The Man With The Beautiful Eyes

When we were kids
there was a strange house
all the shades were
always
drawn
and we never heard voices
in there
and the yard was full of
bamboo
and we liked to play in
the bamboo
pretend we were
Tarzan
( although there was no
Jane)
and there was a
fish pond
a large one
full of the
fattest goldfish
you ever saw
and they were
tame.
They came to the
surface of the water
and took pieces of
bread
from our hands.

Our parents had
told us:
" never go near that
house"
so, of course,
we went.

We wondered if anybody
lived there.
Weeks went by and we
never saw
anybody.

Then one day
we heard
a voice
from the house
" YOU GOD DAMNED
WHORE!"

It was a mans
voice.
Then the screen
door
of the house was
flung open
and the man
walked out.

He was holding a
fifth of whiskey
in his right
hand.
He was about
30.
He had a cigar
in his
mouth,
needed a
shave.
His hair was
wild and
uncombed
and he was
barefoot.
In undershirt
and pants
but his eyes
were
bright
they BLAZED
with brightness
and he said,
"hey, little
gentleman,
having a good
time, I
hope?"

Then he gave a
little laugh
and walked
back into the
house.

We left,
went back to my
parents yard
and thought
about it.

Our parents,
we decided
had wanted us
to stay away
from there
because they
never wanted us
to see a man
like
that,
a strong natural
man
with
beautiful
eyes.

Our parents
were ashamed
that they were
not
like that
man,
thats why they
wanted us to stay
away.

But
we went back
to that house
and the bamboo
and the tame
goldfish.
We went back
many times
for many
weeks
but we never
saw
or heard
the man
again.

The shades were
down
as always
and it was
quiet.

Then one day
as we came back from
school
we saw the
house.

It had burned
down,
there was nothing
left,
just a smoldering
twisted black
foundation
and we went to
the fish pond
and there was
no water
in it
and the fat
orange goldfish
were dead
there,
drying out.

We went back to
my parents yard
and talked about
it
and decided that
our parents had
burned their
house down,
had killed
them
had killed the
goldfish
because it was
all too
beautiful,
even the bamboo
forest had
burned.

They had been
afraid of
the man with the
beautiful
eyes.

And
we were afraid
then
that
all throughout our lives
things like that
would happen,
that nobody
wanted
anybody
to be
strong and
beautiful
like that,
that
others would never
allow it,
and that
many people
would have to
die.

Charles Bukowski

Normal Broadcasting To Resume Shortly

It's Monday August 27th at 9:53pm EST.
I am back in NYC.
I have a new laptop.
I've salvaged my addresses & iCal stuff.
My photos are gone.
Over 7,000 pictures from 5 years of worldwide travel.
I'm trying very hard to let go of the bitterness but like Naked Eyes said...
There's always something there to remind me.

Thieving Bastards

Fuck you Aarhus, Denmark. Mine was among 6 laptops stolen from our dressing room at the gig yesterday.
So email me your addresses cause I've lost them all. Also, if any of you have any pictures I've sent you please send them to me. I've lost all my photos from the last 5 years as well. I can't even begin to mention how much other shit I've lost. I'm sure a longer, more detailed rant is coming at some point after I get a new computer.
Until then, if you see a Dane, poke them in the eye.

And Yes This Is Real

In Copenhagen now. It's true what they say about the women of Scandinavia. I'm just glad I don't have a particular thing for blondes or I might implode. Anyway...
We did the Way Out West festival in Goteborg, Sweden on Friday. It was a cool little festival in a park with grass and tress and such. It was overcast most of the day and pissing rain for little bits of it. Marc looked dapper in matching Way Out West poncho and frisbee.


I started the day with the Boredoms (which was luckily in the tent since it was pissing during this particular bit of the day). It was a bit on the bombastic side for so early on a rainy day, but I thought they were amazing. Eye (the mad dreadlocked leader) has all these guitar-ish things mounted on 2 stands, each tuned to a different chord. He proceeded to play these by smashing them with various length sticks, depending on how many he wanted to hit at once. Nothing if not different.


We did our set on the main stage and lucked out with a lull in the rain. It went well and there was a good sized crowd, owing to the stages being staggered instead of competing. The whole crowd more or less watched everything. After Albert I did double duty mixing the almighty Eagles of Death Metal. As usual, it was great to see them both on & off stage and despite Jessie having no voice they worked overtime for those Swedes and left them reeking of rock-love & mustache wax.


Next I saw Primal Scream who I thought were pretty good with some amazing parts mixed in. Much better than the end of their last Glastonbury set which was embarrassing.

Speaking of embarrassing, the Pogues closed the main stage and were easily the disappointment of the day. I mean, sure, Shane McGowan will be shitfaced. We know this. But watching a fat drunk guy inaudibly slur his way through a bunch of songs is shit, even if the songs are classics. After hanging in as long as I could on the Eagles bus, I hit the bunk for the trip to Oslo. It was an overcast day so I slept through most of it. The show was late and surprisingly sweaty. Lots of pretty blonde people who talk funny. Fun for the whole family.


We woke up in Copenhagen for a day off and our last hotel until we go home. The hotel was in a bit of a seedy area with sex shops and prostitutes for blocks. We headed over to the nicer bit called Nyhavn (see above) where we hung out when the Strokes played Roskilde. After a nice meal by the canal we wandered back thru town towards the hotel. Matt, Steve, Vicente & I were sidetracked by a trip to Tivoli Gardens, which is a really old amusement park in the center of Copenhagen. It's pretty sweet as amusement parks go and we went on the crazy roller-coaster (The Demon) and the high swingy things (The Himmelskibet), which is apparently the highest carousel in the world. Fun for the whole family!

Himmelskibet

Europe is so fancy!!

Now we're at the gig waiting for showtime. Matt found a new hat...

And the dressing room is on the 1/2th floor. Those crazy Danes. You never know what floor you're on!!

Costa del Sol

First of all, the best news...
I sold my car. I got more than I thought I would too which was a much needed bonus. So anyway, that's done. Yippee.

So after a few quick days in NYC I was off once again to Newark to board yet another jet, this time to Lisbon. We flew overnight which always throws my sleep rhythms even further out of whack than they typically are. I hid away in the hotel and napped until the next morning when Matt & I had to venture back to the airport to pick up a rental car. We followed the festival vans the 2+ hours to the festival site, where we had a pleasant, if uneventful, day and early gig.

This frog was a mascot for the weird walk-thru, see-thru shower thing at the festival in Portugal. First I'd seen that...


First time I'd seen this too. These crazy fuckers strap you in a little car which is on a platform attached to a crane. They then proceed to raise it up and drop said car god-knows-how-many feet (or meters, or metres) where it ends up dangling from a bungee cord. Someone said that Portugal is the only country where it's legal. Shocking.


Afterwards Matt & I jumped in our little VW Polo and followed Albert, Lisa and Albert's parents for almost 6 hours down the coast of Portugal and along the sea to Sotogrande, Spain where they have a place (Albert's dad grew up near there). We stayed in a nice little hotel next door to his parents' condo. It was right on a marina with all kinds of yachts and expensive cars everywhere you look. We got right down to sleeping late, lounging on the beach and eating delicious seafood for 3 days. It was supremely pleasant and the Hammond's were not only gracious and generous but also fun.

Nothing like a thatched umbrella to set the tone...


The rock of Gibraltar in the distance...

La Cerveza en La Playa...


Sunset...


Out the front of the hotel...



It all ended way too quickly and we were off to the airport in Malaga to fly to Sweden to get back to work. So tomorrow it's back into festival/bus/club world which means tonight I stay in and watch stuff on my laptop and eat snacks. I'm pretty sure I paid $122 for a bag of Doritos and an apple. Gotta love scandinavia.

When Your Conscience Hits You Knock It Back With Pills

My journey back from SF went something like this:

5:30pm PST: Drop car off at Buggy Bank (please someone buy it), walk to BART station.
6:00pm PST: BART (3 trains) to SFO.
7:00pm PST: Arrive SFO
11:05pm PST: Flight to Washington Dulles takes off.
7:20am EST: Land at Dulles
8:15am EST: Flight to LaGuardia takes off.
8:30am EST: Flight turns back to Dulles (a window in the cockpit came open).
9:15am EST: Flight to LaGuardia cancelled
9:30am EST: Horrible bitch "customer service" lady tells me the 12:30 flight to JFK is sold out and I can take the 6pm. When I say this is unacceptable she puts me on a 1pm flight out of Reagan. She sends me and some woman away with a cab voucher to take the 45minute ride to catch said flight.
9:35am EST: After calling customer service I am quickly put on the 12:30 flight that was sold out.
11:55am EST: Secure first class seat.
12:35pm EST: Flight to JFK takes off.
1:30pm EST: Flight lands at JFK
2:30pm EST: Arrive at home after dumb-ass cab driver takes Atlantic ave thru Brooklyn, stomping on the brake and gas the whole way. There is no AC in said cab.

By my count that's a tidy 24hrs from the time I dropped my car off to the time I got home.


In related news, a website called Flight Memory has informed me (after doing much laborious data entry) that I have flown 382,693 miles, spending 792 hours (or 33 days) in the air. I've gone to the moon and halfway back again. 216 flights and that's only the ones I can remember or have in my calendar which is far from all of them.


It makes me laugh when I think of the United lady the other day who, after realizing I'm a Premier Executive, said "You don't look like it. Do you fly a lot?". Yes lady. I do. That's why I look like this. I mean, even if you're thinking that- and I'm sure she wasn't even close to the first person who was surprised to see my scruffy ass in first class or in the business lounge- you're not supposed to SAY that to me. Should I put on khakis and a light blue oxford? Would that simplify things for you? Would I then "look like it"? Then you could know who to be nice to without having to look at their boarding pass first. And I'd like 2 glasses of champagne BEFORE takeoff please.

Why Do They Call It Fog City?

Here's some photos from my most recent SF trip. I had a couple days where I got out exploring. It felt good.

If you click on this one you can see all kinds of folks with wind-powered recreational devices...
Here's a closer look...
The sun getting ready to sink into the fog...
Note the clouds where the ocean should be...
Hippie trash...
Trail on Bolinas Ridge...
Big Basin Redwoods State Park...
A big tree...
More fog...
Still more fog...

So there was hills & fog...
The sun sank...

A Taste of the Grind

Here's Grinderman from Later with Jools Holland