I dove headfirst into the soul searching depression I like to call Sunday through Thursday. That’s when I freak out about going out too much and wasting too much time that could be spent writing or meditating or mountain climbing or whatever the fuck my thing is that week That’s where I am now. So if I haven’t returned anyone’s calls it’s because I need to be alone and try to get something constructive done before this road trip I’m taking on Thursday.
Labor Day
This Thursday I’m renting a car with some friends and high-tailing it for Portland. Road trip in the hizouse!!! My Portland Brethren - be ready to rock the house. I’m growing a mustache just for the trip (that is, I’m trying to grow one – not sure if I actually can. Either way it will be creepy).
A Play
The curtains open and we see two young ladies at an after party. A bar, sixty feet long, has been erected. Every variety of beverage is provided. A well-lit fireplace casts dancing shadows on the seventy-five men and fifteen women passed out cold around the girls. A feeling of melancholy floats down on our stars as the party has, clearly, reached its end.
Amy: The party was totally gay.
Judy: Um… can you, like, not use hate talk around me?
Amy: Hate talk?
Judy: Gay?
Amy: I think you may be confusing the word ‘Homosexual’ or the often derogatory ‘Fag’ for the word ‘Gay’. You want me to grab a dictionary?
Judy: I want you to shut up.
Amy: Get fucked.
The End.
A Poem
A woman
walking in the morning
with a Nalgene water bottle
has more purpose in
her little toe
than I’ve ever had
in my whole
life.
An excerpt from a nine year old diary grammar mistakes and all
“…that night we went to a Mushface show. Last time I was in L.A. it was when Davie and I toured with Punky Rockit and Hutch, but they weren’t too big and when they played they played small, illegal clubs in bad parts of town. Do-it-yourself kind if shows where punk rock veterans argue about the past just loud enough to awe the newer punks while you barter your way inside with a few cigarettes and of course that’s not really juice in your Snapple bottle. The Mushface show was a different story. I had no idea that they had a following, CDs, and a manager. The show was pretty fucking big. It was the cushy, glossy-photo side of the punk rock scene that I had never really experienced before because none of the local bands where I live are very big. But it wasn’t bad, just different. It seemed like there was this wild energy in the air. Maybe I was just excited about meeting so many new people and being in a new environment but really I think it was being in the middle of such a big city. I mean, all around me things were going on… Movies being filmed, young struggling actors and actresses trying to make their dreams come true, gang warfare, and tons and tons of people doing tons and tons of everything. It was all happening around me and I could just feel it. I made it my goal for the evening to meet every single person at the show… I didn’t succeed, but I did get engaged to this one girl who gave me a loll-i-pop ring. We smoked and planned out our honeymoon. Does she remember me? Anyway it was a great show and afterward I went to some party which was cool too, but by the time Chris and I got to his house I was completely exhausted. It had been a long 24 hours. The whole trip had been a rollercoaster. Long, fun days that always ended with Chris and I smoking and talking on his back porch. The next night I went to a crazy beach party in Malibu. It was perfect. Me and this girl sat watching UFOs and drinkink beer all night… Midnight kissing in a drunken bliss. The next morning I found out that the whole time we were making out Chris and some other people were holding off her angry boy-...”
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Just in case i get hit by a bus or something...
I, the undersigned, Joshua Jon Doan make my last Will and Testament as follows:
REVOCATION OF PREVIOUS WILLS
I hereby expressly revoke all other wills, codicils and legacies predating the present Will. Without prejudice to the foregoing, all other wills.
FUNERAL AND BURIAL
For the most part I dont give a shit what you do with my body because Ill be dead. Do what you want. Have a blast. If one of my family or friends want to have a funeral for me, thats fine. One thing though: Absolutely no Christian shit. Snakes can't talk and that's the end of it. I dont want friends or family putting a bunch of religious nonsense on me when I cant defend myself. Dont even mention a higher power. In fact, if youre a religious person you cant believe that I went to your heaven or that Im energy now or that Ive been reincarnated. You have to believe that Im just dead.
Update
I would like to be burried in Becky's 'detroit: where the weak are killed and eaten' tee shirt.
LEGACIES
I leave all my assets and movables at the time of my death or thereafter descend to my estate, to Dangerous David Wiseman except for the following:
My cowboy belt which I leave to Joe Morato at his request.
All my books go to my sister, Stephanie Rose Doan. I know it'll be a bitch to mail all that stuff out to wherever she lives, but get it done.
David can dole out the rest of my belongings as he sees fit. Also, Christian has to help him move stuff with his truck if he needs it.
Upate - Now fools are demanding to be included so here are a few amendments.
Megan - you get my red fondue pot, but you have to promise to have a fondue party with all of my friends 3 weeks after Im dead.
Christian - Anything i've ever written in paper or on my computer.
Bennett - At your request you get my Nintendo Game Cube.
Michelle - My dollar store red cups
Becky - To you i leave a cold glass of 'Shut the hell up!'
JL - You get any cats under the age of one year that i may have at the time of my death. You do not get my guitar.
NOTIFYING FAMILY
Finding my family to tell them what happened may be tricky. I dont have my Father or Mothers phone numbers. I only speak to them through instant messages once in a while. The best thing to do would be to try and figure out my AIM password and reach them that way. I'm pretty sure David knows the password.
Signed at Berkeley, California this August 17th 2005
Joshua Jon Doan
REVOCATION OF PREVIOUS WILLS
I hereby expressly revoke all other wills, codicils and legacies predating the present Will. Without prejudice to the foregoing, all other wills.
FUNERAL AND BURIAL
For the most part I dont give a shit what you do with my body because Ill be dead. Do what you want. Have a blast. If one of my family or friends want to have a funeral for me, thats fine. One thing though: Absolutely no Christian shit. Snakes can't talk and that's the end of it. I dont want friends or family putting a bunch of religious nonsense on me when I cant defend myself. Dont even mention a higher power. In fact, if youre a religious person you cant believe that I went to your heaven or that Im energy now or that Ive been reincarnated. You have to believe that Im just dead.
Update
I would like to be burried in Becky's 'detroit: where the weak are killed and eaten' tee shirt.
LEGACIES
I leave all my assets and movables at the time of my death or thereafter descend to my estate, to Dangerous David Wiseman except for the following:
My cowboy belt which I leave to Joe Morato at his request.
All my books go to my sister, Stephanie Rose Doan. I know it'll be a bitch to mail all that stuff out to wherever she lives, but get it done.
David can dole out the rest of my belongings as he sees fit. Also, Christian has to help him move stuff with his truck if he needs it.
Upate - Now fools are demanding to be included so here are a few amendments.
Megan - you get my red fondue pot, but you have to promise to have a fondue party with all of my friends 3 weeks after Im dead.
Christian - Anything i've ever written in paper or on my computer.
Bennett - At your request you get my Nintendo Game Cube.
Michelle - My dollar store red cups
Becky - To you i leave a cold glass of 'Shut the hell up!'
JL - You get any cats under the age of one year that i may have at the time of my death. You do not get my guitar.
NOTIFYING FAMILY
Finding my family to tell them what happened may be tricky. I dont have my Father or Mothers phone numbers. I only speak to them through instant messages once in a while. The best thing to do would be to try and figure out my AIM password and reach them that way. I'm pretty sure David knows the password.
Signed at Berkeley, California this August 17th 2005
Joshua Jon Doan
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