Sunday, October 15, 2006
-even though I've pretty much abandoned the online communities in general, BUT...
I've got a potential second interview coming up for a gig working @ MSNBC, and I need as much karma as I can get my hands on. So if you're my pal and you still hang around here, cross your fingers, your toes, pray to whomsoever you might choose to pray or just send out "Billy kicks ass at editing video" thoughts into the ether. The boss guy is based in NYC, so I figure you guys might be able to bend his brainwaves a bit.
'Sides that, how's everyone been?
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Buttons said Yes.
She thought I was kidding and I had to ask her about a dozen times, but eventually she said yes.
Also, have a mohawk now, just to keep the two of you who know me abreast of what the fuck's going on in Jet City.
Friday, April 29, 2005
8:08AM - Curious in Brooklyn
'Cause my pals were playing, and it looked like fun, so I pushed my way in:
If you want to play...
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions and leave the answers as comments on my LJ.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
1) What's Jet City like? Is it really just all about the rain and coffee shops?
Ah, no. It's a much richer experience than that. There's bars, pubs, bar & grilles, brewpubs, house parties, beer gardens, lounges, 21 & over clubs, and Ballard, which is pretty much just Scandanavians and alcohol stretching along the canal. And sarcasm. Lotsa sarcasm. And emotional isolation. That's pretty big around here. Strangely enough, it's a really fun town. C'mon out; my couch is available anytime.
2) What type of stuff have you been listening to?
This is embarrasing. Pretty much all I've really been listening to since I visited back east in February is the Pixies, with a little bit of Modest Mouse, L7 (stop laughing, fucker) and Dropkick Murphys mixed in. Dunno why, but the only thing I can write to at this point is an endless loop of 'Gigantic.' I think it's got to do with Kim Deal having the most heavenly voice that alt-rock ever could've turned out.
3) Inspiration or perspiration, which makes a person a better writer?
Lotsa kicks in the nuts. And spending time with people who've been kicked in the nuts a lot. And, occasionally, kicking people in the nuts. Writing's all about the cojones, I'm starting to think.
4) How freaky was it to see Mike in his new home with his new baby? (Seriously, I haven't been there yet. I'm curious.)
Y'know, it was one of those things that sounded fucked up and strange when I was headed towards it, but made perfect sense once I got there. MikE! was still MikE!, just with a couple of new accessories. Like, he was digging his place, but there was the same excitement in his voice as when he got his guitar a few years ago ("Yeah, I'm gonna do this with the backyard, and do this with the spare room...pretty cool, right?" being pretty similar to "Yeah, this is the tone knob and this is my amp and I just figured out how to make a good A chord."). And he just digs the hell outta Emily, so that's, well, shit, that's just nice to see. (I know you're reading this, homeboy...does this make up for the good driver/bad drummer comment?).
You haven't been over there yet? Jeez, man. I know it's out in the middle of goddamned nowhere, but take a spin over there. If nothing else, you'll see about a thousand story elements on the ride in.
5) You mentioned wanting to get a band thing happening, how's that going?
Isn't, really. My own fault, but I've been searching out a new job and putting a goodly amount of energy into the writing, so I'm not feeling it so strongly at this point. I still pull down the bass every once in a while and bang out some Deacons tunes (although, to my shame, I'm starting to forget the more recent ones), but it's no so painful to do it. Part of the problem, I think, is having done just the one band in my life, and that was something that was started with my best friend. Having to go into it on a more business level, we're-here-to-make-music-but-MAYBE-we'll-b
Saturday, April 9, 2005
10:54AM - Naked Writing
In a kinda small, kinda sad attempt to kickstart the writing, I'm trying to put together a novel (or novella, or longish short story) together in pieces via a new blog:
Yeah, it's all pretty rough right now and probably doesn't make a whole fuck of a lot of sense, but, shit, if I'm gonna go write naked, I may as well invite the neighbors over.
Comments, criticism, snideness welcomed.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
9:41PM - Magnolia
Yeah, feeling like a dope tonight. I'm just watching MAGNOLIA w/Buttons and we're hashing out what the fuck the rain of frogs is supposed to mean when my pal D calls in and so I ask him what he thinks about the whole thing, and he whips out a perfectly reasoned and reasonable answer in the space of about two breaths. And he makes enough sense for me to feel like an utter and complete dumbass, which is something that D seems to do on a pretty regular basis. As do most of my pals.
That's the problem, I think. I can't stand to do time with people I don't respect, so I end up with a crew of folks I feel inferior to, intellectually or otherwise. The eternal kid brother, trying to hang with the big kids. And so I keep thinking that I'm supposed to catch up at some point, but the gap seems pretty constant. And now I'm wondering if it's just me, or if that's everyone and if I'm, as usual, trying to make myself into something extraordinary by way of my mediocrity.
And while I'm whining about this, an email from my cousin just came in. He's in Indonesia working with kids who've lost every damned thing they've ever had in the Tsunami, trying to help them come to grips with it, put their heads back on. And he's doing this while his wife is pregnant with twins back in NYC.
Ever feel crass?
Saturday, January 29, 2005
9:53PM - Ah, Goddammit.
Watching the Pixies on Austin City Limits...holy shit, man. I miss being on stage. I need some Seattle folks to get a thing going.
Anybody Jet City local?
Friday, January 7, 2005
Because I don't want to be accused of being an abandoner of LJ, a Good Morning and a quick post, stolen from million pound shithammer, in concept.
What I always hated about the cool kids in high school (which is where too much of the crap in my head comes from), was the sense of completeness. That they'd already figured out themselves and their place in the world, and that sense of easy assurance frightened me and made me hate my own little confused and addlepated self. But as the decades have rolled back, I'm realizing that the fear has turned to pity, the self-hate has evaporated, and I find myself primarily feeling sorry for the cool kids, especially the grown-up cool kids, 'cause they're done. They've got nothing left, really. The challenges that all the losers, outcasts, and fringe-dwellers hadda go through to get to be people with a sense of self and place were missed by the cool kids, and their growth got stunted. So the cool kids are still the cool kids, and they're pretty and sexy and dynamic-looking, but they're done. They'll stay the same 'till they're spinning in their graves, 'cause they had a system that worked from Day One.
The losers? Shit, man, we're the most compelling, interesting, driven, passionate, intelligent and genuinely sincere folks on the face of the planet. 'Cause when you have to go through shit, you actually know who you are, what you're capable of and what you'll stand up for or stand against. The cool kids never got to have that, with a few notable exceptions, and know themselves as the feedback they get from the world around them, and can't even quite comprehend the world inside them.
Sad, fucked up, wrong, evil and, well, shit, just sad, sad, sad.
All right, just a thought. Have a pleasant weekend, y'all.
Friday, September 24, 2004
10:38PM - Dumb damned criminals
Okay, so Buttons has gotten on the CSI kick, gets all excited about the unraveling of forensic evidence, the cleverness associated with fingerprints and bits of fluff, but here's a question: how come every damned criminal confesses as soon as one of the CSI kids lays out the evidence chain? I mean, seriously, if you've thought out your crime, you've covered your tracks, you've done all the planning, carried it out and have been successfully lying about it for, well, however ever long, are you really gonna crack just 'cause a pudgy guy tells you that they found a toothpick with your spit on it trapped between two dryer sheets with a piece of the deceased's pubic hair in a cereal box stuffed in a dumpster out behind a head shop?
'Cause, if that's true, we're talking one seriously pansyass criminal and I, for one, like to think that a bunch of driven, overachieving, red-blooded Americans can do better than that.
It's the Jerry Bruckheimer effect (affect?), I think. No matter how interesting or clever an idea might be, his mere presence dumbs it down to a level that Prez Jr. could potentially understand. I got into a pissing contest with Warren Ellis about the guy once, and that seemed to be the only thing he couldn't argue with, that Bruckheimer talks down to the audience, and the audience sucks it up. And we, my dear friends, are the audience. So, as with most things, we really only have ourselves to blame.
Of course, while I'm bitching the subject of my bitch is playing innocently and innocuously behind me. Just a part of the problem...
...and, yes, the supposed OD'd but actually murdered junkie's girlfriend just spilled her guts based on an earring back and a bug bite.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Okay, so my rhythm brother has apparently been skulking in here for months and months without fucking bothering to tell me (thanks, MikE!), so now I've got a reason to come in here, peruse the pal, and update.
I'm sorry, but I don't have the cute little bugs that tell you my mood and music, so:
Mood-I have the sniffles
Music-Screaming Al's Brutally Familiar Compendium
Reading-Catch 22, Time Out of Joint, Man and Superman, LOEG Vol. II
Clothes-Jeans with massive circular hole over the right front pocket, rolled cuff, black pullover hoodie with some kind of psuedo-graffitti writing on one sleeve (lemme alone; $10 clearance @ Target), white-ish socks, black oxfords, couple of earrings, beat to shit watch, claddagh band Buttons got me for Xmas
Apartment-Messy, but not really messy, not bachelor apartment days messy, not like "OhMiFuckingGod...what's that smell?" messy and, hey, we're both sick, so fuck you anyway, bitch
Job-Meaningless and soul-killing, but in a very comfortable way. Boss is in town, so that's kind of a pain in my ass, but he'll be winging his way south soon, so that's cool, and he's an all right guy, just in my way, y'know?
City-Jet City, still. Lotsa hippies and yuppies and yuppie hippies, but I refuse to take responsibility for any of them. Also rainy and full of good beer, for which I can't take any credit or blame, but do enjoy thoroughly
Country-The one in the middle of North America that looks bigger on maps that it actually is. Currently being run by people who hate me (specifically, I'm starting to think) and probably you and most of your friends. Am deathly afraid that it will continue to be run by those people for another four years or so. However, we've also turned out P.T. Anderson, Philip K. Dick & Matt Groening, so something's working all right
World-Generally a mess, thanks, in large part, to those knuckleheads running my country. Thanks, fellas.
Galaxy-The one named after the candy bar
Afterlife-Not sure how psyched I am about that one. I think I might be fucked.
Right. Out for cigarettes and nightly ablutions. Cheers.
Saturday, June 26, 2004
All right, so I've got one of these to go with the Blogger account now...what the hell do you do in here, anyway?