"Stars in the sky, they tell me what to do. I don't care about your city or your fat income. I don't care about your Vanity Fair or your fucking sitcom." Iggy Pop from "Starry Night"
Yesterday there was some commotion here at the Asylum. One of the other patients, you really didn't think I was all alone in this head of mine did you? Well, one of the others got the wrong meds and everything got locked down on a suicide watch. It was touch and go for a few minutes, until a wiser person than the wrongly medicated patient talked him off the ledge, then the wiser man cracked a joke about his wife's cooking. We all laughed and after a half an hour it was over. The nurse came back in to usher me to the land of night terrors with an Ambien laced Dixie cup. And I slept in total peace.
Those were the good old days of television. Back when 30 minutes and a laugh track was enough to solve even the biggest of problems. Sometimes it required a special guest star like Davey Jones or Bob Goulet, but for the most part it took them simple discovery that there had been a misunderstanding. That's how life was supposed to play out according to sitcoms. Even when they jumped the shark.
M*A*S*H lasted longer than the Korean war, true story. Not every episode was hysterical either, some where what they used to call "very special episodes." Hearing those words in a promo spot meant that one of the following things would happen: A) Someone would develop and overcome a drug problem. B) A character that had everything to lose would lose it. C) News would arrive at the 4077th that someone's loved one had passed away, be it Henry Blake or Col. Potter's horse.
Cheers would have special episodes too. Ones about Sam's alcohol problem or Carla's kids. Then there was the death of Coach. That one stung, I won't lie. But they would quickly rebound with Woody Boyd and without him there would be no Kelly Song.
I used to be forced by SuperMom to attend family dinner on Sunday night at my Grandparents. Dinner was always, without fail, followed by the tedium of 60 Minutes, trust me when you're a kid that show felt like 180 Minutes, but when it was over it was time for "All in the Family". My Grandfather would roar with the laughter of a lion at Archie Bunker, primetime racist. But it's the show I will always remember watching with a single scoop of plain vanilla ice cream, even the dairy treats were Aryan on Sundays, at my Grandparents house.
Over time my own taste would form. I would consume Different Strokes with great vigor. I would have crushes on many members of the Facts of Life cast. Find hipness in the geeks of Square Pegs. Wish I was a member of the Keaton family, or the Cunningham's, or even a Brady. I would laugh at Ted Knight yelling at JM J Bullock and never thought it got old on Too Close For Comfort. They were good shows, true entertainment. Far superior television than a bunch of metro sexual kids trying to be Pop stars. Especially when it was a very special episode.
What was your favorite sitcoms?
Dixie Cup of Love: Dick Van Patten, best TV Dad ever.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Joined at the Coda
"All these double knit strangers with gin and vermouth and recycled stories, in the naugahyde booths with the platinum blondes and tobacco brunettes. I'll be drinkin' to forget you. Lite another cigarette and the band's playin' something by Tammy Wynette" Tom Waits from "Warm Beer and Cold Women"
She was singing along to her Ipod as she be-bop-a-lulaed into my room for a breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and a Dixie Cup of multi colored pills, of course there were no pancakes and sausage, but doesn't that sound good? What got me thinking was the look on her mug as she bounced around the room like Richard Simmons rolling on Exstacy. Whatever song she was listening to was reminding her of something wonderful, and quite possibly erotic, based solely on the swing of her hips flipping up the edge of her little skirt for the quickest glimpse of her lacy underwearings. As I tried not to stare I got to thinking about the songs that get me thinking.
I knew that it would be impossible for me to list all the songs in my life that are permanently linked to specific people, places, or things. There are too many songs, too many faces, and too many alcohol sodden memories. But there are a few that would be prominently featured in the soundtrack of my life story. For example:
Kodocrome by Paul Simon. I'm not the only one that's gonna have this song tied to the memory of "Love Hurts", my second play. The show itself was so amazing, well acted on all fronts, I dare say well written though large sections of it were lifted from other sources. The Presidents speech from Independence Day, Oren Ishii's declaration to the heads of the Yakuza, Kevin Smith films a plenty, but each night the show opened with Kodocrome and it will always take me to that time in that place.
Two Princes by the Spin Doctors, yes the Spin Doctors. It was a favorite song of Kelly and I's jukebox wars at Lucky John's. Every time I hear it I wonder what would have been if I had the skills to break her down, get her to fall for me, but alas the heart wants what the heart wants and hers didn't want me. But that stupid song will always remind me of Kelly, well that and the Animaniacs tattoo on my back.
You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones is forever attached like conjoined twins to Don and Wayne. It brings back assorted flashes of high school, driving to Hollywood, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Alondra 6, Jack In The Box, and all kinds of weirdness in one song.
American Pie by don McLean is like the closing credits on the Minnesota saga. It instantly takes me back to the porch of my cabin looking out at Cari and Angie getting some sun on the dock. It was such a wonderful time in my life, and the song was really the perfect ending.
Lastly there is Heaven by Canada's biggest failure Bryan Adams. The meaning behind that one lies in the deepest recesses of my memory and I'm not ready to unleash that demon yet.
What song's make you remember the important events?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Songwriters of the World.
PS - Tom Waits will forever remind me of Wes and Mark Adams, two guys that have had a profound influence on my life.
She was singing along to her Ipod as she be-bop-a-lulaed into my room for a breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and a Dixie Cup of multi colored pills, of course there were no pancakes and sausage, but doesn't that sound good? What got me thinking was the look on her mug as she bounced around the room like Richard Simmons rolling on Exstacy. Whatever song she was listening to was reminding her of something wonderful, and quite possibly erotic, based solely on the swing of her hips flipping up the edge of her little skirt for the quickest glimpse of her lacy underwearings. As I tried not to stare I got to thinking about the songs that get me thinking.
I knew that it would be impossible for me to list all the songs in my life that are permanently linked to specific people, places, or things. There are too many songs, too many faces, and too many alcohol sodden memories. But there are a few that would be prominently featured in the soundtrack of my life story. For example:
Kodocrome by Paul Simon. I'm not the only one that's gonna have this song tied to the memory of "Love Hurts", my second play. The show itself was so amazing, well acted on all fronts, I dare say well written though large sections of it were lifted from other sources. The Presidents speech from Independence Day, Oren Ishii's declaration to the heads of the Yakuza, Kevin Smith films a plenty, but each night the show opened with Kodocrome and it will always take me to that time in that place.
Two Princes by the Spin Doctors, yes the Spin Doctors. It was a favorite song of Kelly and I's jukebox wars at Lucky John's. Every time I hear it I wonder what would have been if I had the skills to break her down, get her to fall for me, but alas the heart wants what the heart wants and hers didn't want me. But that stupid song will always remind me of Kelly, well that and the Animaniacs tattoo on my back.
You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones is forever attached like conjoined twins to Don and Wayne. It brings back assorted flashes of high school, driving to Hollywood, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Alondra 6, Jack In The Box, and all kinds of weirdness in one song.
American Pie by don McLean is like the closing credits on the Minnesota saga. It instantly takes me back to the porch of my cabin looking out at Cari and Angie getting some sun on the dock. It was such a wonderful time in my life, and the song was really the perfect ending.
Lastly there is Heaven by Canada's biggest failure Bryan Adams. The meaning behind that one lies in the deepest recesses of my memory and I'm not ready to unleash that demon yet.
What song's make you remember the important events?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Songwriters of the World.
PS - Tom Waits will forever remind me of Wes and Mark Adams, two guys that have had a profound influence on my life.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Glossy Pages
"We take all kinda pills that give us all kinda thrills, But the thrill we never know, Is the thrill that'll gitcha when ya get your picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone" Dr Hook from "Cover of Rolling Stone"
The nurse has this habit of stealing magazines from the dingy lobby of the Asylum. She could buy her own, but she doesn't. But she reads then sitting outside my room for hours on end. It's always the sound of the rigid page turning, the stench of whatever new rapper inspired cologne that is being shilled, then the grunt of her disgust at the model or article that she sees. It makes me wonder if she only reads them to pass the time and piss her off, or if she actually doesn enjoy the pictures, cause reading above a fourth grade level would be a Reed Richards like stretch. And let's face facts, the Asylum doesn't have the greatest array of periodicals to being with.
When it comes to me shelling out five to ten bucks for a magazine the content if really what's important. Every guy who reads Playboy does so because it's the classiest way to ogle naked women. However, the writers for Playboy win awards, it's informative, and a hoot of hilarity, but when the last article has been read we keep the stroke book lingering in the bathroom for the pictorials. Didn't mean to break any man codes, but it's true.
Rolling Stone used to be the pinnacle source of music news and interviews with some of the greatest musicians, politians, and entertainers of all time. To hell with Parade, Spin and Circus. Sure Lester Bangs did bring some street cred to Cream, but there is only one Rolling Stone. Now, I'm as liberal as the next Obama supporter, but Jan Wenner and team now take themselves way too seriously. They used to have PJ O'Rouke there to even things out, to give the conservatives a voice, because even Republicans like music, I think. The once proud musical beacon in now just a Bush hate factory and Blender is a far more reliable way to get music news. When I'm really interested in finding something new, it's Blender that I turn to, not the quintesential rock magazine of the last 40 years. Maybe when Rock-n-Roll died it should have taken Rolling Stone with it.
When it comes to a men's magazine I'm no GQ fan. There is very little, if anything, in that ad over-packed fashion disaster that I can actually relate to. Instead I turn to the man's man's magazine, Maxim. Now here's a rag that has it's fair share of hot women, great articles on sports, drinking tips, plus you can learn how to survive a natural disaster. You think Reader's Digest can deliver all that? Of course not. Niether can "O". Have you ever noticed that only one person has ever been on the cover of that waste of paper? What the hell is that about? Even in the Asylum had it's own magazine I'd put Dr. Dot on the cover before me, some people just have ego issues I guess.
As for some of those super market scandal rags, well, I miss the Weekly World News. It was a fine publication that wasn't bogged down by silly things like facts and the truth. It did more for the phrase "sources close to" than the National Enquirer ever could. And I do love the celebrities that file lawsuits against the tabloids. It's like admitting to the world that these fish wraps actually matter. The best advice I could give the celebs is this "It's the fucking National Enquirer, it matters about as much as "O"."
With the increase in Internet traffic, I think it's only a matter of time before all print publications go the way of Jessica Hahn, gone and forgotten. I will miss them, but "sources close to" the Asylum don't think "O" would be missed by anyone.
Dou you read any magazines? Do you think they are going to disappear?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Weekly World News.
The nurse has this habit of stealing magazines from the dingy lobby of the Asylum. She could buy her own, but she doesn't. But she reads then sitting outside my room for hours on end. It's always the sound of the rigid page turning, the stench of whatever new rapper inspired cologne that is being shilled, then the grunt of her disgust at the model or article that she sees. It makes me wonder if she only reads them to pass the time and piss her off, or if she actually doesn enjoy the pictures, cause reading above a fourth grade level would be a Reed Richards like stretch. And let's face facts, the Asylum doesn't have the greatest array of periodicals to being with.
When it comes to me shelling out five to ten bucks for a magazine the content if really what's important. Every guy who reads Playboy does so because it's the classiest way to ogle naked women. However, the writers for Playboy win awards, it's informative, and a hoot of hilarity, but when the last article has been read we keep the stroke book lingering in the bathroom for the pictorials. Didn't mean to break any man codes, but it's true.
Rolling Stone used to be the pinnacle source of music news and interviews with some of the greatest musicians, politians, and entertainers of all time. To hell with Parade, Spin and Circus. Sure Lester Bangs did bring some street cred to Cream, but there is only one Rolling Stone. Now, I'm as liberal as the next Obama supporter, but Jan Wenner and team now take themselves way too seriously. They used to have PJ O'Rouke there to even things out, to give the conservatives a voice, because even Republicans like music, I think. The once proud musical beacon in now just a Bush hate factory and Blender is a far more reliable way to get music news. When I'm really interested in finding something new, it's Blender that I turn to, not the quintesential rock magazine of the last 40 years. Maybe when Rock-n-Roll died it should have taken Rolling Stone with it.
When it comes to a men's magazine I'm no GQ fan. There is very little, if anything, in that ad over-packed fashion disaster that I can actually relate to. Instead I turn to the man's man's magazine, Maxim. Now here's a rag that has it's fair share of hot women, great articles on sports, drinking tips, plus you can learn how to survive a natural disaster. You think Reader's Digest can deliver all that? Of course not. Niether can "O". Have you ever noticed that only one person has ever been on the cover of that waste of paper? What the hell is that about? Even in the Asylum had it's own magazine I'd put Dr. Dot on the cover before me, some people just have ego issues I guess.
As for some of those super market scandal rags, well, I miss the Weekly World News. It was a fine publication that wasn't bogged down by silly things like facts and the truth. It did more for the phrase "sources close to" than the National Enquirer ever could. And I do love the celebrities that file lawsuits against the tabloids. It's like admitting to the world that these fish wraps actually matter. The best advice I could give the celebs is this "It's the fucking National Enquirer, it matters about as much as "O"."
With the increase in Internet traffic, I think it's only a matter of time before all print publications go the way of Jessica Hahn, gone and forgotten. I will miss them, but "sources close to" the Asylum don't think "O" would be missed by anyone.
Dou you read any magazines? Do you think they are going to disappear?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Weekly World News.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Hazards of Duke
"Southern man better keep your head, Don't forget what your good book said. Southern change gonna come at last, Now your crosses are burning fast." Neil Young from "Southern Man"
The nurse was outfitted in a T-shirt from her so-called med school which bore the statement "Nurses do it because they care." Sweet sentiment. Must have been a wonderful educational establishment, I mean as wonderful as one can be when it's located above an auto repair shop. But I was still kind of envious of her for sporting the alma mater's gear. I never attended college, so I can't wear sweatshirts emblazoned with Screaming Eagles or anything like that. And I won't shill for a college that I didn't attend, unlike my other cohorts down here in the Slow. I can't get two feet from my gurney without seeing a Duke University hat. It's one of the constant reminders that I am not in Los Angeles anymore. But it's not really the head wear that picks at me, it's the fact that I had no idea what the South was gonna be like when I moved here and seeing the nurse wearing her college togs got me thinking about the place I live.
Being a native of California, my only real exposure to the South came in the form of movies like Deliverance and television programs like the Emmy winning "Dukes of Hazzard" What do you mean it never won an Emmy? Surely if the Six Million Dollar Man could garner a statue, then Bo and Luke Duke were deserving. Oh, I see, Six Million Dollar Man never one either, go figure. Anyway, the point I am getting at is that no yokels have yet to anally rape me while demanding that my squeal sound like swine.. But the similarities to the Dukes of Hazzard are uncanny.
Is there stuff that you could jump a car over? Hell yeah. Almost everywhere one looks there is something broken down or boarded up that would be perfect fodder for a bitchin car jump, provided your car was a big enough heap of crap that you didn't mind bending it like a Gumby doll. There are gully's, ravines, and downed trees around every turn. I was thinking of welding the doors of the cruiser shut, but who am I kidding, I ain't fitting through no car window without a girdle and two pounds of Crisco. So, no, I won't be doing any high flying stunt jumps with Dixie blaring from the horn.
What about Daisy Dukes? Now mind you, summer hasn't arrived yet, but unless the women down here lose weight like Al Rooker, I don't want to subject my orbs to a bunch of Daisy Dukes. You all know that I have no problem with a plus sized girl, but there are some things that you don't show off in public. I mean, I don't go around shirtless because I have respect for you, well that and the pointing and gagging is a bit much to take. The point is, same rules should apply to the gals. Be big, be sexy, but that doesn't mean putting on a handkerchief and calling it a top.
Does everyone sound like Paula Dean? If you don't know Paula then you must be an anorexic, because those of us who eat think of Paula as the Butter Queen. Her accent is so thick that you may wonder if everyone here says "y'all" in every sentence. Um, yeah, they do. I was talking to a customer at HellJob who asked where I was from. I asked if he knew my origins lie elsewhere because of my lack of an accent. He said "No, but y'all are wearing them shoes" Of course referring to my Chuck Taylor All Star's, which are apparently the official shoe of the West Coast in the eyes of my Southern friends.
Is everyone like Roscoe P. Coltrane? No, not really, the people are actually pretty friendly, but not as open as I'm used to. In LA I swung with a group that was pretty inviting to strangers, sure we had tons of inside jokes, but we allowed others a chance to be the butt of their own new jokes. Here they don't invite those they don't know, but time will determine the outcome, maybe they just have a longer incubation period.
Any questions about the South? Or thoughts on the Dukes of Hazzard? Or Paula Dean?
Dixie Cup of Love: Catherine Bach
The nurse was outfitted in a T-shirt from her so-called med school which bore the statement "Nurses do it because they care." Sweet sentiment. Must have been a wonderful educational establishment, I mean as wonderful as one can be when it's located above an auto repair shop. But I was still kind of envious of her for sporting the alma mater's gear. I never attended college, so I can't wear sweatshirts emblazoned with Screaming Eagles or anything like that. And I won't shill for a college that I didn't attend, unlike my other cohorts down here in the Slow. I can't get two feet from my gurney without seeing a Duke University hat. It's one of the constant reminders that I am not in Los Angeles anymore. But it's not really the head wear that picks at me, it's the fact that I had no idea what the South was gonna be like when I moved here and seeing the nurse wearing her college togs got me thinking about the place I live.
Being a native of California, my only real exposure to the South came in the form of movies like Deliverance and television programs like the Emmy winning "Dukes of Hazzard" What do you mean it never won an Emmy? Surely if the Six Million Dollar Man could garner a statue, then Bo and Luke Duke were deserving. Oh, I see, Six Million Dollar Man never one either, go figure. Anyway, the point I am getting at is that no yokels have yet to anally rape me while demanding that my squeal sound like swine.. But the similarities to the Dukes of Hazzard are uncanny.
Is there stuff that you could jump a car over? Hell yeah. Almost everywhere one looks there is something broken down or boarded up that would be perfect fodder for a bitchin car jump, provided your car was a big enough heap of crap that you didn't mind bending it like a Gumby doll. There are gully's, ravines, and downed trees around every turn. I was thinking of welding the doors of the cruiser shut, but who am I kidding, I ain't fitting through no car window without a girdle and two pounds of Crisco. So, no, I won't be doing any high flying stunt jumps with Dixie blaring from the horn.
What about Daisy Dukes? Now mind you, summer hasn't arrived yet, but unless the women down here lose weight like Al Rooker, I don't want to subject my orbs to a bunch of Daisy Dukes. You all know that I have no problem with a plus sized girl, but there are some things that you don't show off in public. I mean, I don't go around shirtless because I have respect for you, well that and the pointing and gagging is a bit much to take. The point is, same rules should apply to the gals. Be big, be sexy, but that doesn't mean putting on a handkerchief and calling it a top.
Does everyone sound like Paula Dean? If you don't know Paula then you must be an anorexic, because those of us who eat think of Paula as the Butter Queen. Her accent is so thick that you may wonder if everyone here says "y'all" in every sentence. Um, yeah, they do. I was talking to a customer at HellJob who asked where I was from. I asked if he knew my origins lie elsewhere because of my lack of an accent. He said "No, but y'all are wearing them shoes" Of course referring to my Chuck Taylor All Star's, which are apparently the official shoe of the West Coast in the eyes of my Southern friends.
Is everyone like Roscoe P. Coltrane? No, not really, the people are actually pretty friendly, but not as open as I'm used to. In LA I swung with a group that was pretty inviting to strangers, sure we had tons of inside jokes, but we allowed others a chance to be the butt of their own new jokes. Here they don't invite those they don't know, but time will determine the outcome, maybe they just have a longer incubation period.
Any questions about the South? Or thoughts on the Dukes of Hazzard? Or Paula Dean?
Dixie Cup of Love: Catherine Bach
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Don't Pick At It
"People act so proper when they're going 'bout their business Cup of coffee, friendly conversation 'Til they get home, 'Til they get home . Turn the phone off, lock the door and shut the curtains, Make sure that the neighbors are without suspicion, No one will know, No one will know. Nasty habits, I must condone, No one knows what I do when I'm all alone" Oingo Boingo from "Nasty Habits
When the nurse came in to give me my daily dose of happy pills I couldn't help but notice that her finger nails have been gnawed down to stumps. It's a bad habit, but in the realm of horrifying rituals it only ranks about a 2 out of 10 on the destructive scale. Tolerable, but still something that she should have some control over. But isn't that where we all fail? Self control? Looking at the nurse and her gnarled up piggies got me thinking of my own lack of self control.
When it comes to bad habits I have a few that I could do without. I have some that I enjoy too much to let go of, smoking cigarettes for one. I'm not one of those smokers who is constantly trying to quit, I've never even tried to stop, it's just one of the joys in my life. Oh sure, I know it's killing me, but since when should mere mortality make me quit doing anything.
Lately, I have been drinking a little more than I would like to. It's the "New Kid in Town" syndrome. It's a trying to find new friends mentality that keeps me heading for the bar. I've been in trouble with booze before, too much drinking and driving, too many black-outs, too much of the curse of the Captain. The curse being it doesn't start tasting its best until I'm out of the realm of soberiety. And I'm not enjoying myself like I used to, so, I think me and the Captain are going to part company for a while.
The hardest habit for me to break is this cycle of depression that I spiral into everytime I think something might be going against me. The first reaction I have is to head to the bar. I've been good about not doing that, except for the last few weeks, and seeing that I recognize the potenial in the problem behavior I can make advances towards curbing it like a broke down Impala. Which leads me to dealing with the overall depression.
Like most everyone on the planet I get into moods when I don't feel worthy, necessary, or wanted. These are the days when I am at my darkest. Sitting in the pitch black, listening to a haunting melody, thinking questions like "why me" this and "why not me" that. Usually it revovles around one of two things. A dame that I am fully into who doesn't quite feel the same intensity of emotion towards me. Or that I am unhappy with what I am writing. So I stoop to different levels of denial. I write things I know will please, even if I hate them. I start dating people that I have no chemistry with, whether it be her inability to make eye contact, a sure fire hint that the chemistry set is out of juice, or my own personal foibles. It feels worse than being alone.
That's not the person I want to be, so I'm not gonna. Right now, I'm in a good head space, sure lonely, but not depressed, not over joyed, but content. So, no more. No more wasting my time looking for that which I can't find. No more wasting my will on things that will not change. No more negativity, yeah right, who am I kidding.
These habits can be a part of me, but they can't be me. I have the will power to stop the cycles, to reamin happy regardless of the circumstances. No matter if it be HellJob, the Asylum, or other people, I will not let others nor myself to be brung down.
What bad habits do you have that you would like to change?
Dixie Cup of Love: Me.
When the nurse came in to give me my daily dose of happy pills I couldn't help but notice that her finger nails have been gnawed down to stumps. It's a bad habit, but in the realm of horrifying rituals it only ranks about a 2 out of 10 on the destructive scale. Tolerable, but still something that she should have some control over. But isn't that where we all fail? Self control? Looking at the nurse and her gnarled up piggies got me thinking of my own lack of self control.
When it comes to bad habits I have a few that I could do without. I have some that I enjoy too much to let go of, smoking cigarettes for one. I'm not one of those smokers who is constantly trying to quit, I've never even tried to stop, it's just one of the joys in my life. Oh sure, I know it's killing me, but since when should mere mortality make me quit doing anything.
Lately, I have been drinking a little more than I would like to. It's the "New Kid in Town" syndrome. It's a trying to find new friends mentality that keeps me heading for the bar. I've been in trouble with booze before, too much drinking and driving, too many black-outs, too much of the curse of the Captain. The curse being it doesn't start tasting its best until I'm out of the realm of soberiety. And I'm not enjoying myself like I used to, so, I think me and the Captain are going to part company for a while.
The hardest habit for me to break is this cycle of depression that I spiral into everytime I think something might be going against me. The first reaction I have is to head to the bar. I've been good about not doing that, except for the last few weeks, and seeing that I recognize the potenial in the problem behavior I can make advances towards curbing it like a broke down Impala. Which leads me to dealing with the overall depression.
Like most everyone on the planet I get into moods when I don't feel worthy, necessary, or wanted. These are the days when I am at my darkest. Sitting in the pitch black, listening to a haunting melody, thinking questions like "why me" this and "why not me" that. Usually it revovles around one of two things. A dame that I am fully into who doesn't quite feel the same intensity of emotion towards me. Or that I am unhappy with what I am writing. So I stoop to different levels of denial. I write things I know will please, even if I hate them. I start dating people that I have no chemistry with, whether it be her inability to make eye contact, a sure fire hint that the chemistry set is out of juice, or my own personal foibles. It feels worse than being alone.
That's not the person I want to be, so I'm not gonna. Right now, I'm in a good head space, sure lonely, but not depressed, not over joyed, but content. So, no more. No more wasting my time looking for that which I can't find. No more wasting my will on things that will not change. No more negativity, yeah right, who am I kidding.
These habits can be a part of me, but they can't be me. I have the will power to stop the cycles, to reamin happy regardless of the circumstances. No matter if it be HellJob, the Asylum, or other people, I will not let others nor myself to be brung down.
What bad habits do you have that you would like to change?
Dixie Cup of Love: Me.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Some Say Monkeys Play Piano Well
"The Ants are my friends, they're blowing in the wind, that ants are a-blowing in the wind." Bob Dylan from "Blowin the Wind"?
When the nurse came in to give me my daily Dixie cup of Chemistry I heard her say something that shocked me to the bone. I thought I heard her say "Wake up dead dick!" I mean, how the hell did she know that the old tentpole wasn't hoisting the canvas? Instantly I went into defensive mode as any guy does when his manhood in challenged. My first line of defense was that it was the medication keeping Sargent Stiffy from standing at attention. When she didn't respond to that, I immediately attacked her appearance. I shouted horrible things about her hair, her make-up, how the left boob was bigger than the right, all sorts of hideousness. That's when she clarified that she said "Take your meds quick." Oh, well, that's, um, I hate when I hear things wrong.
As a musical snob there is nothing I hate more than being in a car with someone that butchers the lyrics to a song like it was a side of beef at Sam's.. If you don't know the words, just shut up, don't attempt to fill in for Kurt Cobain. The line is "Here we are now, entertain us." not "here we are now in containers." That doesn't even make sense. Why would the be in Tupperware, why?
The most common misquotes are "Excuse me while I kiss this guy.", "There's a bathroom on the right." and the line from Manfred Mann's Blinded By The Light is "Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night." It has nothing to do with feminine hygiene wash, I swear. But in doing a little research for this here bloggity blog, oh yeah, I do research, I came across a few things that cracked me up.
In Addicted to Love Robert Palmer does not say "You might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove." It's not even a song about Michael Jackson. In the "Summer of 69" Canada's greatest disgrace Bryan Adams "got his first six string at the 5 and dime" not "got his first sex dream, I was 5 at the time." besides the next line is played it till my fingers bled, the wrong way is just gross. Johnathan B. Jovi did not say "It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not." he cared whether or not they made it, the fact that they were naked is a given because he's J.B.J.
But the worst is what you people do to Bennie and Jets. There's no funny lyrics for you on this one, you all kill it in your own unique way, so as a service to Sir Elton John I present you with the actual lyrics to the most butchered song of all time.
"Hey kids, shake it loose together, the spotlights hitting something that's been known to change the weather.
We kill the fatted calf tonight, so stick around.
You're gonna hear electric music, solid walls of sound.
Say Candy and Ronnie have you seen them yet, but they're so spaced out.
Bennie and the Jets.
Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful, oh Bennie she's really keen.
She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine.
Bennie and the Jets.
Hey kids, plug into the faithless, maybe they're blinded but Bennie makes them ageless.
We shall survive, let us take ourselves along.
Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find out who's right and who's wrong."
No shit.
Do you butcher songs? Any lyrics you aren't sure of? Do you make up the words you don't know?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sir Elton John
PS - To understand the title of blog, sing Michelle by the Beatles until you get to the section in French.
When the nurse came in to give me my daily Dixie cup of Chemistry I heard her say something that shocked me to the bone. I thought I heard her say "Wake up dead dick!" I mean, how the hell did she know that the old tentpole wasn't hoisting the canvas? Instantly I went into defensive mode as any guy does when his manhood in challenged. My first line of defense was that it was the medication keeping Sargent Stiffy from standing at attention. When she didn't respond to that, I immediately attacked her appearance. I shouted horrible things about her hair, her make-up, how the left boob was bigger than the right, all sorts of hideousness. That's when she clarified that she said "Take your meds quick." Oh, well, that's, um, I hate when I hear things wrong.
As a musical snob there is nothing I hate more than being in a car with someone that butchers the lyrics to a song like it was a side of beef at Sam's.. If you don't know the words, just shut up, don't attempt to fill in for Kurt Cobain. The line is "Here we are now, entertain us." not "here we are now in containers." That doesn't even make sense. Why would the be in Tupperware, why?
The most common misquotes are "Excuse me while I kiss this guy.", "There's a bathroom on the right." and the line from Manfred Mann's Blinded By The Light is "Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night." It has nothing to do with feminine hygiene wash, I swear. But in doing a little research for this here bloggity blog, oh yeah, I do research, I came across a few things that cracked me up.
In Addicted to Love Robert Palmer does not say "You might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove." It's not even a song about Michael Jackson. In the "Summer of 69" Canada's greatest disgrace Bryan Adams "got his first six string at the 5 and dime" not "got his first sex dream, I was 5 at the time." besides the next line is played it till my fingers bled, the wrong way is just gross. Johnathan B. Jovi did not say "It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not." he cared whether or not they made it, the fact that they were naked is a given because he's J.B.J.
But the worst is what you people do to Bennie and Jets. There's no funny lyrics for you on this one, you all kill it in your own unique way, so as a service to Sir Elton John I present you with the actual lyrics to the most butchered song of all time.
"Hey kids, shake it loose together, the spotlights hitting something that's been known to change the weather.
We kill the fatted calf tonight, so stick around.
You're gonna hear electric music, solid walls of sound.
Say Candy and Ronnie have you seen them yet, but they're so spaced out.
Bennie and the Jets.
Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful, oh Bennie she's really keen.
She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine.
Bennie and the Jets.
Hey kids, plug into the faithless, maybe they're blinded but Bennie makes them ageless.
We shall survive, let us take ourselves along.
Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find out who's right and who's wrong."
No shit.
Do you butcher songs? Any lyrics you aren't sure of? Do you make up the words you don't know?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sir Elton John
PS - To understand the title of blog, sing Michelle by the Beatles until you get to the section in French.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Face
"I've just seen a face, I can't forget the time or place, That we'd just met, she's just the girl for me, And I want all the world to see we've met" The Beatles from "I've Just Seen A Face"
I was thinking about how I would react if another inmate stole my nurse. Not exactly an actual possibility, but an interesting "what if". Would I fight for her? Would I let her go to happily medicate another sociopath for ever and ever? Would I declare all out war in an effort to win her back? I didn't get the chance to fully think these ideas through when the nurse entered with her normal zest, like a Gothic kid watching Donnie Darko, apparently everyone's top 5 movie of all time, I wasn't that big of a fan. But anyway, as she walked over with my Dixie Cup I knew the answer in one bolt of lightning. I would definitely declare war.
Helen of Troy was nothing but a cheating whore. She may have been "the Face that launched a thousand ships" but I wouldn't have sent so much as a frigate to get her back. If I had been Menalaus I would have kept my warriors, like Ajax and Achilles, close to home. Hector and his whore stealing brother Paris would never have been the tale of legend that they are today. Instead the history books would say that the Spartan King Menalaus once had a wife who ran off the be anally penetrated by a dirty Greek. He soon remarried a woman who understood what it meant to be a Spartan queen. End of epic.
Helen of Troy cheated on her husband. Now, I'm not saying that in those days women had the right to say no, as a matter of fact they didn't have rights period, but a Spartan queen? A higher honor there could not be. And to top it all off she chose the lesser of the Greek brothers. Were history has painted Hector as a warrior and a hero, Paris is considered a pretty fey boy. A coward. All Helen saw in him was a reflection of her own self, skin deep beauty and nothing more.
Now, why am I ranting on about Helen of Troy? Reasonable question. I have been thinking a lot lately about what I consider to be beautiful. There are things that I look for on a purely plastic, superficial level. I like blondes, I like big boobies, I like curves. But I also like sex appeal. That's something different from good looks. Sex appeal is Marilyn Monroe, Jane Mansfield, Rachel Welch, Monica Belucci. It's a want and desire to get naked with someone. It either exists or it doesn't, and I'm not sure if it can be learned. Without it I can't feel chemistry for someone. And I'm guessing that Helen of Troy had it in spades.
The really strange thing I am finding about sex appeal is that it doesn't have anything to do with beauty or size. It's an interesting commodity in that the only cost is enjoying and oozing of sex, yet still it is in higher demand than sticky green buds of Danger Girl down here in the Slow. If ever there was a substance that could flood the market and still remain in higher demand than a President who isn't a complete imbecile, it's sex appeal. So, what are we gonna do about this problem? Where's my national campaign to bring the sexy back? My God, I'm referencing Justin Timberlake, time to go.
Are you sexy? What's sexy to you? Can sexy be learned?
Dixie Cup of Love: All the sexy people, except Helen of Troy.
I was thinking about how I would react if another inmate stole my nurse. Not exactly an actual possibility, but an interesting "what if". Would I fight for her? Would I let her go to happily medicate another sociopath for ever and ever? Would I declare all out war in an effort to win her back? I didn't get the chance to fully think these ideas through when the nurse entered with her normal zest, like a Gothic kid watching Donnie Darko, apparently everyone's top 5 movie of all time, I wasn't that big of a fan. But anyway, as she walked over with my Dixie Cup I knew the answer in one bolt of lightning. I would definitely declare war.
Helen of Troy was nothing but a cheating whore. She may have been "the Face that launched a thousand ships" but I wouldn't have sent so much as a frigate to get her back. If I had been Menalaus I would have kept my warriors, like Ajax and Achilles, close to home. Hector and his whore stealing brother Paris would never have been the tale of legend that they are today. Instead the history books would say that the Spartan King Menalaus once had a wife who ran off the be anally penetrated by a dirty Greek. He soon remarried a woman who understood what it meant to be a Spartan queen. End of epic.
Helen of Troy cheated on her husband. Now, I'm not saying that in those days women had the right to say no, as a matter of fact they didn't have rights period, but a Spartan queen? A higher honor there could not be. And to top it all off she chose the lesser of the Greek brothers. Were history has painted Hector as a warrior and a hero, Paris is considered a pretty fey boy. A coward. All Helen saw in him was a reflection of her own self, skin deep beauty and nothing more.
Now, why am I ranting on about Helen of Troy? Reasonable question. I have been thinking a lot lately about what I consider to be beautiful. There are things that I look for on a purely plastic, superficial level. I like blondes, I like big boobies, I like curves. But I also like sex appeal. That's something different from good looks. Sex appeal is Marilyn Monroe, Jane Mansfield, Rachel Welch, Monica Belucci. It's a want and desire to get naked with someone. It either exists or it doesn't, and I'm not sure if it can be learned. Without it I can't feel chemistry for someone. And I'm guessing that Helen of Troy had it in spades.
The really strange thing I am finding about sex appeal is that it doesn't have anything to do with beauty or size. It's an interesting commodity in that the only cost is enjoying and oozing of sex, yet still it is in higher demand than sticky green buds of Danger Girl down here in the Slow. If ever there was a substance that could flood the market and still remain in higher demand than a President who isn't a complete imbecile, it's sex appeal. So, what are we gonna do about this problem? Where's my national campaign to bring the sexy back? My God, I'm referencing Justin Timberlake, time to go.
Are you sexy? What's sexy to you? Can sexy be learned?
Dixie Cup of Love: All the sexy people, except Helen of Troy.
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