June 8, 2002

I am going to wrap up the writing that was 1995 tomorrow. I am done typing for that year. There are a couple of things that I started in 1995 that I did not type besides the stuff that sucked too bad and just got thrown out; they are little ideas that I had that I am still going to work with in the future. For some reason, in 1996, I started trying to write plays and movie scripts so what you will be seeing for a little while will be mostly those attempts. They are admittedly not much. For whatever reason (I think that I must have been busy with the band - I will find out), my productivity dropped off sharply in 1996. I picked up steam in 1997 not as a writer but as a college student. You will get to see everything that I got to write for the Cleveland State Cauldron in 1997 and 1998 as well as other rock criticism that I wrote at the time. How exciting. That will pretty much bring us up to 1999 when the Assholier than Thou radio program started. I wrote a book a year in 1999, 2000 and 2001. I think that I am going to start typing out the handwritten part of the first one from the summer of 1999 for the BLOGS and see what happens.

I promise I will talk about one bad thing about the new job tomorrow but the cultural prominence thing went into the book that I am writing now.

Oh, by the way, if anybody wants to see the book “Heavy Metal High School” that I just wrote from Easter 2002 to Memorial Day 2002, e-mail Thea and I will see what I can do about that.

It did not take her too long to figure out that it was pretty hard to catch a man. She was shy in grade school and virtually a hermit in high school. Her friends were friends in name only and the opposite sex was as opposite to her as opposite gets. Tucked away in an all girl Catholic high school did not help matters either. Fortunately for her, she came of age during the higher highs of the hippy movement and the revolutionary sexual revolution. Sex, drugs and rock and roll set the world’s decadence level back – not to the decadence level of Caligula’s Rome but it was heading in that direction. This new openness opened a few doors for her. Her next door neighbor – a free spirit compared to this timid flower – took her under her wing and she was on her way.

(1995)

One

Why is that every time that I start thinking my mind turns to drinking? I though that would be a clever way to start this piece – a little rhymed snippet that is pithy and cute.

For someone who values his privacy so much, I am damn destructive when I am alone. If you are around the apartment, I am OK. I will eat a healthy dinner, read the paper, scribble on the pad for a minute, watch some television and get under the covers at a normal hour. I wake up the next morning completely refreshed. I bounce to the bus stop and get to work a few minutes early. My hair is combed and my breath smells sweet.

But I have a nagging feeling in my head that if you were not here and I was left by myself for a night or even a few hours, I would be a super man. I would conquer the world. I could get everything done that I needed to get done in one evening if you were not around stealing my attention. I need some quality time with myself.

Well, I got that quality time one night and totally fell apart.

Two

I am hiding in the closet screaming your name in the darkness. I have been sitting still for nearly four hours. I am enjoying the smell of your clothes. You have not worn some of these shirts for a long time. I remember the last time you wore your old winter coat. It might not have been the last time you wore it but it is my last memory of you wearing the coat. You had to buy a new coat, didn’t you? God damn it. I loved that fucking coat. I loved the way that you looked in it. The smell of the coat and the rest of the closet was good but now it is getting to be a bit too much.

You are not going to answer, are you? Why should you have to come into the spare room when I could easily get up from my crouched position and go to you in the other room. It is my fault that I am in the closet anyhow. I was the one that was bad – not you.

I will call you again in a minute. You heard me. I know that you did. The shoe that is deliberately jabbing me in the ass is getting on my nerves.

OK. Now, I am mad at the shoe. I am God damn fucking angry. I will get the shoe back one day. Mark my words. Revenge – stomping it in shit – will be sweet.

The shoe will have to sit outside in the hallway. The shoe will crumble under the guilt of banishment. In the hallway, you have no friends to support you. Each tenant of the building will walk past you. She turns up her nose at you. He rebukes you in a loud voice because of the unpleasantness of your aroma. Clean that foul shit off, you rotten piece of footwear, he will shout. I will get you back, fucking shoe. You will never stick me in the ass again. I will be vindicated.

“Honey, come in here!” I yell from inside the closet, “I want to show you something.”

Don’t go. It’s a trap.

(1995)

posted by Thea at 8:14 PM

June 7, 2002

I am not one of these people that believes that everything is art. But I am one of those people that believes that art is everywhere and can be anything. It is all a matter of intent and interpretation.

The following unnamed poems were written one night during the summer of 1995 by Chris, Thea, Carolyn and Big Al on the front porch of the former quad apartment home on Clifton Blvd. of Carolyn and Thea and then George and Joel. It was a great night filled with art and beer. Or beer and art. I remember it like it was seven years ago.

He has no sense of what will hurt people's feelings.
He does not get it when he is being rude.
But if you yell at him, you can get him to do whatever you want.
I am like his mother.

I am starting to believe the rumors I started about you.

At the very least, I want to be remembered as one big fuck up.

Men are stupid when it comes to everything - except mathematics.

It is what is on the inside that counts.
I am glad I have good gizzards and colons.

I need to expose myself to more small children.

My first goal for this evening is to drink enough to throw up.
My second goal is to puke off that balcony.

I went to the beach.
I watched General Hospital.
I took a nap.

I believe in work and making money as long as it does not interfere with my drinking and sleeping schedule.

I have gone retro.
I use a fountain pen.

I got this burst of domesticness today.
I made jello.

I have no tolerance for ignorance.
I ignore ignorance.
There are people who are so stupid that they do not deserve to live.

I always wear baggy trousers.
I do not like to show the ladies the merchandise until they are paying.

Like seeing me with my mouth open, turning over, and sweating is some big turn on.

I met Gunnar Nelson.
I should have got his autograph.
He had no chicks hanging off him.

I had an offer from the night security man.
He said he wanted to lay some pipe.
So I asked him if he was a plumber by trade.

I am afraid some guy is going to climb onto the balcony and rape us.
Not some nice guy who wants to like us but some freak who wants to Ugh Ugh Ugh.

(1995)

posted by Thea at 8:33 PM

June 6, 2002

I want to write about the bad thing about the new job and I want to write about cultural prominence and the passage of time but I don’t feel like writing – again.

This was an exercise in writing dialogue from back in the day.

A Smooth Operator

"Excuse me, honey, is this seat taken?"

"Yes and no."

"No, the seat is not taken but, yes, I can sit my tired tuckus down on it and get myself a drink?"

"No one is sitting her but I am waiting for a friend. "

"I'm your friend, baby. I am everybody's friend. I'll sit down and we will wait for our friend together. "

"OK. "

"The name is Big Joe Santo. I go where the wind blows. Big Joe Santo is my name. Meeting ladies is my game. What's your name, sweety?"

"Beth. "

"Beth, do you come hear often? Because if you do I am surprised I haven't met you yet. I'm one of the boys here. My picture is on the wall in the back room. Me and the owner go back a long way. We were bunk mates in the Big One - WWII. You're not a regular, are you?"

"No. I am waiting for a friend who likes it here. He said this is a good place."

"He is right. Am I your friend?"

"I barely know you."

"I am everybody's friend, baby. Nobody ever has a bad thing to say about Big Joe Santo. Can I get you a drink, honey?"

"I don't drink." "A little bit of liquor makes the world go 'round. "

"No. I don't think so. "

"C'mon baby, have a drink. The booze will loosen you up."

"I don't want to loosen up."

"Big Joe likes that. Big Joe doesn't want a loosy goosey. Big Joe likes to sing for his supper. Your not going to mind if I have myself a little hooch, are you, baby? Big Joe has had a hard day."

"Why should I care if you have a drink?"

"Because, Beth, I turn into a tiger when I get a few in me. I don't know if you want to tangle with the tiger. I might pounce - especially on a young cub like yourself. How old are you, dear?"

"Twenty one. "

"Holy Shit. I've got a grandson your age. Little Joe Santo. He is in the business with me. Do you know him?"

"No. "

"He keeps telling me to slow down, to retire. But I tell him that the only thing that will slow me down is Mr. Grim Reaper. You remind me of his grandmother. God bless her sweet soul. I buried her ten years ago. She was as beautiful as an angel and as pure as the blessed virgin Mary. She was frigid, though, and Big Joe needs to score. If you know what I'm saying."

"I guess."

"No guess work involved, toots. Big Joe loves the ladies. All the ladies. I can't get enough of the honies. The Mrs. never knew what was going on in the pool house after she went to bed. I was always a good provider and she was never at a loss for my warmth. Do you hear me, baby?"
"Yes. "

"So I cheated on her. Big deal. One flaw. Otherwise, Big Joe Santo was a prince of a husband - good as gold. Do you got a fellow?"

"No. "

"Can I be your fellow?"

"I don't know."

"Woah, baby, you don't know? You better jump on the Big Joe express before it pulls out of the station. I may be an old man but I still have plenty of kick in my pistons. If you get what I'm saying."

"I haven't the foggiest..."

"I can still deliver the goods. My old man was banging broads at the nursing home when he was 85 years old. The Santos are men. It is in our blood. There isn't a skirt that walks by without catching Big Joe Santo's eye. You've caught my eye, honey.”

“Oh."

"That's right. Now what do you say you and I get out of here and go back to my place so we can get to know each other better."

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean? 'You don't think so.' Am I too old for you or something? I can show you tricks that a young guy could never figure out. I've got fire in my blood, baby. I could take you, your mother, and your grandmother all at once and still not break a sweat. I've aged like a good bottle of scotch. I'll knock you bobby socks off, honey."

"Why don't you go away? I'm not interested."

"What are you - some kind of lesbian? Don't you like it from a man?"

"Listen, grandpa, I'm not interested."

"Oh, that's your game. You want cash. Big Joe Santo has plenty of bread. Believe me, I'm not above laying down some dough for some tail. How much of the Old Mazoo do you need?” I am in business. I know about this stuff.”

"Are you kidding me? Prostitution is a crime. "

"And it is a crime to miss out on a joyride with Big Joe Santo. "

"I'll take my chances."

"And so will I. That is what life is all about. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I've seen plenty in my years and I will see plenty more. How about a drink, cutie? It will put you in the mood."

"I don't drink."

(1995)

posted by Thea at 7:58 PM

June 5, 2002

I am still settling into my new job. Besides the fact that I am working, period, there is not much to hate about this new job. It is a much bigger place than I have ever worked, so I am going through some culture shock. The culture shock would have happened for me with any new job or change in employment situation, however, because of my limited work experience. I really need to get out into the world more.

I have been happy at work with nothing more than the job to make me happy. That is, although not a first, a rarity since I stopped doing my dream docket clerk gig in 1999. It is hard to explain but I have just been working and not sweating it – like I have been lightening up or something. Everything I hated about my old job is gone - just like that. Everybody around me at the office seems cool and it all does not seem like that big of a deal anymore. Maybe now I can focus all of my anxiety on my show business career.

I think that it is all going to work. These feelings are all so new and weird. Normally, I am either super depressed to where I want to kill myself or super happy to where I think I am going to freak out. Today, I just feel kind of OK and that is nice. I think that everything is going to work out fine.

Three good things about the new office:

1. Free mouthwash in the bathrooms (nice)
2. Finally meeting people that I have ridden the bus with for ten years (nice)
3. The middle aged lady who used the word party as a verb (NICE!)

Tomorrow - the bad thing about the new office. And it is truly tragic but I don’t feel like getting into it now and bumming out my mellow.

A couple of heavy handed attempts at poetry:

Entertainment for Poor People (fucking is free)

How are we ever going to afford a house?
What happens if one of us gets sick?
Are we ever going to be able to pay off Citibank?
We lay in bed
Thinking about vacations
That we can't afford to take

Do you wonder why poor people have so many kids?
Were they always poor?
Or did all those kids make them poor?
We lay in bed
Wondering if we are
Going to be able to spoil a child

Honey, we don't need money
To go to the Blockbuster
Or to the General Cinema
Or to Indians games with
The Beach Boys concert after the game
Baby, we have food
Plus enough Camels to last
Us until tomorrow

I am wearing my
"Caution
Zero
To Horny
In Sixty Seconds"
T-Shirt

What are we going to do to amuse ourselves?

(1995)


I Saw the Darkness

I saw the darkness
And I laughed.
I looked at your face
And was much too proud
Of my accomplishment.
I had made you out of nothing
Molded you from the goo that you were
Into an exact replica of me.

In the darkness (still laughing)
You crawled around the floor looking
For what I had lost.
I stopped laughing when I realized
That you were not going to find it.
And I had my doubts that you were capable
Of finding anything.
Was it my fault?

It is still very dark.
My nervous giggle rings in your ear.
You are getting very annoyed with me
And I am wondering
If I will ever be able to trust in you again.
I blame myself for all of your flaws.
It is my fault that you have failed
Since you are the mirror reflection of me.

Still in the darkness,
The laughter stopped when the joke got old.
I no longer feel the self satisfaction
That comes with a prescription for perfection.
The darkness is making me uncomfortable
And you are damned scared
Because you don't believe in me anymore
And I have lost all faith in you.

(1995)


posted by Thea at 8:42 PM

June 4, 2002

I am sorry about time switch on the radio show yesterday. I should have said something in advance but I did not think about it until it was too late. Again, I am sorry. We will go from 6:30 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. next Monday and see what happens.

I will also apologize for being out of the loop with everything right now. New job. It is going good but I don’t have much time to do anything else. I promise that I will catch up with all of my correspondence, phone calls, record reviews and show notes by the end of the week – probably Saturday.

I started my next book on Memorial Day and I am a thousand words per day since then into it. I am going to have this one done by Labor Day. I feel like I am hitting my stroke pretty good on this one. It is a little bit more artsy craftsy than the teenage get laid book that I just finished and a little bit more sentimental. I am still trying to decide what I want to do with it. It is about rock and roll dudes. I am debating on focusing on one band or telling every single rock dude story that I have got in a snapshot/photo album style. I don’t know.

I am listening to the Screaming Trees “Anthology SST Years 1985-1989”. The dudes in my book are all about this record.

What follows. I have no idea. It is just writing . Like all of it.

Party

It is very important for me to be the most attractive man in the room. I do not want anybody outshining my star. I was going to have a party celebrating the birthday of Neil Diamond – the artist formerly known as Ice Cherry. I took great pains while working on the invitation list to insure that no man would get more attention from the ladies than me. I invited Bob the leper and Steve the blind man who, God bless him, had not washed his hair in three years because he could not find his head. Frank, Mr. Sinus condition, said he would be there with his dancing shoes. No Tooth Tom, Fat Fat Freddy, Dave "Am I breaking out?" Smith, and One Leg Greg all agreed that my party would be the social event of the season and their reputations on the circuit could not afford the blow that would come from their absence. I had it all in the bag. The women would have no choice but to pay attention to me because all of the other eligible dates, however charming, would freak themselves out of the race.

"Who is Tom Chang? Who brought him?"

Tom Chang is a friend of One Leg Greg. They met during physical therapy. That son of a bitch is ruining my chances of scoring at my own party. Everything was cruising according to plan. It was inevitable that I would be the center of attention because I, although fat and plain, am free from the glaring physical oddities that my male guests had in spades. Fucking Tom Chang. What women could resist a palsy ridden Korean with an accent and a speech impediment? He crutched himself into my house, legs dragging ever so gracefully, and worked the crowd like Neil himself. He had charm, grace, and the dancing crutches. He did a bit of soft crutch and sang "Song, Sung, Blue." To me, his song sounded pathetic - all "NYUH, NNG, NYUH," but the women were enraptured. I sat in the corner, occasionally freshening my guest’s drinks, and watched Mr. Chang steal my show.

Tom Chang won the hearts of all of my lady friends and has several invitations to other events in the pocket when he left my party. I, on the other hand, was left to clean up my house after the event alone. All of the promise flown out the window thanks to that damn Chang.

(1995)


posted by Thea at 9:34 PM

June 2, 2002

Now, I stink. I still have not taken a shower today after spending all day yesterday moving boxes and furniture and then not showering. Today, I did some work around the house and then some work in the yard. For the last hour, I sat in my watching chair while my wife mulched. I nodded off for a minute in my watching chair. That qualified as the best minute of today. Mulch stinks. Time for me to hit the shower. Go Kings.

He stopped fighting. The sad story can begin. He gave up with a shrug. Why did he start fighting in the first place? There was little fanfare the day that he decided to quit. The major news outlets were not notified with a tear soaked press release. His PR agent quit too.

(1995)

Another day. Can it really be different from the other one? Yesterday. Tomorrow. I am trying my damnedest to separate the bunch but they all turn into day.

I am on the bus. The trip to work is longer without anything to read. I study pictures of myself last night on the ride home – trying to see if I looked fat next to the other people. I don’t know if I did but my fucked up teenage girl body image issues will never leave me alone. Now that is something to look forward to for the rest of my life. My eating disorder and me. Best friends until the end.

It is late February and the weather seems as if it might be ready to break in the opposite direction. There are a few patches of filthy snow on people’s lawns but, other than that disappearing sign of winter, it is all gone. The bus is packed with groundhogs coming out of their holes to check their shadows. The bus stinks. It will be a couple more months before the winter funk is completely knocked off. Then, you have got a good one month until the summer stench kicks in. The difference in the two stinks is distinct but you really have to be a connoisseur of body order to appreciate the difference in the two. I am. I can tell you that the summer stick is sharp and generally smellier but more tolerable than the winter musty arm pit warm puke smell. In summer, you go, “Shit. What’s that smell?” and quickly get used to it after it pinches your nose. The winter stink sneaks up on you and slowly suffocates you. There is no escape. No window to open. No fresh air. If I could only burn every old Starter jacket (Who wears Boston Celtics or L.A. Lakers clothes anymore?) in Cleveland, OH, the world would be a fresher smelling place.

(1995)

posted by Thea at 5:45 PM