Pirate Radio, Without The Pirates?

That's what I get to listen to all day. My new mechanic, Vic, had to be broken of his "World Class Rock" habit. A couple of weeks ago I stumbled onto KYEN out of Severance, Colorado. They seem to play lots and lots of "deep cuts", including stuff that I've never even heard before. A couple of days ago, they played "Venus in Furs" which is one of my favorite tunes by the VU.

I love the noisy racket (and out of tune viola) on this YouTube find:



My favorite song has to be "Pale Blue Eyes", mostly because that's the song that blew me away when I heard the nascent Red Cloud duo do it at the hipster youth halfway house. It worked out with a sparse arrangement. I wish that someone had recorded that show.

A Windy Day

in The City of Central (that's what the letterhead sez). Somehow, the leaves were mostly still on the trees, and really popping. My crummy phone cam photos don't even do the aspens above town justice. Y'all on the local wide webs missed out on some pretty trees today. Like Glenn Danzig said, "Anyone who isn't here is an asshole." Something like that, at least. I'm glad that I got to drive up the hill today. I totally trespassed to see WTF that plaque is--it's totally the site of the first masonic joint in Colorado, but you'd never know from my photo:


Note the mirror:

Again, with the mirror:


Gambling town condos means a lot of garbage-density, but horrifically steep concrete "streets"--this one has a "winter use forbidden" sign. I need to take that photo one of these days.

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Now playing: Ross Etherton and the Chariots of Judah - Yellow Crane Tower (4:57)

Some really really weird weird vocals happened on this song. Ross wasn't doing one of his characters, but the final verse is REALLY strange sounding--that's what happens when you record in one take as a whole band (let it bleed). It's an incredible demo, and we'll never re-create it, and y'all'll [that's my brilliant contraction of y'all (you all) and will, BTW] probably never know how strange it sounds, because we can't re-create it (it's an example of studio strangeness).

Interesting--The Coming of Jeebus Smells Like Burning Steel

I've never been able to nail down what smells like burning steel, but I've got it at last. It's just like the plastic Advent wreath we had as well as the required candles. I find it very odd that I'm associating burning steel with the holiday season, but whatev...

Bored Out of My Mind

Today, I'm riding along with John to get him comfortable with the circa-1987 Eaton 8-speed. So far, it has been a grind-fest. Dude just needs to relax and practice a lot. I'm confident that he'll get it.

Hasta La Vista, Baby.

I got to be the terminator tonight. No more rastafarian for us. I feel sort of bad on one hand, but on the other, I feel okay with it. In this market, if you can't take your job seriously, we can find someone who does. The shit hitting the fan today means mas Manuel labor.

Ouch.

I totally sprained my ankle during a not-so-graceful exit from the truck today. Luckily, the new guy, John rocks. It's not turning colors yet.

One of the guys went to the hospital with a fucking heart attack today. Makes me feel pretty silly about the ankle problem. Indeed, this is some hard work.

I have some good drugs, though. With some ice, elevation, and a cane to gimp around for a couple of days, I'll be cured soon.

La Hidráulica No Son Buenos

Especially when you have 'em backwards. You see, garbage truck hydraulics work just like garbage truck electrical stuff. You have a pressure line (power) and a return to the tank (ground). Valves typically have the pressure input marked.

Today, I fixed the 17-yard McNeilus box that has mystified el mecánico. As it turns out, there's an electric safety valve that requires 12 volts for any of the pressure lines to work. It also helps when the pressure is flowing the right direction, dude.

Once we made it work, the Manuel Labor started. There was the classic sledge hammer usage (Manuel and I taking turns with the big hammer while José shouts "¡Otro!"), because the damn caja has been sitting around rusting and otherwise filthy. José says, "It's the Mexican way."

Either there's a lot of air in the system (put on your surprised face), or the ejection cylinder is broken, because it doesn't quite do it right. I'll worry about that some other time.

The worst part about hydraulic work is that getting oily is unavoidable. That crap makes my skin itch and break out in a gnarly rash. No me gusta eso.

Summer Hair Cut.

I thought that I could make it to Memorial Day, but not so much. Sitting on top of that 200-degree Cummins all day just means lots of sweat and not able to think straight. Last year, I was driving the Peterbilt, and I could just leave the right side door open (it's set up for right-side driving, but I'm not so good at driving while standing up). My big International is like driving around a 50,000-pound oven, especially since the cab ventilation dampers have been rendered inoperable. The stop and go means that I can never get any air circulation. Add the physical work, and it just sucks.

Gatorade G2 is way less harsh on my guts than the old-school stuff--and, they have 'grape drink' flavor. Whoot.

There's supposed to be a cold front on Wednesday.

Surreal, Man.

Today was too weird for me. I slept through the alarm and was late for work by about 20 minutes.

After checking my truck and obtaining the sheets (we're like the KKK and can't do anything without the sheets--our daily route notes), I headed over to the nearby gas station for my traditional breakfast of a bean and cheese burrito and a Mountain Dew. The dude, Roger, rang up my ticket, and a handed him my check card (which is annoying to everyone, because it's an old verification system). As he handed me back my card, I noticed that he was REALLY shaky. He bugged out his eyes, sort of 'wobbled', but unlike Weebles, he did fall down. Indeed, the clerk was out cold with his eyes rolled back. Then, he starts this horrible gasping.

All I could do is stand there with my mouth open, waiting to sign the slip. Luckily, some Mexican behind me in line had his phone with him (mine was in the truck), and called the paramedics. They carted Roger off to the hospital.

I think that maybe I need to work on my crisis-coping-with skills, seriously.

Later, I caught the UFO with the camera phone. I'm all Pete Townsend on that one.

Everything else was cool today until I heard KVOD on the way home. It was "Adagio from Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor "Quasi una fantasia", Op. 27, No. 2, by Ludwig van Beethoven. I can't remember who was playing it, but they pushed Adagio a lot, almost getting into Lento territory. It was like Swans was covering Ludwig Van.

The Moonlight Sonata's first movement is pretty damn cool, but my favorite is the third, especially the Horowitz version--really a beautiful interpretation with lots of great dynamics:



My grandfather forced me to watch Horowitz on TV when I was a kid, and I still can't get over his hands (he wasn't Gattaca material). His hands mimic the hammers, really. Chopin is pretty good--this one's from Austria in 1987, a couple of years before he died:



I love this Horowitz quote:

"There are three kinds of pianists: Jewish pianists, homosexual pianists, and bad pianists."

Suzuki Madness (feats of strength)

Today while backing in to a big pile of crap, I nudged one of the four jack stands that were supporting a gutted Suzuki Samurai (no engine, transmission, roof or wheels). Of course, the damn thing came down. Unfortunately, the boss was standing right there and was pissed. I said that we'll just pick it up and place it back on the stands.

Then, I picked it up and Manuel stuck the stands back under the frame. I really didn't think that I was going to be able to dead lift a Suzuki, but I totally did. Hilarious. I didn't even dislocate my wrists, but I think that I'm three inches shorter.

I'm truly astonished.

Trucking Accident.

I totally hit an old guy in an Audi. He was passing me on the right shoulder when I turned right. My tire messed up his bumper. His ticket was for improper passing on the right ($300, 4 points, mandatory court). My ticket was for no seat belt ($40, 0 points, mail it in and get it reduced to 0 points).

I also got to do a roadside drunk test, and was a smart ass during that. He held up a pen and told me to follow the light with my eyes. I told him that I didn't see a light, only a ballpoint pen.

You Can Drive The Big Rigs

Today was my first (semi) successful route with my grey goose. Last week, I lost an important 1/8" air line to the transmission--no shift, no brakes, no nothing.

It was like truck-driving school 101 - shifting today. As it turns out, the tranny has been switched, but the shift pattern decal illustrates the old transmission. It goes something like this:

Ever since I drove the beast from New (Fucking) Jersey--that was horrible--I thought that 4/8 was broken. A light bulb went on late last week, and I tried something different (and reved the hell out of the engine). Totally, dude...it goes like this:

Real subtle, huh? Shifts like a maniac now, though. I'm actually not that good at floating gears in the goose, but I'm improving quickly. My upshifts are solid, as long as I remember that confounded pattern. Downshifts aren't a smooth endeavor; I still have to double-clutch 'em most of the time. At least I don't have someone barking gears at me:



I got stuck 4 times today in Boulder. I quickly learned that the power divider lock is great if you only want to go in a straight line. Eight wheels pushing means the front end is so light that steering inputs have zero effect. It's kind of lame. The old guy ordered me two sets of the TRYGG (Norwegian) ice chains:


With two sets of singles, I'll have lots of flexibility to put 'em on the front (although the zigzags would be best), or on either rear axle.

A Winter Fucking Wonderland?

One cannot imagine how much I love my job on days like these. Chains tear up my hands, and the fuckeed clutch on the KW meant for a sketched out day. I told dude that I don't like being preached at, and he chilled on the 'jah' jazz. Actually, I like him, but that evangelical Rastafarian crap sucks. I actually used the phrase "get serious, dude," as well as "you've been brain-washed."

Still, it was a pretty sight, even if there's a cliff on the left side that was calling out my name.

Garbage Men Are So Stupid Sometimes.

18-wheel end dumps are dangerous. I saw this one 'do a trick' yesterday:



Today, I dropped a 800# dumpster on my head because I was 'fixing something' while the dumpster was overhead. It hit me squarely in the forehead and knocked me off of my feet--didn't break the skin, though.

I Don't Miss Office Work.

I forgot about this ad campaign. I don't care for football or Reebok, but this series was good.

Work Whining.

Meanwhille, back at el rancho loco, Mahoney fired dude again on Monday. I'm not even making this up, friends. It's not that big of a deal since for the four weeks he "worked" for us, Mahoney gave him two weeks of "vacation."

Today, he got word from the insurance company that our felony conviction driver is uninsurable. Months ago, I told him, "Don't hire felons, because DOT doesn't let 'em drive trucks." My mother and Kip advised him similarly. I was told that I was "full of shit."

I could get really pissed, but I won't because it's fucking priceless to watch the old guy lose his mind--he doesn't have a good plan, and even called me four times during my afternoon cat nap.

Apparently, The Old Guy Was Kidding

And we're still at "full" strength at work. All I have to say is that working for Mahoney is a thrill a minute. Seriously, I need to do something else. This wishy washy shit (as well as the non-verbal communication) is getting really old.

One Of These People Doesn't Belong At The Show (not a music post, just whining)

Why? Dig this (or watch me rationalize my anti-social):

• I don't even dig the social bullshit that comes with live music. I love love live music, but I really don't want to deal with people. I'd rather listen to the soundboard recording at home, honestly. So, obviously, I totally had to get the fuck out of there. Too many people were vibin' me out completely.
  

• Steve's cousin made an appearance (need to get that checked out--now that Manuel isn't in jail and Kip's not on vacation, I ought to be able to do that). Shittin' blood just ain't cool, my dudes, especially when you're at the show.
  

• After all, it should've been Neil's show. Next time, I'll just say 'no thank you.' It would've been different if he'd asked me. I feel entirely dirty. It was one of those things that at the time seemed like a good idea. My friends encouraged me, and they're pretty convincing (and mean well, I'm sure).

• I totally fucked up, too. All the energy drinks and lime green wristbands in the world couldn't have stopped that. I just ain't Rocks Tar material, friends. I can't even play the instrument after 20 years. In fact, I ought to just quit.
  

• I'm fucking tired. Getting up and starting work before the sun comes up and then having to drive fast and run all day makes for complete exhaustion.

Tomorrow, though, it all starts again. I just wish that I could live up to the tattoo. I'm so fed up with this shit. Seriously.

Maximum R&B (epic narrative of my weekend)

Since Wednesday, it's been non-stop, my droogs. I'm fucking burnt out, seriously.

Wednesday was the OC photos. I'm not so into getting photographed, but Laurie seems to be pretty cool. I think that I screwed up my neck posing.

Thursday night was Bad Luck City's big bad tour to Fort Collins, where we played with Badman (who are awesome). The 'tape' of the show sounds amazing as far as the band goes. The vocals sounded shitty, though. I had fun.

Friday was a fucking painful day at work. I'm glad that I don't do that shit every day. It was a special occasion.

Friday night was the baddest show in town: Reverend Deadeye (who's learnt hisself some tricks on the road), The Omens, Badman (killer set), and us. The Larimer Lounge has two blown monitors at the moment: stage right and the drum monitor. Uncool.

Saturday was picking up Mesa number two at the shop. Next, I killed some time with LRC (I wanted to buy her lunch but she had other plans). Then, it was off to the BLS band rehearsal. We're going to pull this shit off. Live music needs a little danger to be exciting to play (I think that Steve Harris said something like that once). I went home and got myself drunk (finally).

Sunday was agonizing over rehearsal tapes and then delivering 'em to BLS. Then I went to LRC's where French toast was waiting for me (with a couple pounds of bacon). Killer. We screwed around and went to the rock-stick-mega-haus because I needed another rack case for numero dos. We ate chinese food and watched Clue (I hadn't seen it through--just bits). I passed out and got a nice little nap before going to rehearsal again. We rocked.

I'm fucking tired.

I'm Not Spiderman

Today, the job required that I hang off the side of a garbage truck and use the big plasma cutter to fix some shit. Overhead plasma cutting is stupid. An unclean helmet lens is stupid. Greasy velcro shoes are stupid.

I seem to have injured my neck and back. I need some drugs, man.

Tired.

I'm glad that I only have three days left until dude gets back from vacation. Seriously, who goes to Vermont to climb mountains when you live in Colorado??

WATER OK!

Today, I got to drive the 1997 Peterbilt 320. I'm always the lucky one that gets to rock the convection oven on wheels during the summer. I need to get a thermometer for the inside of the cab. The dashboard and gauges actually get too hot to touch.

It's actually a pretty cool truck with some really wonky wiring--13 gauges tell me about just about everything (need an exhaust pyrometer, I suppose) most of the time. The warning alarm told me "WATER OK" and screamed at me intermittently all day long. I'm certain that the wire from the sending unit must be grounding out or something. I'll worry about that sometime when it's nice and cool.

I didn't do the right side driving today, although I did pull the right door off for ventilation. Adjusting the mirrors for the right side is a pain. It's really hard on my knees and hips to drive standing up, too. I suppose that I'm getting too old.

This dude doesn't have to pick up the cans--those giant carts are the most evil invention ever. Lucky bastard:



I think that I got some dehydration/heat exhaustion going on. Stalactites on my eyebrows, dry mouth, no sweating, dizziness, a horrible headache, and vomiting at the recycling plant all lead me to this conclusion.

Fucking Raccoons; Tom Murphy's Law

My droogs, I start quite early on Tuesdays. It's all commercial accounts, so it isn't a big deal to show up before anyone's home. It's much easier traffic-wise, and I don't get the "you're sitting on a diesel engine" hallucinations so much.

Our secretary (the brains of the operation, for sure) gets in at 8:30-ish. That's when she checks the answering machine. Anyhow, about 8:30-ish, I got a somewhat frantic call to not empty a dumpster in Boulder because there are three baby raccoons chillin' there. I didn't notice anything odd when I emptied that container at 7 a.m.

I'm probably a raccoon-killer. I didn't tell her that I had already been there.

I Hate Everyone.

Or, almost everyone. I'm really pissed that dude is taking a vacation right when we're already short two drivers. The old man feels good about getting rent-a-drunks to drive our trucks. Then, he's mad when they wreck 'em. I protested the whole idea, and all that I could think, to myself, of course, was "put on your surprised face."

I've been too pissed off to eat for two days. I'm sure that has done nothing but help my cheerful charlie.

This is a really great track from I Am Singing To You From My Room. I don't remember it being quite as bombastic when the RC opened for 'em. Frightful, really. I don't recall a synth on stage, either. Maybe that's Christoph sodomizing the lap steel? The end is some pseudo-throat singing (amps beating against vocal cords). Awesome.

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Now playing: Michael Gira - All Souls' Rising (Live Fragment)

Cool, in many ways

I spent most of the day talking drive-line-retarders with a dude over here. It's impressive technology--85% of braking from magnets means cooler (groovy!) and a lot less wear on the air brakes and the top end of the motor (from engine brakes). The kit for $5K seems like a bargain to me--the old man wanted to spend $2K on a used unit that we would have to fabricate brackets for, as well as purchase the controls. We'll still have to shorten the drive shaft, but we do that all the time anyway (when we're not stretching frames and shit).

I'm thinking that we need to implement this technology on all of our trucks. They build units for 8,000 to 150,000 (seriously illegal on roads) GVWs.

Of course, I found a video from the manufacturer (dig that soundtrack, and garbage trucks). Look at the coils! The winder is like a giant pickup winder! A cool video for gear heads:

Annoying Man

My blue truck rocks, but it's not very fast. Dig this video from street racing on the diagonal this afternoon, my favorite part is the tanker blowing past me on the right:

I Always Wondered WTF Was Up With This; Truck Wrecks Rock

Since I'm now in charge of maintenance schedules and DOT compliance, I need to do lots of studying. I stumbled onto this:

Truck classification from Wikipedia.

That's the notorious unit #13 (who thought that numbering a truck this was a good idea?) Sterling Aceterra (33,000 GVWR). It's been good for parts for it's longer sister, #16. The current #13 (a Freightliner FL70) is the one that I rolled last year (the pavement broke, really--you can see it in the photo):

Four Rainbows At Once!!!!

It was totally surreal. I had to be shifting and stuff, so I only got a picture of one:


Rainbows don't ever photograph well. The shadow of the mountain that I was on makes the whole photo look weird.

I am way exhausteed. Out.

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Now playing: Kc And The Sunshine Band - That's The Way

Earth Day

It ain't easy being green. The irony of 60 cubic yards of MSW from so-called "zero waste" businesses was almost more than I could bear today.

Minus 58 Degrees?!?

Are you fucking kidding me?!?

That's what our thermo-meter told us today in Blackhawk. Lame. Lame. Lame. It was actually only -12; we agreed that the flags standing out from their poles meant that I was experiencing at least twenty mph winds, even though I was hanging off of the back of a ten mph truck.

Groundwater sampling in Cheyenne was better than this.

It was cold enough that my nose froze as well as my eyes and lower jaw (real pain, friends). The lung pain was tolerable within my brown clothes.

The "high point" of the day was taking a leak--I think that I got some freezer burn. I require an expert to examine this. At least it ain't black and falling off, right? Volunteers?

Job satisfaction is at an all-time low, my friends

As if being a trashman with a degree wasn't bad enough, right? Saturday's hell on Magnolia Road was a talk-o-rama with los customers. At 1730, dude in shorts and furry boots (only in the Nederland, Colorado metro area) decided to pull me over and talk for fifteen minutes about his trash-volume.

Are you even kidding me?!?

I put on my greenest face and 'bated him about the recycled shit.

Are you even kidding me?!?

Dude sez that he's going to give Mahoney a call on Monday.

Fed Up

Seriously, folks, this clown at work is getting on my nerves. I will get even since he's fucked up my plans for not one, but two weeks now.

I'm so piss-eed that I can't see straight.

My Feet Are So Cold.

But I did achieve a new personal record gross weight: 38,080 pounds. In a truck rated for 33,000, that seems pretty good. My turquoise tractor with doors is awesome.

Ice Road Trucker

Has anyone seen that series? They need to dramatize my day like that on the MTV2 or something. I'd have to grow a beard and wear more brown clothes.

The City of Boulder "solar" snow removal plan sucks. I only had one momentofterror (tm) today--I backed down 7th Street from almost-Cascade to Aurora. "Liddle Mitz" wasn't heavy enough to do anything but float. So lame. I didn't have to put on chains, though. I took the scenic route instead. The alleged four feet of snow in Eldorado Springs didn't actually exist.

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Now playing: Talas - High Speed on Ice

Ellos me llaman el hombre de trabajo

• Was almost jumped by a pissed-off English Mastiff with large testicles.
• Called 911 when a dude hit a fence as well as a tree and was unresponsive to other dudes.
• Found a 30-gallon sack of weed in a dumpster.
• Made flyers at Kinkos.

I actually think today turned out pretty okay, even if my body is killing me.
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Now playing: Mogwai - Glasgow Mega-Snake

Add "Alpaca Wrangler" to the Resumé

I did my good deed for today. I get a gold star.

Today I was riding around the county. Way up high, I saw some alpacas meandering about the road, so I had to investigate (JZ wants to know WTF). When we got there, it appeared that the gate had blown off its hinges. Indeed it was fuckin' windy, and there was blowing dust'n'snow. The driver I was riding with was not a fan of wrangling alpacas:

"Those things are mean."
"They're like a hairy camel, dude. If some 8-year-old kid can race a camel, I can wrangle an alpaca."

Despite what the infomercial says (the related website is here), they are not "loving," my friends. They are indeed mean as hell, but not as satanic as bison (they will kill your ass), or explosive as bull cattle. Smarter than horses, though (not saying much, really). They were dumb enough for me to coax them into the pasture, although one was spitting and stomping at me. I laid down the law:

"Fuck you, dude. You're so not scaring me."

Perhaps I should've been an alpaca rancher, even if I use "dude" as punctuation.

Waylon Jennings is the best, even if Bob Wills is still the king.
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Now playing: Waylon Jennings - Bob Wills Is Still The King (Live)

Unbelievable.

I totally smoked my ankle falling out of a truck today. I was actually reduced to tears. I called to get a rent a drunk (labor ready), but instead I got one of our employees.

Doesn't look so good compared to my right ankle:

Walking is not happening, even on 1600 mg of Advil and 650 mg of Oxycodon (only because it hurts). It's a good thing that I keep those crutches around. I'm convinced that it's The Kaptain's Kurse or something.

Something that I won't be doing (unless I get my hands on some weed and booze; Zappa rocks):
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Now playing: Frank Zappa - Dancin' Fool

Beat Up and Down

Our driver, Scott, is on vacation, so I got to 'do' his Friday route. This used to be my route 10 years ago, so the roads aren't the problem, it's a lot bigger now. Still, this is a good time of the year to be in the hills--there's a shitload of beauty going on. It rained on me and was cold. Driving a 12-speed manual in the hills is a chore. The worst part is this big bump that I got on my head when I hit the ceiling while driving through a rain rut. Might have to partake in the mighty percocet this evening.

I drove past two of my old bosses homes today. I sort of feel sorry for them because they're enjoying a view from a low-rent suite in Boulder, and I'm getting psychedelicized autumn colors.

Danger Is My Middle Name, Parts II & III

Truck Troubles:

Mahoney drove my turquoise truck (see photo) on Monday. He's decided that the turbo is "whistling" and that the brakes are inadequate. He announced that during the morning meeting with all the drivers and we all laughed (everyone has told him about these problems for two fucking years). I'm glad that he got scared in the mountains. Kip chimed in with "you just have to pay attention." The Mahoney excuse?

"I thought that you were all just a bunch of whiners."

He never fucking listens to anyone. I'm pissed because it doesn't matter until it affects him. What a POS.

Ah, yes...the mobile chemistry set.

Apparently there was a gift left for me in a dumpster today. I got out of haz-waste because of shit like this. Gasping for breath. Respiratory pain. It was a lot like fucking chlorine. I hate that shit.

I got to some air and could breathe again. Brian Banks told me about this shit many years ago. I ought to carry my respirator with me. This is becoming a problem in Boulder "fuckin'" County, apparently.

Getting My Fix

I get terribly bummed out Tuesday through Friday because I'm having music withdrawal. With the OC on summer sabbatical, I've been despondent for too long. It's amazing that I haven't shotgunned myself in the face.

Tonight was the first time in three (!!) weeks that the OC has convened to rockpractice (tm). We actually sounded really decent (better than some bands at shows). No one had forgotten the songs. It was great to have the kaptain back up on his feet, although he looked quite wobbly at times. His voice is back and mad as hell after being all cooped up for months. I know nothing about singing, but doing so with a cramped diaphragm has to double the effort. It would be like me using a foam mute or something.

However, the drums seemed muted to me, as was K's guitar. I'm convinced that he needs more speakers for better dispersion amongst los bastardos de amplificadores. Mabe the sound is a lot better on the other side of the "stage." I think that we need to turn up the drums.

More adjustments on the menace have improved string to string balance, and I'm starting to get really comfortable with the instrument. Maybe the satin neck is easier than the black ho's gloss one? The black ho definitely has more tightness in the low end (I'll refrain from full-blown innuendo here). On the journey home I decided that I might be able to regain some of that black ass by using the elusive "bass shift" switch on the Booger.

My schedule has eased at work. Thus, I can now do twice a weeks with the OC again. Mondays are still feeling ridiculous, but Wednesday is new and improved with a second driver, even if I though it was a horrible idea. I'm fucking stoked about that. It means no more Wednesday night is "date night," though. Maybe LRC can see the OC sometime, though. I hope that she likes/understands what we're doing. This feels more like "my band" than any of my previous (or the other current) band(s). Once I'm established in the BLC (work on the 15 new songs), I'm sure that I'll feel more ownership there.

After listening to us tonight, I'm completely convinced that we need to record a 7" (at least) for release soon. I'll bet that we could get it done pro bono, or at least low fee, from our friends. If I hadn't donated the eight track to the "i have no ideas" kids, I'd totally do it, although I'd have to purchase microphones (mine have all been stolen, except for that Shure 55sw, which I'm going to fix and gift to someone soon). Even if we just did a live thing, it would be pretty fucking good. K managed to get a couple of great musicians to play with us. This band needs to get into a studio and spread our weedy vibe soon.

youtube amazes me

other garbage men post videos of crushing? i need to get on the ball. until then:

Totally dangerous.

I went to work a las cinco de la manana. I was putzing around; waiting for the route notes and whatnot. Mahoney showed a las seis. After accusing me of having girl problems and being unable to sleep, he required me to "help him." This means ferrying a packer (a fuckin' sweet 17-yard mcneilus) to the shop. Once I saw the superhinkey attachment (cheesy chains), as well as too heavy for la chata, I told him that he should drive it (he has no CDL to lose).

In the end, he chickened out. Mahoney is not that much of a risk-taker.

Lost And Found and lost again

Been a lot foggy lately, my friends. Running red lights...stopping at green ones..."losing" important documents. Essentially, I feel high, however, that is not the case. It's like someone is putting depakote in the water supply (supposed to be on 1,500 mg a day). Really miserable. I believe that this numb feeling is a stress-related deal. I've got the "I'm stressed out" rash, again (third time since I was 17). I seem to be dealing fairly well this time.

I probably require a vacation and some weed.

This weekend was restorative, though. My pets are feeling lonely, for sure, but those little assholes have been getting on my nerves. I'm feeling better about the girl after moving in for a few days. We made it out to a show (saw a lot of pals). I had "lost" my driver license. The fucking patriot act means that I can't make a deposit at the bank without one (fuckers). The state of Colorado doesn't accept my birth certificate as valid (although I was born in a U.S. military hospital in country). It's a two-day hassle to get another license. Fuckers.

Practice with BLC was instrumentalists and missing a bass player (put me on the spot without a net). I'm still feeling things out, for sure. My "menacing" tone might not work for this band. I'll try something different for the next practice. If I get the dynamics right, I think that it's doable, though. That's a reasonable goal, right? It's proving to be difficult to adjust to a much quieter band (on 2, the practice rig is far too much--The OC goes to 11). I think that they would've said something if I had been really obscene. They're used to a subliminal bass player, which isn't what I've been doing lately. Andrew did clue me into a decrescendo that I totally did wrong. Thanks, dude--I got it now. It's all going to work out with a little practice. One month until the debut of the unfuckwithable new lineup. Fingers crossed.

I found the MIA license in a truck that I drove a week ago today. Excellent.

Later, I got a bad phone call with another cancer scare. Why is it that everyone I really care about is having these fucking issues?!? Meanwhile, back in my crotch, the "lymphoma" seems to have cured itself sans medical intervention. Whoot.

I'm probably dying. Whoot.

As Nasty As You Want It To Be

I totally hurt my neck mowing lindaruth's lawn this afternoon. I think that the injury occurred when her youngest startled me.

I might have to get her a robotic lawn mower. That would be awesome. What I want to know is if it's a decent feline torture device, like the Roomba.

Too Close

Fuck, dude....half a block from a lightning bolt this afternoon in Boulder. Blue/Red/Loud. Lightning is actually one of the big reasons that camping=motel 6.

Kamikaze Squirrels and Some Amazing Finds

Seriously, five squirrels darted out in front of me today. I'm certain that they're playing chicken, much like my baby brother. To all squirrels:

I can't stop a truck that fast. WTF is with you, anyway? It is a big, loud, heavy truck--can't you just wait?

One of my EcoCycle accounts is a church in east Boulder. Evidently, they had a yard sale since last week. I got a dumpster full of priced goodies:

a ping pong table;

brassieres (!);

a wheelchair;

a walker;

a jock strap (including stains--$2); and

one of those rabbit vibrators (no box--$10).

It totally isn't the Unitarian Church, either. This is one of those evangelical deals.

Maggots Are Back!

My twelve-hour day today can only mean one thing: summer is right around the corner!

Good:

1. School's out, so the Starbucks on university hill is easy to drive into;
2. Rockshows;
3. The summer haircut;
4. Motorbikes!
   

Bad:

1. Wondervu is beautiful this time of year, although the recent precipitation means that the "roads" are soft enough to gobble up trucks;
2. Tomorrow, I'm laying tile all day in a steel building--Sweatyman rides again;

Ugly:

The three yards of rotting meat that I had to deal with at four o'clock.

Shattered, Friends

The Over Casters' song-writter/singer 'o doom/guitarist almighty, Kaptain K, has sustained serious injuries from a fall. If y'all know Kurt, give him a call/text/photo o' support.

I'll be in serious trouble because of that ghost photo that i took at last year's SP festival.

Also, it appears that our 'real' debut will be delayed because of his injuries. I'm not heart-broken about this development. I just want my friend to heel (I'm horrible), really. He's one of a handful of people that I love.

19th Nervous Breakdown; Dreams; Cable Entropy; etc (too long, too drunk)

It looks like I'm not going to be fired, even after my lively "conversation" yesterday. I was pissed.

This morning, I dreamt that I was getting high with Jay Leno. It's amazing how I still have stoner dreams like that. Apparently, we had purchased $80,000 worth of blow that we had to consume in one night. Action-packeed! Maybe I'm hanging out with the OC too much.

We had a very good (productive) practice last night. I'm pleased with how things are going, even if I've secretly (not any more) decided that Denber probably isn't going to get it (put on your surprised face). Andrew Warner will, but I'm not sure about the Denber Heepsters. Fuck 'em. It boils down to me getting to play with some great musicians who aren't flakey. Anything more is really extraneous. The new ones are a lot of fun--the old ones are still decent.

I've decided to revert to the classic 80s ampeg setup while the mesa goes to the shop for work. The big black bass-tard is really close to ideal, but it needs a little extra something for this band. Is within an RCH at this point, and I might wind up going back to the 6x6L6 setup if 6550s or KT88s and an adjustable bias don't help. On second thought, maybe I need to get the tuner out of the signal path. Hmmmmm. I saw a true-bypass tuner that I likeed recently. We'll have to see how I like the ampeg setup (which served me well for years) now. The cable entropy of the preamp/power amp setup makes me nervous. I will require a second loud rig (and another fender--might build up an OC-specific bass instead) for band number two (still at the top of their list), so it's good to work the amplifier gremlins out with the OC.

The ampeg doesn't sound bad, per se, but it's really really really clean.

Monkey-Puss (the feline formerly known as Jesus Christ) learnt to swim in the bathtub this afternoon. I was actually trying to drown her, but she was bobbing around and making chirpy noises instead. She's not even pissed at me. I wish that she would stay out of the bathtub when it was in use.

I've been on the verge of losing it for a week or so. I've totally fallen off the wagon, too. Three months of moderation is some sort of record for me since age ten.

I totally need a summer haircut, again.

Frou-Frou Foxes

I totally cannot figure out how to mobile post with the new phone. Cutech (tm) sucks. This Nokia is mighty, but the abundance of features puzzles me. The Luddite rides again, or something.

Anyhow, I saw a pair of foxes playing near the tracks in midtown Boulder this afternoon. I managed to snap a bad photo after getting one to look over its shoulder at me. It was a supercool (tm) moment.

Love when the chorus-ey guitars come in on this track. Liz Fraser is a great (albeit bizarre) vocalist.

The Overcasters are now loud as hell, but still seem to retain clarity. There are too many changes to really get into here, but it actually improved things dramatically. I was giggling during rockpractice (tm). K asks if I'm okay. Might have to increase the size of the array if the guitars go much louder, though (master is up to 8). John claims that I'm vibrating his nose, which is a wonderful thing. Sounds pretty mighty, and with performance looming, this is great.

I hadn't played this loudly since Heller wrecked the output transformer on the Vox. That was out of control bass; well past the edge of controllable. Now I'm completely in control of the rig, which is awesome (although the ceiling vibrating at the cocaine blues was pretty tough, as was the PA destruction at the lame lion's lair). The Mesa makes me happy, but I think that I might want to pick up its big brother (500 watts peak of the tube o' rama, 2x power, or something). Another alternative would be to clone and chain the rig. On third thought, there are a lot of things that I can do. Need to see how my ampeg is working out for Tito. I so want a sunn 2x18" cab.

A clerk commented about my wife today when I was doing obvious Valentine shopping (last minute, for sure). This didn't bother me as much as it used to. I smiled.

mission accomplished

the small cat apparently is not a fan of home alone.

outside of an unfortunate cellphone disaster (no phonebook no more), the treep was okay. the truck is cool. one of the high points of the trip was jose regaling me with tales of corpus christi back in the day:

"we used to go to the part of town that we called the nigger town."
"i was maybe 13 or 14 years old."
"no one said shit and there they give me beer and there was music and girls."
"a lot of girls."
"they used to call me the nigger fucker."
"i never fucked a black girl."

certainly it's not the same if you're not in a "family restaurant" with a hard of hearing mexican diesel mechanic. it was hilarious, really.

Illinois, bitches!?!

Jose and I get to take a treep to pick up another truck in Illinois (Rangoon, as mahoney calls it--actually it's rantoul, IL--ought to be Indiana, really). Am I the only one that thinks that a Midwestern road trip in a strange vehicle in February is a bad idea? I suppose that it'll be no worse than the new jersey odyssey through the July 4th weekend. Weekends are best, because the weigh stations are mostly closed, so they won't be checking the (non-existent) logbook. Legally, 11 hours a day is the maximum for OTR drivers, but I prefer to do 15 or 16.

The truck is supposedly pretty sweet--a 2003 Sterling with a 16 yard NUWAY, a Benz motor (hinkey germans), an Allison tranny. It'll have AC and a radio. Whoot! This treep will be better than that last one. Any Jose teep should be memorable, with some Jose antiques, for sure. SALSA.

This means that Nitwit gets a vacation, and that Monkeypuss will be home alone. I'm a bit troubled by the travel since it means time away from my lady-friend (more about her another time).

No News Is Good News

I have a new hole in my hand from work yesterday. Damn stigmata...

Danger Is My Middle Name

Dude, fuck.

The Thing of it is, I know what's happening (heavy) I'm really trying to refrain from the epic introspective (BS) posts. Also refraining from mundane shit. Actually, i'm preparing for delta server delta format. Keepin' it real, an' shit.A complete anxiety meltdown today. I parked the rig because I couldn't see straight, couldn't breathe, and was fully going to pieces for no apparent reason (this was really painful to me). There was frantic calling of friends that I don't think would participate in a conspiracy against me. Erich thinks that I'm in need of a drink (after 22 days sober? this is a record, indeed), and that things have been going far too well for me lately (or, better than I've become accustomed to). Thus, my unconscious things are the real conspirators. He also believes that people have better things to do. This all seems quite reasonable to me. ( i have a controlable desire to diagram sentences--should've done this post in latin just for fun--maybe next time)I know that it's completely fuckeed (tm), really. That doesn't stop it, though.(insert three hours here)A trip to the store of liquor (the bra-less wonder), and i'm much more relaxeed (tm). Dr. Vodka, Lift Your Skinny Fists (beautiful record) on repeat, some comfort food, and a quick chat with meine Donnerbrüder (et allia), and I'm back in one piece for the time being. Thank you to my best townie friends (and dr. e-dogg) on this one. I owe y'all one, really really.Still, I think that I need to pay a visit to a shrink (EEEK). There should be an anti-anxiety inhaler (or weed, as Erich suggests) or something else that's new and cool and instant.

I'm really trying to refrain from the epic introspective (BS) posts. Also refraining from mundane shit. Actually, i'm preparing for delta server delta format. Keepin' it real, an' shit.

A complete anxiety meltdown today. I parked the rig because I couldn't see straight, couldn't breathe, and was fully going to pieces for no apparent reason (this was really painful to me). There was frantic calling of friends that I don't think would participate in a conspiracy against me. Erich thinks that I'm in need of a drink (after 22 days sober? this is a record, indeed), and that things have been going far too well for me lately (or, better than I've become accustomed to). Thus, my unconscious things are the real conspirators. He also believes that people have better things to do. This all seems quite reasonable to me. ( i have a controlable desire to diagram sentences--should've done this post in latin just for fun--maybe next time)

I know that it's completely fuckeed (tm), really. That doesn't stop it, though.

(insert three hours here)

A trip to the store of liquor (the bra-less wonder), and i'm much more relaxeed (tm). Dr. Vodka, Lift Your Skinny Fists (beautiful record) on repeat, some comfort food, and a quick chat with meine Donnerbrüder (et allia), and I'm back in one piece for the time being. Thank you to my best townie friends (and dr. e-dogg) on this one. I owe y'all one, really really.

Still, I think that I need to pay a visit to a shrink (EEEK). There should be an anti-anxiety inhaler (or weed, as Erich suggests) or something else that's new and cool and instant.

Marathon

I totally almost got into an accident today during a FM radio sing along to this one. It's good to keep your eyes open while you drive. Music is an eye-closer, really (like kissing). Rutsy wasn't a horrible drummer, but this was their first record, which has a bunch of zep rips, so it's a little painful. I can't even begin to hit some of the vocal notes. P-basses rule, my friends. The dude in the song doesn't even know what real work is--try getting up at four, at work at five, twelve hours of actual real labor, home at seven, sucking down a bunch of chill out pills and doing it again. And I manage a rock project and stuff?!?

I thought that I had tomorrow off from the mighty (or evil) work-o-rama. However, unfortunately for me, a dumb ass put a truck into a ditch this afternoon (no show shenanigans tonight). Tomorrow will be day 11 of the current marathon (I ought to keep track of my hours, just to acknowledge to myself the indentured servitude). I require some performance-enhancing drugs (weed), or something. I'm feeling pretty good, actually (except for being bruised, abraded, lacerated and sore). I think that I know how I'm able to keep up this pace, and it totally has to do with George Thorogood. Rock and other stuff is keeping me afloat. Who'd have thunk?

There's so much more, but my lackadaisical (can't believe that I spelled that one right) computer use is feeling really good, and I'm way fuckin' tired.

Digging Karma?

I pulled a little old lady's Volvo 240 wagon out of a snow bank/drift. There was digging involved also (yay! digging!). She attempted to give me some money. I told her that I couldn't accept her money because I "needed digging karma" after the rolling incident on Saturday. It made me feel like I'd done something worthwhile.

(Actually, it turns out that the mighty Kenworth was actually being propped up by a huge drift. The truck was laying on its side, so i think that it counts. There was lots of digging and technical chain pulling involved in that extrication. We totally got the full pull, eventually, y'all)

I could only get away with actually saying such nonsense in Boulder County.

Snow, Man (I swear that I'm only bored and not actually trasheed)

I've spent most of the week waist-deep in snow, and I'm so over it. At least I haven't spent the night in the car again. Colorado is rarely like this, and why I thought that I was down with it. I'm glad that the officials urged everyone to stay home today--y'all not being on the "roads" really made my life a lot easier.

I scared the hell out of a women when I did a 40,000-pound wheelstand in her driveway earlier in the week. The look on her face was fucking priceless.

"Your front wheels weren't even on the ground!! How can you drive like that?!?"
"Yeah, it happens--it's a little nerve-wracking the first time. This job requires nerves."

<> Like an asshole? We short out the ABS (so the old trucks drive like the new ones, which is a little weird, I suppose) and switch out the rears for better (to the xtreme) ratios. Lots of gears helps you get up to a reasonable highway speed. A mighty 20-speed split-shift is all you really need with one of them Cummins diesels. We convert semis into "light trucks" (Boulder county's definition, not mine). The luddite shop rocks. < /post hoc commentary >

Yesterday, I had to rescue a driver that had lost his steering wheel on a bobsled run (apparently, Chevrolet sucks). On the way up the bobsled run, a stupid 17 year-old put himself in the ditch (the alternative was down a cliff). I attempted constructive driving instruction, so that we could get our three trucks out of the hole. He didn't know what the low gear was in his mom's [sweet] SUV. Kid didn't understand "keep your wheels straight." He was concerned that his VSC light was flashing. He kept saying that the VCR light was flashing, which confused me (I'm easily confused). This is Toyota's "vehicle stability control" anti-rollover thing to prevent dumb asses from rollin' (no drugs involved). These systems work, though--I tested the Ford/Mercury version out near Bonneville at that facility. It's actually a little frustrating when you want to go to the xtreme of four wheelin' in utah mud [yes, mud draggin', kids (one of my secret consulting hobbies, right up there with belly dancing, whores, museums, rock-climbing, and driving the i-5, drinking contests, ufo-watching, freakin' out the townies) the salt flats in March are pretty wet and wild]. I wanted to tell him that if that light comes on, you're driving like an asshole (truly), but since his mother was there, I didn't. Mahoney (coughing up blood on the scene after his surgery--so dramatic, really) harassed the kid for bad shovel technique--"you must not be Irish." I endured that shit for so many years.

The decision was made to not go ahead with our set on New Year's Eve. This is quite a relief since the weather has interfered with rehearsals a couple of times now. There are some issues that we have to address, and we will. I'm glad that I have a great band leader for once. Bad ass Steve went home this morning. Coming soon to a venue near you, and shit....

A couple of days ago, I installed the bad ass steve commemorative bass bridge--I'd forgotten that it's so much louder and ringing. I need to scale back my treble a bit (the clicky shit is quite distracting to me). I have metal-guy action back, though. I'm currently lusting for a 1960s Hagström 8-string that I've located (see bad photo--in gunmetal grey of all colors). It appears to be in great condition and is priced right and collectible, if anything. I'd have to re-learn how to use a pick for it to work, but it might be a cool addition. I think that Shannon was looking for one, so I could unload it for a loss if need be. I've decided to think about resale when I purchase instruments from now on. Amps are disposable, still. Also, lusting for a couple of Vox instruments that I'd never play.

Ain't trying to be clever or funny.

I Swear I'm Not Trippin'

I did the Jeremy weather report first thing (literally stumbling out of bed), and I really really saw two or three inches of new snow out there. Since I'm flying solo today, so to speak, I really didn't want another storm. It happens, though.

The best part of the snow is that it was entirely a hallucination. The stress elves (naked, thus, real) must be getting to me.