I've been listening to The Smithereens a lot lately. Good heartbreak music that will get you through anything no matter how petty and childish and hurtful it is. And then I woke up to the news that Pat DiNizio, their lead singer, passed away at the age of 62. Fuck. Pat DiNizio was one of the nicest guys you would ever meet in a musical world full of hacks and assholes and asshole hacks. Totally down to Earth Jersey guy who had a voice that spoke for the brokenhearted and a knack for capturing the emotions involved in any relationship and putting it in a 3 minute long Pop song format. I hadn't thought of him or the band in a while, because I was happy - DUH!!, but doing so now brings up a big smile and laugh about some great memories of riding around on tour buses having great conversations with Pat, Dennis, Mark and Jim... playing gigs, doing the whole sex drugs Rock 'N' Roll thing, gambling (They stole all my money!! ha ha ha), drinking, smoking cigars and just being manly men with them for a short while, young and stupid and not sleeping much, being silly, and seeing the world roll by through a window. I would watch from the sidelines as Pat would lead The Smithereens through their paces on stage, playing this powerfully catchy Pop/Punk music that got stuck in your head for days, and the crowds would eat it up. Great to see and the music still stands up today. It's timeless, forever, eternal. While recording Nevermind, Nirvana used the first 2 Smithereens albums as an aural guide on how the record should sound. They were one of Kurt Cobain's favorite bands. They were sooooooooo fucking good it was sickening. And Pat was just the most unassuming guy about it, going from being in front of thousands of adoring fans to hanging around with us bums just seeing how we were doing, always a good word and a smile on his face for everyone. That's how I choose to remember Pat DiNizio. Forever young. The music will never die. Well played Sir! Rest well my friend. Lord knows you deserve it.
It's frighteningly easy to score drugs off the Internet.
All it took was a trip to a shady website, an email and text conversation or 2, and after a trip to a casino parking lot on the East side of town, I had enough illicit powdered narcotics on my person to fuck my life up big time, whether shooting it up or being caught in possession of it. I hurried home post haste, being extra sure to obey the speed limit everywhere I went because I wasn't going out like that. Again. Just like in the Trainspotting movie, I planned the trip very studiously and was well supplied and outfitted, even going so far as to buying a rug to lay down on in my computer room when the drugs took effect. Tile is cold this time of year. I locked the house up, turned all the lights off, shut off my phone, and just took a walk down a familiar road. Look, I'm not stupid, I dipped my toe into the pile, didn't jump in head first... the water hardly turned brown from the few flecks I put in. Cooking up over a stove sure was easier than doing it over a Zippo, that's for sure. I took my work, went back into my computer room, put Flipper on repeat, hit it, and just layed down and let the warmth overwhelm me. It felt monstrous, making all my troubles go away with just one little plunge. I ran my hands all over my face and body and just felt the stimulation wash over me like echoes, like waves of pleasure. All pain was gone. I felt normal again for a second. My body pulsed, almost orgasmic. There was a little bit of nausea, but nothing I couldn't deal with. It felt euphoric... God like. I passed out while trying to think of ways to put into words what I was feeling.
I woke up feeling sick, like nauseous still, but wanting more. I repeated the recipe, adding a little bit a little more every time I did, testing the boundaries, pushing my limits, motivated by the fact that I was reminded of her everywhere I looked - the spices she cooked with, the stuff she left behind, the pictures of her family members on the fridge, the walls with our pictures of us smiling and happy hanging on them, etc. I fixed and went back into my control room. It was the safest place for me to be, it felt the easiest to deal with at the time. I did this for days, draining the bar of every drop of booze I had, not taking my meds, throwing up blood every now and then, and just wallowing in it. I smelt like shit. I felt even worse. People came and left notes and gifts and knocked and banged and screamed at the door to my house, but it all sounded distant and faint. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. I just wanted to be alone to die. My existence was like being at the bottom of a swimming pool and just being in that quiet otherworldly like environment for as long as you can before you have to go screaming to the surface grasping for air. Problem was I didn't have to come up for air. Cops came to my door while I was high as fuck for a safety check of sorts, to see if I was still alive and OK. I assured them I was fine and they left. I was getting used to the idea of spending my days like this, and that was a dangerous thought to have in my head.
I deleted all social media contact. I didn't wanna talk or see anybody. I was just alone and miserable. She had taken the dogs too, which is always painful, but especially because she took this little abused dog with her as well, a dog we had just adopted a few days before at some Zappos sponsored event at the SPCA. Irony. He was an older dog, badly abused and mistreated, scared of anything and everything, and I told her to bring the dog back to my house if she wasn't going to keep him, but she assured me that she was going to keep him, and that was that. I couldn't tell you on what day of my death dirge I snapped out of it long enough to go browsing the SPCA website looking to replace a small piece of my soul with another rescue animal, when low and behold I see the dog we had just adopted back up on the website with some cockamamie story next to him saying he didn't get along well with the dog he was previously with, which I'm sure is just BS for "I'm too stupid, selfish and proud to take him back to Gilbert, so I'll dump him back off back at the SPCA so like, whatever". Long story short is that when I saw that poor little dog on the website wearing the collar we had bought him, looking sad as fuck and miserable in his updated photo, I flushed all my shit down the toilet and popped a shitload of Xanax and crashed the fuck out, passing out with a mission to accomplish, a new lust for life, and a promise to keep. You see, when I was walking the dog around the house, getting him familiar with his surroundings and all that, I told him that this was his Home, and that he was safe here, and that nobody was gonna hurt him ever again while he was here. I told him he was protected here, I told him he was gonna be OK, and then that selfish bitch tried to make a liar out of me by taking him away from his new home. No. Fucking. Way. Anyways, I found a new reason to live, and his name is Yahoo. He's the funniest guy ever and if you're lucky enough to meet him you'll see why I say that. He gets better and stronger everyday and so do I. Neither one of us has that much time left on this planet, but we're gonna make the most out of what we got. Who's with us? :)
I went to bed in a relationship for 4 years... woke up 6 hours later to an empty house devoid of any signs of Life or inhabitants and not a word or a note explaining why.
Pretty surreal to say the least.
It's over... she's gone... and I don't know what I'm going to do now...
I'm not gonna regale you with tales of all the times I was lucky enough to see AC/DC in their prime, but every time I saw them I always made an effort to watch the drummer, and inadvertently I'd fixate on the proverbial heart and soul of the band, the younger older brother, the real and true one and only Riffmaster, Malcolm Young. He would just stand there directly in front of his amps, which had a couple of tins of lager on top of them, cigarette dangling from his mouth, just cranking away at some old looking oddly shaped guitar, hair all fluttering around, bashing the ever living fuck out of it and propelling the band to bigger and greater heights sonically and musically. That's the Malcolm Young I'm going to choose to remember - forever young. The bands statement, which you can read here, is both fitting and heartfelt. "Malcolm, job well done" indeed! Another part of my childhood has died, and the older I get, the easier it becomes to deal with it. Doesn't make it hurt any less though. RIP Malcolm Young. It is well deserved and earned. Go easy... step lightly... stay free.
Scottish by birth, British by law,
Rocker by the grace of God.
To live in hearts we leave behind, is not to die.
Gosh, there's so much going on around these parts that I forget about the website from time to time. I've been updating the Gig Calendar, and adding Pictures and Gig Reviews, trying to clean up the half finished stuff I have lying around waiting to be posted, and all that info is in the column next to these words, or under them if you're reading this on your cellphone. I didn't comment on Erika and I's trip to the El Rey Theater in LA to see Sparks play (which was mind blowingly amazing, BTW), or even about the Headnoise Halloween party gig @ the Redwood Bar in Downtown LA, which was interesting, to say the least. I had Bob riding around with me all weekend, which made things, again, interesting... hahahaha And now it's Halloween... THAT time of the year, when dressing like a whore is considered a costume, racial stereotyping is encouraged, and wearing the clothing of a conquered nation of people is acceptable. Le sigh. Have a good one everyone. Be Safe. I plan on going to grown up parties full of drugs and booze and standing around bored until I see an opportunity to leave and get some tacos before heading home. That's pretty much how Life is for me right now... LOL. Priorities. ;)
So a very good friend of mine told me he tried to kill himself recently... No, strike that.
What my friend tried to do was guilt me over his recent suicide attempt, all because I unfriended him on Facebook in his moment of need, "on the worst day of his life", "after a complete mental breakdown".
This jerk of an ex-friend and band mate of mine recently joined a musical group of assholes here in town. I loathe to call them a band because that adds credibility to their futile musical endeavors. So he joined up with them, and I unfriended him on social media because of it. I don't need crap from him and that band cluttering up my news feed, so I deleted his stupid ass - stupid because he joined them, and stupid because he must of thought I'd be OK with it or something.
News flash Emo Boy - social media is NOT real life. It doesn't matter. Nobody should care, but they do. I unfriended you. Big deal. I'm friends with plenty of people in real life who I'm not friends with on Facebook, for various reasons, but in real life, when we're together, it's all milk and honey. It's nothing to get hung up about. Seriously. And as for the suicide thing, well, if you wanna do the most selfish act that a human could possibly do to another human, go right the fuck ahead asshole. It's your prerogative and is always the "cool, cool thing to do", right? You wanna just up and quit on life? Go ahead and do it. Let your friends and family you leave behind clean up your mess, and let everyone else get your affairs in order, because obviously you didn't have the gumption or the know-how to do it yourself. And please, oh PLEASE don't let this "suicide attempt - cry for help" thing be about the girl you just got dumped by / broke up with - oh PLEASE don't let it be that cliche of a thing. That's too pathetic. And I'm not even going to get into the fact that you have a kid, a kid that you apparently forgot about when you were thinking "nobody loves you" and you have nothing to live for while you were staring down the barrel of that gun in your hands. A fucking kid you dipshit. What a fucking great Dad you are, right? To put that on your daughter? Dickweed. I'm glad your "friends" were there for you in your darkest hour, and I hope you come out of this a better man and father, but don't try to guilt me into feeling bad about abandoning you when you needed me most just because you joined a band you know I can't stand. Fuck you dillhole.
"If you want sympathy / don't come to me."
hahahhahahahahaha Oh life in this city just gets funnier and funnier!!!
If you believe any of this horseshit about the "Official Story" and this Jesus Campos character, which has more holes in it than Swiss cheese and has changed more times than the cell phone has evolved, please explain to me all these shenanigans. Why this show of all the shows that were clamoring to get the first interview with this guy? Easy - the sheep that watch it will believe anything she tells them. If "They" were trying to quell the voice of the non-believers with this badly acted, illogically written, obviously staged TV appearance, it backfired horribly because now even more people are falling off the bandwagon and choosing to question their handlers rather than just swallow what they're told to swallow like good little minions. All this public press conference did was conjure up more questions than answers... and confirm that Ellen Degeneres has always, always been a Tool.
Idle Gossip updated
Conflict @ Ft. Cheyenne (Repost)
Punk Rock Summer Comp
Sparks / Les Sewing Sisters @The El Rey Theater
Saul Of Tarsus @Point Fermin Park
Music Review: The Bob's Burgers Music Album
Gig Calendar updated