Author: elvis

Let’s Pretend

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Let’s pretend it’s my birthday. And let’s pretend you’re all going to get together and buy me these. That store was right across from my hotel in hollywood last weekend, but somehow I never got over there while they were open. And maybe that’s a good thing, for my wallet’s sake.

Let’s pretend it’s my birthday.

And let’s pretend you’re all going to get together and buy me these.

Dsc0099-3 Dsc0093-2

That store was right across from my hotel in hollywood last weekend, but somehow I never got over there while they were open. And maybe that’s a good thing, for my wallet’s sake.

puddle-deep wallow in self-pity

elvis6 Comments

I posted something last night that was a puddle-deep wallow in self-pity. The kinda shit that makes me want to bitch-slap myself. It makes me angry, you know, when I feel like that. I get angry with my own inability to express myself verbally, by inability to just spit out what bothers me. So I […]

I posted something last night that was a puddle-deep wallow in self-pity. The kinda shit that makes me want to bitch-slap myself.

It makes me angry, you know, when I feel like that. I get angry with my own inability to express myself verbally, by inability to just spit out what bothers me.

So I go mute – and the muteness makes me angrier. I’m angry and want to be left alone, when what i need is contact; I isolate myself from the treatment I need.

It becomes a cycle, a spiral, and the only things I can think to get me the fuck out of it require that I reach out.

Even now I’m thinking, fuck this, I want to delete it, I’m just fucking whining.

I’m in that teeth-griding state of low-grade irritation; I’m looking for someone to hit, metaphorically. I need to take the slow-boil of rage I’ve had sitting behind my eyes, in my neck and shoulders, and point it at something.

How many times have a written this same fucking entry? This is why I think I should give up blogging.

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…never write

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I’m back at that point where people are asking me if I’m mad at them, wondering why I don’t write. I don’t fucking know. Like I said recently, sometimes the shark gets you. I can’t seen to communicate at all – I’m sittin’ here alone this eve – family gone again for a short trip […]

I’m back at that point where people are asking me if I’m mad at them, wondering why I don’t write.

I don’t fucking know. Like I said recently, sometimes the shark gets you.

I can’t seen to communicate at all – I’m sittin’ here alone this eve – family gone again for a short trip – and feeling like unplugging phones and shutting down my internet connection and just drinking myself stupid, wishing I had some sorta goofballs that’d knock me into dreamland for a good day and a half.

Maybe not blogging is the new blogging.

What do you think you’re looking at, Sugar Tits?

elvis8 Comments

I’m not sure where this picture came from. But it rules. And I have to say, I’m utterly and completely taken with the phrase “sugar tits“. Is it a kind of bird? A candy? a frosted fried dough confection? You know, it’s the kind of thing I’d actually call someone, in a bar or in […]

I’m not sure where this picture came from. But it rules.

Mel Gibson Sugar Tits.0

And I have to say, I’m utterly and completely taken with the phrase “sugar tits“. Is it a kind of bird? A candy? a frosted fried dough confection?

You know, it’s the kind of thing I’d actually call someone, in a bar or in bed. You know it’s true – how many of you can hear me say it? How ya doin, Sugar-tits?

But aside from that – and, you know, looking great in a kilt – I’m not Mel Gibson. Trust me on that.

How I Spent my Summer vacation

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Here’s photographic evidence of how I spent my summer vacation. Sometimes you get the shark, and sometimes… …the shark gets you. (click that for a bigger view)

Here’s photographic evidence of how I spent my summer vacation.

Sometimes you get the shark, and sometimes…

Help Help Shark-2

…the shark gets you.

(click that for a bigger view)

flyin’ south

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I had this idea I’d do some writing while I was alone, but it wound up as predicted; at work late every day, and then sapped of will when I got home. I started at least three blog entries, all of them now languishing. Ah. Such is life. Today i fly south to Los Angeles […]

I had this idea I’d do some writing while I was alone, but it wound up as predicted; at work late every day, and then sapped of will when I got home. I started at least three blog entries, all of them now languishing.

Ah. Such is life.

Today i fly south to Los Angeles to meet up with the family – my daughter’s birthday (dinner at House of Blues), and beyond that I don’t even know what our plans are. My only items of interest are stopping in at Sunset Tattoo (just because I’m staying near it), Musso and Frank for martinis, and beyond that, I don’t care. I imagine the kids will want to visit Olvero Street and the La Brea tar pits (because they always want to do those things), but I’m pretty much down with anything that doesn’t include work. Likely there’s also some plan to go celeb spotting in some night spot or other (Wait, I’ll bring my checklist).

Whatever – it’s the going I love. I need to find a job where I can travel and write for a living.

Hot as Hell and Time Alone

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It’s been hotter than hell the last few days here in northern CA. The kind of days where I don’t feel like being anywhere near a computer. Not just hot for here – hot for anywhere, anywhere that’s not AZ or NM or some death-dry desert. It’s the kind of hot we almost never her […]

It’s been hotter than hell the last few days here in northern CA. The kind of days where I don’t feel like being anywhere near a computer.

Not just hot for here – hot for anywhere, anywhere that’s not AZ or NM or some death-dry desert.

It’s the kind of hot we almost never her here – when it doesn’t cool at night, when the house is as hot in the morning as it was the night before.

The kind of hot that blows out transformers and causes rolling blackouts. Today, we’re not allowed to turn on our office lights at work, and if it gets worse, they’ll start shutting down less-essential systems in order to keep vital network and data systems on line.

It’s the kind of heat where i think about putting the top back on my Jeep; the gearshift knob (an 8 ball) was literally so hot it hurt my hand to shift gears, the steering wheel was uncomfortable to touch.

Even a swimming pool doesn’t help – when the pool is 95 degrees and one can over-heat in the water.

I like the heat, usually. I like to sweat, to feel the hot air on my skin, the sun on my shoulders. But not like this. I need more tropical in my tropical heat; island breeze, tropical rain.

I’m not a desert creature. No bone-dry air and smog. I need wind and sea with my heat.

Starting tomorrow, I’m alone for the week, family off to southern CA. I have the house to myself, and as usual, I look forward to my few days of silent, empty house.

I always hope I’ll write; though more often, I wind up simply working, and then enjoying the peace and silence of a house with no kids, watching movies I’ve been saving. Having the house empty winds up almost a vacation. I usually make plans for things I’ll do; dinners, or strip clubs, or movies I’ll go see by myself, or things I’ll cook or projects I’ll finish. And almost always, it winds up not happening. The pleasure of solitude wins out, and I spend by night or two or three simply decompressing. Doing nothing at all.

This time? We’ll see.

Kick In the Eye

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And he spoke of pastures green
I was never told why
Each journey lasts an age
And my throat feels dry
It must be the lesson
Hidden deep inside
It must be the lesson
So roll the tide

So I began the crossing
My throat burned dry
Searching for Satori
The kick in the eye
I am the end of reproduction
Given no direction
Every care is taken
In my rejection

Kick in the eye

Every care is taken
With my rejection
And my abduction
To my addiction
Every care is taken
With my protection
And my abduction
From my addiction

Kick in the eye

-Bauhaus, Kick in the Eye

I wish I had something meaningful to follow that up with, or some meaningful reason to post it, but the truth is that I was looking for a line about a poke in the eye and wound up on this instead.

And I was looking for that only because I feel like I’ve had the classic poke in the eye with a sharp stick. I’ve got that walked into a door look going . And the worst part is, I have no idea what I did to my eye. I’d rather have a punch to make the story good, show you the skinned knuckles to go with it.

Grumble. I need an icepack. And a long island ice tea, while I’m at it.

Kid, have ya ever been arrested?

elvis10 Comments

“Kid, we only gotone question. Have you ever been arrested?”

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice’s Restaurant Massacre, with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all the phenome… – and he stopped me right there and said, “Kid, did you ever go to court?”

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, “Kid, I want you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W …. NOW kid!!”

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W’s where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me!

–Arlo Guthrie, Alice’s Restaurant

I didn’t have have to pay fifty dollars and pick up the garbage in the snow. I didn’t have the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossies with the cirles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what it was and how it could be used as evidence against me.

But yes sir Officer Obie, I have been arrested.

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