A Creepy Little Bit of Synchronicity (if you believe in bullshit like that)

In the midst of my Big Boulder Truck Traffic Driving Debacle (today was my turn to tip the "zero waste" dumpsters--if it looks like a duck, right?), I got the call to return #81 to the yard. I was actually stoked because I haven't visited a cemetery on Halloween since 1991 (sex, drugs, and everclear-fueled fires). The dumpster was located within the [haunted] Hygiene, Colorado cemetery [it's a historic place, according to the plaque (not to be confused with the plague, which would make this a lot more humorous)].

I don't see any entities in the phone-cam shot I took.

With the greatest difficulty, I loaded the fucker onto the back of the truck (still don't know why they don't re-use the dirt for something instead of sending it to a landfill). I leapt back into the truck, and this shit came on the shuffle play, right on cue [(96 Kbps is so unacceptable, but web-friendly--imagine more crisp highs) not my favorite version, but it has piano, frightening (the shaman agrees, and has nightmares about it) harmonica, scary farfisa, tambourine, banjo, mandolin, bass as percussion (one of my favorite things), and lots o' dulcimer--Gira is one of two musicians that actually REALLY intimidates me--guess who the other one is (hint: he got a similar vibe from Gira)].

As I pulled out of the graveyard with the music blasting, the transmission made a very expensive noise (91,000 miles isn't bad for a garbage truck, though). I limped back to the yard (5 miles) with the tranny whining slightly, but no more of the shuddering clunks.

Tonight is drinking myself silly (for a change--moderating for a couple of weeks is silly), then using the ouija board, chicken bones, and a dead cat (haven't decided who yet--probably the un-named one, aka Jesus Christ, aka goddamnit, aka ouch, aka no, aka go away, aka quit playing--Nitwit and I haven't slept for several days) to contact Mark Twain and Harry Houdini. Later, I'll wait up for The Great Pumpkin to rise from the pumpkin patch (with my blanket), and then send inebriated and belligerent replies to emails (I'm three days behind).

post scriptum: "eminem the tax attorney" totally texted me at the bank--it's partly his fault that I would even know of that song.

Dream

An extremely dirty dream about a friend--both of us were surprised, but it was fun (really worth expanding, but I'll only embarrass myself). It seems like it always rains all autumn long in San Antonio. I always dig a good airshow. I was totally chillin' with a bunch of large asian kids.

This Banner Ad Made Me Laugh For Reasons That Should Be Obvious

Nightmare

I am all old and stuff. I look really horrible and wrinkly and bald.

It's Really Nothing Like Listening To A Police Scanner

Although we used to drop acid, turn on the scanner, and go "check things out" back in the day. Crime scenes are a real intense trip. It's amazing that we were never arrested.

I allowed the computer to find audio files for a couple of days (too many too fragmented hard drives). We're up to 14,901 songs on the pc. A lot of stuff was uncovered that I had forgot that I had. Particularly compelling is the Neurosis and Jarboe record. I rocked that all day yesterday. I never got too into the Neurosis, and only recently "got" Jarboe. This one is a pretty good respresentative track (right-click save-as blahblahblah...need headphones or decent speakers).

In other news, I'm totally going to have to pull a coffee can execution (classic story) on the mini-wit. Last night she got a bunch of new monikers. She is the devil.

A lap cat, apparently.

Cute and really needy. Talks too much. Matches other cat.

It's Like All Snowy And Shit

Dude, fuck.

Oil Change and Skullbong Appraisal

Apparently, the same place provides both services. The oil change was uneventful. The skullbong is "at least worth $200."

Sweet.

Making My Morning Mood

Music.

News.

Old News.

Some construction vehicle's backup beeper is bothering me this morning. Sleeping in? Hardly.

Colorado License Plates

I've been mystified by the "respect life" plates. I thought that this was some republican pro-life conspiracy. I wanted the "abortion stops a beating" plates (not a day passes that I don't wish that my mother had better sense). It turns out that it's actually an anti-columbine thing (damn flowers).

Builds Character?

I departed for work at 04:45, and returned at 20:45. Contracts were discussed, then real, high-altitude labor.

The body is hurting, but the psyche is in great shape (well, sort of anyway). At least I don't have to do anything tomorrow, right?

Sleep-Weeping?

This anxiety thing is getting out of hand, again. I woke myself up by howling in my sleep. The stupid cat was sitting on the bed, looking at me. In the dream, I was at a grave. I'm not sure whose grave it was (couldn't read). I was crying uncontrollably. I think that I need more self-medication (weed).

The timing couldn't be better, though, since I have to head up the hill shortly for an early morning meeting. Lame.

boxofdirt goes inter-continental, and shit

I've been monitoring this for a while now. WTF would the French find interesting? Hell, what would anyone find interesting here? So much for the local wide web, right? It has to be one of my rock friends, or maybe some random deal. Interesting, really. Also, someone in the Los Angeles Unfied School District.

An Inside Joke, Sort of

Only a handful of people know why I took this photo of my second-stop score riding shotgun. Of those, probably two don't even know wtf they're looking at (not the pack of smokes, not the ipood, not the rolodex). E-Dogg had no idea before I told him that the black things were rubber grommets.

The Horoscope With a Sense of Humor

A large number of people have become interested in your daily travails. Today there could be a peak of activity keeping them all informed. Look to clarify the details of where you are going.

This, just as I'm feeling despondent, again. Hilarious.

Another Dream; etc.

Everyone that I know is a robot. I stumble upon the repair facility, and I'm fucking horrified.

Actually, I often think that this is true, and this is why I feel so alone all the time and why so many "people" are missing the point (insert mental illness here). I need to pick up some shotgun shells today, just in case.

Retreated into some headphones for some recording yesterday. I had forgotten how much I dig synthesizers.

Dreams, Seven Different Ones

1. Reverend Deadeye gets a bizarre haircut for charity;
2. I'm skydiving and the parachute won't open;
3. I'm a homosexual premature ejaculator and in "therapy" for this "problem";
4. I'm in a particularly gruesome car crash;
5. I kiss a blonde and she gets pregnant (hate it when that happens);
   
6. I get my face tattooed; and
   
7. I'm in attendance at The Godfather's wake, and think that it's really ironic that everyone's trashed.
   

Rifle Coach? (HTTP Status 503 - Servlet NewFrontend is currently unavailable is bullshit--a repost)

I spent some time with two of my nephews, Patrick and William, shooting .22s. There are few things that provide as many cheap thrills. A couple of bricks of .22LR, three rifles, a bunch of cans and other metal objects, and a couple of 12-year-olds makes for a hell of a good time, really.

Kids with guns are hilarious (remember, I'm so not a fan of the children).

I got the scoop on the 6th grade. Mostly, it was just me trying to not get shot, but there was a little bit of instruction going on. At one point, I told Patrick he was holding the gun like a girl (he totally was).

Another priceless exchange:

Me: Do y'all know who Condoleezza Rice is?
William: She's that black secretary.

I was impressed enough. He did better than that niece.

Text Message Etiquette Question

When I receive an empty message (no text), I generally assume that it was a mistake/glitch/gremlin, and I don't respond.

Is that what I'm supposed to do?

Sleep Is Forbidden

I hate worrying about stuff. Also, I have a jonez for pancakes.

Gilpin County Gallivanting; More Bad Phone Photography

Today was chillin' in the Gilpin County. Heavy physical labor above 9,000 feet should be forbidden. I totally looked the part, though: zippy and sorels. It snowed most of the day, but the sky provided me with a beautiful "sunrise." I need to get the real camera working--there were mountains in silhouette, trees, a crescent moon, and amazing colors (which sort of made it into the telephone).

Why is there always a really nice, tie-dye-wearing pretty girl at every gas station in the mountains (or foothills, as the case may be)?

That Was An Interesting Dream

This is a new one, really. In this one, I was castrating myself with something really cheesy like a steak knife.

Got Out of Hand

Some of those posts just got out of hand. I really am trying to hold some of the complete bullshit back (lots and lots of posts that go directly to draft lately).

Snapped back into reality tonight by Jessica (bitch totally woke me up--amazing, really). I dreamt that I was teaching kids about different kinds of rope. It was a little weird, but really satisfying.


I owe her a visit in a bad way (then, I'll be good for another five years, right). Seattle? Could be an adventure, really.

fuckin' rock bands.... (epic)

today, i was notified that there are two shows that i should be attending, tonight. this is lame as hell. I require some notice to go to a show (12 hours is probably cutting it close, but only barely), especially with weather. the badpenny show and the pmfs show would've been worthwhile, really. at least they had worthwhile potential. i shouldn't care, but since i'm reduced to being a fan and not a player, i have to push myself to attend shows. if i had a time machine, right? after a recent conversation, i really don't feel so bad about how shit went down--dude made me feel like i was reasonable. i love you, man.

this is how life is breaking down for me (a lot of lame wants to follow):

i have a couple of big job offers that i probably won't (even if i should) take. i really want to settle into this life for a little while. i also want some sort of stable "love interest relationship" deal (i'm totally certain that she's out there). i want to pick up some real estate (although i'm really conflicted about that because the housing is going to implode, i promise). i want to build myself a little studio where i can retreat and noodle with the noise-makers. i want to go back to school for something that turns me on (narrowed down to two fields at this point). I want a sailboat.

What I really want is content.

i'm sort of weirded out by this one, but no one even reads this, so i don't care.

Fuck this.

I'm totally becoming a grown up and foresee a house in the suburbs, a dog, a pretty wife, and no children, but this is fucking stupid:

FIRST NATIONAL "DINE WITH YOUR DOG DAY" SET FOR OCTOBER 21, 2006, WITH DICK VAN PATTEN SERVING AS NATIONAL SPOKESMAN

The ironic part about this one (other than "eight is enough," is that my new baby kitty comes home on the 21st. I'm very very very exciteed for another grey cat. I should start thinking up names, but it's so much better if they're un-named. Cats don't have a naming convention anyway. Nitwit has enough aliases to write a book. There's a funny post and another about this from back in the day.

Breaking News?!?

From the Fox 31 (new and improved) website (I do like that weather girl with glasses--Heller and I agree one thing):

Numerous Accidents Reported in the Foothills

My advice:

Learn how to fucking drive, bitches!

You Dig?

whitey with a vacuum belt head band

Shit, Mobile Blogging Rocks, man!!! (it totally didn't back in the day--hilarious)

U.S. Maple Rocks, Man

Shit, I haven't rocked this stuff in years....

The dirty dancing will commence....now.

Blinded; Tele-Angst; Plectra

Today while brewing up a batch of my notorious, Bad-Ass-Steve-invitating, rot-gut chili (y'all don't have chili or fajita cook-offs in Colorado), I fucked up and touched my face after cutting up a bunch of los serranos. I had an itch, and now my left eye is swollen shut. The worst part is that a fuckin' know better. I thought that I had learned this lesson when I was about 7 years old.

This deal meant that I had to put off my evening plan-o-rama.

My Zoolander telephone just went fucking berserk. Mid-call with Janette, it started playing reveille. Weird? I think so. If anyone has a telephone recomendation, let me know. It's time for a new one. I'm glad that we finally got to catch up. She's the best gay girlfriend I've ever had.

I have decided that I will succomb to playing with a pick. It's a completely alien experience, and I really suck (can't really articulate like I'm used to). It seems to me, though, that the cool kids are all doin' it. I strive to be one of the cool kids, even if I can't play anymore. Actually, I've been thinking about building an eight-string once this jazz bass is done (soon, really), and that's something that sort of requires a plectrum, or, stringing it backwards. This is a terrible experiment, isn't it?

Scared The Hell Out Of Me (Additive Posting At Its Finest)

I have a lot of really poorly tagged mp3s, which I'm always fixing. While upgrading the WinAmp to v.5.3 (stick with 5.24), I got motivated to listen to some of the mystery music, and uncovered this triumphant demo from my low-fee recording buddy:

and this one, too (with BIG reverb tambourine):

I need to get off my ass and start recording some stuff. I'm inspired now. I sort of miss that stoner. His mom got pissed when she read this interview. Hilarious.

Promised To That Mighty Kentucky Girl

This is from Christmas 2001, when I was alone and drunk (raw webcam fun). This should be considered to be one of my low points (it happens when I feel really alone). If you knew what was going on at the time, it all makes sense. I owe my friend Mike a huge thank you for the documentarian abilities (the hard drive containing this "video" ate shit shortly after).

Surely the sound is horrible. Instead of fixing it, I've transcribed it (not so good, tanscription-wise. there's alcoholic nonsense to follow--it's fucking poetry, really). Items of note are the Lolapalooza 1992 cap and synthesizers in the background and bad cooling fan noise:

Why is this thing all jacked up?
....
Now I'm loaded.
It's Wild Turkey!
New and improved, baby.
It's 101 proof!
Whoo!
And it's, real, Kentucky whiskey.

It's Bourbon, whiskey.

Wild!

Austin Nichols,
Wild Turkey!

It's good shit.

Because...

It...
Fucks you up.

Hobbit-Hole Horoscope

A friend's advice about what to do with a problem friendship must be followed. Pay attention to your gut feeling about whether or not to confront this increasingly annoying person. Allow a partnership to continue on your terms only.

I'm feeling really anti-social. The show didn't help remedy the so-called feelings (it was a good show, though). Languishing at home is very appealing to me.

Okie Noodling

I just watched a documentary about this shit. I didn't realize that the noodling was something documentary-worthy. My fam is all over such nonsense (for the record, I have never noodled). I know a clan o' noodlers, though.

The best part of it all is that it's illegal in most states. TN, MS, and OK (and another) are the only ones that dig the noodling (handfishing). What's more "natural" than sticking your arm in a catfish nest and letting the fish bite you, then, grabbing the offending fish, and then, eating said fish? This is an activity for libertarians, it seems.

The noodlers come across as the manliest of fishermen. Hilarious.

The Consumption--More Automotive Angst (sort of got long)

While I'll admit that I know a thing or five about finance (I took a lot of those classes once upon a time), I don't pay attention to my credit reports at all. Since I've been doing the corporate officer thing since I was 18, that has helped things rather nicely (I owe a lot of money on a lot of equipment if the shit goes down--a personal guarantee doesn't mean a thing if you don't actually have assets). The last time that I cared, it was when I went to war with AMEX (long story), and my stuff was inexplicably linked to that girl's and her ex-boyfriend's. I guess the lesson that I'm supposed to have learned is to not get involved if she has a has a crummy score per Experian (as if--I'm too much of a relationship idealist to actually follow through with that thought). It was, however a fucking nightmare to clear up. I hate that bitch.

Chick totally tried to sell me a mortgage since apparently I have a groovy residual (or ratio, or something). All I required was an auto loan. Apparently, I'm doing something right. I told her that I really felt too transient for a house. This is exactly the kind of thing that a lender wants to hear, right? Now, if I could translate some of the financial wizardry into other areas of my life, I'd be stylin'. Underwriting hookers is a good start, but pimpin' ain't easy.

With the finances secured, I went "shopping" (gasp). I have a hard time justifying leather seats (nice cars). I actually get excited just to know that the radio works. Having said that, the Passat was a really sweet ride. I think that my driving may have frightened dude a little bit on the highway. It seems like a "too nice" car for me, though. That, and I don't know that I trust zee Germans right about now. I have to drive some more and think about cars as a status symbol before I'm seen driving something like that (it had that fake wood trim and stuff, like my grandfather's Buick).

Ideally, I require something that the electric grandmother will fit into. I suppose that I could borrow a truck to move her, but a pickup truck or a wagon seems quite reasonable. I love a good sedan, though. I do not like being overwhelmed at the dealership at all. Luckily, I've driven a few late-model cars in recent years (cuts down on test-driving):

Chevrolet Aveo (gasp);
Many Cavaliers (discontinued);
Cobalt (uninspiring, and not as good >90mph as the Cavalier);
Impala (uncomfortable seat);
Colorado (really claustrophobic);
K series trucks (overkill for me, personally);
Trailblazer (great 4wd system, but cheesy interior);
Ford Taurus (way too adult, but great for busting ass down the highway);
Explorer (they made these bigger, and since I lived in one for a couple of months that's good);
Mustang (last generation, V6, hardtop and convertible, very disappointing);
Ranger (really generic small truck feeling);
Mercury Mountaineer (awesome traction control, luxury appointments, fun to abuse in the desert);
Sable (see Ford Taurus);
F150 (actually impressive, but I really don't like feeding full-sized trucks anymore);
Dodge Dakota (really stiff suspension!);
Ram 1500 (it's got a hemi, but I wouldn't want to feed it);
Pontiac Vibe (fun, hip, and a really kinky name for a car);
Grand Prix (not the driving excitement that they promised me);
Grand Am (see Pontiac Grand Prix);
Nissan Maxima (sick fast);
Sentra (utterly lame);
Toyota Corolla (kind of cheesy);
Camry (not note-worthy);
Jeep Grand Cherokee (I'll never ever drive a Jeep again if I can help it);
Subaru Forrester (not so bad if you close your eyes until you're in the car); and
You couldn't pay me enough to drive a Mitsubishi--that's a horribly long tale.

This weekend means more car-shopping, for sure (we used to use that term for car burglary back in the day). I'll find something. The lender's pre-approval guidelines were really hilarious, and leave many options open. Also the weekend means the monstrous rock show and going to that play that I've dying to see.

P.S.: If anyone has ride suggestions, I'd love to hear (read) them.

R.I.P. Batmobile

When I crossed the worst rail crossing ever, she made a really expensive sound, which continued intermittently, then a lot of smoke, and finally a stall as I pulled off the highway. It's a good thing that there's several loaners available while I locate a new ride. This couldn't have happened before or after the cold front o rama. Simply two-wheeling would've been better than driving the "silver star mobile," and having people thanking me for my service to the country. I thank them back (how are war heroes supposed to act?).

It's a good thing that I never did the military thing. I'm so unfit for service.

I have no idea what sort of ride would suit me well. Several pickups and one station wagon have all proved themselves to be sufficiently utilitarian.

No Memorable Dreams, Just The Mysterious Horoscope

Love is the dominant theme today. Prepare to embrace the things that excite you and to tell the whole world how you feel. A creative streak assists in making you more attractive to the one you seek.

Nitwit and I are very cold this morning.

The High-Yield Detonation Effects Simulator (bad html formatting)

And it's powered by Google Map, for fuck's sake! It appears that the functionality is a little bit impaired. Still, it's really a hoot! Here is a link to the 2 kilo-ton bomb (the alleged Korean nuke), centered on "Denver." It appears that the Tar Shack, Paris on the Platte, and The 15th Street Tavern all get "light damage to all structures, and light to moderate damage to ordinary houses, will occur within this ring." I'm not sure if any of these structures can withstand any damage.

After a second look, maybe the mighty Tar Shack escapes the 1 psi overpressure zone. Still, this is the feel-good link of the evening.

If we're all going to die, why not via a nuclear holocaust? Maybe some of us would get lucky and have a dog (damn, that's a really strange film--and I totally used it as a "date video" once. Tiffany was drunk and didn't seem to mind that I was a little weird). I was totally obsessed with post-apocalyptic films at one point.

What ever happened to the neutron bomb? I rather like the "at least you can croak at home" philosophy.

Music: Red Cloud, A Coming Storm (slow 7" version)

Lately Whack Horoscope

They've been a lot like this one (for today):

"A partner or close companion will look too good to ignore this afternoon. Focus on what you can bring to the relationship and feel free to balance your compliments with a little bragging about your talents."

Quick Cuts

A handful of dreams:

1. the Times-Call headline is "Ninjas Capture Whitehouse." The date is April 1st;
2. the fuel gauge on the batmobile is working backwards;
3. Jenn is selling houses; and
4. a familiar but unrecognizable redheaded girl is covered in mashed sweet potatoes and is inserting celery stalks.

Put On Your Surprised Face; The "Tone Loc" Solution For World Peace

Last night, I heard of the North Korean test during the 1:00 news on the radio. Immediately, talk shifted from the host's new baby to nuclear proliferation. Today's talk radio was all discussion of fallout shelters and what not. When I was a kid, I was convinced that we'd all be vaporized by now. I accepted the propaganda, and after reading a government publication (can't remember the title) that my grandfather gave me, I decided that I ought to not even concern myself with vaporization, and live life day to day. I still try to do that, but the adult-ness requires some sort of goals or aspirations. I have some, but that'll be another post.

I'm quite certain that I've posted this cartoon before, but it seems appropriate today.


What has me entirely enraged about the Korean test is that the voices are all so surprised on the radio. If you didn't see this coming, you're either an idiot or on weed.

W wants sanctions. Please, dogg. North Korea was supposedly just scraping by. Sanctions are going to do as much good in North Korea as they have in Cuba. Fidel has done a hell of a job. The Koreans have nothing to lose, really.

All of this "nuclear non-proliferation" stuff really is silly. Bombs ought to be open source. Perhaps the anarchist cookbook needs a new edition? Really, though, treaties are meant to be broken.

Why not a "Tone Loc" solution? In this scenario, every pissant banana republic gets nukes. I haven't figured out how to allocate the mega-tonnage, but square mileage or population (drastically different allocations) would probably be adequate determinants. After the warheads are allocated, the (mighty?) UN needs to take a "Let's do it" stance and just see what happens. Certainly, we would wipe ourselves out, or come to some sort of agreement.

It would be an interesting experiment, for sure. I hope that someone comments on this post.

A Horoscope Huh? Moment

Your exciting week has peaked, and you may be ready to reap the rewards of having experimented with the wild side. Look to spend a calmer evening with close friends who are more in synch with the way you look at the world.

I'll Get You, Murphy, And Your Little Dog, Toto, Too (epic stoned music)

I don't take compliments well. Naming names like that should be forbidden. Really, though, dude gave me a much-needed ego boost:

"...a longtime friend and someone who's supported my projects over the years...a dry wit like no other and please, please, please will someone get this man in your band as a bass player--he's so good it's frightening."

I think that Tom's talking out of his ass, again. I appreciate the kind words, but really, I don't do anything special (no one else would ever do tied whole notes in a rock band, though). Those years of rocking the bass clarinet gave me a really strange take on bass lines (blow through the horn!), for sure. I do scare myself sometimes when it all just flows out. That doesn't happen too often.

Today, I played for six hours, stoned on the Nyquil. I have to keep the chops honed if I'm getting praise like that. I learned a bunch of my friends' songs, and then showtunes of all damn things. It's cool to learn something other than rock/blues/country, or the metal. Cool key changes and stuff, but basically easy to do by ear. I really should work on my sight-reading. That would give me something to do while I play the waiting game. That's one project, as well as working through the Bach cello suites. Perhaps I can do both projects simultaneously?

Ain't that ambitious? It's right up there with working a cocaine habit into my budget. It'll never happen.

Changing strings means high fidelity and holding tuning way better. Supercool. Those were only a month old and horribly funky! I'm a firm believer in roundwounds, even though everyone in town seems to be using the flats lately. A treble-infested tone isn't when you're playing in a band, guys. I don't get this trend. Maybe I'm just high?

Used strings make a hilarious "belt" for more feline torture. It's only a few weeks until feline numero dos arrives. The Nitwit won't even know what to do with her own a minime (that's a weird-lookin' word, man).

The Nyquil is the fundament, although I think that it's the same stuff as Jagermeister. I just got a bunch of cordial glasses. I ought to stick Nyquil in the freezer and sip it from glasses. When they find me dead, this post will be the only record of this concept.

'Rents; Rock

Last night, I had the opportunity to meet Erin's mother, Joan. I knew who she was, but she didn't know who I was. She did, however, know that I was a bass player, so maybe she knew more than she let on to. She actually waved at me from across the room, and we had a decent conversation, during which she realized that she had mistook me for Lazlo. I explained that I responded to many names, and that I never ignore the ladies (which isn't exactly true). She re-iterated that the Cowboy Curse show Friday night was dreadful (they deserve better before hiatus). She seems like a really cool lady.

I'm certain that Erin has the coolest parents that I know. They go to her shows, and, her friends' shows. They're actually the hipster 'rents.

My parents, on the other hand, have never seen me play, ever. Growing up, they used to yell at me for playing too loud in my room. They've never been that supportive. Actually, at one point, they proclaimed that my music was "bad." I think that I was 16, and playing in that shoegaze project. My mother did appreciate the RC disc, which was the first thing that I did that she was complimentary of (I ought to re-phrase that one).

Today, I'm stoned on Nyquil (yay). It seems that Steve's whole family has showed up to visit. The goings-on will definitely not include going to that play today (next weekend, it's ON), resting, and more topless bass playing (I've been writing riffs up a storm lately--I've filled up my riff tape).

I need to replace those light bulbs in the ceiling fan that I broke a couple of days ago. If anyone has a badass-sounding bass combo, email me. Rocking the electric grandmother is apparently too loud for the light bulbs. It does sound really awesome, though. I wish that I hadn't sold that '66 Bassman head. That sounded awesome, and didn't hurt anything (50 watts).

Very Dehydrated For No Reason

I must have a Tornado Alley hangover. One PBR can't make me feel like this.

The Tornado Alley set was great. After all of the self-deprecating comments, I had braced myself for something worse than Los Dos. I really enjoyed the TA set. I think that I was too close to the stage, so the guitar was a little quiet--I bet that it was better through the mains. I didn't really know what to expect sonically. As it turns out, it's ethereal guitars and baritone vocals. Nice. It's sort of like Ian Curtis singing "Cherry-Coloured Funk"   or something (lame comparisons are lame). Tom was getting a lot more evil sounds, though.

I realized after the set that the dude rocking out next to me was indeed The Cooze. He wanted to know where "my lady" was. It appears Jenn has a new fan. Mini Nosferatu also asked where she was. There was a discussion between the three of us and Shannon, who also materialized about our favorite Cure records. Suthers' new hobby is building effect pedals, so he's spending all of his time in the basement with a soldering iron.

I had to split because I was not feeling so peachy, which was a drag.

Political Advertisements

I've seen one ad several times in the last few days. The voice over dude says that this other dude is "radical" and I should vote for yet another dude. Somebody approved this message, right? Growing up, I always thought that "radical" (and later, "rad") was a good thing. When you're skating it is, at least. Why would I waste a vote on someone that's not radical?!?

It Was Only A Dream

Like "Dallas," and I'm glad that it was only a dream during this afternoon's nap of doom. This one was first a fist fight with the Dr. I don't know what he said, but he said something and I came unglued. I think that it was a couple of punches thrown, then black (I have routinely blacked out fights ever since I was little--a bad thing when you have to explain afterwards).

The next part was apparently in the British Airways smoking lounge in Phoenix. It looked rather like that, anyway. I was alone, and puzzled as to why I was there (why I'd ever go to Phoenix again is a real mystery). I felt that things had been resolved, somehow, with the Dr.

The third act is trying to wash dishes and not being able to stand up. It was as if my inner ears were completely smoked. I don't know where I was. I was trying to get someone to help, but I could only talk in some slowed-down, pitch-shifted voice. It was horrible. Many of my friends were present and laughing at me while I helplessly clung to the sink.

Dream; Art Installation; A Foul Odor; A Song Dedication

This morning's dream (which caused me to be late for work) was talking to Jonathan Till about these wooden African "swords of antiquity." Pretty strange.

Work sucked.

The opening was more of an installation, and fun. I'm trying to broaden my horizons. Music is the only thing that moves me, and tonight fully did.

I had so many of my friends in the smelliest bar in Denver. My favorite girl was in attendance. Life really actually felt good (really really) for once. If I could bottle that, I would. It would be a far better tonic than the jar full of tears.

The RC boys played what was billed as their final acoustic show (I always liked those a lot). Old songs were promised. I had no idea what I was in for. "Electrician," "Angel of Death," and "Prairie Wind" were the old songs chosen, and they held up. The crowd didn't know it, but I don't think that those have been played out since 2003. Ross dedicated "Prairie Wind" to me, which was really touching. I had talked to him a bit before the show and explained my emotional issues with attending the shows. It was a slowed down acoustic version, which is a far cry from the "elephant in a china shop" bass playing from 8-25-2003:

It's not often that I have such a great night. Thank you.
Photo: Art Installation (and a cool digital grain from the phonecam)

Flakey Crust

Last night I totally locked my keys in the car at the gas station and missed the journal shin dig. So lame. By the time I broke into the batmobile, it was late.

Tonight should make up for it. Art opening, and then a rock show. Two of my favorite people and two of my favorite kinds of events.

Happy Birthday, Dr. E-Dogg

You've provided me with great amusement for 29 years. That's a long time, dude. I picked some amusing photos, man.

Magnum? It's totally a hereditary deal, right?

I just love that costume. You've been clever with Halloween outfits for as long as I can remember.

Follow this link to the Mathematics Department Homepage, if that is the place you want to go. Nerd.

Novelty checks in a funhouse are always a thrill!

Un tipo suave.

Retail Hell; Busy

Another dream: I'm totally working in some sort of retail environment. People are yelling at me. Not too cool.

Now, the pace picks up for this week. Lots of fun stuff going on. A couple of nights of watching documentaries and Twilight Zone is about all I can cope with.

Don't Mind Me, I'm High on Xylenes (poorly written rant)

I heard about this today before the protest was called off. I don't understand those Kansan fucks. They should be allowed to protest, but it's society's function to ostracize clowns that are doing things that are in poor taste like those people. Apparently, this approach worked somewhat. Americans are way too lenient when it comes to things like manners. (Insert cognitive dissonance here) What pisses me off the most about the Westboro Baptist Church is that they're using this shock rock approach. Have some fucking decency, really. It shouldn't be a matter of passing some law that forbids protests.

My pals I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House said it best regarding Fred Phelps:


Today, I worked at the greenhouse (nothing else to do), and also cleaned graffiti off of dumpsters, using the mighty GOOF OFF (an apt name). This is some heavy-duty, xylenes-based stuff. I should have donned my gasp-mask and some nitrile gloves. I totally didn't, and spent the afternoon high as hell, giggling.

Actually, I think that I just sobered up.

A Dream, Backwards

I actually don't even know what it was about, but something fantastic. Someone had taped down the "reverse" button. It was really really really weird. Has this happened to anyone else?

Drying out is a bad scene because of stuff like this.

Stare Master?

My friend Mary Grace Legg is Tina Bouchet, stare master. Hilarious.

Super-Consumption for Layabouts (got epic avoiding work)

Today, I went to la officina for 3 hours. Hilarious. Essentially, I laid out my so-called (half-assed) plan for world domination. Selling a rock band in Denver is easy--beat 'em over the head, and eventually they'll [pretend to] get it. Garbage hauling is way more difficult, I think. We will see.

Then, I bought three new two-cubic-yard dumpsters, and chatted ad nauseam with the Lyons postmaster (who happens to be one of my customers). She's awesome, and quite helpful. Mahoney is letting me do stuff, which is also very awesome. The consulting was always crisis-mode, so I finished up my shit really early. It really makes me wonder about other occupations--does it usually "need to be done yesterday," or be a "down to the wire" deadline meeting deal? Certainly, I've heard of the daily newspaper werewolf, but otherwise, do things move slowly in the "real" world? Maybe I have a warped work ethic (work ethnic, in the garbage b'ness). I dig help Jose' lift the exhaust back into a truck today (he had to pull it to rebuild a transmission). I don't feel like a slacker if I write (or type) my "things that I did" list. In reality, consulting was a lot more stressful, and I'm not adjusting to this at all, still. I require either a second job, a band, or a high maintenance girlfriend, or (god, no) children.

Right now, I'm supposed to be finding screen-printed, heavy-duty garbage bags in some high-visibility color (Fuchsia? Chartreuse?). I stumbled onto this, which is another awesome internet find. I dig expending thousands of dollars of money that isn't mine.

Flashback to 1987-ish...
I used to buy cassettes based solely upon the artwork. I had a big problem buying tapes [when I came to Boulder (1989), Trade A Tape was my number one hangout. Hilarious (but not surprising since it was totally a front for selling the drugs)]. What brings this circa-1987 thought on is that Liveage (currently playing) is one of those records (they're riding the crest, so-to-speak? hee hee), and still one of my favorite live recordings. Other greatest hits: Corrosion of Conformity, Animosity; Social Distortion, Prison Bound; Skinny Puppy, Remission (I thought that the name of the band sounded like hardcore--I was shocked); TSOL, Thoughts of Yesterday. There were a great many more great misses, though (Youth of Today's Break Down the Walls comes to mind--I never got too into that straightedge thing).

Shit...that previous paragraph is a parentheticals and italics nightmare.

Testing Out New and Improved Photoware

My dead old Siamese cat, Bozzer. I was sort of artsy at one point, really.


This is just horrible and strange. With that beagle that I had, Otis. It's totally from the same night as the gun maniac photo, too. Man, I was really looking huge--definitely >250# in this one.

Shootings? Schools?

This school shooting thing has gotten way out of hand. Seriously, WTF is wrong with people? I'm definitely not a fan of children (more some other time), but this shit is totally whack. I don't think that the expectation of a certain level of safety at school is unreasonable at all. When I was kickin' it in San Antonio high schools, they were sort of like prisons, and dude couldn't mosey in and waste people. There were cops (plural) and a lot of razor wire. I got straight As.

I got some photos from The Bad Republican Man of the alligator (6' 4") he shot in his backyard. There are plans to eat it, which rocks in a very Florida redneck sort of way. Also killed were six of her babies (1'). Those are what I would call snack size. His quote:"Gators are fiercely strong but no match for a .357."

I also got something from the University of Colorado Economics Department. Awesome! I needed an excuse to pay those cats a visit, and now I do:

50th Anniversary Celebration

[edit]

Saturday, October 28
Discussion Panels from 9:00a.m. – 12 noon in the Economics Building.
Panel 1 – How Has Economics Changed in the Last 50 Years?
Panel 2 – Economics Education: Is the Tassel Worth the Hassle?
Panel 3 – Why Is Economics So Darned Sexy?

Those panels are hilarious. I have to go.

Hellerpalooza--Sponsored by Corroborate

I did indeed wind up ambling down to the Hellerpalooza. I really wanted to see some of the bands, even though I knew that I'd be in for a rough night. My plan was to tough it out as long as I could.

Los Dos and The New American Ramblers - Hasn't really progressed since I saw them when they used to open for us, even though they've added a rhythm section (including mighty?!? old-school bass amplification courtesy of Crate).

Cowboy Curse - Should've headlined. It's really only a matter of time before they are pop stars. They remind me a lot of Apples, but better and a lot less high. Ben pulled some Ottaway shit and scared me almost as much.

Kingdom of Magic - Sort of like Sleep. Loud. I've been promising Luke that I would go to a show for months. Those expensive ear plugs are rarely useful, but with that backline, they were required. I dig 'em, even if my pals will accuse me of more Hessian-ness. I taught The Godfather how to shotgun a clove during this set. He really didn't need those lungs anyway.

Monofog - Alleged (a bummer, I wanted to see some shit, man) art preempted this, which is unfortunate, because this band made me into a fan after years of lukewarm. At least I got to hang out with three of my absolute favorite people. I finished out their set chatting on the sidewalk with the mighty Linda Truth.

Red Cloud (not west) - The Godfather could tell that I was having a hard time (as I do) with their set. I actually managed a pretty good one-liner:"it's like watching someone fuck your girlfriend," (if you don't know what that's like, I can't help you out). His response was awesome: "damn." I'm getting better at attending their shows, really. It's weird because I love those guys until they hit the stage, and then there's rage and jealousy and stuff. Those feelings will go away if I can manage to get something going that doesn't fizzle, I think.

Photos: The Flyer; Heller, that guy, and PMFS CD release posters (The Denver sound).