June 10, 2001 ***"The Curse Of Lost Souls."
    My weekend was a good one for many reasons.  First, T. and I went to the KY History Museum in Frankfort.  If you're around the area, you should go.  It covers everything from the earliest days up through the present.  While it isn't quite as complete as I would have liked, it was a great collection of information and artifacts and there were some great folks working there.  It is a newer building and place so I'm sure it will just get better and better, building on the current state, which is pretty darned good.
    Second, prior to going there, we went to a small bookshop in Frankfort (which shall remain nameless because they wouldn't stock DKP's books, which is cool, but there are no free plugs in this world) and I found a book I've been hunting for since, well, the early '90's.  It is Hunter S. Thompson's 1983  book, The Curse Of Lono, which is also illustrated by the great Ralph Steadman.  I've seen this book fetch between $90 and $150 on EBAY auctions (yes, that's a free plug, but it was necessary to the story and there's no link...like you need it) and have been tempted to bid on it many times.  Again, something I've ranted on before, the little voices told me to wait.  It would come.
    I found a copy that I at first thought to be brand new, but have now decided is either used or has been on their shelf since '83.  I picked it off the shelf, amazed, befuddled, disbelieving, and opened the cover and saw the price.  Ah, those voices.
    I bought my copy of The Curse Of Lono for the mere pittance of $12.50.
    Speaking of books and writers, I was stumbling around on EBAY on Friday night after practice (yes, another plug...whatever) and looked up Henry Rollins.  Some neat stuff on there.  Some of them were autographed books and CD's.  Let me take you back...in 1996 I called 2.13.61, Henry Rollins's publishing company, to order some stuff.  He's a favorite of mine for many reasons, some of which my friends just don't understand, and he's a hero because he's also a self-publisher who has said to the system that, well, he doesn't need it.  Anyway...I ordered my stuff and, while I was talking to the guy taking my order, I was thinking, "This guy sounds a lot like Rollins."  I was done and the fellow asked me if I'd like to pre-order the new book, Eye Scream, which would be released in a week.  Absolutely.  Well, when I got the book it was autographed, though I wasn't sure whether it was actually signed or was a fluke/fake.  After seeing so many items online though, I'm sure that it is indeed autographed and I'm also sure that it was indeed Mr. Rollins who took my order.  Strange, and very cool.
    By the way, you will not be seeing either my copy of Eye Scream or my copy of The Curse Of Lono on EBAY (third time's a charm, right?).
    A final word...do not rent Lost Souls, the movie.  While Winona Ryder did a great job and the film's basis was reasonably cool (I'm a fan of religiously-themed films like The Prophecy and Stigmata, not to mention Dogma), the ending was just such a pile of dung.  Horrid.  How Hollywood can turn out a film that's so goof for 95% of the way and then let it fester into a piece of trash like this did is beyond me.  It could have been oh-so-good too.  Go rent Gladiator again...best film in years.
 

June 5, 2001 ***"Sheer Brilliance."
    It took me a while to get around to reading anything by Kurt Vonnegut, just like I came to Douglas Adams somewhat later in my reading journeys.  Too much philosophy got in the way.  That and school, where, unfortunately, some of the best of modern literature is not read.  Here's a formal request to universities all over:  put Adams, Vonnegut and Hunter Thompson in the curriculum.
    I just finished reading Slaughterhouse-Five and, to be honest, it's one of the best novels I've ever read.  Published in 1969, it read like a breath of fresh air, but tinged with the bitter sting of the "morals" of the story.  Comical, yet terribly frightening at the same time.  A style that dares to tell a story with sheer honesty.  I adore this book.  If you haven't, let me be the constant twitter in your ear, or the poo-tee-weet that my friend Greg was to me, and urge you to read this book, if nothing else by Mr. Vonnegut.  You won't regret it, though it will make you seriously reevaluate your world.
    Why me?
    Why anything?
    Bugs in amber.
    So it goes....

June 3, 2001 ***"How Quickly We Forget?"
    I have the NBA playoffs on in the background and just saw Marv Albert...yes, if you're with me, the same Marv Albert publicly shamed in court over some sexual weirdness and assault charges, if memory serves me well.  The same Marv Albert fired from NBC for some moral high-ground stance.  The same one.
    He's back on NBC.
    Did you even doubt that he would be?
    We'll forgive anyone's transgressions, won't we?  The President, rock stars, sports announcers...anyone, if they're public, they're okay.  Just don't actually murder anyone and you're fine.  Well, unless you're Vince Neil or O.J. Simpson, right?
    Just had to throw that out there...don't forget, folks, don't forget.  It all matters in the end.
    Oh, and my many thanks to all for their birthday wishes on the 31st...number 28 is starting out grandly.

May 29, 2001 ***"Mindgames."
    I like to read many different types of books and poetry.  One that I finished just tonight is called The Instruments Of Torture by Michael Kerrigan.  It is a history of the tools of torture, both physical and mental, drugs and devices.  Very interesting how we, as humans, have dealt with both criminals and those who simply disagreed with our personal point of view.  Very interesting how we design ways to keep the masses in line as well.
    In particular, a passage quote in the book and taken from the CIA's Human Resource Exploitation Training Manual which was obtained under the Freedom Of Information Act in 1994 by the Baltimore Sun.  I quote, "...the purpose of all 'coercive interrogation' is to induce 'psychological regression.'  Regression is basically a loss of autonomy, a reversion to an earlier behavioral level.  As the subject regresses, his learned personality traits fall away in reverse chronological order.  He begins to lose the capacity to carry out the highest creative activities, to deal with complex situations, or to cope with stressful interpersonal relationships or repeated frustrations."
    This passage was very interesting to me because I was eating dinner while I read it and because of the day I had at work.  I literally felt like my soul was being sucked out of my body through my nose.  My very breath gave away my heart and loves.  Every exhalation was a bit of me, minute though it may have been, that was seeping away into the fluorescent air that surrounded me.
    Could it be, then, that based on my experience, society as a whole is simply a device for others to play with, to keep us down, like ants in the proverbial ant farm?  Was Orwell's Animal Farm so much fiction, or so much a testimony of things becoming, things to come?  Television:  the opiate, the soma that Huxley dreamed of.  Work:  the breaking down of the physical body to a point of fatigue, to a point at which we bark and salivate like Pavlov's dogs for our paychecks every week or two, and all is well once we have them?
    If so, then what of life?
    What of life?
    The point to all of this?  I thought a lot about that as I zombie-walked through my day today.  It's not the CIA I blame, that was just an example that sparked the thought process.  The breaking down.  The tearing apart.  Until we're willing to accept anything.  Think about it.
 

May 28, 2001 ***"Getting...Older...."
    So I'll be 28 in about three days.  I'm so looking forward to it.  I detest birthdays.  I don't much like opening gifts (though the early one that my wonderful fiance got me was pretty awesome...a dashboard statue of the "Buddy Christ" from the film Dogma.)   Overall, birthdays are just tedious reminders of the "not quites" that I've filled my life with.  I shall not whine, though, because I know you, dear reader, would turn quickly to some internet porn or some trivial news site to satisfy your internet thirst.
    No, instead I'll tell you about music.  I adore music.  Music is much of what makes life worth living for me.  However, I'm coming to grips with the fact that I like too much music.  I'm going to thin out the ol' CD collection, starting tonight.  If you have something you want, e-mail me and, if I've got it, it's yours.  Well, if I'm willing to part with it, that is.  Any collections I decide to ditch will be eBay fodder.  Basically, I'm running out of room in my little place here.  I need to clear the air and get rid of stuff.  Books, too.  Too many of the darned things.  Too many I've read and hated or read and never finished.  Too much.
    Oh, and I almost bought a hardback copy of J.J. Rousseau's Social Contract And Other Discourses over the weekend, but opted instead for Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five and Roy A. Martin, M.D.'s Inside Nurnberg: Military Justice For Nazi War Criminals (signed for me by the author).  Why did I pull out of the Rousseau book?  Because I'm way, way out of practice.  Reading philosophy is much like playing bass, singing, shooting hoops...if you don't practice, you lose your edge.  When I was in college, I couldn't read comics or normal novels...I was used to reading Kant and Emerson and Sartre and Kierkegaard.  Now, I'm used to novels and more entertaining works.  I read a page of the Rousseau, realized I was out of practice and put it back.
    I'm going to jump into one of my books on ethics and stroll through some of that stuff.  Perhaps I'll find myself craving philosophy again.  I guess I'm too cynical.  I realize that the average man or woman about town is more in need of philosophy and poetry now than ever before, but they don't try, aren't given the opportunity to try to expand their minds and would rather go the easier route(s).
    American needs an enema, to get rid of George Bush at the least, and to put us on a road to recovery at most.
 

May 23, 2001 ***"Through This Lens."
    This entry is going up late on the 23rd as I returned from band practice just a short bit ago.  It was a very good one.  We had started brainstorming on writing an "epic" song on Saturday and it came to fruition tonight.  It's called Through This Lens: I-Lunar Nightjar, II-Tsunami, III-Today, IV-Charcoal Grey, V-Thirteen Days In My Head.  When completed, it promises to be about fifteen minutes long, which was not necessarily the goal.  The goal, I guess, was to push ourselves to write outside the norm and say something in a different way.
    I wanted to tell a story, too.  The lyrics are dealing with the loss of childhood innocence and how your idea of reality changes as you grow older..  Viewpoints.  Frustration.  The amazing thing is that it wasn't frustrating at all writing the music.  We came in, had a section of the first part, and jammed the rest of it.  It got weird in some spots too.  Secret 9 is the most eclectic band I've ever played in.  We can go from a tune like The Only One which is, in all honesty, a pop-punk song, to something like Through This Lens which is a neo-progressive opus.  That is the coolest thing.  It's a total roller coaster ride and it's the most open expression possible.  The three of us talk, discuss, play, jam, work things out.  The creative experience with my bandmates, Tim and Travis, is wonderful.
    I'm just jazzed right now.  Tired, but jazzed.  It's a good thing, no matter which lens you look through.
 

May 15, 2001 ***"Little Voices & Pinched Butts."
    So, while at lunch yesterday, I had to go to the post office and to get gas.  I've been listening more and more to the "little voices" in my head, warnings, truths, hopes, whatever.  I had my choice of several gas stations, some with cheaper fuel than I eventually got, but I chose a certain one, pulled in and pumped that golden (well, it should be for the amount I paid for it) juice into the truck.  Then I went in to pay.  Let me just say that it is very seldom, if ever, that I've been caught speechless.
    I paid, got my dime back in change and then, of all things, someone pinched my butt.
    I was awestruck.  First thought:  did that really just happen?  Second thought:  this could only happen now that I've been in a wonderful relationship for nearly three years - girls pinching your butt just doesn't happen to single guys unless the girl in question is very drunk or you're very GQ.  Neither of which was the case.
    So I turned to my right to see who'd fondled my bottom.  Jean shorts, cut off, t-shirt, cap, sunglasses...perfect summer girl, clothing-wise.  Oh, and she was laughing at me.  Well, just chortling at this point.  I recognized her cheekbones, then her smile, but something in my head was saying that, no, it can't be who I think it is.  The look of amazement on my face must've been darn funny because she couldn't stop laughing.  I'm surprised she could maintain balance.  She paid and we walked out together.
    As we hit the door, she said, "I can't believe you don't know who I am!"  Well, as soon as I heard the voice, it confirmed what I knew in my head.  It was a very good friend and fellow writer who shall remain nameless for the sake of her reputation *smile*.  I had never seen her dressed down, which led to my disbelief.  Needless to say, I had a great story for when I got back to work.
    First,  though, she and I spent about a half hour blocking a pump and chatting, catching up, which is always a good thing.  I'm sure the clerks at the gas station were intrigued, too.
    But the little voices...the one that told me to go to this gas station in question.  That was so good because I got to catch up with a friend who I hadn't seen in a while.  My voices have been telling me a  lot lately.  I left my fiance's place a little early on Sunday.  I was tired, of course, but something told me to go.  Turns out, an hour or so after I left, there was a big wreck down there on the highway right where I would've been.  Other things have been happening too.
    I think it's all about listening.  There's so much noise in the world today, television, radio, road noise, etc.  It's hard to get away from this soundtrack of destruction and depression.  But, if you can do it, if you can clear your head and listen to ______________ (insert your own phrase here, the Force, the cosmic voices, your karma, whatever), then you might just learn something (insert Bill Cosby voice for that last phrase.)  Hey, hey, hey.
    Which makes me wonder...I seldom remember my dreams.  My fiance is a dreamscaper, remembering and analyzing hers.  What I remember from last night is that I was driving my truck and, gradually, warning lights kept coming on until my display looked like a rainbow.  My truck stopped and I got out and walked.  Then I came to a place that, in retrospect, looked like the cover of Shel Silverstein's Where The Sidewalk Ends, just an ending of the road.  My band, Secret 9, is playing a song that I wrote the words for some time ago called End Of The Road, with a refrain of "where do I go from here?"
    What do you think it means?  E-mail me with insight...I'm stumped.
 

May 11, 2001 ***"Hockey & Music."
    I've been watching a lot of hockey in the last two weeks with the NHL playoffs going on.  I've been a hockey fan for some time, but only recently have I been watching enough (picture me at the computer here in the evenings, editing, writing, whatever, and having the game du jour on in the background) to actually get a grip on the strategy and the beauty of the game.  Talk about a workout, both physically and mentally.  Wow.
    I've also latched on to a new team.  As you may know, NFL-wise, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers have been my favorites for a long, long time.  Baseball-wise, well, I'm fading, but it's still the Giants.  As for hockey, it's the St. Louis Blues, but I'm still a new, totally dedicated fan and, as I watch this game 7 in overtime with Pittsburgh and Buffalo, I can't help but not root for anyone, but just watch and love the game.  Lemieux or Hasek?  Who to root for?  You just can't.  You just watch the game and love it.
    But the Blues...it's because of Roman Turek, their goaltender.  Most of the NHL goalies have different things airbrushed on their helmets...Roman has Eddie, the mascot for Iron Maiden, on his helmet.  How utterly cool.  And it's even the Number Of The Beast version of Eddie.  So, even though my Florida Panthers jersey still hangs in my closet, go Blues!
    Hold on...Darius Kasparitus just won it for the Penguins.  They'll see the Devils in the Eastern Conference Finals, while the Blues meet the Avalanche.
   And another thing, since it often comes up in e-mails, here's what I've been listening to a lot recently:
    -  David Byrne's new one, Look Into The Eyeball.
    -  Warren Zevon's new single, The Hockey Song (Hit Somebody!).  The backing band on this one is incredible.  Tony Levin on bass with Paul Shaffer, Sid McGinnis, Anton Fig and, of all things, David Letterman contributing the backing shouts of, "Hit somebody!"  Awesome.
    -  Phil Cody's latest, Big Slow Mover, and his first, The Sons Of Intemperence Offering.  Not just because he's linked to DKP and has posted a poem of mine (The Drive) on his website.  If you don't have these albums, go to his site and get 'em.  You won't regret it.
    - Pearl Jam, all of them.  I remember being between high school and college in '91 when Ten came out and how bloody thrilling the album was.  Ten years later, appropriately enough, it still rings out with so much soul and honesty that it's almost beyond words.  Personal favorite tune: Release.
    -  Manic Street Preachers' newest, Know Your Enemy.
    -  King Crimson's trio from the early '80's, Beat, Discipline and Three Of A Perfect Pair.
    -  And, finally, I've logged several trips to and from working digging on As Of Yet's Concealed By Shadows.
    Until next time, watch some hockey and spend some time outside gazing at the stars...they're both good for ya.
-

May 8, 2001 ***"Computers, Philosophy and Words."
    So I bought a CD burner for my computer about a month and a half ago and have yet to get it to work.  I think it's something with the way the folks I bought it from installed it.  Fine.  And the thing is, I have had no less than four people offer their time and efforts to get me up and running, but my schedule has just been totally gonzo out-of-whack and I haven't been able to take anyone up on their offers.
    So it sits.
    Idle.
    And it seems an apt analogy for me.
    I have all the potential in the world, but things always get in the way.  Or, I should say, I allow them to get in my way.  But I'm trying to fix that.  I'm working at it with much tenacity...more than I'm giving to the CD burner, that much I can guarantee.
    But I'm learning, slowly, that time is what it takes.  Though we have not much time, my friends, much time is necessary.  Time is a great healer, just as it is the ultimate evil.  Given enough time, we could become gods, all-knowing and all-seeing.  But we don't have time.  We are with fault, we are human, we are transient in this river of time.  Mere ripples in the stream.
    The CD burner will get taken care of, and I thank all my friends who have offered their time...one of you will be taken up on it at some point.  My life, however, is a work-in-progress that needs attending to.  I'm stunting the growth of anger in my head and my soul.  I'm calming the frustration.  I'm working to find work that will satisfy in some way, if not all.
    I'm writing again, which is, in and of itself, an achievment of note.  I've had a blank slate in my heart for some time.  I'm finding I still have something to say.
 

April 30, 2001 ***"Big Hair?"
    Okay, so I'm working on a bunch of stuff around here and, in the background, I have on VH1's Top 40 Hair Bands of All Time.  Nice, huh?  Here's a sickening thought for you:  I owned every single one of these CD's/Tapes at one time or another.  Not many of them are still in the collection...they're much like hard candy or a rebound relationship.  They're pretty sweet for a moment or two, then they're gone.  I can remember the songs, they're in my head...don't need the disks.
    However, the # 40 band, Hanoi Rocks, is still one of my favorites.  I have a problem, too, with the fact that, in their countdown, they show a video of Michael Monroe's solo song, "Dead, Jail or Rock & Roll," instead of a Hanoi Rocks tune.  There were several to choose from, but they picked a Mike song.  Okay, whatever.  Hanoi is one of the few bands mentioned on this countdown of follicles that had staying power to me.
    Another thing that has been standing out to me is that a lot of these bands had really good musicians that got looked past because of their hair, their attitudes and their cheesy songs.  This is a shame.  Of course, then you have the Quiet Riots and the Slaughters of the world too.  Give me a Def Leppard or a Hanoi Rocks anytime.
    And, yes, I wish I had never cut my hair.

April 27, 2001 ***"Where Have I Been?"
    Okay, I admit that I've been very lacking in updates.  My apologies.  I've had a lot of stuff going on, from job hunting to preparing for a doing readings and lectures.  The last reading for a little while is Saturday and I'm prepping pretty hard for it.  I'm considering releasing a live CD of readings culled from the book release for The Mirror Suite last year and this week's readings for National Poetry Month, which April is.
    Another thing on my mind is from Monday.  That morning I went and gave two lectures at a local middle school.  Poetry was the topic.  The kids were great, participative and eager even though it was their first day back from spring break.  The strange thing is that, on the way there, I was listening to the Ramones.  You know the Ramones...basic, three chords and the truth punk pioneers.  On my way home, I listened to King Crimson.  You know King Crimson...intense music and lyrics, odd time signatures, prog-rock of the highest order.
    No wonder I'm a bit schizo sometimes.  Just check my musical selections.  In truth, I find it darn nice.  I get bored easily.
    I can't tell you how much you should go to the links page on the main DKP site and hit a few of my friends' sites and othe assorted goodies.  Especially worthwhile are the Big Robot Dinosaur page and Folderol, which is linked from BRD.  Awesome stuff.
    That's it for now...once things calm down, more updates.
 

April 10, 2001 ***"Excuse Me?  Who's Right?"
    The "race" riots ravaging Cincinnati at this hour are typical of a city that too often turns a blind eye to societal problems.  Race has always been an issue in Cincinnati as long as I can remember, though it lurked, like tides that seem sweet and then sweep unlucky, unaware swimmers out to depths too great to return from.
    Were the Cincinnati Police wrong in their killing of Tim Thomas over the past weekend?  Possibly.  My grandfather was a police officer and, from stories he told, the position was not one of the overt power one might suspect.  It was one of respect for those you protect and one of fear that you might ever have to use that power of life and death you held on your side.  You never want to draw your firearm, but if you did you had to be ready to use it.  Period.  You're chasing a person who has 14 outstanding warrants out for him...down an alley in Over The Rhine...he's running and suddenly turns toward you.
    What do you do?
    I ask again, what do you do?
    I don't care about your answer.  Just think about it.
    Here's another thing:  I hope that none of the idiots rioting were in any celebrations for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day.  If they were, they should be ashamed right now.  Utterly ashamed.  You don't take up arms unless all other routes have been closed and, in this case, they have not.
    Cincinnati itself should be ashamed.  I'm ashamed for the message these actions are sending to the rest of the country about this area.  I'm ashamed for the Cincinnati Police Department (for a number of reasons, some not even close to being involved in this current issue.)
    Think, people, before you react so stupidly.  There are better ways.  We're not animals, we're people.  Make your point with respect and force of mind, not stones and bricks.

April 6, 2001***"The Deprived?"
    I noticed something a few days ago that I've been letting ferment in my mind.  It's just an idea, but I think it bears more thought than most.  Sometimes I get these ideas and they flutter about my head like drunken butterflies for weeks or months before settling upon a more tangible idea, sometimes poetic, sometimes musical.  This one will be a song, but first it's going to be a journal entry:
    It's not about the opportunity, it's about the ambition.
    I have had it with hearing people complain about not having enough money, yet going to McDonald's for breakfast and Frisch's for lunch while also downing a pack of cigarettes or two a day.  I've had it with people wanting something for free.  I've had it with people thinking that it's right to take advantage of other people.  That's not to say that being aggressive is wrong, but when it's simply for overkill or to make yourself feel bigger than someone else, yes, it's wrong.
    I've had it with driving through Newport (as I did this evening) and seeing people in their front yards of rundown, horrid little houses, with dirty children playing out front, all dressed in tatters, talking on cell phones, smoking and drinking beer and looking at their brand new truck out front.
    It's idiocy.  Material idiocy.
    Credit is simply too easy to obtain for people, some of whom can't even balance a checkbook.  We're more than happy to dole out welfare without looking at who it's going to or why.  Those on the dole should be forced to work for the government (road crews, food workers at schools, etc.) for their money.  Nothing...let me reiterate, nothing...is free.
    I'm sick of the complaints.  I'm sick of people driving cars nicer than mine asking me for change for the soft drink machine because they're broke.  It's about knowing your limitations.  With my credit line I could, conceivably, go out and buy five or six new basses and finance two new books.  But you know what?  It would take me YEARS to pay it back.  Not going to happen, brother, just not going to happen.  It's about reality.  It's about the reality hammer.
    The reality hammer says:
    It's not about opportunity, it's about ambition.
    It's not about what you're given, it's about what you create for yourself.  If you want to create a big hole of debt, fine, do it.  But don't expect me to fish you out.  It's not that I'm unsympathetic to the rigors of modern finances and survival, but I can't stand to see people slowly kill themselves.  Like smokers filling themselves with poison, we can fill ourselves with material carcinogens as well.
 
 

March 31, 2001 ***"Kicking The Doors."
    Part of me truly believes that there is hope for humanity to come back from the edge of Hell and make the world right again.  Then the more realistic side of me realizes that no one really cares anymore.  The ones who do care usually end up driving themselves crazy with the sheer frustration of watching people throw their lives away.  Sort of like watching people who smoke.  Perhaps, being diabetic, I realize that everyday of mine is slow suicide, no matter how well I take care of myself.  So watching people inflict these poisons upon their bodies just really makes me ill.  Couple that feeling with the rancid smell of the smoke and, well, what can I say except that I abhor it?
    Of course, I believe in true personal freedom as well.  You have the freedom to smoke and I have the freedom to walk away from you...don't take it personally.
    We spend our money on drugs for our bodies and drugs for our minds.  From Prozac to diet wonders.  I spend my money on drugs that keep me alive too, those being insulin.  I can't really knock anyone, but I wonder where these needs came from.  What we eat?  What we breathe into our bodies, what we have ingested as a race since the industrial revolution?  Can it get any sicker?  Oh, sure, we can now attempt to clone humans.
    Why?
    That's all I want answered from the scientists and the politicians is that one question:  why?  Oh, and from you morons who voted for George Bush.  Good lord, why?    America is fat as it is and now this bastard is going to rape the land, rape human rights and, most likely, make some insipid remark to bring us into another war.  We're fat and someone, some country, will come in and slice our Achilles tendons and we'll just be able to sit there, staring, as they rape us repeatedly.
    Welcome to the big ol' '00's, folks.  Welcome to 'em.  Rome is burning and we're all drowning in our wine and money.
 

March 28, 2001 ***"From The Edge And Back."
    We are back from the dead, folks.  My computer died a slow, agonizing death and was brought back just recently.  I have adopted a new ISP as well, after many years with Netcom, which became Mindsping, which became Earthlink.  And with each "becoming" service became less and less a thing that mattered to them.  If you want me from now on, e-mail me at pleiades@diabolicalkitten.com  and I'll catch you there.
    Too many things have happened recently to go into great detail on any.  However, let me just say that I still dislike people who smoke in public places (do it in your own car or home, not where others may be) and I'm more driven than ever to make my dreams happen.
    Until next time, which will be much sooner than this time, I am your ever humble poetic freak....

March 8, 2001 ***"John, I'm Only Dancing."
    I'm finished with John Madden Football 2001.  I'm done.  I'm playing at the All-Madden level, the highest level in the game.  I'm playing as a franchise owner, where you can trade and draft and all that stuff.  It is a cool game.
    However, I'm midway through my third season, have won the Super Bowl twice and am 7 and 1 this time through.  I just defeated the Chicago Bears 87 to 13.  I set five NFL records in this game.  Tim Couch threw for 11 touchdowns and Travis Prentice, who rushed for over 2,500 yards last season, ran for 167 yards in this game.
    It's too easy.  It's too bad.  I'm finished.
    This is probably a good thing.  Instead of wasting an hour in the evening playing that, I can waste an hour practicing.  This is more needed due to lingering effects of the diagnosis of CTS last year.  I've changed my station at work and here at home to more ergonomically good positions.  Things are better.
    Something I've been thinking about lately is this syndrome, and I'm noticing it more and more, of people who would rather bandage wounds as opposed to actually fixing them.  Or, more precisely, walking through a thicket, bandaging their wounds upon reaching the next clearing, and then commencing to walk back through the thicket.
    The wounds remain because the cause of the wounds remains.  Nip it in the bud, as the cliche goes.  Get rid of the problem causer and you rid yourself of the problem too.  Think about it.

March 6, 2001 ***"The Eyes Have It."
    I had my second exam with my eye specialist yesterday.  I'm showing minor signs of diabetic retinopathy.  Things were unchanged since the last exam, really the best I could have hoped for.  It was strange.  I was stressing about the exam for weeks, leading right up to it, and then the euphoria with which I greeted the results was intense.  All the stress left and in its place was sheer joy.  Strange.
    Then my love, T., and I got to have lunch with Bunny, which was great.  Saw my pal Ryck, from the Cincinnati Writers Project, there.  Also saw Tim, from Secret 9...very odd day.  We're eating and I look up...there's Tim with his sister.  It was one of those days.  Running the length of the field from sheer terror to the joy of hanging with and seeing people you love.
    I'm learning a lot about beauty.  It's a fleeting thing, to be sure, and while there are some hard, fast rules as far as defining it, beyond the most basic, it's all as if a whim.  Just think, bell bottoms were the in thing in the late '70's.  Then they were gruesome, unthinkable.  Now it's nothing to see some schmuck wearing them again.  Crazy.
    Welcome to American culture, where we're fickle but will always love cheeseburgers.  Where we don't care about the music as long as the folks playing it look good and it's packaged nicely.  Where we trust money-loving pigs with our government and future and seldom question their actions unless they directly affect us.  Where beauty isn't defined by nature, but by a glamour magazine.
    The euphoria wore off Monday night, by the way.
    But if the truth really is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and peer pressure is simply another stone in the road to peace, then I stand by my own thoughts.  Beauty is a blustery, clear winter's night when there is nothing that exists but you and the stars while you lie in the back of your truck.  Beauty is a sweet groove and being able to lose yourself in the midst of creating with other musicians, people you trust.  Beauty is Picasso, Tanguy, Dali, Ray, O'Keeffe and Giger.  Beauty is Strand, Bukowski, Stafford, Sexton, Thompson and Rice.  Beauty is Tracy's smile.  Beauty is freshly cut grass and listening to insects and birds as night falls in Kentucky.
    What's on your list?

March 2, 2001 ***"Survive The Drive."
    I bought a CD a few days ago called Grammy Nominees 2001.  I bought it mainly because it had some songs on it by artists whose videos I had seen and who I also knew I would never, ever buy their entire CD just to give a listen to one song.  The results were astounding.  I now believe that artists who make videos are separated into two groups:
    Group 1 makes videos to enhance their songs.  The songs stand alone, strongly, by themselves.  You could hear the song on the radio and get it, love it and listen to it.  The video is simply there as an extension of the art.  For example, U2 and Barenaked Ladies.
    Group 2, by far the larger group, makes videos to sell their product (the m.o. behind all videos, to be sure, but moreso here).  The video is a cover up for the bad song.  Now, of course, I hate making qualitative judgments like that, but let's be honest, Britney Spears is fun to look at.  Have you ever actually listened to one of her songs without some video accompaniment?  Oh, god, it's torture.  I want my MTV, darn it!  The same goes for Eminem.  The videos are interesting, I will grant that.  Have you ever actually listened to the song The Real Slim Shady?  What a piece of camel dung.  What a waste of space on a CD.  I don't hate the guy for his high-schoolish views of women and gays, though those bother me a great deal.  I hate the guy because he, to put it in his own easily understood language, sucks.
    Ah, I'm a jaded old freak, aren't I?  There were some interesting things on the CD though, that made it a redeemable buy.  Oh, and I got to compare the Backstreet Boys and 'N Sync.  Um, there's no difference.  That's my scientific opinion.  Until they write their own songs and play their own instruments, they're worthless to me.  Which isn't to say that bands in that mold, a la The Monkees didn't have worth, but they're sort of like a mint from a cheap pizza place.  They're cool for about 15 seconds and then you've got this strange aftertaste.
    In other cool news, I found this quote relating to bass players, of which I am one.  It's from Brian May about his bandmate in Queen, John Deacon:  "John too, the archetypal bass player - he can be incredibly considerate and inexplicably rude, make someone curl up and die with a couple of sentences.  He's very strange...."
    Gotta love it....

February 25, 2001 ***"Lacking In Curry."
    Journal updates in this online forum have been lacking lately because I've been doing much more writing in my paper, old-school Mead notebook, red this time.  More poetry has been pouring forth due to a lot of new input, books and things, sparring matches with others in my life too.  All the things that make life unpredictable and worth living.  Had a cool e-mail, completely out of the blue, that made me realize how much a presence on the web means.  It is to be visible to a lot of people who I might never meet.  A bunch of folks to whom this website is really "me."  That's a scary proposition.
    It renders even more appropriate the saying that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.  Or, in this case, by his journal...or even his poems.  The autobiography may end at the beginning, or it may stream through the whole.  I write from experience while I also write from a character-like point of view.  That's the beauty of creation:  it's all about what you, the creator, want to express and what forum you choose for it.
    In other news, I had a great chicken curry Friday night at a local Indian restaurant (thanks Tim!)...the place was packed to the gills, and rightfully so.  The stuff was amazingly good.  The waitresses weren't bad either.  But I digress.  Tonight I had a Chinese chicken curry.  Quite different, more onions and a thinner sauce.  Still good, but I much preferred the Indian curry.
    This all comes on the heels of a failed attempt by me to make curry based on the recipe in Tony Levin's book, Beyond The Bass Clef.  I failed miserably.  Luckily, the only recipients of my horrid mess of a curry were myself and T.  She braved it admirably, but I felt sorry for her all the way through.  I'm not a cook.  I try.  I can make a heck of a plate of Cajun shrimp.  Hot dogs are a specialty.  The thing is that I like to experiment, not actually follow recipes.
    Two cups?  How about just a dollop?
    Not good, especially with a curry.
    But it's all in the journey, the adventure, not necessarily the end of the road, right?
    Tell that to your taste buds the next time you eat at my place....

February 19, 2001 ***"Math, Depression & Music."
    It was a good weekend.  A wave of depression fell over me, beginning with the newest attack on Iraq.  No matter how justified, which, based on the Iraqi's ignoring of the no-fly zones that they agreed to in the resolution ending the Gulf War conflict, they were, it is still upsetting.  Does anyone else get the feeling that everyone might be in cahoots on this?  War spurs the economy, so the U.S. wins;  war will allow the middle-eastern nations to charge more for oil, so they win.  Hey!  Everybody wins except for the guys who'll die fighting over it...in military terms, those are "acceptable losses."
    Maybe I'm too cynical too.
    Or perhaps it's that I'm tired of having other people make decisions that effect me without my knowledge of them.  We should ban all fossil fuels anyway.  Screw you people and your cars.  get a bike and ride it.  Or ride the bus, at least.
    Yeah, I'm one to talk.  I have a truck.  I use a microwave.  I eat badly.  I'm a hypocrite, but at least I admit it.
    Speaking of eating, I have to lose weight, and now.  I'm 240.  I need to be 200.  It's a concerted effort at this point, not just here and there.  I'm sick of it and I'm sick of myself.  And I've made this promise to myself:  once I get there, I will shave my head.  I've had mohawks twice, and loved them, and always wanted to just take it all off.  However, everyone knows there's nothing uglier than a bald, fat man.
    On another note, I listened to CD's of Iannis Xenakis almost all weekend.  Picture architecture played as music.  If you're familiar with fractals and other chaos cosmology, it will make perfect sense.  Xenakis' music sounds like my head, the way the notes travel and roll...I fell in love with it immediately (thanks to Bunny for turning me on to him).

February 15, 2001 ***"Kinder, Gentler."
    So I was on my way home from work last night, driving south on 3L Highway, which is a four-lane road with a median in between the north and south lanes.  I'm in the far right lane.  I'm coming up on a gray Lincoln Town Car in the left lane.  Speed limit is 55, which I'm doing.  She, the driver of the Lincoln, is apparently gas-pedal deficient.  I'm almost just next to her, 3/4 of my truck dead even with her, when I notice she's drifting toward me, on the white line between the lanes.
    I drift a bit, thinking she's having trouble with her boat of a car in the wind and rain.
    She continues to drift, as do I...closer...and I lay on my horn.
    She keeps coming.  No discernable turn signal from where I'm at.  She keeps coming and I end up, doing 55, mind you, in the emergency lane.
    I've had my horn on the entire time.  And I am livid.  No reaciton from her.
    I fix my course, get in the left lane to get next to this lady.  No reaction.  All I wanted to do was look at her and, hopefully, get a reaction of, "I'm sorry" or something.  Even though I am as angry as I have ever been.
    Nothing.  No look, no nothing.
    Now, at this point, there are a great many things that I could have done.  Many, many things, both lawful and unlawful.  I did none of them.
    What would my venting have produced?  Would it have made me feel any better?  Would it have taught her a lesson?  The answer to both questions, dear friends, is an unfortunate "no."
    I drove on, I got in front of her, she followed me nearly to my subdivision.  I made no signals, I did nothing.  And it was nearly forgotten this morning.
    Except for the lesson:  they always teach you to drive defensively, but someone has to play offense.  Defense waits for trouble and tries to fix it.  Offense plays to win (i.e. make it to your destination unhurt).  I play offense.  That Lincoln was like Warren Sapp coming after me, trying to sack me, and I evaded it.  Offense is about winning, not waiting.  Not that defense in football, my example, is about waiting, but you get the point.
    Oh, yeah, the point.
    Pay attention while you're driving, realize your blind spots and for god sake, if you hear a horn, pay attention to that.
    This entry is courtesy of your new, kinder, gentler Scot.

February 12, 2001 ***"Silence."
    I saw a bumper sticker today that read, "Silence is the voice of complicity."
    Quite true, quite true.  I didn't keep my mouth shut this weekend.  Called the police on some bootleggers, for one thing.  You might say, "Scot, why would you do that?"  Hmmm...let's see.
    You pay, we'll say, $15.99 for a CD at a local store.  Of that cost, most likely two points, or two dollars, go to the artist.  That's after promotional costs are deducted from the artist's account at their record label, along with manufacturing and other things.  Record companies are nothing but big banks, for the most part.  Then, of that two dollars, the artist's management has to be paid, touring costs deducted, instrument and other miscellaneous things come out.  You're lucky to see a dime or quarter out of that cut.  So, if a bootlegger buys a copy of, say, U2's greatest hits, and copies it twenty times, that would be a lot of money out of their pockets.
    U2 is a bad example, actually.  You're right in thinking that they probably don't need the money.  They're rich and have invested well over their career.  But what of the thousands of other folks who release albums every year and don't "make it" and end up owing their soul to a record company?  They're the ones who pay, along with us, the consumers, who continue to pay skyrocketing CD prices due to bootleggers at sales and flea markets.
    Also, and this may seem a minor thing to most, record companies and artists put a lot of time and energy into the presentation, the booklets, covers and cases.  A bootleg will only give a cheap representation of that aesthetic experience that adds to a CD's appeal.  It's also the easiest way to tell a bootleg...look at the precision with which the CD cover was copied.  Of course, in this digital age, it's easy to copy one CD and have it sound pretty near perfect.  The case, though, is different.
    And, before you ask, no, it's not illegal to buy a CD and dub some copies for a friend or make compilation tapes or disks for yourself.  It's when you're making money from it and the artist is not compensated that a problem arises.
    Whew...enough of that rant.
    Other than that, my weekend was a blast.  Good practice, good radio show, good time with T.  Overall, just a rockin' good time.  The more I do, the more I realize all that I need to do, though.  I'm getting much done, but leaving too many things undone as well.
    Current listening, on this weekend's roadtrip, that is:  Charles Bukowski - Uncensored, Radiohead - The Bends, Queen - Greatest Hits, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Murder Ballads and Manic Street Preachers - This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours.
 

February 10, 2001 ***"Lie Upon Lie."
    The paths that we walk in life are seldom more openly hostile than when they move off from the parallel and become perpandicular to the popular tastes and movements.  The music we listen to, the people we hang out with, the books we read...all of these things are thumbnail sketches of ourselves by which people judge us.
    Lie upon lie.
    The truth can set you free if you give it a sea to swim in, a sea of yourself.  Honesty.  That's the important thing, not only to others, but to yourself even more.  I'm pulled back to a memory of a pictures from Bunny's site some months ago:

    Ain't that the truth?
    Be yourself and be happy about it.
    This entry is dedicated to a few people who shall remain nameless.
 

February 7, 2001 ***"By Golly, I Like Them!"
    I need to clarify something from the last entry.  Music and writing are parts of the references to CD's and books in what my life revolves around.  It's not just reading and listening, but my participative area as well.  Actually, moreso the writing and playing than the listening and reading.  However, as many have said, to be a writer, you have to be a reader first.  Likewise for musical affections and actions.
    I have a doctor appointment and an eye "specialist" appointment coming up at the end of this month and beginning of next month.  The ever closer creeping of my mortality is beginning to patter with heavier footsteps.  "Got a .38 Special up on the shelf / If I start acting stupid, I'll shoot myself."  Warren Zevon sang that a couple decades ago.  Part of me agrees, but then I also realize the finality of that statement.
    Here's another song quote:  "But all I want to do is live / No matter how miserable it is."  That's from Manic Street Preachers' Nicky Wire.  That's a mantra to chant upon waking every single day, I think.
    Secret 9, by the way, is doing better and better.  After what I thought were some rough times, much because of my own anxiety and lack of patience, things are grooving right along.  Bands are so like relationships with lovers.  You come together, learn each other's curves and special spots, places that make things ignite, and that goes on for awhile.  Then you simmer and hopefully find a way to douse the embers with gasoline and go on with it forever.  The simmering is where most folks give up.  Bands come together and begin to write, learning each others' curves, if you will.  Then you find what works best, where the magic happens.  And the simmering, both at the start where you're attempting to find a way to go, and in the middle, where the gears are clicking but need oil.
    Too many images?  Probably, considering something, two things, that, at their hearts, are simply about communication and connection.
 

February 5, 2001 ***"The Anti-Social Consumer."
    First, my thanks to all who responded to the previous entry, "A Treatise."    To those of you who responded somewhat violently and meanly, you can bite me.  To those of you who were cool and simply expressed different viewpoints, I thank you for enriching my world with another point of view.  To those of you who agreed with me, well, maybe we're all crazy, huh?
    This first entry here comes as a result of failed shopping sprees with my beautiful fiance this weekend.  To say that consumerism is dying a quick death due to the nails and cannon fire of incompetent retail workers would be an understatement.  Let me just say this:  I realize that, to a certain extent, I am anti-social.  However, I do play well with others as long as they're fairly intelligent and not too mean/racist/fearful of life.  These people are getting harder and harder to come by.
    Hence, here is my list of favorite links for online shopping...great deals, good people, good service and good products.  Some say that new technology and the internet are building chasms between people.  They're right, but sometimes that disconnection is necessary.  At least for me.

For import CD's and other fine music:  http://www.ab-cd.com
For sports needs and the like:              http://www.mvp.com
For condoms and erotica:               http://www.goodvibes.com
For musical needs & equipment:         http://www.musiciansfriend.com
For Tony Levin stuff:                      http://www.papabear.com
For Prog-Rock & King Crimson      http://www.disciplineglobalmobile.com
For CD's if you don't mind waiting:     http://www.cdnow.com
For books at good prices:              http://www.amazon.com

    As you can see, my life pretty much revolves around CD's, books, sports and sex.  Not a bad life, I swear.  Really!  And it's even better when you don't have to deal with a cashier who can't seem to load the printer paper into her credit card machine and has to tell you to, please, come back later, as I did yesterday.  Horrid.  Wretched.
    If I can't get it online, screw it.  I don't want it anymore.
 
 
 

January 6, 2001 ***"A Treatise."
    This will be the last journal entry for about a month or so.  I have much to do in the way of editing and writing, putting together ideas for an upcoming book and working with Secret 9.  So, in place of journal entries, here is my treatise on life as I see it right now.  It won't be an easy read, though I've made a snapshot of it as much as possible.  It is an effort to put in order my thoughts on living in this age.  The good, the horrid and the sickening.

January 5, 2001 ***"Hell's Doorway?"
    Since I'm on the "hell" trip again, as in what would Satan do? tm and all that jazz, here's an interesting thought I had this afternoon while at work.  We were talking about timecards and punching a timeclock.  The thought occurred to me that most Christians are concerned with the rapture and an antichrist...an event and a person.
    Well, my beliefs don't hold with the personification of the divine entity, so an antichrist doesn't suit me.  Nor does the bible as a divine document, though divinely inspired makes sense.  Allegory.  Stories.  Warnings?
    Warnings about technology, perhaps?
    What is the antichrist is technology?  Not a person at all, but a wave of blips and synapse searing waves.  The waves that weren't here, and wouldn't have been dreamed up at all at the time of the bible's creation, but could have been foreshadowed.  Something that, while in the guise of bringing us all closer via information and communication, is actually alienating us and bringing us all closer to an existentialist-like trauma instead.
    Interesting, huh?  The idea, admittedly, is not completely mine as I've discussed this idea with friends before, but think about your life and how driven you are by technology in your life.  A slave to it, even.  I know I am.  I wouldn't be alive without technology (being diabetic).
    So Satan's in the basement massing his armies of lost souls, who are well-fed, you can be sure, and I suppose Screwtape is turning the dials on the big computers and things up here.
    It is a point of view thing.  If you're absolutely sure what you're looking for, chances are that you don't have a clue.
 

January 1, 2001 ***"Open The Pod Bay Doors Hal!"
    Let me tell you something...I'm not a happy guy.  First things first...I am now, as I have been, and shall remain, a Tampa Bay Buccaneers fan.  However, I reserve the right to not wear the colors, to not root for them, to not voice my fandom if they keep Les Steckel as their offensive coordinator.  Offensive is the key word here.  The Bucs lost in their wildcard playoff game to the Eagles Sunday, 21 to 3.  Horrid.
    Let me make it simple:  Warrick Dunn, for the prior four weeks, was their offense.  I think Dunn had maybe six carries this past Sunday.  Can you say "stupid" kids?  I knew you could.  I'm not saying that I could do a better job.  I played two years of football and am a fan of the game.  Not the stupidity of it, but the strtegy of it.  I love a good hit, but I adore the strategy of setting a defense up and working an offense.  Give me the reins for one game behind the Bucs' offense and I guarantee 30 to 40 points on the board...with some other quarterback, that is.  Again, nothing against Shaun King, but he's not ready and doesnt' have the arm strength.
    The Bucs' worst mistake in the past offseason was letting Trent Dilfer go.  Shaun King could be great, but with the rest of the team ready for prime time, why give a new quarterback a learning curve?  Win now or stop.  Am I impatient?  Been a fan since aroun '79...I don't think so.
    By the way, I'm now rooting for the New Orleans Saints and either the Ravens or Titans, who play each other this coming weekend.  The winner of the Ravens and Titans will win the Super Bowl...that's a lock.
    Now...all the stupid people, please go HOME!  And DON'T breed!  Just stop.  Go into your garage, close the door, turn your car on and breathe deeply!  Is that too mean?  Sorry.  Saw too many morons out driving in the snow over the past few days.
    Oh, and Happy New Year to y'all.  I'm planning a response to my entry from May 24th, I think it was, on Hell.  I have had more responses to that entry than any other over the year and a half I've been doing the journal.  (Thanks to all who've commented.)  More views on that topic will be forthcoming.
    Till later, open the pod bay doors, Hal, I wanna get off!!!
 

December 30, 2000 ***The Year Is Over?!?"
    As the year 2000 comes to an end tomorrow night, I think we should ask ourselves just what the heck the big deal was.  Granted, we can tell our grandkids, should we procreate, that we were around when the clock struck midnight and all hell didn't break loose.  (See the link above for Bunny & Scot's Hell On Wheels Tour For God for more information.)  But, in the long run, so what?
    What have you done this year?
    Not that I'm pointing the finger, but I suppose I'm more in tune with time because I'm seeing mine run out, slowly but steadily.  I'm not young anymore.  I have to be grown-up now.  I hate it.  I still want to wake up in the morning and watch cartoons, but I can't.  I have to go to work.
    I'm having a mid-life crisis at 27.
    Actually, it ain't all that bad.  I'm being a bit melodramatic, of course.  But I've seen health issues arise this year that I didn't think would come, at least not for some time.  Still in control of my destiny, though.  It's strange the will power I have with some things and then none with others.  I'm trying to learn though.
    This year is done.  When the clock strikes midnight on Sunday and the new millenium actually begins, I will begin my life again.  No time like the present, for the future is never certain.
 
 

December 19, 2000 ***"Buc The Rams!"
    Last night's game was one of the most exciting that I've seen in a good long while, and it was made all the better by the fact that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers defeated the St. Louis Rams by a score of 38 to 35 and clinched a playoff berth.  It was astounding.  Not only the fact that Tampa put 38 on the board, but how they did it.  The defense gave up 35 to the Rams, but responded when it counted most.
    It's so nice to have a team that I've been a fan of for so many years to have turned around in the last five seasons and become one of the best.  They're streaky and inconsistent at times, but they're strong and have heart.  And they've defeated the Rams.  The bane of my existence when it comes to sports.  I wonder if Kurt Warner thinks that they lost because God didn't want them to win, like he thanked God for having made them win the NFC Championship last year?  Not enough church?  Didn't tithe enough last week?  I wonder what it might be.
    As I've put down in poems and prose, God doesn't care who wins or loses and doesn't influence the games...God gives the field and the world and it's up to us.  Something that Bucs players who rely on their faith as much as Warner realize.  Shaun King thanked God, as did Warrick Dunn, but as a general thanks, not for the game.
    And my thanks to Warrick Dunn for proving, once again, that it's your heart, not your size.
    My thanks to Shaun King for, even through second-year quarterback mistakes, staying cool.
    My thanks to Warren Sapp for the two sacks and the madness that is Buc defense.
    My thanks to Keyshawn Johnson for having his T.B. coming-out party against the Rams.
    My thanks to God for life, liberty, poetry, music and football.
 
 

December 17, 2000 ***"You've Gotta Be Kidding Me!"
    If you read yesterday's entry, you're probably going to ask me how it went.  Simply put, it went very well.  Exceedingly well, as a matter of fact.  John Reynolds was a fantastic guest who we will be having back on the show again soon.  A veritable mountain of musical knowledge, that man is.
    And we did get to interview Adrian Belew via telephone as well, thanks to John's friendship with the man.  Not to be an unbearable fanboy, but the fact that we got to speak to a man who is a fantastic, well-respected songwriter and member of King Crimson, has played with everyone from Bowie to Zappa...just blows the mind.  And he didn't have to...he was a bit under the weather, but did the promo thing with us and was just as kind and personable as you would imagine.  Super nice guy.
    Those are good things.  It's always nice to meet someone you respect, for whatever reason, and have them be a good person, nice and friendly.  Not that we're all friendly.  God knows that I'm not a friendly guy all the time.  But it's always nice to meet good people.  Adrian Belew goes into that fine category with me which includes the guys in King's X, Savatage, Nick Clooney and Heather Nova.
    Now for the bad part.  Horrid part, really.  We taped the show, as you would expect.  How many people, if they didn't tune in, will buy it that we interviewed Adrian Belew?  *sigh*  The tape deck at the station runs directly from the control board.  As it turns out, the phone patch is not wired through the board, but directly from the phone to the air via the patch.  Hence, on my tape, I have me greeting Mr. Belew and asking a question and...silence...well, you can hear Greg breathing, but it's pretty silent.  Then Greg asks him something.  And there's silence.  You get the picture.  I almost wept when I listened to it at home last night.
    Wretched.
    Every blue sky has a cloud in it somewhere....
 

December 16, 2000 ***"Musical Chairs."
    Our guests on Scriptus Live this afternoon are members of local (Greater Cincinnati) bands from some time ago who are getting together and reuniting for a one-off show called Flashback 2000.  We're getting them on the show thanks to Greg's friendship, and my beginning one, with John Reynolds, a member of one of those bands and all-around cool fellow.  Guitarist, bassist, renaissance man of music.
    The bands are the Denems, Bad Seeds, Dingos and Wanted.  John was in the Bad Seeds.  Mike Hodges, a drummer who's done many sessions and toured with David Bowie, was in the Wanted.  Adrian Belew, who's played with, among others, Frank Zappa, Talking Heads & Nine Inch Nails, and is a member of King Crimson along with having a strong solo career and being one of the most underappreciated songwriters of the last twenty years, was a member of the Denems.  Simply put, there's a lot of talent that's come out of Greater Cincinnati and gone on to do some great work in the musical arts.
    The coolest thing, among all the coolness in general in doing this show, is that John arranged to have Adrian Belew call in to Scriptus today for a short phone interview.  I'm fairly nervous.  And I don't get nervous very often.  I think I've been reading too much Henry Rollins...it seems every journal entry in his books is going off on interviewers and their insipid questions.  Oy vey, baby.  No mas, no mas!  Tengo un dolor de mi cabeza!
    That's Spanish, by the way.
    Well, not the "oy vey" part, but the rest.
    But now, my friends, I must get to practice.  Rhythm sections practice, that is.  2/3 of the band, sans Tim.  It'll be good.  Travis and I need to take a little time and work on some of the transitions in a few of the songs.  We're writing fairly intricate little pieces that, if not full-on-tight, could turn into a mess in the studio or onstage.
    Later, gator....

December 12, 2000 ***"Hearkening Back."
    I was struck today by a fugue of sorts.  Not like the 10th's entry, but more of a fugue back to last year and what I was doing at around this time.  I was in a band.  Working the same job.  Had just put out Soliloquy and was already working on what would become this year's release, The Mirror Suite.  Getting ready for Y2K...yeah, that was the thing.  Y2K.
    I remember the "Y2K Ready Room" at the Airport.  It's just an office now.  I remember people buying jugs of water and bulking up on bread and milk.
    What a sham.  I feel so cheated with the use of hindsight.  Last year's holiday season was so much more eventful.  Total rip off.  The Hell On Wheels Tour For God was a load of fun, though (see the link in the header here).
    All in all, though, 2000 hasn't been a bad year.  A quick one, but not a bad one.  As I sit here reflecting, listening to Tony Levin's World Diary CD, I'm stricken with a lot of regrets, though.  I hate regretting things.  Regret is useless.  Either do it or don't, and once you've made a choice, stick by it and move ahead.
    Easy to say...difficult to do.
    So what's been good about 2000?  Okay...a partial list:  I'm still with T., still going strong.  I've got a new band whose music I adore.  Most of my friends are doing well, a lot of them excelling in their chosen paths.  I put out a new book that has done reasonably well.  I've done some high-profile reading gigs.
    Bad stuff...or stuff to work on:  I've proven myself pretty much  inept at marketing.  Or maybe it's just that poetry is only marketable to poets and most of them are too broke to buy poetry.  No, no, no...actually 97% of my sales are to non-poets, I would estimate.  That's a good thing.  But I'm no marketing guru...something to work on.  Have to quit procrastinating on simple things whilst attacking big chores.  Little becomes big very quickly.
    I don't know.  This is becoming more of a chore than necessary.
    Let's just say that 2001 has to be better in some ways...all ways.  It's got to always excel, get better.  There's got to be better ways, new ways to play and say things.  I despise the complacency that is so terribly easy to achieve in everyday life.  How utterly f*cking boring.  Horrid.
    Open the pod bay doors, HAL...I'm going out....

December 10, 2000 ***"Self-Induced Confusion."
    I was driving home this evening, not feeling terribly well and also being quite tired.  The drive from my door to my fiance's door is exactly one hundred miles.  Plenty of time to get intimate with my thoughts and with music.  Also plenty of time to find ways to amuse myself.  You see, I find news entertaining.  I find wrecks entertaining.  I find a lot of stuff entertaining that the general populace would not.  Friends?  Not particularly entertaining.  Seinfeld?  I never made it through a full episode.  The Simpsons?  That doesn't count because, honestly, I don't think most folks get half the jokes in any episode...much like Northern Exposure, they happen(ed) to be popular for reasons other than those that I find beautiful.
    But I digress.
    Here's a fun thing to do if the conditions are right for it.  A night drive, north on I-75 in Kentucky, with a slight drizzel, the kind that just sends a mist over your windshield.  Barely even enough for the intermittent wipers to be on.  You have to have some progressive rock with you.  My choice on this evening was the latest opus from King Crimson, the constrkction of light.  I was on track 2, the title track.  If you know Crimson, there are some pieces which can completely drag you into them, almost numbing you while also making your blood pump ever faster.  This is one of those tracks.
    Don't turn your windshield wipers on.  Concentrate on the tail-lights ahead of you and how they begin to cut and smear, like through a prism, as the water on your window grows in volume and begins to run.  Keep diving into the song, deeper and deeper.
    The tune is eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds long.  I made it to seven minutes and three seconds before I had to turn the wipers on.
    I felt like I was being sucked into an abyss of adrenalin and sedatives mixing and blurring in my head.  I had the total understanding that I was going to be taken away from this plane of existence and end up someplace else - I don't know where - and everyone's only conclusion would be this:
    The Rapture happened and this un-Christian motherf*cker was the only one who God took?!?!?
    Or, more likely, this:
    Usually it's drummers, but in this case it was a bassist who went up in flames leaving only a small green globule on the seat of his truck.
    Self-induced confusion is nothing new to me.  I'm one of the geeks who, whenever there's a chair that's able to rotate, sits in it and commences to make himself dizzy.  I do it at work all the time, though most folks don't notice any difference in me.  Or so they say.
    The point, though?
    Changing your point of view is a fun thing, especially when you find a way to completely disconnect from reality and create a new one.
    Nifty....
 

December 5, 2000 ***"Shiny Silver."
    Okay, so I've been lacking in updates.  This, I realize.  I just haven't had much to say.  Been very busy and unable to come up with decent things to say.  In reality, everything I've wanted to say has been rather horrid and, thus, I've not burdened you, dear reader, with it.  But today, today I have some interesting points to ponder with you.
    Christmas.
    And no, I shan't go off on the commercialism.  No, not me.  You know, if you've read before, how I feel.  This year, I took a totally different attitude.  I bought gifts for my friends and family and don't give a flying f*ck if anyone gets me anything at all.  I really don't.  I despise opening gifts.  Always have, looking back on my childhood.  But I do enjoy giving gifts, and not even at this time of year.  If I see something that I think someone will dig, I'll generally get it for them, occasionally saving it up for a birthday or something like that.
    You see, Christmas, as it is, means very little to me.  However, the subtext to Christmas, the warmth of people in the midst of the chilly air, is a good thing.  The coming together of families is a good thing.  Spending time with those you like to be around is a good thing.  An extra day off work is a very good thing indeed.  The whole Christianity aspect does nothing for me due to my theological leanings, but I understand and respect the whole thing.  As a matter of fact, I can't wait to hear my mom and her choir sing in the next few days.  That will be awesome.
    But Christmas needs creativity...and smiles.  Like my gift wrapping procedure.  For quite a number of years now, I've used aluminum foil, much like the background of this page, to wrap my gifts.  Why?  Well, first, I really, really like it.  It's easy, it's shiny and it's cool.  You can draw on it and have fun with it.  Second, I'm the only one I've ever seen do it.  And I did it out of necessity one year.  No paper to be had for a birthday present.  Hmmm...yeah...aluminum foil.
    Awesome.
    So show some togetherness this season.  Enjoy the time of year, the chilly breezes, the snow and ice and share the fun of the holiday.  And use foil to wrap your gifts...you'll thank me.  Oh, and having markers and stuff handy to decorate the foil with is a good idea.  Little tip from your Uncle Scot....
 

November 26, 2000 ***"Random Thoughts."
    It's been a while since I did an entry, due mainly to an influx of odd responsibilities and trivial things coming my way.  There were also the occasional very important things that I needed to do.  Hence, this will be an entry of random things I need to get off of my chest.
    First, though my T.B. Buccaneers did win today, and I do believe they'll make a tough playoff push, I'm also aligning myself with the Baltimore Ravens and Oakland Raiders in the AFC and the New Orleans Saints in the NFC.  You have to have options when it comes playoff time, y'know?
    Second, the new band, Secret 9, is coming together rapidly.  My thanks to my longtime friend and confidant, Bunny, for once again running a seamless photo shoot this weekend.  The results can be found at The Secret 9 Gallery.
    Third, it's not the past that haunts most people, but rather how they make the past their future.
    Fourth, it's not so much who's the president, but rather who controls Congress.  Remember that a year from now.
    And finally, fifth, demand from your music the same things that you demand from yourself.  Don't think about that kind of stuff, do you?  Imagine a world of bands that cared more about soul than getting high and having groupies.  Ah, you're right...that would be hell.  Every utopia is actually a dystopia for it takes the differences to make the world go around.  No good without evil and all that jazz.
 

November 20, 2000 ***"Book Fair."
    If you missed the Kentucky Book Fair on this past Saturday, you did indeed miss an incredible event.  Not only were there nearly 200 terrific authors offering everything from cookbooks to limited edition works on Thomas Merton, there were thousands of book fans waiting to buy books and talk books and publishing.  I was in heaven in a lot of ways.
    Though I saw many authors of other topics & genres selling a few more books than I, I suppose it is understandable.  The people who stopped by my table and looked, spoke with me and bought books seemed more readily available for challenges.  That may not be a fair appraisal...perhaps it is simply because I spoke to them and some of the others I did not.  However, in speaking to a few other poets, I think my point is a fair one.
    Is it the way poetry is taught to young people that makes them wary of it?  I think that might be part of it.  I think, though, more than that is the fact that poetry won't let you hide.  Poetry, in general, is truth laid out in a form that can either slice you to ribbons or comfort you while dissecting yourself.  Poetry is not for the weak or the meek.
    But overall, I got to meet some very talented folks who were presenting at the Fair and some very nice and interesting people who were perusing and buying at the Fair.  My hat is off to Cecilia and Ellen and Rita and the whole staff and committee who are responsible for the Kentucky Book Fair.  I hope to return next year, because it was a fantastic experience.
 

November 15, 2000 ***"Enthralled."
    Okay, I admit it...I'm enthralled by the current VH-1 countdown of the 100 Greatest Hard Rock Artists.  I'm watching (as I write this it's late evening of the 14th) and it's great.  Seen some of my favorites already, know some more are coming up.  The best part is seeing other artists' views of some of my favorites, how they were influenced by them and such.  Some of the live footage is cool, too.  Especially in our current here-today-gone-this-afternoon musical world, I think it's a good thing to look back every once in a while.
    So now you're expecting my list, right?  Okay...you've got it.  Not 100, though, just 10.  And my host wouldn't be Carmen Electra, just in case you were going to ask.  I'd have a separate host for each band...just to drag celebrity names through the mud, if I could.  Okay...here's my list for Top 10 Greatest Hard Rock Artists:
10.    Cracker    Dave Lowery & Johnny Hickman's rock/country weirdness
9.      Alice Cooper (original band) Billion Dollar Babies is pure brilliance
8.      Savatage Criss Oliva, most underrated guitarist ever, plus operatic intelligence
7.      Sisters Of Mercy I'd like to see the world through Andrew Eldritch's eyes for a minute
6.      King Crimson Changed the face of not only rock n' roll, but music, period
5.      Living Colour Vernon Reid's guitar plus Corey Glover's voice: awesome
4.      Motorhead Simply because they've hung around and survived so much
3.      The Cult Ian Astbury's voice plus Billy Duffy's pragmatic guitar = incredible songs
2.      King's X I know Rush fans will disagree, but X is the preeminent power trio ever
1.      Manic Street Preachers Intelligence, soul and James Dean Bradfield's voice & guitar
    If you're interested, and I know some of you are, I'm always welcome to contrary opinions.  Send 'em to Scot Kaeff and perhaps we'll have a little run-off in the journal here.
 

November 12, 2000 ***Trent Dilfer & Football."
    No political banter this time...that's why I've not done an entry in a few days.  Just can't handle it.  I'm something of a political junkie...not to a large extent, but I am a follower and a fan of political fiascos, which is basically all politics is.  One large fiasco.
    No, today's entry is about love.  The love a game.  The love of something pure.  And it's about Trent Dilfer, formerly quarterback for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and currently for the Baltimore Ravens.  Trent became a free agent during the last offseason when Tampa didn't pick up the option year on his contract since they were happy with Shaun King's development and saw him as their future.
    I agreed with the move at the time, though I, unlike many Tampa fans I've met online, thought a lot of Trent's play.  Was he perfect?  No way.  Was he a superstar?  No.  Was he a good, solid NFL quarterback?  Yes.  But the main question, did he fit Tampa's system?  No.  That's why I was happy they let him go.  He ended up as the backup quarterback in Brian Billick's Baltimore Ravens system, behind Tony Banks, who has all the potential in the world, but has never quite lived up to it.
    Trent was happy as a backup.  He just wanted to be in football.  He loves football.  That's why he plays.  Not so much the money, though it's good, or the fame, which can be nice.  He just loves the game.  He reiterated those thoughts in a postgame interview today after leading the Ravens to a win, their second straight, over the Tennessee Titans.  Through tears in his eyes.
    He just loves the game.
    Much like Will Clark, whose retirement I talked about a couple weeks ago in an entry, Trent Dilfer is one of those guys who just loves the game.  That's why he plays.  And it's refreshing to see and hear about.
    I'm officially removing the Baltimore Ravens from my list of teams I don't care about from a few weeks ago.  They're up there on the list of teams I'm rooting for now.  They deserve it.  They've dragged themselves up out of a hole and are playing good football again.  And Trent Dilfer is a large part of the reason why.  In games like these, the system a player is in sometimes means just as much as their own ability.  Trent Dilfer was well-served to go to the Ravens and wait his turn...just because he loves the game.  Well done Trent, and I wish you well.  Go Bucs and go Ravens.
 

November 7/8, 2000 ***"You Should Be Ashamed."
    Okay, last year during the election, the main one of which was for governor here in Kentucky (if memory serves me correctly...it is late as I write this), I was voter number 23 of the day when I got to the polling place, a firehouse.  It was 5:30 in the afternoon, with the polls closing at 6:00 pm.  23rd for the entire day.  Shameful.
    And I realize I've made mistakes in the past as far as voting and my take on it.  I've recanted, though, and hold to my current stance.
    That being said, I was terribly surprised that, at 6:30 am this morning, I was stuck in a line out the door of the firehouse to vote.  Where were all these people before?  Does it take a presidential election to get people out?  Terrible.  As I wrote in an e-mail to T. today, I wore my little "I Voted" sticker like a purple heart.  You people who only vote when goaded into it by way too many television commercials just suck.  Bite me.  I'm glad you were out, but come on...do it all the time, ya pansies!
    And another thing:  the Electoral College.  Do you understand it?  Here's the basic thing, a very quick thumbnail of it.  When the Founding Fathers set our republic up for popular elections, there weren't the strict party lines we have today.  There were factions which were or became Democrats, Whigs, Federalists, etc.  Their fear was that in a Presidential election, there would be so many factions that no real popular winner could be determined.  Hence, the Electoral College.  A group of people who would vote based on their district (like in Maine's case) or state's popular vote.  They're a safety valve.  And, of course, with the current and for a long time past two-party system (for the most part), it makes sense because if you win certain states, you win, popular vote be damned.  It was intended to keep some schmo from South Carolina who had a large plantation and could buy his way into influential folks' favor but had no political experience from winning the election.  It kept things fair.  Well, until Henry Clay and John Quincy Adams sort of mucked things up in the 1880's, but even with that, it's worked.
    Just think:  you could win the majority of the vote and lose the election!  And some Electoral College voters will vote against their state's vote...it's happened eight or nine times.  No ramifications, but strange.
    American politics...as good as apple pie on a sunny day.
    Currently, as I write this, the guessing games are still going on...and I'm going to bed.  I've been watching this since I came home today...I can take no more...I can't take it...*sigh*...Hunter?  Are you there?
 

November 6, 2000 ***"For Fear Of A New World."
    First, of course, everyone get out and vote tomorrow, or today if you're reading this on the 7th.  I urge you to vote your conscience, not a platform or a party line.  Take the time now and investigate, outline who you're voting for and don't be afraid to take notes with you into the booth.
    You know my write-in candidates for president, Hunter S. Thompson and George Carlin, because I know they would be honest, hard working and do a far better, more effective job than either of the major party candidates on the ballot this year.
    And I will sleep tonight in fear.  I will wake tomorrow in fear.  I will rest my head tomorrow night knowing a great fear.
    Fear and loathing, that is.  Not to rip Mr. Thompson, but what else can you feel at this point?  I feel bad for my lovely lady...she's been deluged with political candidates and advocates calling her house asking for her vote!  We don't get that up north here.  Just the tidal wave of mailings and occasional door-to-door caller.  I'll say it again, there should be a cap on the amount of money spent by candidates of any kind for any office, with the tops being presidential races.  They get, say, a million apiece to spend, and that's it.  The rest will come from news coverage and live debates and traveling.  Mayors?  A hundred dollars.  Governors?  Five thousand.  Cap it like the NFL and MLB have done to salaries.  No special interest money, no bargains under the table.
    Ah, well...that's a pipe dream, huh?  Much like my vain hope that enough people would read my journal and, somehow, some way, Hunter and George would be standing at a podium when I turn on my television on the morning of the 8th, thanking the American people for their confidence and hopes.
    Ya gotta dream, baby, ya gotta dream....
 

November 2, 2000 ***"The Thrill Is Gone."
    Will Clark, my favorite baseball player, retired today.  It's something I didn't see coming, especially since his resurgence after being traded to St. Louis for the last two months of this past season.  He played for fifteen years in Major League Baseball, with the San Francisco Giants, Texas Rangers, Baltimore Orioles and the St. Louis Cardinals.  If you look in my hat rack, you'll see Giants caps and Rangers caps.  The Giants are still my favorite team, because I began liking baseball around the time that Will Clark started in with them (I was 12 or so) and for some reason took a liking to him and the team.  Probably because we both played first base.
    Will Clark was a tough player, no nonsense at all.  He had fun, that you could tell, but when it came time to hit, his world revolved only around hitting.  Holding a runner on, he was one of the best.  He didn't chew tobacco either...he chewed gum.  My autographed baseball and card are two of my coolest pieces of sports memorabilia.
    I'm sad, but I'm also glad that he got to thrill again before he retired.  Upon being traded to the Cardinals this year, he hit home runs in his first four games filling in for the injured Mark McGwire.  He also hit a home run in his first major league at-bat.
    Most people, when they play baseball, try to be "like" someone, their hero.  Mine were Will Clark and Pete Rose.  I wasn't anywhere near good enough to be anything like either one as a first baseman, but I tried to emulate their better points.  Play hard, but have fun.  It's a game but it can mean the world sometimes.  Baseball is those guys to me.  Will only got to the World Series once, in '89 in the "Earthquake Series," and the Giants were swept by the A's.  He ends his career with a lifetime .303 batting average and over 1,200 RBI's.
    One of my heroes retired today.  I'm sad, but I'm happy that I got to see him play several times, got to cheer when he hit home runs on television in the last couple months, and got to see one of the truly great people in Major League Baseball.
    The Thrill is gone, long live The Thrill.
    Thanks Will.
 
 

October 31, 2000 ***"Halloween From A New View."
    I'm used to the Halloweens that I remember.  Putting together a costume and tearing through the neighborhood here in search of loot.  That's all it was:  legalized looting.  And it was wonderful.  With growing older came the knowledge of the roots of Halloween, and thus an interest in the darker, more fun aspects of what was going on and how Hallmark-ish the whole thing was made.  But, tonight was a totally different thing.  Y'see, my folks had family things to attend to, so I agreed to give out the candy to the little imps who would come calling.  Never had done this before.  It was, indeed, the other side of the mirror.
    First Prize:  goes to the girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen in the Iron Maiden shirt and face paint like Eddie, the Maiden mascot.  From her smile when I reacted with, "That is so cool!" I can guess that an older brother or uncle or something probably let her borrow the shirt and painted her up.  It was very cool though.
    Second Prize:  goes to the li'l feller of about ten who had a skull mask and a plastic chest which exposed his ribs and heart and such...and also bled.  It was covered and had a pump which pulsed "blood" through the exposed cavity.  He even let Travis, Deron and I play with the pump.  He got several extra pieces of candy for that.
    Third Prize:  goes to the two girls who, though they looked eighteen or nineteen, were probably fourteen or fifteen.  They were showing a lot of leg, though, and flounced about nicely.  They'll make fine cheerleaders and c*ckteasers someday, if they aren't already.  They got Paydays just for being so mean.
    Overall, though, it was pretty pathetic.  I saw three Britney Spears costumes, none of which was very believable.  Several witches and devils, the camouflaged kids and the various masks.  The thing that was terrible was the apathy with which the kids approached Halloween.
    When I went out, from age 8 till about 14, the goal was all about quantity.  If you didn't come home with a pillowcase, or two, full to the top, you hadn't worked hard enough.  It was about tearing into it.  It was about FREE CANDY and all you had to do was bust your tail walking, or running, around and saying, "trick or treat," and "thank you."  When I went out, we literally ran between houses and the end goal was to make it around the ENTIRE subdivision by the time Halloween officially closed down.  We succeeded most years.
    Heck, after age 11, when I'd been diagnosed as diabetic, I still went into it with the same vigor, though I couldn't eat the stuff I got.  I gave it to friends and kept a few pieces for emergencies.  These kids tonight, well, the fullest bag I saw was maybe, MAYBE, a quarter of the way full.  They were walking around.
    Free stuff, just hustle a bit.
    Too much to ask, I'm afraid.
    And people thought my generation was apathetic.
    Good lord, welcome to the future, you bunch of pansies.  And to the ones who did run, those precious few, and put thought into their costumes, my hat's off to ya.  Way to be.  Scream on!
 

October 29, 2000 ***"Another Kooky List (NFL)."
    In response to several requests, this day's entry is a list.  A list of teams from the National Football League, to be more specific.  You see, I am a football fan and those of you who are longtime readers of my journal or know me know that my favorite team for most of my life, at least as far back as I can remember, is the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  It has been a harrowing ordeal for a long time.  I picked them because of their (old) uniforms and gradually grew to understand football.  Up until around '96, having the Bucs as my favorite team could be very painful, but their current status as up-and-comers-and-possible-contenders has made it well worth it.
    But folks always want to know who else I like.  After all, I am a football fan, first and foremost.  I'll watch just about any football game.  I like the strategy, the play designs, the personnel moves...the whole thing.  So what follows is my breakdown of the NFL, the teams I like, the teams I hate and the teams I just don't care about one way or the other.
Teams I Like & Will Root For:    Buffalo Bills, Cincinnati Bengals, Tennessee Titans, Kansas City Chiefs, Oakland Raiders, New Orleans Saints, Philadelphia Eagles
Teams I Tolerate & Root For Sometimes:    Miami Dolphins, San Francisco 49ers, Indianapolis Colts, Pittsburgh Steelers
Teams I Hate & Always Root Against:    Green Bay Packers, Chicago Bears, Detroit Lions, Minnesota Vikings, Dallas Cowboys, Washington Redskins, Seattle Seahawks, New York Jets, St. Louis Rams
Teams I Don't Care About & Think Should Be Replaced:    Arizona Cardinals, New York Giants, Carolina Panthers, Atlanta Falcons, New England Patriots, Cleveland Browns, Jacksonville Jaguars, Baltimore Ravens, San Diego Chargers, Denver Broncos.
    I suppose a few comments are necessary.  The first four teams in the hated category are from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' division, so they get in there as adversaries of the closest kind.  Also, when I say some teams in that last category should be replaced, what I mean is that some, like the Cardinals have had a terribly futile existence and should be put out to pasture, while some like the Patriots are just boring except to watch them lose.  I'm horrid, aren't I?
    Oh, and the New York Yankees, were they a football team, would be in the hated category.  Just in case you were going to send an e-mail and ask.

October 26, 2000 ***"Finally, But Not Really."
    I'm finally feeling a bit myself again...still coughing, but much better.  Sickness is a way of telling yourself how good you really have it when you don't pay attention to how you feel.  Of course, if you have to pay attention to your health everyday for one reason or another, it's just another day, just another day, just another day anyway.
    Taking things for granted is a human trait.  A sickness in itself.  We all do it and it's always a bad thing.  Our health, our parents, our friends, our lovers...whatever or whomever, it always happens.  My advice for the day is to take a quick inventory and, even if it's only in your head, thank the deity of your choice for the wonderful people and things you have in your life.
    In other news, I'm going to pop at some point.  You guys know where and you guys know why.  Common sense is so much not a part of current business practices anywhere.  I say this just as much because of what several friends of mine are going through at work as myself.  I firmly believe that any company bigger than ten people or so is just plain too big.  Once you get beyond that point, all humanity starts to be sucked away into the wallet.  And, sure, we all want to make money, and the more, the better.  But at what price to our civility and our hearts?
    Oh, sorry...I'm an American, born and bred, right?  It's all about capitalism, right?  Those of you who are sensitive to language may want to turn away for the next line and just skip ahead, but:
    Fuck that.
    Life cannot be all about money, though I realize from looking at my bills for insulin and syringes and other medical supplies that without my job and it's attached insurance, I would be up a creek and slowly dying without my support of capitalism.  So I'm stuck on a  pointy fence.
    And I'm not a communist either.  Read The Communist Manifesto and even for all the good ideas, I do realize that humans are a tad too greedy and power-hungry...just look at what happened to the Soviet Union.  Socialism, though, if implemented correctly, makes a lot of sense and can still contain elements of capitalism, the good ones, the ones which cause us to strive for things, that make life what we Americans apparently want.
    And I'm rambling.
    Sorry.
    It's early as I write this.
    But it's going to be too late very soon if people of my generation don't start caring about these things....
 

October 20, 2000 ***"I HATE THIS!!!"
    There is nothing worse than being sick.  There is nothing worse than a hacking, wheezing cough.  There is nothing worse than being miserable like this.
    Okay, I'm being a bit too whiny, I realize.  I started feeling badly last week and actually stayed home on Tuesday.  Never quite got right.  It was more fatigue than anything, and I guess that's what gave way to the cold I have now.  I'm pretty sure it's not the flu...if it were, I'd be totally out of commission right now, as opposed to just miserable.
    One good thing, though, is that I got to watch my favorite t.v. show of all time this morning.  I'm home from work again and was trying to get back to sleep after breakfast...wasn't happening.  So I turned on the television and, lo and behold, at 8 AM on A & E, there it was:  Northern Exposure.  Aside from the occasional cough, I forgot I was sick for an hour.
    But I hate feeling weak like this.  I hate feeling fatigued, and that's what most of this is.  Maybe it was my sleep patterns or just overworked or just overstressed...who knows.
    I'm going back to bed now, though.
 

October 15, 2000 ***"Politics & The Presidency."
    Once again, the time is creeping up on us...we have to choose a new president.  It will be a new one this time, you know.  I have, in previous entries, spoken of the faults of Al Gore and the ineptitude of George W. Bush.  Hmmm...something funny about being Pro-Life and yet also supporting the Death Penalty.  I can't get over that.  How do you balance that out?  But then, I also think that folks in prison should pay their own way.  Prisons should be slave-houses...have them make leather goods, steel goods...basic stuff to earn their keep.  Cut down on manufacturing costs too.  The labor would be very cheap...they get paid just enough to cover their food and basic living rations, plus a little bit for magazine subscriptions and the like.  Other than that, the revenue goes to the state and, if the person killed someone, to the person(s)' family or families.
    But I suppose that's a bit too pragmatic.
    Last time we voted for the Presidency, as longtime readers of the journal know, I wrote in my vote for Hunter S. Thompson and Warren Zevon.  Given the choices on the actual ballot, I think I made the right choice.  Some would say I wasted my vote...however, if there is ever a vote "wasted" then there is no point in voting at all.  It's all about choice.  If you don't like the choices on the ballot, create your own, someone you trust and think would do a good job.  Just because someone hands you a bowl of vomit doesn't mean you have to take it...go make your own soup with better ingredients.
    This time, my ballot will carry these two men:
    Hunter S. Thompson & George Carlin.
    Honesty, integrity and humor.  No bullshit.  The truth, whether you like it or not.  Thompson is a drug and alcohol riddled man who has seen the best and worst of politics for the last thirty years...he knows the game.  Carlin, while not pure as the driven snow, has a knack for cutting through the red tape and getting right to the heart of the matter, pointing out the euphemistic junk that bogs down our culture and tracing a path to the better way.
    You want a bridge?  You want people who you know will do a good job?  Don't look to career politicians...there should be NO career politicians.  Look to two men who can do the job.  They won't want the job, that I can almost guarantee.  That's why they should be the ones to have it, to take this county back to some state of honor, respect and honesty.
 

October 14, 2000 ***"Cold, Calculated Respect."
    I've recently been accused of being cold and calculating because I did something out of respect.  That is, I put something to rest, which is where it belonged, and did so in a thoroughly professional and respectful manner.
    You see, sometimes people let their personal interests get in the way of respect and of doing the right thing.  They worry about their feelings and the chance to be seen as opposed to the reality of the situation.
    Not that those things aren't important...personal interests are indeed.  But, considering the situation I speak of, the family meant more ("family" being used as a metaphor, of course).
    Simply put, through this cryptic little journal entry, the situation demanded the actions I undertook.  Period.

October 10, 2000 ***"You Think You're Tough?"
    Toughness is something that has many measuring sticks.  Is tough the football player?  Is tough the politician?  Is tough the writer?  We all have our own standards.  My idea of tough is being challenged.  Tough to me, for a long time, was visions and ideas consisting of Pete Rose, Galileo, Gandhi, Rollins, Emerson, Warren Sapp and Hunter Thompson.  All for different reasons, of course.
    Tough, though, is someone accepting the challenge of diabetes.  I'm diabetic and I have not, for some time, been very tough.  I've not been exercising enough, though I have changed my eating habits dramatically.  Been diabetic, well, diagnosed as such, since a week before my eleventh birthday.  Sixteen years.
    I know a couple people who've lived with it longer, one fellow who's had a kidney/pancreas transplant which was very successful, one who had one that was more complicated.  Both have had eye troubles, one has had hand troubles.  You see, not only does diabetes wreck your digestive processes (real quick: your pancreas secretes insulin, which allows glucose in your bloodstream to enter and nourish your cells, much like a key...diabetics either don't produce insulin or don't produce enough) but it messes with other things as well.  Your circulatory system, for instance, which can have terribly damaging ramifications on your heart, kidneys, eyes and sexual functions.  Your nervous system, which can make you more susceptible to things such as carpal tunnel syndrome.
    Basically, diabetes is like an iceberg:  the things you know about are only the beginning...there's much more beneath the surface that, even if you take perfect care of yourself, might come to haunt you.
    I need to make some heavy changes.  I'm not in danger of anything yet, but the warning signs have been passed on the road and I need to take a detour.  The last thing I want is to end up a blind, impotent fifty-year old loser kicking himself with a barrage of "should have's".
 

October 8, 2000 ***"Eating My Childhood."
    T. and I had lunch at a Roy Rogers Restaurant today.  I think it's the only one left in the Greater Cincinnati area and we'd stumbled upon a sign for it on I-71 some months ago but couldn't find it.  We found it today, still standing, still serving Double R's and fries.  It was good.  Very good.  I remember my folks taking me to the one that used to be in Newport, the smell of the burgers with ham on them.  Delicious.  Prior to either of us taking a bite, I told T. that we were eating my childhood.  Nothing like putting a pretentious ring on lunch, huh?
    There was a lot of introspection today, and during this past week, actually.  Lots of putting to rest some of my fears and weirdness.  I've spent a lot of time yesterday and this morning throwing things away.  Old lyric notebooks, old flyers from gigs and things like that.  Not that I'm completely parting with my history, but there are some things that, if you let them hang around, morph from memories to ghosts very quickly.
    I'd like to throw away a good deal more than I'm going to be able to.  I'm sifting through CD's and things like that, books that are gathering dust on my shelves, all in the hope of cleaning out some space for me to begin writing again.  I'm getting snippets and pieces of poems, stuff that needs to be edited down.  I'm working on editing a friend's work for his book too.  I've spent a lot of time working on lyrics for Secret 9, my new band.  That's going very well.  There's nothing like playing music with two people you know very well, are friends with and trust implicitly.  Especially since one of the members is a fairly new musician, but an artist in his own right beyond music, the boundaries of what we're doing musically are fairly transparent.  As we grow together, things will get better and better.  It's quirky, progressive hard rock with intelligence and soul.
    Enough about that for right now.
    Let's just leave it at this:  some things are changing and some are stable and solid, but it's all getting better every day.
    Oh, wait...I almost forgot about work tomorrow....
 

October 6, 2000 ***"Moral Victories Ain't Worth Crap."
    And it is true:  moral victories ain't worth crap.  Except to those who gain them...then they'll buy you a decent night's sleep and not much else.
    The MLB playoffs are going on.  The Seattle Mariners, sans Ken Griffey, Jr., advanced to the ALCS today.  Pretty neat.
    Best Sign Award:  "Hey Jr., How's The Vacation?"  Obviously in referenced to the fact that Seattle, with Brett Tomko and Mike Cameron, who were traded for Griffey, is still in the postseason and Grif's at home in Florida watching the televised games.
    Sometimes having a superstar is not the best way to make a team.
    However, my favorite team, the S.F. Giants, with Bonds and Kent, are doing alright.  Baseball is fun again.  I still hold my loyal love for the Giants, which began because Will Clark was and is my favorite player and that's who he came up to the big leagues with.  Then there's that whole Seattle w/o Griffey thing, which is exciting.  I like the Oakland A's too...a great young team.  And, of course, Will Clark is now a St. Louis Cardinal, so I'm on that train as well.  All in all, it's a great time to be a baseball fan
    And I hate the Yankees.  But who doesn't?
    But remember kids, in baseball as in life, moral victories ain't worth crap.  It's all about guts and runs and playing your heart out when it counts.
 

October 3, 2000 ***"Days Of Fear And Loathing."
    There will be a presidential debate tonight.  Gore and Bush, without the harassment of other smaller parties, will duck and weave, ebb and flow with each other, reading from carefully scripted and deftly memorized lines, waiting for a slipup into which they can insert one of the clever one-liners that their highly paid lackeys wrote for them over the last month.
    It's not a debate so much as a pro wrestling match.
    One thing really