Tony Pierce and Raymi

I'm going to say that my first real check-my-email-everyday internet access happened when I went back to school. My best friend told me to check out Tony Pierce. I do believe the term "blog" was in the lexicon of the time, but if so, just barely. Anyhoo...blew my mind. Funny and irreverant, clever clever clever. Fast forward a passel of years later. Tony's freind Raymi comes up again and again. Stunning does not begin to describe a thing about her, but we have to start with something. And writing, photography, etc...www.raymitheminx.com, I think. My point in all this is this:
A few years ago I had an issue, or issues, with something Tony had written. Not bad things, per se, but I needed clarification. He wrote me back right away. That said something to me. I wrote to Raymi about something the other day and....tadah! Thanks, Raymi, for taking the time. Look upon her with mucho caution personas...muy especial...y dangerosa!!!!

Paper

Are we ever going to run out of paper? You can tell me if we are. Every damn night when I empty out my pockets I've got receipts from getting gas, the atm, bars I work at, bars I frequent, gum, etc...

I write my schedule on a little slip of paper. I'll write a wee note to myself or someone else. I've got little scraps of paper friggin everywhere. I'm sorry. I've just noticed it. It's ridiculous. I love you so much, it hurts.

Tattoos

Girls, please, listen to me. For just a second. Please. You're killing me with the tattoos. Since when did getting a tattoo become like getting a set of lungs: gotta start with two? When did become the standard? Years ago it was the tiny nose ring stud. EVERY girl had one (especially at ZooMass), but it was college, hey, rebel against society, your parents, it's the happy valley, NIN, I'm from Beverly (don't hold it against me...or my angst)...
It's ink, now, people. The difference is that now it's a bit more permanent. What's fucked up is that you HAVE to live up to it now. You must become and never deviate from the person in the moment that you were when you went under the needle. And you may be nowhere close to that person now, but you're shackled by that image that you had burned into your skin. If you did time...Okay. If you were in a war...Okay. Those are times that need permanent markings. But the small of the back (okay, mostly I think it's sexy, but don't you understand that it's only for right now! Not when you're forty and at the bar! But it will still be there, don't you get it? For fuck's sake!), but the ankle/back of the neck/ side of the torso, etc... have a little vision, foresight, is all I'm saying. Strangers will see your ink and immediately form opinions about you, not all of them good. You can say that you don't care about that, you don't care what people think. The only opinions that matter are the ones of the people that know you. Well, you know what, you trend-follower, (but still intense and hardcore because you went under the needle), THEY ALREADY KNOW YOU! If they are your friends you don't have to prove anything to them. God, is this nursery school? Do I have to explain everything? I'm a friggin' dummy, a dummy people! And yet this is as common sense as it gets...And I'm in the minority!

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You got me going. And I'm sorry. I love you. I do. Don't get that tattoo. Please. For the love of God,...

My Friends, Pal, not yours...

The myspace...don't get me started. But since I'm already here, like to hear it? Here it go...
A trace sampling of my friends:
Muddy Waters

Anthony Bourdain

Tom Waits

Steve Earle

Neko Case (my fiance)

Waiting to hear from Dylan, Eddie Van Halen, Charlie Patton, etc...
But I'll have you know that Little Richard, my friend incidentally,
wishes me well in addition to sending me religiously themed messages. Not to name drop, but oh yeah, Elvis Costello and Van Morrison now call me a friend, and I do the same. Just think, before the internet I only had reguar people as friends. BORING!!!

The Regulars

There are regulars at the pub I work at. They are there every day, some of which come in the mid-afternoon and stay until early evening. Those are thr "hardcore" ones, we'll say. And then the older ones come and drink their bottled light beers and their rose wine. Nice enough, most of them, and some are lovely. One of their own has just past away and so they spent the hours today drinking and talking about the man, his flaws and attributes etc...
But I think mostly they were whistling past the graveyard. A shitty thing to say, maybe, but their faces told me true. It could've been me, their faces say. I'm glad it wasn't me, their hearts say. Is that going to be me, is what that tiny, timid, meek voice that's buried so deeply in my gut says. So I just gently whistle along with all of The Regulars.

D'internet

Jesus H.! The internet! A heavenly creation of the Holy Spirit or the devil's playground?! You decide, 'merica!

I'm 33. Yes, I've been on the internet. I have seen things. But. Butbutbut...I've never had access to a computer like I do now. Virtually unlimited. The internet, my friends...wow. Fucking, wow.

For example, the youtube. I put "teenage ass-shaking" in the youtube and it came up with something like 10,000 posted videos. Did you hear me, I'm just asking? 10,000!!!! So, now I'm afraid what will come up if I put in "nuns eating french fries," or "real dogs accepting or denying university student applications," or "evidence of the Patriots cheating." 'Cause you know what? That shit will be on there. I wrote before about this whole thing being like sort of a pandora's box. I was friggin right!
Jesus, I love you. And you look great today; did you get your hair done? I mean it.

So the british are coming

Where I live now is right next to"the battle road." It's the sight of Paul Revere's ride, the beginning battle of The Revolution, etc...basically where farmers and ordinary men came together and fought for all we have now. It's right beside what is now route2A and an air force base, so good luck if you want to lose yourself in the history because all you'll hear are friggin cars and horns and planes taking off and landing.



Anyway, the battle road extends for about 16 miles to the Boston harbor. I've been walking just short snatches of it and trying to get into what it was and is - the weight of it, you know? On the path today I came across a huge fat burnt-orange and jet-black catapillar crossing the path. I studied him for a second and the put a twig in his path to watch him cross over it. He undulated right over it quite gracefully until the last section of his body paused on top of the twig and he took a big dark green shit! In such a "fuck you!" Like "put a twig in my path, will you!" I th0ught it was a perfect metaphor for our colonists.



A side note: I had to close the bar tonight and it wasn't until one or so that I was on the road by my house that not only did I almost hit a big deer that promptly congregated with a friggin gaggle of deer on the other side of the road(or whatever a lot of deer are called), but just after that I almost hit a racoon that wouldn't budge out of the road! Pee Wee's Playhouse around here, no? (I loved that show.) I love you.

Morgan

You know who I miss? Morgan. I've fucked up quite a bit in my life. Mostly just errors in judgement more than pure fuck ups. But Morgan, Jesus. I fucked that all up.

Beautiful, beautiful. Natural friggin georgeous. Long reddish hair, blue eyes, tall, an athlete. I dropped the ball when I treated her like just some girl and she was savvy enough to pick up on it and then wanted nothing to do with me. And I could see the whole thing and could't blame her. It was like watching the ball after you've given up a home run and you know it - what are you going to do?

Anyway, just like that pitcher, I wish I could have that one back. A fucking gem is what she was, and 99 percent of the time, in that arena, I'm a stand up guy. But ladies and gentlemen, I screwed the pooch bigtime on that one. So, sorry. Sorry, society. And I'm sorry to you. I love you. And, If at the time I didn't have my head up my ass, I could have loved her.

Coming out of the friggin woodwork I tell ya

So I lived in this place, let's call it ummm...Pearth, cause Pearth is easy to type. Anyway, I lived in this magical mythic town off and on for 10 years or so. Very academic, very artsy, liberal liberal liberal, blah blah bullshit. So, I wasn't making huge strides in life, but at least I was living for myself. Tons of great dive bars, live music, I was getting laid, etc...Un-fucking-complicated I guess sums it up.

On my last stint there I met a girl....do I even need to write any more?

I got wrapped up. I fucking lost myself, as well as all of my friends there, and basically everything that was great about the place. She completely soured and spoiled the whole place for me. I will not allow my feet to touch ground on the soil of it.



But now it's been a few years. Think I may have calmed down and mellowed on it a bit. It's this computer, I'm telling you. My whole life I've never had one and now I realize the fucking Pandora's Box thing.

My closest friend there who I haven't spoken to in a looong time pops up now, via the computer, and we're talking. A bit.

A long lost love (now married and quite happy I'm sure) has appeared and we're talking. A bit.

Another one that I should have gone after is now back, via the computer, and we have tentative drinking plans. Right out of the fucking woodwork! I love you.

Chris Whitley

You know what everybody? I make mix-tapes. For myself. Anyhoo, driving home tonight on comes 'made from dirt' by Chris Whitley. Well, the dude's dead. I met him, talked to him, shook his hand, told him the esteem I held him in. Now the man is dead. Then I remembered a brief moment, years ago, while back in school (and he was still alive,) that I came across his daughter's myspace page. My intent, tonight, was to look her up and send a message about how I was listening to her dad tonight and it was wonderful and quite sad at the same time. Something very short and nothing more. Well, by viewing her page and some things she has written, it's clear that she has heard such comments before, in fact many times over, and it's overwhelming to her and she's not interested.
I understand. She's very young (about 20, plus or minus, which means that she was 18 when her dad died, and they were very close).
I guess that this is my issue: No matter what the circumstances, taking into account that the man was in public life, and for the good, touching millions of people, but with all the pratfalls that comes with that, especially for you, who didn't ask for any of that attention...
I wanted to say something nice to you about your dad and I walked away feeling like shit for even having the notion. You decided to go the myspace route; It didn't decide on you. You get both sides of the knife - it will never be one way. That being said, I'm sorry for your loss, I miss your dad very much, and I wish you all the best.

The Irish

The Irish are fucking killing me. Everything is so black and white for them and they accept. I get attached - that's my problem. If someone is wonderful over here I take into account where they're from, (that's the biggest influence in my mind) and what they're family is like, etc...
With the Irish there's none of that. They are almost uniformly good people. If they are wonderful I don't question any other factors; I almost expect it based on there homeland. By half of next year all of my Irish girls will be gone and then I'll REALLY have something to blog about, won't I. Love you.

So now it's the bebo

All the irish are on the bebo and I don't want to be a typical yank so now I'm on the bebo. Well, let me tell you something ladies and gents, I don't know how it works, but check it -
After signing up it basically went through my whole contact list and checked off the people that may be on the bebo and alerted them that I was on it! So, what the F!!! I come home and I have 12 messages from people that I'm not gonna say I haven't thought of, per se, but certainly haven't thought of contacting anytime soon. The bebo is fucked up, ya'll.

Soooo...the Myspace. You know I found ortiz's, manny's, francona's myspace pages? I began to question the integrity of the pages when I noticed that mike lowell's quote was something like ' WHT'S UP MY BITCHES AND NIGGAS". I thought "Is this really Mike Lowell?"
The Myspace. I found this girl Simone who I used to read online a hundred years ago. Complete with pictures. I never knew what she looked like.
A woman that I waited on at work thought I was so nice that she wants to fix me up with her sister. Don't she know I'm the big bad wolf. I mean shit. For real. I love you.

The Very Good...
The yankees lost tonight.

The good...
Good day, I guess. Busy enough, as the Irish say. Waited on lots of attractive and friendly womens. Trained a girl today and I think I like her. Come to think of it, I trained another girl this week and I think I like her, too. Does this mean I like to train girls? Just saying...

The Bad...
I'm tired, Yo. And sweaty. Lots of cleaning still to do but I think I'm gonna watch the Sox, get drunk and eat pizza. I love you.

The Good...
Woke up tired but with a nice surprise that I could go in late today. And since I don't have to drive to The Shire tonight I can have a little drinky-drinky after work before I come back here and start a'cleaning. I know that none of you mofos have any clue as to what I'm talking about but have no fear...all will be revealed. I love you. There, I said it.

The Bad...
It's early, and no no no traffic this morning, so no bad yet. May change in the next twelve hours or so.