Yesterday was a miserable life sucker of a day. Thankfully it’s over.
Michael Vick is now on the Eagles. Being the psychotic Giants fan, Eagles hater, and animal lover that I am, you’d think that I would naturally have a problem with all of this. I say leave the man alone now. He spent 18 months in prison locked up away from his children, animals, and the game he so elegantly plays. His apology seemed to be 100% heartfelt and honest. Athletes don’t make good actors or politicians. I was really trying to stay pissed at this guy. Being the animal lover that I am, it's hard to forgive him, but I do. He knows, as we all do, that this shit is not nearly over. Those crazy fuckers from PETA are going to protest at each game. Mark my words. In fact if PETA doesn’t capitalize on the reinstatement and hiring of Vick at each game by recruiting new members for their shamefully psychotic army during the weekly tailgating in Philly they’re wasting a valuable resource. Oops! I may have just given the greatest enemy to pet lovers everywhere a great idea.
On a much happier note….. the Raiders won the first game ever played in the Cowboy’s new stadium! Awesome. Who cares if it’s preseason? Texans take football as seriously as they do BBQ, oil drilling, and metal bands. They may all be trying to convince themselves that the game didn’t matter, but I’ll bet they can’t. The Oakland Raiders are national heroes as far as I’m concerned. Go Giants!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
DELIVERANCE
Les Paul has passed away. I could write for hours about what we wouldn’t have today if this man hadn’t revolutionized the way guitars were made, played, and coveted. One major point is that Jimmy Page would not have looked so damn cool playing a Strat.
My father took me to see Les Paul at Fat Tuesdays on the eastside when I was 13 years old. I was floored by the incredible music he was playing and the graceful elegance the man played with. He was using a vintage Cherry Burst Gibson Les Paul Standard that night. I didn’t really know any of the songs accept “How High The Moon” and a version of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”. I always consider hearing music played live before a recording to be a very fortunate experience. Hearing anything played by Les is a gift. The man could have played T.V. themes from the 50’s all night and I probably would have been just as thankful today.
After the show I asked Les Paul to sign my filthy Cleveland Browns cap. CALM DOWN…..I hated the Jets at the time and wore that hat out of spite. The man didn’t want to touch the thing. It was sweat stained and covered in Black Flag logos I had painted on with White Out. With great reluctance and maybe a little hint of horror, Les Paul signed the cap and I’ll never forget it. Sometime later that year Henry Rollins also signed that same hat after dissing me in front of my sister at Second Coming Records.
I had gone to see Les Paul again years later at the Iridium near Lincoln Center. Another mind blowing show. He and his bass player signed autographs for me and he almost broke my hand. He had quite a grip for an old man. I heard he gave private lessons well into his 80’s to some lucky students. I hope they all realize how lucky they truly were.
R.I.P. Les Paul
My father took me to see Les Paul at Fat Tuesdays on the eastside when I was 13 years old. I was floored by the incredible music he was playing and the graceful elegance the man played with. He was using a vintage Cherry Burst Gibson Les Paul Standard that night. I didn’t really know any of the songs accept “How High The Moon” and a version of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”. I always consider hearing music played live before a recording to be a very fortunate experience. Hearing anything played by Les is a gift. The man could have played T.V. themes from the 50’s all night and I probably would have been just as thankful today.
After the show I asked Les Paul to sign my filthy Cleveland Browns cap. CALM DOWN…..I hated the Jets at the time and wore that hat out of spite. The man didn’t want to touch the thing. It was sweat stained and covered in Black Flag logos I had painted on with White Out. With great reluctance and maybe a little hint of horror, Les Paul signed the cap and I’ll never forget it. Sometime later that year Henry Rollins also signed that same hat after dissing me in front of my sister at Second Coming Records.
I had gone to see Les Paul again years later at the Iridium near Lincoln Center. Another mind blowing show. He and his bass player signed autographs for me and he almost broke my hand. He had quite a grip for an old man. I heard he gave private lessons well into his 80’s to some lucky students. I hope they all realize how lucky they truly were.
R.I.P. Les Paul
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
SEARCHIN’ (The Coasters)
I would have woken up in a perfectly goofy mood today if not for a possible tragedy with one of my pets. Luckily the Big Guy is eating, drinking, and being his normal cranky-assed self. Don’t worry, the health of my animals may affect me, but I’m really gonna try to not spend enormous amounts of time bitching and relaying cute stories about them.
New Yorkers are now faced with having to pay Pedro Espada Jr.’s son a $125,000 job! "Deputy director of intergovernmental relations." WTF! What does that even mean? Why not just make him the Chief Arbitrator for the Intergalactic Fuck Head Alliance. At least we’ll understand what that guy does without having to “google” it. First of all, if your title doesn’t effectively explain your purpose, you’re probably there for window dressing. Secondly, if you can’t explain the meaning behind the title in fewer than 20 words, you’re probably a criminal. I’m so sick of the way State politicians get away with their antics and the exploitation of the voter’s needs for change. The issues are never fully resolved. I can’t think of anything that has ever been 100% fixed by anyone besides potholes. But, as soon as one is filled another one appears.
Does anyone remember when the Schwartzenator was photographed filling a pothole purely for the photo-op? The pothole was dug up in that spot in the early hours before hand……JUST SO HE COULD LOOK GOOD FILLING IT! Granted that’s California….and they’re fucking broke as a Williamsburg gutter punk right now. Paying state employees with fucking I.O.U. notices. These people should send I.O.U. notices to the IRS until it’s all fucking worked out. Goddamn it! I hate politics.
What is a NY boy to do when he hates politics, politicians, and the retards that deliver the news stories. Oh…..fuck! I almost forgot. FOX news recently ran a story where an map of the middle east was pulled up FULL SCREEN. Everything would have been status qou…..except Egypt was in Iraq’s place. Seriously. I spent the morning searching to see if I missed something HUUUUUUGEE. Nope……..just American idiots doing a bang up job in front of the whole fucking world.
I love this country more than I can relate to you and there is nowhere I’d rather live. I have lived in a socialist European nation and visited many countries, cities, and known hordes of others that have lived in those places or even become ex-patriots. This is where I wanna be. No matter how much the coffee sucks here or how loud disgraceful the politics can be. This place is far better than anywhere else I’ve seen.
Unfortunately, politicians suck everywhere. Even more to the point of being unfortunate…we fucking need them to have some order to things. Not like their decisions truly give order to things, but the process for change is so long and tedious people have choice but to let shit play out with the pieces on the board. The pieces we’ve elected and allowed to lead us.
New Yorkers are now faced with having to pay Pedro Espada Jr.’s son a $125,000 job! "Deputy director of intergovernmental relations." WTF! What does that even mean? Why not just make him the Chief Arbitrator for the Intergalactic Fuck Head Alliance. At least we’ll understand what that guy does without having to “google” it. First of all, if your title doesn’t effectively explain your purpose, you’re probably there for window dressing. Secondly, if you can’t explain the meaning behind the title in fewer than 20 words, you’re probably a criminal. I’m so sick of the way State politicians get away with their antics and the exploitation of the voter’s needs for change. The issues are never fully resolved. I can’t think of anything that has ever been 100% fixed by anyone besides potholes. But, as soon as one is filled another one appears.
Does anyone remember when the Schwartzenator was photographed filling a pothole purely for the photo-op? The pothole was dug up in that spot in the early hours before hand……JUST SO HE COULD LOOK GOOD FILLING IT! Granted that’s California….and they’re fucking broke as a Williamsburg gutter punk right now. Paying state employees with fucking I.O.U. notices. These people should send I.O.U. notices to the IRS until it’s all fucking worked out. Goddamn it! I hate politics.
What is a NY boy to do when he hates politics, politicians, and the retards that deliver the news stories. Oh…..fuck! I almost forgot. FOX news recently ran a story where an map of the middle east was pulled up FULL SCREEN. Everything would have been status qou…..except Egypt was in Iraq’s place. Seriously. I spent the morning searching to see if I missed something HUUUUUUGEE. Nope……..just American idiots doing a bang up job in front of the whole fucking world.
I love this country more than I can relate to you and there is nowhere I’d rather live. I have lived in a socialist European nation and visited many countries, cities, and known hordes of others that have lived in those places or even become ex-patriots. This is where I wanna be. No matter how much the coffee sucks here or how loud disgraceful the politics can be. This place is far better than anywhere else I’ve seen.
Unfortunately, politicians suck everywhere. Even more to the point of being unfortunate…we fucking need them to have some order to things. Not like their decisions truly give order to things, but the process for change is so long and tedious people have choice but to let shit play out with the pieces on the board. The pieces we’ve elected and allowed to lead us.
THE CURE
For all of you oblivious people that read this and don’t listen to the local news or glance at a NY tabloid……..”google” Pedro Espada and the NY Senate. Take a look at the shit storm this man created in this past year of our lord.
Pedro Espada is a slug in the hourglass. If this whole “God” bullshit turns out to be true, I’m going to punch a whole in his divine face for unleashing such a dirty son of a rotten whore on the people of NY. Seriously Lord, I’m gunning for you. I bet that’s why you keep me down here. You don’t wanna have to deal with all questions and grievances I have with your supernatural decision making. Or maybe, you’re just some made up being that doubles as a security blanket for all the people that can’t take responsibility for their past and future mistakes. And you always need cash from these people. I thought “Jesus Saves” was for real. And isn’t Jesus exempt from paying taxes? Shit…..that dude should come back here just to gamble. I’ll gladly share an apartment with him if he doesn’t bleed on records.
For a long time now I’ve believed that no matter who you are in the world or in our mind…..if you get into politics, you’re a greedy asshole looking for trouble and a new set of rules.
Seriously, Pedro Espada, Bush Jr., Stalin, Adolf, Pol Pot, Rupert Murdoch, Slobodan Milosevic, and that dwarf in N. Korea…..all these fuckers should have been re-thought before coming of the assembly line and down the chute. These are the people that make me question the dogmas of the religion I was born into. If God is perfect there should be no bad apples. If God is truly the divine truth of it all beer would never go flat, all pitchers would have to bat, and driving through N.J. wouldn’t have to cost you a damn thing.
God is dead. All that is left is gravity. We all fall. Gravity is the only true universal force that governs everything. And we don’t get to re-elect or kill it.
Pedro Espada is a slug in the hourglass. If this whole “God” bullshit turns out to be true, I’m going to punch a whole in his divine face for unleashing such a dirty son of a rotten whore on the people of NY. Seriously Lord, I’m gunning for you. I bet that’s why you keep me down here. You don’t wanna have to deal with all questions and grievances I have with your supernatural decision making. Or maybe, you’re just some made up being that doubles as a security blanket for all the people that can’t take responsibility for their past and future mistakes. And you always need cash from these people. I thought “Jesus Saves” was for real. And isn’t Jesus exempt from paying taxes? Shit…..that dude should come back here just to gamble. I’ll gladly share an apartment with him if he doesn’t bleed on records.
For a long time now I’ve believed that no matter who you are in the world or in our mind…..if you get into politics, you’re a greedy asshole looking for trouble and a new set of rules.
Seriously, Pedro Espada, Bush Jr., Stalin, Adolf, Pol Pot, Rupert Murdoch, Slobodan Milosevic, and that dwarf in N. Korea…..all these fuckers should have been re-thought before coming of the assembly line and down the chute. These are the people that make me question the dogmas of the religion I was born into. If God is perfect there should be no bad apples. If God is truly the divine truth of it all beer would never go flat, all pitchers would have to bat, and driving through N.J. wouldn’t have to cost you a damn thing.
God is dead. All that is left is gravity. We all fall. Gravity is the only true universal force that governs everything. And we don’t get to re-elect or kill it.
MARGARITAVILLE
Maybe it’s cuz I’m wearing these ridiculous cabana shirts around the house and to the corner bodegas. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been soaked in rum for weeks. Maybe there is no explanation for waking up with Jimmy Buffet ringing in my ears. I don’t own any of his albums or download anything. But I am a white man with a gut and a crooked smile with a growing collection of multi-colored rayon shirts that say “fuck you….I’m on vacation”. My foul mood has, for the most part, lifted off my psyche. I’m still a bit pissy, but not quite pissy enough to taunt children or ruin their dreams by explaining the way I see the world.
This song depresses me. I feel like I could turn into the main character and drink my way into a beach community somewhere in Mexico at any minute. Hell, I could live on sponge cake and play my guitar all day……..but I don’t drink Margaritas. I’ll be the cranky cock nursing a bottle of aged rhum, chain smoking, and urinating anywhere that suits me. Somehow that attitude fits in here in NYC more than Mexico.
That jackass cook on the local news channel is on again. Let’s call the station “New York’s #1” news channel. He looks like a guy who would start a fake beach resort in middle America and think it was gonna be a goldmine. He’s soft spoken, pockmarked, and slimly looking. A reptile given valuable T.V. time. How could ANYONE get hungry looking at this guy? Jesus…..he looks like a tanned, hair covered omelette. The type of guy you’d expect dealing blackjack on a riverboat…..not cooking on television for New Yorkers with little time to prepare food.
This song depresses me. I feel like I could turn into the main character and drink my way into a beach community somewhere in Mexico at any minute. Hell, I could live on sponge cake and play my guitar all day……..but I don’t drink Margaritas. I’ll be the cranky cock nursing a bottle of aged rhum, chain smoking, and urinating anywhere that suits me. Somehow that attitude fits in here in NYC more than Mexico.
That jackass cook on the local news channel is on again. Let’s call the station “New York’s #1” news channel. He looks like a guy who would start a fake beach resort in middle America and think it was gonna be a goldmine. He’s soft spoken, pockmarked, and slimly looking. A reptile given valuable T.V. time. How could ANYONE get hungry looking at this guy? Jesus…..he looks like a tanned, hair covered omelette. The type of guy you’d expect dealing blackjack on a riverboat…..not cooking on television for New Yorkers with little time to prepare food.
RETROVERTIGO
I’m in a truly foul mood. The kind of mood where I could look a crying child straight in the eyes and tell them that things don’t ever really have to get better. Sometimes deep wounds don’t heal. Scars are like badges, but sometimes the mind needs a life long struggle that is designed never to let up. So you create a nemesis to taunt, tease, and pick at your inner most hidden insecurities. Sound terrible? Sound unfair? Well…..you’ll do it. You’ll need something to keep you sharp while the T.V. and internet slowly destroy your intellect and leave you wanting nothing more than re-runs and cool hooded sweatshirts with the perfect non-regular character printed on it. You know. The shirt that says “I can speak the language of the made up alien planet, and it gets me laid”. Fuck hipsters, scenesters, and the douchbags on Wall Street.
Fuck this foulness! I’m the type of person that holds on to things until they grow appendages to choke me with. A collector of tear drenched memories and regretable offenses. It’s as if I choose to live in the Ruins of a once beautiful island rather than swimming to the next place. Any place where the beds are warm and they have great coffee. My plans to fly off this place are inexpicably tossed in the shredder each time I pick them up to study.
Despite my collecting and wollowing and blah blah blah crybaby shit…..I still have those feelings of kindness and generosity that I had as a child. I was happy and the world was huge, bright, and full of things for me to do. These memories of loving the planet and people also try and choke me sometimes, but I can’t kill them off. I’ll have nothing left to temper this hatred of hipsters with and I’ll get locked up for 25 years the next time I hear some cheap beer drinking panty stain spout off some ill conceived hidden meaning in the album cover of the latest local musical abortion. God help the douche that sits there agreeing with them. You may as well just shoot me now officer…..I’m too pretty for jail.
Fuck this foulness! I’m the type of person that holds on to things until they grow appendages to choke me with. A collector of tear drenched memories and regretable offenses. It’s as if I choose to live in the Ruins of a once beautiful island rather than swimming to the next place. Any place where the beds are warm and they have great coffee. My plans to fly off this place are inexpicably tossed in the shredder each time I pick them up to study.
Despite my collecting and wollowing and blah blah blah crybaby shit…..I still have those feelings of kindness and generosity that I had as a child. I was happy and the world was huge, bright, and full of things for me to do. These memories of loving the planet and people also try and choke me sometimes, but I can’t kill them off. I’ll have nothing left to temper this hatred of hipsters with and I’ll get locked up for 25 years the next time I hear some cheap beer drinking panty stain spout off some ill conceived hidden meaning in the album cover of the latest local musical abortion. God help the douche that sits there agreeing with them. You may as well just shoot me now officer…..I’m too pretty for jail.
FAITH NO MORE
I won’t tell you my name, what I do, or what my dreams are. What does it really matter anyway? You have all those things too and I don’t really care about them.
I’m a New Yorker who’s rapidly approaching his late 30’s. I’m talented and lacking energy. I hate money, but I crave it. Mostly, for all the wrong reasons. Christ, if I had enough of it I’d gamble all the time with a face full of blow and a drink in each hand. I’ll let you know that I love the Yankees, Knicks, Rangers, and the motherfucking Giants. I love this city.
I loved this city before Rudy shipped all the homeless to Florida, painted over all the graffiti, and pretended not to be shitting his pants when his office was destroyed on 9-11.
I loved this city more each time I had to move back from failed adventures in the N.E . and the deep South. I’m not even gonna fake a smile for Macon, Georgia or the mutants that live there. It’s a fucked up place. To be clear, I didn’t live there, but I took a day trip out a curiosity while binging on the various substances made available to me. Never did I entertain the idea that an overnight adventure was in the cards. That would have been suicide.
Enough background on me.
I don’t read anyone’s blog or live journals, so if this work infringes on anyone’s “thing”…..opps and sorry. I have, for some time now, been logging the songs I wake up with in my head for personal edification. I’ve come to realize that my subconscious has been leaving me these puddles to splash in, not jump over. Each entry of mine will have a “headline” that shares the title of the song I woke up with in my ears. Or, in some cases, just the band’s name. There are days when I have more than one song in my brain, but we’ll leave that alone for now. I haven’t even told any of my shrinks that information and I’ve already blabbed it to you.
What I report to you will be 100% truthful observation and personal honesty. I don’t follow anyone else’s blog/journal. I am also not going to use bullshit words to sound clever. Just the spontaneous words that explain my thoughts clearly and with my natural charm. Fuck face
I’m a New Yorker who’s rapidly approaching his late 30’s. I’m talented and lacking energy. I hate money, but I crave it. Mostly, for all the wrong reasons. Christ, if I had enough of it I’d gamble all the time with a face full of blow and a drink in each hand. I’ll let you know that I love the Yankees, Knicks, Rangers, and the motherfucking Giants. I love this city.
I loved this city before Rudy shipped all the homeless to Florida, painted over all the graffiti, and pretended not to be shitting his pants when his office was destroyed on 9-11.
I loved this city more each time I had to move back from failed adventures in the N.E . and the deep South. I’m not even gonna fake a smile for Macon, Georgia or the mutants that live there. It’s a fucked up place. To be clear, I didn’t live there, but I took a day trip out a curiosity while binging on the various substances made available to me. Never did I entertain the idea that an overnight adventure was in the cards. That would have been suicide.
Enough background on me.
I don’t read anyone’s blog or live journals, so if this work infringes on anyone’s “thing”…..opps and sorry. I have, for some time now, been logging the songs I wake up with in my head for personal edification. I’ve come to realize that my subconscious has been leaving me these puddles to splash in, not jump over. Each entry of mine will have a “headline” that shares the title of the song I woke up with in my ears. Or, in some cases, just the band’s name. There are days when I have more than one song in my brain, but we’ll leave that alone for now. I haven’t even told any of my shrinks that information and I’ve already blabbed it to you.
What I report to you will be 100% truthful observation and personal honesty. I don’t follow anyone else’s blog/journal. I am also not going to use bullshit words to sound clever. Just the spontaneous words that explain my thoughts clearly and with my natural charm. Fuck face
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