Tuesday, November 18, 2003

I was already knee deep into hardocre and punk the day i met Chris Steeves, a tiny mouselike girl with a tongue sharper than razors. I had been talking to Vadim Tchertishny, the Estonian parking lot attendant (motto: "I am tired of being a cog. I want to be a lever.") when she walked up dressed in raggy black clothes, partially mohawked hair, combat boots and a rat on her shoulder. We hit it off immediately (I thought she was cute but found out that she aas dating my friend Jeff Dupres), and just as immediately i saw her breathe fire when a carful of jocks or tourists drove by with the inevitable catcall of "nice hair!"
Chris Steeves, all 4'5" and 80 pounds of her, opened her mouth and bellowed "YOUR MOTHER DOUCHES WITH LYE!"
Ray and i went back to Newport 2 summers ago and ended up wandering around the remains of the Starlite Twin Drive In, which was already out of business when we moved from Rhode Island in 1999, but had been completely abandoned and reclaimed by the land when we made our 2002 visit. It was like the ruins of Cair Paravel: the backtop was overgrown, and trees grew out of what was left of the projection room/ snack bar. We walked along the back fence separating the drive in from Middletown Junior High School, and found scraps of the marquee and the original sign piled behind the skeleton of the smaller screen: amazing what a decade of neglect will do. Birds twittered from the overgrown debris.

I couldn't help but think of the Starlight Twin as I stood on land reclaimed by the water department in Mt. Shasta, california, which may be the one place I'd be willing to give up my car-free lifestyle to live in. The pavement was broken, covered with baby pines and wild roses. The mountains here are amazing: it's making me miss Western Massachusetts of all places. Mt. Shasta towers over it's namesake, and for about 5 miles up the highway, the moutain is the center of everything. It's November 13; last night I told a waitress we'd been on tour for a month and a half. "Brendan," Jack piped up, "It's only been three weeks."
Three weeks?? No, it's been at least a month. Not three weeks, please god, let it almost be over!


I still don't believe it, but I managed to blow my whole bank during the first 3 weeks of tour. Between withdrawals totalling about... well, yeah about $1000 (what the fuck did I spend that on??) and my bills, I fucking went through almost two grand! We're on our way through Southeastern Washington to idaho; we have to cut through Oregon to get to Boise. The Seattle show was great; people flying off the stage, bodies everywhere. Another day or so and we'll be well into the Rockies.

This mornign I woke up thinking about McGloops. His real name was dave McGloughlin; he'd transferred to Rogers High School from either hawaii or Florida and was supposed to be one hell of a surfer. We were freshmen. I don't know where the name "McGloops" came from, but he was one of the "cool kids". He was blond and shaggy haired, with a flat freckedled pancake of an Irish face.
One Friday night I was walking downtown when Carrie Richardson came staggering down Thames Street propping up McGloops who was babbling drunk. "Want some help?" I asked and slung Gloopsy's free arm over my shoulder. McGloops kept mumbling and sobbing. "Every-- everyone thinks I'm so cool and I'm a great s-s-s-surfer. But you know what?" He leaned into me and his glassy eyes couldn't focus as he slobbered, "I don't even know how to surf. I told 'em all I could surf and I was great and I don't even know what the fuck on a surfboard."

I must've been 13 or 14 then. That was the same summer all the Black Wensday shit went down, with the jocks, the black kids, and the punks, culminating in a riot in dontown Newport. [DAMN! we just passed a forest fire right on the side of the highway in Oregon! We're also running really late for the show in Boise: best case scenario, we get there right at 8:00 PM. we forgot to take into account the time zone change and left later than we'd expected. Speaking of shows, te band sounds really good these days.]

I want to get back to the time I first met Chris Steeves, but first I have to mention that we're crusing through the mountains in SE Oregaon, heading into Boise. It's beautiful out there, very wild. I should have been more insistent with Izzy last night about getting to Ellensburg last night, as there's no way we're making that Boise gig. Actually, who am i kidding? Izzy never listens to anyone anyway. it's also partially my fault for going back to sleep after showrring. Kay's pissed, and I guess i am too. It is Friday night, and we need to perform and sell merchandise. ont heother hand, it's not my band and it's not my problem. I'm just partof Izzy's rock-n-roll fantasy.
Oooh, I hate this new blogger template. I wrote a paragraph or two then went to the 'manage posts" tab and it erased everything I wrote. Blame blogger if you don't get to read about James Musty's quote of the day, because I'm not writing it down again.

It's been quite some time since I did any writing, so I'll try to catch up. the flu I mentioned last time lasted well into Vegas and LA; we didn't really recuperate until Washington State. In LA we were based out of Hollywood; I stayed in most of the time, except for a walk or two down Hollywood Boulevard (the hotel was right around the corner). I found this Mexican place that had a great vegetable soup that did me right.

Hollywood, at least the 8 blocks or so that I'm confined to, seems pretty cool. As I mentioned the hotel is about a block from Hollywood Boulevard, so I got to walk up and down the walk of stars. katy's friend sold me a 5 gram eighth of kind bud for $60, which I promptly fell out of my pocket in the hotel, and was probably smoked up merrily by the janitor. LA is alright, but no matter how generous katy's friends are, they are total freaks. perhaps it's because the're actors, but a lot of these cats seem to keep a solid mask on 24/7: no one could be as shallow as these folks seem to be (the two brothers, Derek and Matt, are from new york originally). On the other hand, the girl across the street, Alison, is very nice, but then she's actually a Pennsylvania native from around Philly.

I'm restless right now. I'not tired, but I don't want to stay up late. I did a little blow someone picked up, and wouldn't mind putting away a little bit more, but at the same time, i'm not really interested.

It's really offensive to me that conservatives and Republicans are able to get a docudrama about their poster boy Ronnie off th air, and antiwar types can't get the jessica Lynch "story" (or should I say "LIE") off the air. Thank goodness for Lynch herself, who i understand went on TODAY and Baba Wawa and debunked the story herself. That takes guts. I'm watching Rambo III on the hotel tube. it's pretty funny to see the mujahedeen so heroically portrayed. "We just want to protect our women and to worship... our OWN God." Beautiful, "To protect our way of life." Rambo rescues Afghanistan and the Taliban, so they can be our friends later.

George and Boogie are hanging pornos out the window, which is always funny. George's presentation is the best. First of all, you have to understand that that while george is nearly completely silent, the adage "still waters run deep" applies. He's got half his head shaved, with a dragon tattooed on the shaved side. he usually wears nothing but blck, except when he's wearing black and white. he sits, sober as a judge, in the shotgun seat, with the magazine held high and wide open as if perusing some arcane point of law, and then turns to the guy driving the truck next to us, and points to the naked woman as if she were EXACTLY the relevant subsection.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Howdy friends,

I'm not sure what the date is (I think it's Wednesday the 12 or something), but I know where I am: somewhere in the town of Mt. Shasta in Northern California. I've never been here before, but goodness gracious, it's beautiful. The air is crisp and cold, and Mt Shasta (I presume) towers over us, it's peak covered with snow and bristling with pines. It's about 10:30 AM PST, I'm drinking my first really good cup of coffee in 2 days (that brownb water they serve at Mobil just doesn't cut it),. and I'm getting ready to hit the road up to Portland sometime in the next half-hour or so. San Francisco was really nice; most of us are over our bouts with the flu now so the van isn't filled with coughing sneezing and hacking.
More later: real coffeee is great for taking a real dump. Which is where I'm off to right now.
Hugs, brendan

Sunday, November 09, 2003

Finally, I have a chance to do some blogging. I will dispense with tour stories today because I also finally got a chance to read my common cause update, my moveon update, my news from Howard Dean, and wonde rof wonders, I got to read talkingpointsmemo.

A prayer:

Oh God, Dear Jesus, Dear Jehova, whoever the fuck you are up there.
I know you answer your followers prayers, and dear God, I want to be a follower. Yet I, like Thomas in the Bible, need a sign. My faith is weak o Lord, and I need a sign to keep going.
Lord, please smite the Republican party with mouth cancer. They lie and lie and lie so much, it is unsightly in thine eyes. Sweet baby Jesus, please heed my prayer. Give Dick Cheney painful cancer, the kind that can only be cured by amputation. Make Richard perle's entire anal tract rot away with your Blessed Cancer. Give them all cancer!

Monday, November 03, 2003

We stayed at Connie's house just outside of tampa a few days ago. it was in the high 80s, and Connie and her wonderful boyfriend Chris live right across the street from the ocean. jamie and i swilled coffee, and ran right across the street to dive in. The water was heavenly, the salt licking at my back, the waves crashing in my face. We got out of the water ans pent an hour or so talking to a couple of sweeties in bikinis, 27-year-old natalie, and jessica, who looked about 30-something. i was thinking Nat was the cuter, but when she got up, my balls told me the real love was with jessica. A big girl, with large breasts, a soft belly, and that cute little bellybutoon winking proudly at the world. her hips were overflowing with sex, and she looked like a blonde Salome. All I could think about was how nice it would be to lay her out on the sofa, and put my face between those lustily jiggling thighs. i wanted to fuck her, wanted to fuck anyone. AGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

een hanging out with Sabrina from Tub Ring lately. she's in the same boat as me: she's got a boyfriend at home, is used to having regular sex, and isn't big on cheating. "Do you know what it's like to go from having sex whenever you want it to having no sex at all?" Goodness gracious, I sympathize with her. And the way these kids dress for the MSI shows, they might as well be naked. It's painful sometimes to see all these ripe breasts facing me, but then when i start talkign to the owner of the breasts, I realize she's just 15 and any desire disappears immediately.
Complain as i might about not getting any pussy, it's also true that when I'm on tour my libido plummets: this is probably going into the realm of "too much information" but since october 21, I've jerked off once, and even then it was to help me get to sleep. And there's now ay I'm getting myself into some pointless affair while melissa's waiting for me in Montreal. Nope: just wait. the anticipation makes it better.

Time to get ont he road again. Hope to post more later....
So it's been a week or so since I had any real access to speak of; I can check my email from my cell phone for free nights and weekends, but for news, i am sunk. It's either convince my bandmates to give me NPR (when we can tune it in) or the local papers.
Lousy to read about that helicopter attack yesterday. three more americans dead this afternoon. Bush fucking sucks.

I never finished my post from the 27th. After that good gig in Ft. Lauderdale, we headed back to the hotel, with Boogie and Jamie eying the hotel pool all the way, so the three of us stripped down to our boxers and hopped the fence for a 1:00 AM swim. I toweled off and left before those two, but after my shower realized I'd left something out at the van. As I walked across the parking lot, i noticed the pool had gone silent, and figured Boogie and Jamiue had either left or were hanging out talking. I grabbed my shit from the van, and headed back. This time the silence was a little suspicious. I felt like Robin: it's quiet batman.... too quiet. I passed by the pool and started up the stairs to our room, when i thought i saw what looked like a cop car. Casually, but quickly, I climbed the steps and crept along the balcony until i could see what was going on.

There they were: two cops, the night watchman, and James and Boogie standing there slupm-shouldered in their sopping bvoxers. James was bowing his head, while Boogie was frenetically trying to explain everything to two skeptical police. I wish i could have heard what he was saying, but his broad arm movements said it all. later, boog told me he tried to get the cops to see his human side: he was spouting about his tattoos, how he'd never left New York City, not even for new jersey. I figured they'd propbably be out of trouble soon, and went to hide my pot just in case the police paid a visit to our hotel room. After squirreling the stuff away, i went out again to check up on the defendants. theywere still getting dressed down, and I began to worry that they were going to be arrested. I knocked on izzy's hotel door. he was half-asleep and mumbled "Jus' don't let'em get zzzzzzzzzzz arrested zzzzzzzzz."

I went back-- ran actually-- to the room, threw on my glasses and my most mild-looking shirt (a striped polo with a worn out collar), and popped down the stairs. "Is there a problem officers," I asked. "These guys are in my hotel room."
"there he is! That's the guy we were telling you about," James and Boogies were falling over themselves.
"How come you didn't answer your door?" asked the lady cop, pointing up and to the right.
"Ummm... probably because our room is on THAT side of the building," I replied pointing in the opposite direction.
"We were on the wrong side? Oh maaaaannn," Musty groaned.