Call Me Wilton

I get punch-someone-in-the-face mad whenever I see our stupid government give some inept new bureaucrat the title of "Czar." As in this ludicrous headline:

Obama Plans To Name Czar For Cybersecurity

Czar? Please. Since Obama is the Greatest Man in the World, can't he see how dumb that is? Besides the bright glow of asinine, it makes America look like morons. How about something like . . . Kingpin. I know if it were me, in charge, I'd feel a lot cooler if I lurched to my feet in the middle of a meeting, slammed my fist on the desk, and bellowed, "You'll do what I say because I am the goddamn KINGpin!"

You can't beat that hard "K" for making people jump through their assholes.

The Action is Intricate and Exuberant

I'm taking a break from bashing my skull against the wall for an important announcement. If you are in Missoula, you should come to the Big Bellydance Event Thursday night (May 28th) at the Crystal Theater. Julia has been working her ass off to make this happen, and I know it is going to be cool. My efforts to promote it via Facebook and stupid places like that have been pretty yawn-inducing, but what the hell. Hopefully a few people will come out and see something genuinely cool and unique. I'm even going to accompany Julia on my trusty doumbek (which I've been playing for all of about a week) during her sword dance. Yes, I said sword dance!

Oregon

We spent last weekend in Oregon. We visited Julia's brother Mike in Portland on Friday, did a little bit of shopping (Powell's? Check. Oregon Leather? Check. Anthropologie? Check. Patagonia store? Check.), then headed to Eugene for a couple days to see our friends Angela and Mike Davis and their kids. It was a good time. We got to hear a lot of great rock n' roll stories from their days on the road as manager and bass player (respectively) for the MC5, eat some of Angela's great cooking, and otherwise get in some much needed r&r. Spent a day on the coast as well, which was phenomenal. Don't have time for a lot of detailed travelogue stuff this time around, but here are a couple pretty pictures (I'll follow up with more later, maybe).

The 406 Writers' Workshop

I'm stressing because I talked myself into joining the 406 Writers Workshop. I've never done anything like this before, and haven't taken any kind of "formal" writing instruction since high school, which was a hell of a long time ago. 2 sessions in and it's obvious to me that the project I wanted to do is a form of fiction that is clearly the red headed stepchild I was nervous it might be viewed as. As in, "if it's good and says something beyond what the reader is being bludgeoned with, then it is literary; if it isn't, then it is genre." I disagree with that so much that, frankly, I want to quit. That and the fact that I've kind of lost faith in my story idea, at least as it relates to this workshop, that it is making it very, very difficult to write. And it is due tomorrow. But I'm going to do it anyway, because the people all seem to be really cool. I don't know, maybe I'm just intimidated because all the stories so far have been great, and I never really intended to write a short story in the first place and it's pretty clear that that is what this is about. Oh well, if it bombs I'll just drown my sorrows reading comic books over a gigantic pizza I will down solo, then use pages torn from this Denis Johnson book to sop up the aftermath.

I love what I love, though. I don't know if this is what I always want to write fiction-wise, but it's damn sure where I want to start. This little section, from The Great Pulp Heroes by Don Hutchinson, about the lady friend of Richard Wentworth, the millionaire secret identity of pulp hero The Spider (May '33 - December '43), illustrates the type of laugh-out-loud awesomeness I love about the pulps:

Despite Wentworth's vigilance, lovely Nita was herself the subject of uncounted injuries, tortures, and emotional upheavals. In her efforts to aid the Spider in his battle against the ungodly, she was turned into a gibbering drug addict in "Slaves of the Crime Master," threatened with rape by an orangutan in "The Red Death Rain," had some of her brain cells suctioned out by The Scarlet Doctor, and in "Rule of the Monster Men" was transformed into a surgically altered cripple by that crazed practitioner, The Wreck. She was a spunky gal, though, and occasionally, when the Spider was either wounded, crippled, infected with rabies, blinded, dying, or sentenced to death row in Sing Sing, she'd don his old cape and fright mask and off a few bad guys on her own.

That just resounds with magnificence.

We'll see how it goes. I'm one page into my story and one dude has already been knocked prone by a guy throwing a jukebox at him, so suck it, Philip Roth. Maybe if I end things here with a couple pictures I surreptiously snapped last weekend of a pretty girl who refuses to be photographed, I can get back to it with a clearer mind.

Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. That's the girl I married three years ago today. You can suck that, Dave Eggers.

Yes.

The Most Trifling Incident Can Make You Snarl With Rage

Which is why you need to add HEMO RAGE to your workout routine, so that the ass you kick will be copious.

Wicked pumps. Boo-friggin'-YEAH.

Vintage Guitar

The short version of the article I wrote about the Travis Bean documentary arrived on newsstands via Vintage Guitar Magazine this week. Or last week, I guess. Hell, I don't know -- what week is it anyway? It's pretty cool to be in there, though. Even though they spelled my name sorta wrong. And took a sentence out of a paragraph that changed the entire meaning. And left a word out of that paragraph so it makes me look like a moron. Or that they credited the picture I took to Hank. But what the hell, if you buy Vintage Guitar in Indianola, FL, you can see my writing and Hank's glowing mug (playing the Badlander show that earned _pollen the "loudest band to ever play" there reward)(by the way, I was obviously there; whomever reached that conclusion about their volume was either really drunk, or really stoned, or, most likely, both. They weren't that loud; you don't take a 100 watt Rivera Knucklehead and 2 4x12 cabinets out of the backline -- as they did for that show -- and get louder):

As edits go, these aren't too bad. Clearly they were made for space, and I can deal with that. It's not necessarily about making the piece better, it's about making it fit. Hopefully it will get Hank & Co some attention (and some donations). I'm generally okay with editors and making changes, as long as they don't seem to make a change just for the sake of changing. I once had a review of a record where I described it as being "deceptively heavy" but when it hit print it had been changed to "deceptively light." That's only 100% opposite of what I meant. That kind of thing will throw me into, you guessed it, HEMO RAGE!

Live at the Zebra Lounge, Bozeman, May 15th, 2009

Speaking of my friend Hank and his Travis Bean axe, he wrapped up his stint as a Lazerwolfs when we performed our Judas Priest Tribute in Bozeman the other night. It was a lot of fun, hopefully we will do something like that again. If you wonder about the rowdy times kept back stage at a rough-and-tumble rock club, here are Hank and Jimmy, pre-show. I'm sure if there was a window and TV to throw out of it, they would have preferred to do that.

Here's Bubba reading the walls of the "Green Room." Green rooms are never green. He got so settled into that couch that, rather than go out to the truck where he'd left his "rock clothes" he played the set instead in his fleece pullover. I don't see how he didn't die. He also used the drumsticks I keep in my road case for emergencies rather than go out and get his own out of the truck. What a lazy bastard. And people wonder why more often than not I'd rather not be in a rock band?

The Zebra is cool enough, with a decent (low) stage and great sound, especially on stage. The monitors were melting my face, which is rare. I'm usually lucky if I can just barely hear my vocals, especially in this configuration with all the instruments basically aimed at me in the center of the stage. The stage is in one room, then another room off that is where the bar is (there are 2 or 3 more rooms back in this maze too, actually). The bar has a bunch of art in it. From the stage, directly in front of me was a big pole, which sucked, but off in the back of the room I had a clear sight of this painting through the doorway; when I think of this show, I'm sure I'll remember this image forever.

Didn't get any pictures of us playing. In fact, I don't have any from any of our Priest shows other than the couple Hank's wife took the first night we did it. That's unfortunate. Good thing is the soundguy at the Zebra recorded our set, and it came out pretty decent. Here are a couple tunes for your listening pleasure:

Grinder

Steeler

It was a lot of fun. We have a show in Great Falls in June, I think (the booking agent there is kind of inconsistent, and we wouldn't be the first ones to get tangled in some kind of scheduling snafu), then we are playing a festival out in Minnesota in July, then after that I don't know. It is so hard to make things happen anymore that I'm pretty burned out, but we'll see.

30 Inches of Fighting Metal

I love independent, vinyl-only labels. Miskatonic just put this sucker out; I bought the triple-pack, which included all three 10" records + a 7" single from The Lamp of Thoth. These are all fantastic, old school English rock/metal bands, and I love them. Releases like this are what keep me interested in music these days. I like a lot of different types of music these days, but this stuff hits me right in the sweet spot.

You Look Like You Hitchhiked Here

So I've been trying to wrap this thing up since last Friday, but it was one of those weeks last week. Returned from Ohio just long enough to throw some crap in an overnight bag and head for Bozeman for a rock show. So it's been a labor of catching up.

Yellow Springs

First order of business when I got in on Monday was to drive out to Yellow Springs, since it was only about an hour away. Getting in later than planned, plus traffic, meant that I didn't get to spend as much time there as I'd hoped to. I used to visit Yellow Springs frequently when I lived in Ohio; it has a liberal/hippy vibe to it that reminded me of Missoula, mainly because of Antioch College, which I learned has since closed. The Little Art Theater was still there, though, which is where I saw Winged Migration. It's a cool little indie theater that reminds me a bit of The Loft in Tucson.

Just down from the Little Art was Dark Star Books. I can't believe I'd forgotten about them, I picked up some good stuff there a few years ago. I got in barely before closing time, so I couldn't linger long. Lots of good used books, and while their comics section seemed much reduced, they still had a lot of graphic noves and stuff. A good supply of Allan Eckert books too, historical fiction set in the Ohio Valley that is very popular over there (I read The Frontiersman when I first moved to OH; I liked it).

After wandering up and down the street and looking into all the shops with "Closed" signs on the doors, I happened into the Garden of the Goddess shop, kind of a cross between the Peace Center in Missoula and a head shop; I didn't take these next two shots, but found them online.

I spent some time out front talking to the proprietor of the place, who was definitely a trippy dude. He said Montana seems to him like another planet; I said Ohio is another planet. He talked about being in SoCal during the hippie years, doing LSD when he was 15 and seeing his past 5 birth mothers (which is why he named his shop Garden of the Goddess), spending time with the seers and visionaries in Eden, AZ, etc. Hey, at least he wasn't wearing a backwards ball cap. When I left he gave me his card so I could check out his website.

I hoped to make it back there on Thursday so I could hike John Bryan State Park. Time and weather ultimately worked against me on that, unfortunately. I suspect I will be back in the area in a month or so when this customer has me back out for the installation. I'll make it happen then for sure!

Joseph-Beth Booksellers

I didn't do much my second day there, just stayed relatively close to my hotel. I did a search for "cincinnati independent bookstore" and came up with Joseph-Beth Booksellers. Apparently this is a regional chain with a couple stores in Ohio, one in Pittsburgh, and one in Charlotte, NC. I went and checked it out -- it was pretty cool. They were having a panel discussion with some local NPR folks in a side nook, plus I had plenty of time to browse around. It wasn't the greatest indie store I've ever been in -- if I didn't know better, based on the layout I could have been in any Barnes & Noble or Borders -- but it was cool to know it wasn't some corporate behemoth.

My final day there I wrapped up early at the customer site and headed north to the home office. I hadn't been there in over 3 years, I think. The office has been totally reconfigured, a couple people work there I hadn't ever met, etc. It was good to check in. I learned one thing though: I can't imagine ever working in a stinkin' office again. The last couple years have ruined me.

On my way out of town, I snapped this picture while driving; we don't get thunder and rain out here like they do in Ohio. It was all I could do to see, even with the wipers going full-out.

Also drove by the Dixie Drive-In in Dayton. There aren't enough of these in the world anymore.

All in all it was a good trip, the flights were uneventful, no delays or other random bullshit. I'm almost looking forward to going back in a month. I might head south into Kentucky and check out Big Bone Lick, if the opportunity presents itself. Or maybe go looking for more sideshow people.

Ohio Gothic

Yesterday I got on a plane to fly to Cincinnati for work. It is always weird coming out this way, as I lived the better part of three years just a couple hours up I-75 from here, and would sometimes fly in and out of the airport (which is actually on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River). It's been a couple years since I was here, and I haven't actually visited the home office in over 3 years, if memory serves. That's kind of crazy, really.

Flying in on a beautiful day, I was reminded how green Ohio is. Of course this shot (a horrible picture, I know) is Kentucky as we flew in; Kentucky was a frontiersman's paradise back in the day.

I drove to my hotel, a lovely Holiday Inn Express that sits just off I-75 in Northern Cincinnati. I mean it is literally right off the damn highway. Here's the view out my window.

Ohio is a weird place. In Sidney, where I lived, you can have a street where in one house the family, who has lived there their entire lives, have thick, unintelligible accents that sound like they just rolled out of the mountains of Tennessee, while next door another family, also lifelong Ohioans, have just the slightest tinge of Midwestern twang. Everyone also has little animal statues in their yards. I mean everyone does. If the family doesn't have a dog to keep in the yard, then I shit you not they will put a statue of one out there. Dogs, deer, gnomes, lawn jockeys; if you can think of something, someone has a whimsical version all painted up on their freakin' lawn, guaranteed.

Ohioans pronounce the town of "Versailles" Ver-Sales (rhymes with Her Sales). "Bellfontaine" is pronounced Bell Fountain (rhymes with Hell Fountain). And "Russia" is something like Roosie (would rhyme with Ruthie if you said it with a lisp). It's like they decided them foreign-lookin' town names weren't 'Merican enough, so they'd pronounce them however they wanted to. It took me forever to figure out what they were talking about when towns like this were mentioned that I couldn't find on the goddamn map.

One of my first trips here I asked a manager at a movie theater if there was a Mexican restaurant nearby, and he said there was one right across the street; "It's real authentic," he said. "It's even run by authentic Mexican people."

So during the course of today's work-related activities, the woman essentially managing the project from the customer side of things asked where I was staying. When I told her, her face crumpled in horror. "That's not where you're staying tonight, is it?" Well, yeah. "That's a horrible part of town!" She went on to relate all the horrors that have been visited by folks upon other folks in this neck of the woods. The White Castle right next door (now featuring Pulled Pork Sliders!) was the scene of an infamous beating death of a guy courtesy of Cincinnati's Finest. Down the street is a Shell station that has been the scene of a couple other murders in the past few years, apparently. It's not like any of this freaks me out too much, since I laugh at death; it simply underscores not only the continued luxury of my accomodations but the real glamour of the biz travel lifestyle! Eat your hearts out, homebodies!

Still, it got me thinking about a couple people I've seen in this vicinity that kind of shows why this part of the country is featured in movies like Gummo, or why filmmakers like David Lynch mine the heartland for bizarre shit. I don't really consider Ohio the heartland; it's too far to the east, but still not possessing that high-nose East Coast snobbery. Down here in Cincinnati we may as well be in Kentucky, or West Virginia, and once you get that far south, the Middle South I'd call it, shit starts getting weird. Only two places have I ever been where I just didn't feel like people wanted me there; once was stopping for gas in West Virginia, and another was browsing through a sporting goods store in South Carolina. The vibe was just creepy, man, and I follow my gut when I get those feelings. I've traveled enough to know that anyone who shrugs and says, "People are people" just flatout hasn't gotten out much.

Anyway. I first got creeped out when I checked into my hotel yesterday. The guy working the desk, an Indian guy (not Indian as in from Browning, but Indian as in from Bhopal), had the most fucked up hand I've ever seen. His right hand was otherwise normal -- four fingers and a thumb -- except he has a miniature, clawlike thumb growing off of his regular thumb. It was so hard not to stare just to wrap my brain around it. I know that isn't very PC, but deformities freak me out. I mean, the guy is right downstairs this moment, and I'm tempted to get a little liquor in me so I wouldn't be afraid to ask to take a picture of it. I'm not enough of a prick sober to do that, unfortunately. And since I've already barricaded myself in for the night, I won't be going anywhere.

The woman I saw this afternoon really set me on edge, though; remember I was already a little freaked out by entering my neighborhood-for-the-week with the newfound knowledge of the criminal proclivities of my neighbors. I was pulling off the highway at my hotel exit, and the ramp ended at a stoplight. Just to my left was a woman sitting in a chair, sun beating down on her, with a cardboard sign that had "POOR" written on it. As I approached, I thought she had some kind of little yarmulke on that looked almost exactly like this; same color and everything:

That's not what it was, though. Most of the top of her skull was cut away; I could clearly see the edge of the bone, though skin-covered. What I thought was the yarmulke I almost thought had to be just the top of her brain, and that is about what it was, with maybe only the thinnest layer of bone, or skin, or something, covering it. The entire edge had big stitches tying it to the lip of bone that circled her crown. I'm not over exaggerating or being flippant at all, that was exactly what it looked like. She looked to be maybe in her 50s, and her face looked like it had undergone some surgery as well. Goddess knows what the hell happened to this poor woman. At her feet was a really ugly reddish-blonde wig. I think that just added to the creepiness of it -- this horrific injury, and the cheap, shapeless wig that looked like it crawled out of the 70s. I felt sorry, and ashamed, and all that . . . we kept casting furtive glances at one another. If I'd had cash on me, I would have given her some, but all I have in my wallet right now are a bunch of goddamn receipts.

Even now reflecting on it makes me kind of uneasy, like -- as Julia suggested and nailed the feeling -- a bad dream that, upon waking up, kind of follows you around all day. There has to be a tragic story there that I'm not so sure I would even want to hear.

In closing tonight's chuckle-fest, I realize we can't have American Gothic stories like this without religion, and there are all manners of awesome old churches, strip mall churches, and imposing mega-churches in the vicinity. Then there is the Solid Rock Church, just up the highway from here. I mean, get a load of the size of their fucking saviour:

If that doesn't make you feel The Lord, Sinner, then nothing will. I see they have a gift shop. If I drive by there tomorrow, I am totally stopping by.

We Need More Police, Har Har Har

This is disgusting. Is this "change" in action? Remember when Cheney had his Energy Task Force or whatever it was, and everyone was in a tizzy because he wouldn't reveal who was involved? How is this different? Sure, it's out in the open, but representatives of single payer health insurance are not even being allowed at the table. It is disgusting, considering the level of support for single payer in the country. For Baucus to sit there and lie that the purpose of the meeting is to discuss options, yet not include members promoting an option so widely supported, is reprehensible.



I like Baucus's nervous little chuckle at around 3'40 when he is challenged about it being "pay to play" health care, especially considering he takes more money from the health lobby than damn near anyone else. And he's in charge? Jesus! This whole fiasco is corruption in action, period.

This is an excerpt from Ralph Nader's Single Payer Action site; (follow the link to see the whole article):

Yesterday morning, eight doctors, lawyers and other activists stood up to Senator Max Baucus.

And the private health insurance industry.

And the corporate liberals in Congress.

The eight activists demanded that single payer - everybody in, nobody out, free choice of doctor and hospital - be put on the table.

And as a result they were arrested.

And charged with a so-called “disruption of Congress.”

The Associated Press, Wall Street Journal, Politico, Democracy Now and National Public Radio all carried stories about the protest.

C-Span carried it live.

And it was widely disseminated on the Internet.

Baucus crafted a hearing to kick off the health care debate in the Senate yesterday where 15 witnesses would be at the table to discuss health care reform.

The insurance industry was at the table.

The Business Roundtable was at the table.

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce was at the table.

Blue Cross Blue Shield was at the table.

The Heritage Foundation was at the table.

And corporate liberals like Andy Stern, Ron Pollack, and AARP were at the table.

But not one person who stood for what the majority of Americans, doctors, nurses, and health economists want - single payer - was at the table.

Not one.

How is this fair? Where is Obama in all this? Where are his pre-election claims of being in favor of single payer? Who are these assholes representing besides the shitheads who write the big checks? Phah. Obama isn't going to do shit. He'll come on the TV and spout his rhetoric and everyone will swoon all over again about "how great it is to have a president who talks real good."

This is from Kevin Zeese, who was one of the protestors:

Chairman Baucus, invited his major donors to the table: the health insurance industry was there, so were the Chamber of Commerce, the right wing Heritage Foundation, the Business Roundtable, Blue Cross Blue Shield and corporate liberals who have sold out the people like Andy Stern, Ron Pollack and AARP.

But the most popular and efficient health care reform was not at the table. It was not mentioned even though it is the one favored by a majority of doctors, nurses, economists and the American people. Only those who paid to play were included.

For the last few weeks people have been calling and emailing Senator Baucus and other Finance Committee members urging them to include single payer advocates. We were told – no, no one for single payer would be allowed to speak.

Is single payer best? Can it work? How will we know if it isn't seriously considered among all the other options? Don't these idiotic Democrats realize they are playing the very game that got their opposition thrown out of power? Morons, all of them.

Baucus is a scumbag. All those jowly white faces sitting at that table are scumbags. It is pathetic. Big business owns our government, period.