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Gig last night was a shocker. Golf club. Ugh. I hate golfers. Acoustic Irish. Boring. On the way there Johnny says, out of the blue, "Why don't you teach maths at high school instead?" Huh, I reply. You know, he said, why not high school? Well, I just don't want to. I'd hate it, I say. But, sayeth the noble Johnny, you'd be able to perve at all those 17 year olds! What the fuck? say I. Perve, says Johnny, at all the seventeen year olds. Well, say I, I know that some men are whacko, but I personally don't go for that whole schoolgirl 17 year old thing. Ooooorrrrrrr, says John, but when they look 25? Oooorrrrrrr.
I sigh. Yes, I say. Personally I prefer them to BE 25 instead of just looking it. John is even older than I am. Hard to believe that you can be older than me and still be alive, but it's true.
So, if you, gentle reader, think I'm bad, think of Johnny Boy.
In addition to all the March work already in, we've also now got a regular Thursday night spot at a bar in Takapuna. I eventually summoned up the courage to tell Monique about all the gigs coming up. I think she took it rather well. I'm still alive.
Got to think up something offensive to say, to irritate Lupe. Maybe the above comments will do it? Not sure. I'll have to check with JR to see whether I should be trying harder in this department.
I'm sure that all readers of this will know just how I can offend people without really meaning to. Or with meaning too, of course, but that's a lot easier. You say something seemingly innocuous and wham, offense. I know that I should be more careful, less trite, more serious, and avoid doing this. I know this even better now, because this time I was on the receiving end. A comment made in jest, with no intention of offending, made only in the spirit of fun, yet with so much accuracy in it that I could see myself so very very clearly in such an unflattering light. Ouch. I laughed it off. Ha Ha Ha. But, damn, it hurt.
Teach me a lesson, won't it? And no more than I deserve.
I was on strike today. An excellent opportunity to catch up on some work in peace and quiet, with no students around. Unions are wonderful things, in general, but sometimes they do silly things. No exception here. Most university staff are overpaid for the work they do, myself included, and yet they go on strike because of low wages? Because wages are higher in Australia? Please. Don't make me laugh. Still, on strike we went, and I got my program working. Huzzah. A stupid mistake, as usual.
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Isn't she gorjus? She has what Roc Stars are made from, but don't tell her I said that.
Seems like Phineas Finn and the terrible Texan duo will be in Chicago for the party. Woo Hooo. How exciting this will be!!!!! Maybe even Kira, if she can get over her crush in time. Maybe she can crush on a CL geek instead. Gotta be a suitable one around somewhere. Maybe in the undine hut? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Ack. Now I'm self-conscious about CL geekiness in my diary. Curses. |
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What else? Nothing much really, or at least nothing I particularly want to discuss in this public arena. Not much of a diary, really, when it becomes such a public performance. Silly, isn't it? Ah well.
James in a reflective mood. Oh dear.
I gird my loins for the busy time coming up. I find that I've arranged three gigs on top of things Monique wanted to do. Shit. But we had arranged to go out to dinner that night, says she. Oh, say I. I forgot. She grits her teeth and tries not to deck me. Sorry, I say, but I can't cancel a paying gig, you know that. She just looks that look.
I try to control my blood pressure with fuckwit students ("Your math course is too hard, is there an easier one?" I struggle to control the urge to swear at the stupid little shit. "No". "What about this one? Is this an easy one?" "No" "Is this an easy one?" "No". "Are there any easy ones I can do?" "No. Goodbye". God alone knows how I avoided profanity.)
I arrange to chat to David over AOL. What's your AOL name, he says. I cringe. I blush. Er..... Pope Sleipnir I say. Ha ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha ha Ha Ha ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha says David. Really? Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, say I. I never use it for work, so consider yerself honoured. Hope to visit David in August. I have to visit the bloody US twice in August. Holy shit, that's too much flying. Maybe I'll just stay in the US for a week or two, visiting friends. Maybe. Monique thinks that's a good idea, but I'm not so sure.......
I vow to myself not to annoy Lupe any more if I can help it. Probably I can't, but I won't *try* to annoy her. I will even try to be nice to her. Truly, I will. Actually, that might make things worse. Better just to say nothing. Nothing. At all. I don't want poor Singular and JR to get caught in the middle when I visit. In her own sweet way, SG has given me the hard word on this. I feel chastised. I will work on my LLP (low Lupe profile). Starting from..... NOW.
I cheer because I learn that Phineas Finn will come to Chicago for the party too. Wow oh wow. Given his photo and his reputation I can hardly wait. SG has promised to dance naked on the table. I have promised to join her there as long as she goes first. I predict that Kodo, JR and Phineas will participate similarly given half a chance. Do we want to see them naked? I doubt it. But if an 87 year old naked pope doesn't bring the vomits on, I don't know what will.
I think of my sister, who once stripped off most of her clothes at a gig I did. While standing on a table. Just last year in fact. I once stripped off most of my clothes at a bar, as I descended a spiral iron staircase, to the cheers of the crowd. As I remember, it worked, and I got laid that night. Hmmm.... that was a comment in really bad taste wasn't it? True though. I was young at the time. Young and very very foolish. And the band had promised to play a special stripping song (they were friends of mine)...... and the girl I was trying to impress had dared me to...... and.... well... you get the general picture. I guess she was impressed. Not a great comment on her taste, I'd say. Maybe an even worse comment on mine. Or at least on my behaviour. Ah hell, it was 65 years ago. Who gives a fuck now?
In the newsgroup Warren J. Dewdon'tforgettheJ has made my day. I laughed and laughed. And laughed yet more. I laughed so much I wet the floor. (No Depends today). A brilliant post. Sheer genius. You know that game we love to play? Write a post in the style of person X. A fun challenge, and a giggle to think about. Many people are just too easy. HGM, Michael, Sleipnir, etc. But in his latest contribution, our friend Warren J. Dewdon'tforgettheJ has surpassed himself. I could not, in 10 years, have written a post that so typifies WJDetc. That is both so revealing, and yet so pathetic. And him so entirely unaware. We shouldn't laugh at the weaknesses of others, I suppose, but I am a great fan of Mr. Bennett. "What are our neighbours for but to provide sport for us, and laugh at us in their turn". Probably not exactly quoted, but the general gist is there. I am quite sure that Mr. Bennett would have loved WJDetc almost as much as I do.
What does this post say? Ah, you really have to read it, and the followup. In essence, he is a "Chamber Music aficionado" as opposed to "Rock band type stuff". I cannot do it justice here. Suffice it to say that it shines a harsh, unintended light on poor old WJDetc, his snobbery, his pomposity, his seriousness, his entire lack of self-awareness. All wonderful values indeed, and we love him for them. I do hope that WJDetc doesn't read this diary. Ack, what am I saying? Of course he doesn't! He'd be the LAST person in the world to do so I think. Relax, Pope, relax.
I haven't managed to get out sailing for quite a few weeks. Just too too busy. I miss it. I'm not sure what it is, but there is something about being on the water...... salt-water therapy Mary calls it. A good phrase that. Recently, let me add, my eyes were opened to a whole new dimension in the possibilities of sailing. Ahem. What is this I hear you ask. My lips are sealed, I reply. Don't be nosy.
I get up most mornings before the sun (except in the middle of summer, let me add hastily). It's maybe my favourite time of day. Quiet, peaceful, family still sleeping. I can sit at the table and watch the sun come up behind the islands. I never really thought about this before, until Johnny Payphone asked me about it.
We got the cash. Hooray, hooray. Life is kind to me at the minute. It may not last, it may, but while it does, life is kind, and I am smiling.
A long and tiring day today, after a late gig last night and too much plonk inside me. We laughed at the blond ditz who sat right by the speaker with her fingers in her ears. Dumb bitch. I cried hallelujah as I am saved from righteous marital wroth, with 4 (yes, that's right, FOUR!) gigs next week being cancelled. This leaves me with only five (5) to do next week, and a much happier wife. In one of them the kids will even be able to come along, riding on the back of the truck up Queen St. in the parade. Thrills galore. Bloody hell. I'm cringing already.
No annoying students today. Makes a nice change. That is, none except for Mary on HL going "Is thiiiiiis a haaaaaaard maaaaaath course?" At least I can swear at her, safe in the knowledge she will just swear right back.
Plans for the US August trip progress. Looks like I just *might* be staying for three weeks or so. Hmmm..... we'll see. That's a long time to wear one pair of underpants. Santa Fe. Aspen? Rochester. Boston?. I'll be allowed to visit Chicago again only if (says JR) my behaviour this time round is acceptable. What exactly he considers acceptable was left open to interpretation. I bite my tongue and say *nothing* about the terrible man-eating duo. Do they also have to approve? Hmmm...... I shall have to try to behave in a really really... er... interesting manner, to get a return invite. Thing is, I always have to go through Chicago anyway, and I hate that fucking place. Well, all of it except the bits I know.
I note with interest that Humbaba hates taking off his shoes when entering a house. I'm betting he doesn't do too much cleaning. I'm also betting he claims he does, but that his wife has a different view. Much like mine.
I note with interest Felicity's comments on child discipline. My youngest, Kate, has been getting into trouble at school for being a little shit. "Needs to work on her cooperative skills", says the teacher. Don't I know it. Kate has a ferocious temper, a streak that runs right through my family, clear as day. Tends to go with the red hair. My sister Liz, for instance. Ouch. Her temper would strip paint. Fortunately, I missed the temper thing. Completely. "Have you been fighting at school, Kate?", asks Daddy. "NO I HAVEN'T YOU MEAN OLD POOEY DAD, AND ANYWAY EMMA IS REALLY BOSSY AND HORRIBLE TO ME. Give me a kiss, Daddy, I love you so much". Smooch, smooch, smooch. "Hmmmm...", thinks Daddy. "Bloody hell".
I have really bad problems. *Really* bad. Guess what I dreamed last night. Holy shit, it's embarrassing to even admit to it. I dreamed of Althea and Elenis. I mean the actual characters, not the clickers. Really. No shit. Elenis was playing the guitar, really well, and Althea was applauding, and I got really pissed off because Elenis could play better than I could so I went to sit in a car and they followed me and then.... well I guess I can't remember what happened next. When I woke I was appalled at the stuff that has to be in my head.
Don't bother mentioning therapy. Every time I hear of bored city people getting so neurotic with their pathetic and self-involved lifestyles that they feel they have to pay huge amounts of money so that they can "get therapy" for their non-existent problems, which is really just a fashion statement in much the same way that their hair style is, so they can compare therapists and therapist stories, and anyway all they really need is either a good fuck or some *real* problems, like, say, starvation, then I cringe to myself.
You know why I started playing guitar (many years ago now)? No, of course you don't. Do you care? Hell no. Do I give a fuck whether you care or not? Hell no. Am I going to tell you whether you give a damn or not? Hell yes, I am, sweet Jesus, so listen up. I started playing because I was dumped by a girl who then started going out with someone who could play the guitar. I thought to myself, fuck this, anything this fuckwit can do, *I* can do better, so I taught myself how to play and practised until I *was* better. Lots better, actually. Even though I'm a lousy bloody guitarist, I'm a way lot better than that fuckwit. And I bet he's still a fuckwit. Yeah. That is such a sad comment on my personality. I think I need therapy.
Hang on. Does this mean that I really want to be romantically involved with Althea, but she has hot pants for Elenis instead? Shit oh bloody dear. I hope not.
Because of the cancelled gigs I could get out sailing today! Hooray, hooray. We motored out of the marina but found that the winds were a little higher than was comfortable, out in the gulf. Well, the winds were OK, but they had kicked up a bit of a sea, maybe a 1-1.5 metre chop. Monique promptly got seasick, as did Kate. Home we went again. Well, not immediately, but it was a short trip. Long tack out to sea, and then a slide home, surfing down the swell. Wheeeeeee..... It was great to get out again. But when you have to close up all the hatches so that the sea doesn't come in, you know it's time to head for shelter.
I have just been asked the most wonderful question I think in my entire life. Maybe. She is 20 years old. Lives in Boston. Name begins with A. Plays Clan Lord (character begins with K). Wishes to remain anonymous. Says she ..."Have you ever, you know, gone to college and, like, parties and things?"
I do a double-take. Ummm..... well..... yes, actually. I did go to college once, and I think I've been to a party or two. Here and there.
It's a wonderful view into the mind of a young person, and exactlly how they (at least sub-consciously) view an 87 year old. Have I ever been to a party? Well, of course not! Old people don't go to parties. They don't do anything interesting. Golly Gee! Everybody knows that. And it's kind of hard to imagine them *ever* doing anything like that. You know, it's like when you're young you just *know* that once you get past 30 your life is essentially over. Nothing left. And the thought of someone over 30 having... ewwww... , like, sex, is just like so totally gross. Just so not sweet as.
It's worse, of course, if you're a math nerd. Nerds never go to parties, of course, and OLD nerds!!!! The very thought is anathema. So I laughed and laughed. And laughed some more, etc. And I warned this person that this would all appear here, so I'm not really being all that mean to her. Really. It's just irresistibly funny. Even funnier than the do you smoke pot question.
But seriously folks, this is precisely why I try so hard to keep my various lives separate. As soon as people find out that you're a math nerd, their way of looking at you changes. Doesn't matter what else you can do, how good you are at other things, what you've done before, etc etc. From then on... you're a math nerd. A math teacher. Booooooorrrrrrrring. Can you wonder why, when people ask me what I do for a day job, I don't tell them the exact truth? I say, "Oh, just a day job". If they persist, I say "Up at the University" If they still persist I say "I'm a janitor" (I do, actually. Mostly. Other times I just say I teach). A very few don't believe me and persist. But most will accept that. After all, being a janitor is an acceptable day job for a musician. Being a math nerd isn't.
If I was wise I would refrain from any math nerd comments here. That is not a bad idea. No CL geekiness. No math nerd stuff. Doesn't leave much to talk about.
No, no.... I must retract some of the above. It really isn't fair, and doesn't do Kira justice at all. She didn't actually *mean* it like it came out. (It did sound so very very funny the way it came out, mind you). She was feeling low, for a number of reasons, and I was just trying to cheer her up. Ah well... Not that she complained, mind you, but I feel guilty about so misrepresenting the conversation.
I just hate newsgroup fights. I hate it when HGM and Tove square off (Tove is always in the right, of course. Tove is practically perfect in every way. She should be called Tove Poppins.) And I just hate reading the latest quarrel. Salandra and Michael, no problem. As expected. Darnok? Just the same. All the usual bitch-fest crowd, all as per usual. But when people that I like and admire start to have a go at each other, it saddens me. I do so like Mary. And I like Terri greatly. I admire Koric and Felicity, believing them both to be mature, honourable people. I don't really know either of them all that well, so I can't claim to be a great friend of theirs. And they are all busy tearing each others throats out. Ack. I hate to see it, I really do.
Hey, I know that I've lost my cool a number of times, and got angry over silly things. And this *is* a silly thing. So I'm not criticising anybody here. Just expressing my sadness at what people are saying to each other. They are saying things that will really hurt. REALLY hurt. Things that will be remembered for the rest of their lives, most likely. Ack.
Gentle Reader, you will not believe this. I hardly believe it myself. At class this morning, what should there be but a nicely wrapped gift, clearly labelled with my name. Inside was a new eraser (which I made a funny comment about a few days ago) and some chocolate. Who is the culprit? I demand. Resounding silence. Greg? You? Greg shakes his head. Hmmm... I think... maybe it was the cutey in the front row with the skimpy top...? No.. I couldn't be so lucky.
I blushed. How humiliating. And I still have no idea. Golly gee.
Tove also threw me for a loop this morning. In an ambush. A sneak attack. No warning given. It has been my day for a red face, I can see.
In other news, I thought I would let you all have a look at a photograph of me, taken by Johnny Payphone with help from the naughty Aridfox. Am I not beautiful?
The war on the music front progresses very well. The trouble is that work comes all at once. I play hardly anything for months, and then suddenly I have so much work I can't handle it all. Getting in jobs for yet another band now, a LOUD one. Hooray! Damn, I love playing loud. Really loud. So what if I go deaf (which I am)? I love having stuff to regret. Makes you feel you've done something worthwhile. Or not.
I am strongly opposed to capital punishment. Strange segue, isn't it, but I was just thinking about it. I don't have any bleeding-heart greeny tree-hugging love of life or anything, oh no. If someone does something really bad, you know, really really bad, I have no problem with saying "Sorry, mate. You get one chance. You blew it. Goodbye". Blam.
No problem with that at all. The trouble is that you can very rarely know FOR SURE that you have the right person. And who is going to agree on what "really really bad" means? Mistakes are made all the time. If you've killed the wrong person, it's hard to go back and apologise. Not to mention that, in the U.S. the racial statistics from death row are horrifying. It somehow seems to be so much easier to make mistakes with blacks, than with whites. Funny that. And so much easier to fry them.
So, in principle, no problem. In practice, no way.
And I just don't understand why people continue to believe that it acts as a deterrent. It sounds like it should, I suppose, and they desperately wants to believe it does... so they do. Strange. Like people who believe that lax gun laws make their lives safer. Weird. So illogical. *grin*. Yeah, yeah, all you macho gun freaks out there, with great big muscles and real he-man attitudes, don't even bother. I know just what you're dying to say. But this is MY diary, not yours.
Aching head today. I had to get out of the house real fast this morning before I murdered someone. Band practise last night, at my place. Bloody band, goes through the house like a swarm of locusts, sucking up any booze they find. Slurp, slurp. At least they shared it with me, so we could get drunk together. Well... I didn't have to drive home. Quote of the night, from Johnny Boy (the pipes the pipes are calling, fuck I hate that song); "You know, people always used to use fuck as a verb. You dumb fucker. Go fuck yourself. But it's really great now, cause people are using it as a noun often. You know, as in You dumb fuck. That's really great. I think it's a much more beautiful expression. You dumb fuck as opposed to You dumb fucker. Yeah, much more beautiful. I really like it." We look at Johnny Boy (the pipes the pipes are calling, fuck I hate that song) and shrug. Not much to be done there. Maybe a lobotomy.
I am reminded of why I don't like this band. Maggie (girlfriend of Johnny Boy the pipes the pipes are calling fuck I hate that song) is the worst bass player, bar none, on the face of God's earth. Absolutely fucking useless. I mean, she's really sweet and all that, and I do like her a lot, but she needs to take her bass and burn the damn thing. But I was also reminded of why I like this band. Great keyboard player. Great lead singer. Johnny Boy (the pipes the pipes are calling, fuck I hate that song) is not so bad on guitar when he relaxes. Good choice of material (mostly). Band has potential. Needs another bassist. Have I already said that? Mind you, gotta admit I had a blast. As I said, a *really* good keyboard player. It's such a kick to play with good musicians.
So up half the damn night playing. Then up the rest of the damn night trying to sleep, but with a head too full of stuff, music stuff, life stuff, bullshit stuff, the usual. I get too hyped up sometimes, even at a damn rehearsal. Silly bugger. And without means of immediate (and urgently repeated) relaxation I keep jumping for hours. Then I have to get up to work. Holy shit.
Aching head today. Again. St. Patrick's weekend. Always a really busy time. Five gigs over the weekend, some good, some diabolical. I did feel so proud on Friday. Someone asked me if I was a graduate student. Holy fuck, I thought. Yes!! And then a lady (married unfortunately) at the gig said I couldn't possibly be more than 25 or so. The implied question was, so why the fuck are you flirting with me then? Easy to answer that one, lady, cause I'm a fuck of a lot older than 25, and you're cute. The fact that her husband was standing right beside her made this a little difficult to say.
Gig last night went well, despite Maggie on bass. Holy fuck, I won't be able to take too much more of that. I watched the lesbians with great interest. Both dressed in red, one with long black hair, and I thought to myself Aha! L and S out on the town. Now I know what they look like. Actually, I initially thought that long black hair was giving me the eye from the dance floor. The truth soon became apparent. Anyway, as they were dancing some dumb fuck comes over to chat them up. Grabs the long black hair around the waist to do a slow dance, and slides his hand on her bare back. "Hmmmmm..." I think to myself "Jeez, what a fucking moron, can't he tell *anything*?". Sure enough he gets the metaphorical knee in the nuts pretty soon, so moves on to the next seemingly unattached female. Got the same treatment from her, so on to the next, and then to the next, and then to the next..... I could hardly believe my eyes. At the very least he displayed an unflinching courage in the face of hostile fire.
A little fracas with the lesbian pair a bit later. In the middle of Danny Boy (FUCK I HATE THAT SONG) long black hair bursts into tears. That song makes me want to wet my pants too. She was sitting by herself at that stage, her partner buying a drink or something. Anyway, so she bursts into tears. The mother of our lead singer was sitting beside her (our lead singer is a ...... laaaaaaarge.... woman. And her mother just as much). So there is this large, kind, matronly sort of woman, sitting beside a weeping dyke. What does she do? She reaches out her hand to hold the dyke's hand, in kindness and sympathy. The dyke clutches back, still bawling. Uh oh. Back comes the dyke's partner. And the shit hits the fan. Screams and tantrums. More tears on both sides. Poor matron caught in the middle "but but... but... I was just.... she was crying... and... but.. no ... it's not like that... really.....". Oh, and how the band did laugh.
I jumped around and dripped sweat all over my violin. Yuck. Thanks for sharing that little detail. Crowd seemed to enjoy themselves. Made up for the afternoon, at a stupid fucking RSfuckingA, to geriatrics. Shit I hate playing to geriatrics. Still, the RSfuckingAs pay very well so I earned enough that weekend to give my electric fiddle a complete make-over. Neato.
Next rehearsal (tomorrow) is with Barbie. Can you believe that? A blonde actually calling herself Barbie as a stage name. Holy fuck. She's really sweet, mind you. And a great voice. Blues, rock, rhythm and blues. Could be fun. Hope so. But the Barbie thang? *shudder*. She even has pink bloody cards printed up.
God I hate Barbie dolls. The whole Barbie thing, the grotesquely distorted legs, the brainless approach, the weird weird body image. They are pernicious and evil. I tried to stop my girls getting Barbie dolls but was unsuccessful. One of my sisters (yes, that's right, the one who dances on tables in clubs taking her clothes off while I play. Ahem.) took great delight in sending Barbie dolls to my kids. The more I bitched about it, the more she sent. They can play with whatever they fucking want, she says, and no bloody male is going to tell them they aren't allowed to. And if they want to play with blonde brainless bimbos then they bloody well can. (Yes, that's right, my sisters swear even more than I do, I think). As you can tell, my sisters have no trouble sticking up for themselves. They must have got it from my Mum who is one ornery, stubborn, intelligent lady, who doesn't take no shit from NO man. No sirree. Damn I love my Mum. And my sisters too, if it comes to that.
Another of my sisters has her PhD in math too. She particularly loved the Barbie doll with the recorded message saying "Shopping is fun. Math is hard". I tried to get one for her, but the shop was sold out. They may even have been recalled, come to think of it.
What else can I bitch about today? Need something, but nothing is going wrong too much at the minute. Music work comes pouring in, I get to damage my ears playing really fucking loud (sorry Mary), students aren't too too too annoying... and... best of all... Kira will be in Chicago! Well, not best of all, because she and I will tear each other's eyes out I think. Damn. Between her, Lupe, and Singular, I am going to be one sorry looking kiwi by the end of the visit. Maybe I should cancel the visit.
However, what is really really sweet is that Lupe has offered to sleep on the floor in the living room with all the other CL nerds so that I can sleep in comfort in her bed. Damn! Isn't that just so kind? Thank you, thank you, Lupe, I accept with gratitude.
Dull this afternoon. I put Monique and the kids on the flight to Perth and then just sort of wandered about the house feeling lost. Terrible. No kids to yell at, no homework to do, nobody demanding to be fed. Strange. Maybe I can go sailing with Andre on Saturday, before the gig. Hope so. But Sunday will be dreary. Maybe I'll have to do housework or something, or shopping, or laundry. Yuk.
Craig the keyboard man and I walked into a Wendys (to buy something to eat, can you believe it?). It wasn't until conversation stopped and people just stood and stared, that we looked at each other and realised that we looked like a pair of total fucking idiots. Matching wigs, painted pants, etc. Very cool lookers, both of us. We had to laugh.
The last talk I went to, the speaker said er or um or ah about every three seconds on average. I counted them. It's a bit hard to count accurately, because sometimes they come very fast, while other times not so much. But I reckon I got pretty close to the average. Lousy fucking speaker.
The Barbie band looks promising. Raunchy blues, she sings well, top quality musicians. Roger Fox's piano player and drummer. Not just the usual 12-bar stuff, but more jazz influence. Young rhythm section. You can tell someone is young when they don't shut up. In between songs, all the time, twiddle twiddle twiddle on the bass. Yes, yes, we know you can play lots of notes young man. So can I. Now SHUT THE FUCK UP. Great gig potential. Barbie comes from the country rock scene (some years ago she was a gen-yoo-ine NZ country rock star. Imagine that.), but I have *refused* to play the Devil went down to Georgia. Bugger that for a laugh. Hee hee. Early days yet, but let's hope it pulls together. Barbie has great ambitions, far more than I'll be able to cope with time-wise, so it may not be possible long-term if she gets as much work as she thinks she will.
Yeah, OK, OK, so I blew up yesterday. I haven't been so fucking angry for a long time. Shit had been building for days, it was ignited, and wham. I lashed out with intent to maim and injure. Verbally. One feels like Cuchulain and his battle-rage. Well, not really, but you get the general idea. I don't exactly turn into a violent superhero, slaughtering the baddies right, left and centre, but I'm sure my eyes bug out like his did, and I leap small chairs in a single salmon-leap.
I have said my apologies and made my peace. I'm too bloody old for this. Isn't bad temper supposed to improve with age?
Tried to go sailing with Andre yesterday, but the winds were too high. He has a little bilge keeler, lousy ballast. We would have ended in the water for sure if we'd gone. With the boat upside down most likely. Could have been fun, but I just wasn't in the mood for another disaster.
And speaking of disasters, Maggie got booted off the bass. Lee in instead. Yeah. My kind of guy. For a start he brings the joints so I can hit on them. "Hey James, get a load of that pussy here tonight. I've had a hard-on all fucking night, man". "Yeah, Lee". I kind of look around casually. Ordinarily I would never notice beautiful women on the dance floor, but once Lee had pointed them out I could see what he meant. It was a wedding though. Lousy place to talk to women, cause they all come with a partner. Usually. Bars are better. Yeah, yeah, I know. Not for me. It'd take more than a bar for that. Poor old Lee was just disappointed because the two ladies didn't stick around on Thursday night. They showed us their breast tattoos, but that's all we got to see. Bummer. He thought he was in, and his eyes bugged when they walked out. Hee hee. I chuckled.
You may have noticed, but bands mostly talk about nothing but sex. Pretty much. Even the women. This time it was Claire. She's had this guy hit on her for weeks now. Just fuck him, was my advice last night. But I'm married, and I really love my husband, said she. Yeah, yeah, say I, I didn't say *marry* him, just fuck him. There's a difference. Poor Claire, it didn't look like she was about to take my advice. Still, we all headed on down to another bar after the gig. I was really in the mood to get stinking drunk. I mean *stinking* drunk. Fortunately the bar was closing up, and kicked us out. I dribbled on home reluctantly, and things improved.
Off to Johnny Boy's house today. I'll load up on some wine and we'll get smashed together. Oh yes, and we'll try recording a bit of stuff in his new studio. I think we'd better record first. Trouble is that my voice's gone, after last night. Ah well.
You want to know what I should be doing today instead? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway. I should be marking the class exam. Guess what. I'm not going to. And when they bitch about not getting their grades back, can anybody guess what I'm going to say to them? Yup, pretty close.
Well, we got Vagile's shanty recorded properly. Well, not really properly cause we did only one take on everything and didn't bother correcting any of the mistakes, but a way load more properly than the last lousy recording. We pooled our wine resources and sat around in the sun getting plastered, then we went back to do the drunken pirates in the background. Then we mixed it, but we were a bit incoherent by that time so the mix came out all wrong, with too much background noise obscuring the vocals, and the volume going up and down a bit, etc. What the hell, it'll do for now. Put it on a CD and I've been blasting the neighbours with it. I listen and listen, waiting for mistakes, until eventually *all* I can hear are the mistakes. That's why I *never* listen to my own (recorded) stuff. Well, for a start it ain't so great, and there isn't all that much of it, but mostly it's because I just hear the mistakes. I wince when other people listen to it. I just *know* they are hearing all the mistakes too, and laughing at me. Humpfh. I hate that.
I went out on a hot date tonight. I took myself to the movies, to see Lord of the Rings again. Enjoyed it again, as expected. I held my hand, and tried to French kiss myself, but that was a bit difficult. I drew the line at slipping a hand inside my own trousers. That time may come when I'm older, but just not yet. The next few nights should be busy with playing (with any luck) and a big party on Wednesday. CD release party for Brazen. Gotta keep busy, or the being by myself thing will drive me nuts. I miss the kids, and Monique. Mind you, it's great to be able to say, yeah, I'll be there, without having to check first.
With luck we'll be auditioning for a regular hotel gig soon. Good payer, easy job, regular work. Fun to play. Jazz trio stuff. If we get it I'll be up to two a week, regularly, with extras in the weekend. Sounds good. And the new band might get lots of work too. Tove was complaining today about how I complain so much when I'm not playing. I didn't think I was that bad. I could have bitched a whole lot more. Shit, when you think about it, I'm such a cool and restrained kind of guy. Yeah. No doubt. I've got it together, and under control. Alright.
Marking today and tomorrow. Fuck, I hate that. Most of the students so far are failing. Listen to my tears falling as I weep. I handed in my resignation letter today, so the move is now official. Watch out Auckland, you'll be sorry.
Audition at the Hilton tonight. Went well. Horrible fucking place to play. A dreary fancy-arse hotel bar. Gorgeous waitresses though. Didn't notice me. But it looks like they want us for three nights a week, every week. For the next year. I can't do that kind of thing. But at $200 a night, Lance and Peter ain't happy with me saying no. Not happy at all. They need to pay their rent. I have a day job. It's the same old conflict rearing its ugly head again. Peter stomped off in a bit of temper. Of course, it doesn't help that he now has alcoholic hepatitis. Liver is totally fucked. He's not a happy camper. In fact we had a wee bit of a tiff. He didn't like being told he is an anal bastard. I don't like being told to shut the fuck up. Tempers flared a little.
So.... a black mood here. I couldn't even go drinking with Lance, cause he was pissed about the work too, and wanted to just go home. So I went around to Shaun's place to hang out with some math nerds. Probably a mistake. Reminded me how nerdy we really are, how totally uncool, and why I can never pick up hot babes in bars. Or anywhere else for that matter. *sigh*. This must be a mid-life crisis I think. I just grew my beard back, and I wear a leather jacket. These are clear signs of mid-life crisis. A little late, at 87, but still plausible. If I go and buy an expensive sports car, I'll know that's what it is. All I need now is a mistress. Hell... if I could, I would. Not being able to doesn't count as not having one. I think that, for the purposes of diagnosing a mid-life crisis we should just take the will for the deed. Damn, I wish Monique was home.
I should probably go to bed. You know.... I went to sleep at work today, and had a dream about a naked Sylvan and a naked human. Not me. Or Sleipy. I am just too too too embarrassed to divulge any more details.
To the left you can see yet another picture of me, this one from my younger days. I was asked to do a modelling shoot for Vogue magazine, and they wanted pics of sexy men without much on. I insisted on leaving my boxers on, mostly for the sake of the ladies who read the magazine, or they might have lost control.
I just love this photo of me (Vogue let me keep some of the full-body shots). It's beautifully airbrushed to get rid of my (very few) skin blemishes. so I guess it's not completely accurate, but it's still a great likeness. And a big thanks to Conny for helping me out with this. See? A link! A real true-blue gosh-darn-it-to-heck link.
And speaking of gosh-darn-it-to-heck, Tove is progressing well with her swearing lessons. She is getting those "fuckwits" down well; great timing, great feeling. She puts her heart into it. You really have to, to swear well. It's not good saying "er... oh... fuck.. dear me" in a sort of a wimpy voice and then blushing and looking away. You have to feel it. The fuck has to arise from within, spontaneously, it has to erupt. You have to spit it out, with force and vigour. And the timing has to be there, especially for the use of "fuckwit". Same with "wanker". That really has to be an eruption too.
Hmmmm... it has been a long day. Interesting and fun things most of the afternoon, and then off to rehearsal and then down to the Brazen CD party, as I promised. Had a blast. Great to see a band from the other side, from the dance floor. I love to get up and jump around, so I did. I danced with Clare, and Clare's mother, and I got really drunk and I yelled rude things at the band, and they yelled back, and I got ejected at one point, but they let me come back in, cause they actually really love me. Truly. Had a good chat to Jonno, of violin playing fame. I got too drunk to drive home so I had to wait at the club for a few hours before I was sober enough to drive. That's my excuse.
Lupe and Singular have met their match. I have never in my entire life been put through the ringer to quite this extent. I kid you not, this was the conversation, or at least bits of it.
Lady: "Hey can I ask you a personal question?"
Me: "yeah, OK"
Lady: "Who are you with? Do you have a girl here?"
Me: "No"
Lady: "I mean, are you married or anything?"
Me: "Yes, and I have three kids too"
Lady: "Well, why doesn't your wife do something about your glasses?"
Me: "Huh?"
Lady: "Your glasses. They are really really ugly. You have a beautiful face and beautiful eyes but your glasses make you look like a total 80s loser. You, with other glasses, bound to get laid. You, with those glasses, no way, you look like a total schmuck. Hey, look, try on this pair, or maybe these, or these ones, really really you have to change them. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.... Do you love your wife?"
Me: "Er.... yes"
Lady: "Well, what makes you think that just because you love your wife you can wear the same glasses for twenty years? Don't you know anything? It's not fair on her. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.........."
Me: "You know... you're really cute. Nice tits. Nice arse. Cute face. But you're a brainless fucking pain in the arse"
Lady: "Oooooo... he hates me now... he hates me now..... he hates me now......"
Fade to the credits.
I could only sigh in disbelieving horror. And there were even TWO of them getting at me. Holy shit. And one was Irish with long black hair. The parallels were uncanny. I didn't even do anything to deserve this. Nothing at all. Trust me. Not much, anyway.
At last, a rest. No gigs this weekend, and then off to Australia on Monday, for four days or so. I've been doing so much playing recently, that I'm glad to get the rest. Even I. It's rare that I'm glad not to be playing, but I'm just soooooo tired......
I got the low-down dirt on the Lady above (and her friend too, but the friend is rather dull I'm afraid and hardly worthy of a nasty remark here). I was bitching to the band about her, last night at the gig, so they told me a few things. Liz, her name is. Jonno's ex-girlfriend. (Mind you, it looked like she was desperate to fuck Jonno on Wednesday). This was the Liz who got ejected and banned from a pub in town for decking one of the band members. She was in the band at the time. And it was Jonno she decked. You see, it was a band with Jonno on fiddle, and two women. Dunno what they played. Oh, Liz on whistle I think, and Joe on guitar.....? Anyway, the story goes that Jonno just couldn't resist fucking both of them. At the same time. Without telling the other. When Liz found out that the fiddle player was fucking the guitarist as well as her she decked him. And got banned from the pub. I guess that was one memorable gig. Shit I laughed. I laughed so hard I fell off my chair. Or maybe that was the bovine cunnilingus conversation... not sure now. It was a good night.
Great rant on Johnny's blog. Read it.
Huzzah!!!! No trip to Aus for me next week. I am so bloody pleased about that. But not about the reason. Poor Monique had really bad trouble with her stepmother (who was a real bitch). Stepmother is used to having her own way, all the time, in all things. Her husband (step-step-father??) is a meek man who obeys all orders, no matter how fucking stupid, without a murmer of complaint. Dumb fuck.
It just didn't suit the stepmother to feed the kids early. She likes to eat late. And three hungry children weren't going to change that, no sirree. Doesn't matter if they kids are really tired, jet-lagged, or whatever. No dinner for them. What a fucking bitch. Shit I'm angry. So Monique told her stepmother to go to hell (well, not in words, that's not something Monique would say) and she fed the kids anyway. Stepmother got really angry. So Monique said, OK, we're leaving. Trouble is, they were way up north somewhere, by this godforsaken fucking beach. Monique had no phone. No car. The stepmother wouldn't let M use her cellphone, or drive their car. So Monique had to get to a public phone to book a bus ticket back to Perth, and then get three kids and all their luggage on a 12 hour bus trip to Perth. All on her own. No help from the raving bitch or her dumb fuck husband.
I am so fucking angry. Lucky I'm not going over, or I'd tell that fat ugly bitch where to go. I want to break something.....typing just doesn't do this justice. Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr.............
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