rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

Last Will and Teastament: The Massive Killers Piece Part 2
(On the Ascendancy of the Abyss, the Magic of Denial and the End of punkrockblues)

      ..... this is after all, a music blog.

     Over the last year I've purchased all 4 Killers CDs, had to buy 'Sam's Town' twice as it was in the player when my house burned down. As always I bought them out of order but have found small warm places in my heart for all of them. As I type this, their newest CD 'Day and Age' sits perched defiantly at #6 in Billboard's (and thus, America's) Top Ten, proving once and for all that my credibility as a wannabe rock critic is just gone, daddy, gone.

     Number SIX, fer chissakes.

    But one lokes what one likes and I really like this band because thewir entire body of work makes me play air guitar, lip synch singalong and most importantly, can make me laugh w/tears in my eyes, like I'm actually connecting on some real level w/these 4 classically trained control freaks who clearly want to take over the world. Still I am moved by their vaguer than vauge sentiments that may have little surface meaning, but to this old dog sounds remarkably like an intelligent heart asking 'Why?" ( the only real question. no?) w/both question marks and exclamation points. And in this day and age, that's enough for me.

     I told you we were doomed, right?
     Well, I've decided that when the wolf comes to MY door, I'm gonna eat the motherfucker.   
     The magic of denial!

     Now I could go on and on, like I did in my longhand notebook, about the pretentious bombast of the Killers' brushed chrome rush of talent on fire that skims the psychic nerves w/tantalizing high notes suggesting not only the existence of perfection, but the possibility of yr place in it as well, all carried on highwaves of Ronnie Vannucci's drums and the Paul McCartney on Bruce Thomas bass rumbling melodies of Mark Steuremer's bass or the dazzling fragments of higher composition that seem to snap out of guitarist Dave Kuening's pedalboard w/alarming regularity and of course there could be pages and pages of praise for the vocal wonder that is Brandon Flowers, but that'd all just be wannabe rock critic crap and I have no credibility, remember?

     Number SIX!!!

     In any event, the Killers are a great band and don't need my help andd I've basically stopped wondering if anyone else feels the same way as I do when I listen to them, or whether that's important, or maybe I make it too important adnw ho gives a fuck when we could all be on fire by midnight and all that crap that comes up when you (I) think too much. So what else to say?

     This page started out as a love letter to Mott the Hoople written by a  man about 2 bad decisions away from a nervous breakdown.

    Now it's like, what? 6 bad decisions later and I'm still here. Must have made a good one here and there. huh?

     Let's see, since I started typing this crap I've gone through one marriage (Lynn and I are going  on a date to see 'Watchmen' next month. She say's hi!), about 15 jobs (comin' up on a year at the Western Convenience, where I am loved, appreciated and have finally found a home), a 3 month relationship wreck w/Jackie (saw her last week, she's getting married in April, seems really happy for once and ALSO says hello), enough family drama, trauma, betrayal and bad behavior (especially mine) to fill 2 seasons of the Sopranos, have seen my littl barband Flashback grow into a showcase for my friend Rob Poulignot (he's singing everything now, and it's given us a new lease on life) and am now excitedly looking forward to the upcoming Tension Envelope reunion show in April. It's not wasted on me that a lot of people are going waaaaaaaaaaaaay out of their way to make this happen and I am not going to let them down. The theatre's booked, we get it for a full day of rehearsal as well as the entire day of the show. All I had to do was ask for the key.

     Ihave work to do and as much as I used to love coming here and typing at y'all, iys become obvious to me that my beloved little punkrockblues has become little more than the longest and most boring 'argument' between pinhead me and pinhead Jim. Y'now when I came here all I really wanted to do was believe in rock and roll again and I think all Jim's evet wanted was to win something.

     So in the name of Lesterfarian charity, Jim, I concede. You win. She's all yours. I hope you enjoy the victory, it's not just any Christian who can waste three years of his ministry shouting down an aging punk rocker who just wanted to talk about Mott the Hoople, I'm sure Jesus would be proud.


     So, later guys, this ain't goodbye, I'll turn up somewhere and as, always, I can be reached at timbyrnes@antimusic.net   But for the next little while I have a rock and roll show to organize, promote and enjoy the hell out so it's a minor adiue for this dude but I betcha I'll be back before you know it, not killing babies and selling DVDs. But for now, I got a Tension Envelopes show to practice.........................



(Loudly into microphone: FUCK YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND >>>>)

Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:43 | link | comments (1)

Second to Last Will and Testament: The Massive Killers Piece Part One

    ( I Hear the Good Girl Died: On the Random Nature oif Life; Regarding Regret in Reference to Excellence and,            Eventually, the Killers )

     Much like that other self-referential nose on a stick, Pete Townshend, I too once hoped to die before I got old and, again much like Ol' Snagglesnoot I have failed to do so.l  Which I'm just about ready to recognize as a good thing overall and not some overblown dramaqueen, insurmountable burden which can make for both losy poetry and losy conversation. So what's left when one sheds the theatrical death wish? Well, whattaya know, it's freakin' life. Good ol' life! In all it's mollassic tedium and flashes of mythic, and i stress mythic, glory. Boring? Yeah, maybe most but not ALL the time. Hard? Again sometimes. And of course we all know life's boundless capacity to, well, suck. But you know what?

     That's all.

     I mean, yeah, life sucks, right? I mean right this very minute you7 and yr family are being pinned down by crossfactional gunfire in a one room mudhut somewhere in the cold third world, right?

    And if yr not, then shut the fuck up, send some money to the Red Cross, consider yrself lucky, pray if you must for fer Lester's sake GET ON WITH IT!

     The Sex Pistols' sang of 'no future'. I figured out, far too late as itr happens, that they meant no future would be HANDED to you. You had to make it. But no. Dumb old drunk, young and impressionable me bought into the whole nihilist chic vibe that hung over my beloved punk rock like a shroud. Living like you've got nothing to lose 'cause there's nothing left - and you know this because you heard it in a fucking SONG! - is OK, I guess, when one actually DOES die young, but I speak from experience when I say that the 'everything sucks' credo I took away from punk rock does absolutely nothing to prepare one to be a 50something human being in the 21st century.

    And, no, of course the 25 years of active alcoholism didn't help, but I'm pretty sure the midset came first. But minds change, right? People can change. It's one of the few things I truly believe and here's why.

     I don't write much, only in passing really, about my drinking/getting sober experience, which is odd considering what a central part it is of who I am. Who am I? i'm the gut who writes lousy sentences like that one 2 lines back. I rant, rave, dismiss, insult and blaspheme but dammit I don't drink anymore. And if you were unfortunate enough to spend any length of time w/my drunken 20th century ass you'd know what an accomplishment that is. Maybe I don't write about it because it IS that central, perhaps even true and we all know how much I hate anything purporting to be the truth. In any event, I have to believe at least that people can change because I have to decide - every day - to remain sober.

     See, even w/all the evidence and field experience I've gathered, which OVERWHELMINGLY proves that, for me, drinking is the proverbial one way ticket to Palookaville, rarely does a day go by that I don't THINK about having a beer. And every time I DON'T get drunk I'm changing and, barring childbirth I can't imaginer anything more painful, or complex, than getting - and staying - sober.

     A small number of people (2) have asked me "How did you finally quit?" and the best answer that I have is that I finally disgusted myself. I went into my 1srt detox 'cause my landlord threw me out. I wasn't looking for salvation (still ain't, actually) I was looking for a roof. I had the bulletproof vest of cynical denial to prevent any help from reaching me for close to 5 years. AA meetings were nothing, well little, more than rooms full of people for me to argue with. My loss, of course, but I hung around long enough to meet the right 6 people and hear the right 10 things which I took w/me when I left AA and New York to come skidding to a halt on this godforsaken prairie determined to figure it out for myself.

      It was 16 years last month.

     Now what I've DONE with those 16 years hasn't always been much to write home about, but to even get to the stage where I can scew up w/out drinking required a commitment to saving my own ass of which I thought myself incapable. But now that I've figured out I care enough about myself to put the brakes to the slow suicide that made Milwaukee famous I realize that, once again, I'm just getting started.

     FUCK!!!

     Commiting to what now seems so small a goal as saving my own ass has resulted in jst that. My ass is saved, barely, paycheck to paycheck, in sickness and perceived betrayal etc. But, you know, I work, play music, care for 2 dogs and about 100 cats and I'm essentially enjoying being a regular guy.

     But who am we kidding? I'm not a regular guy. What I needs to do now is commit me to some EXCELLENCE!

     Which brings me, finally to the Killers.


    

Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:57 | link | comments (8)

Please Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself

     Hello again and sorry it took so long. Here's the deal; the day before Election Day (and, yeah, Viva Obama) I started getting sick and it hung in there, in various degrees of severity until just after Xmas. First it was the flu, then strep throat, walking pneumonia and finally sinusitis.  Truth is, I still feel like crap, have probably lost 15 pounds and have yet to clear either my throat or my not so insubstantial nose. Yeah yeah yeah, poor me. Not looking for pity. I treated it, as I always do w/caffeine and nicotine and I'm doing just swell. Just wanted to let y'all know that I didn't give up or capitulate to the Mad Typist That isJim.

     As for the promised Killers piece. It's coming. I know I've said that before but this time I mean it. I've got 37 handwritten pages in a notebook at home. The Killers aren't even mentioned until page 18, so it's gonna need a little whittlin' when it's done. That's right I'm actually rewriting and editing. Apparently the synthpop rage of the 21st Century cause me to ask myself interesting questions about the randomness of nature, the question of commitments to - among other things - excellence and why I rarely write about my alcoholism.

   This one might actually be worth a wait.

     Hope everybody had good holidays. My gift to y'all was NOT writing my annual Xmas Pissoff. I haven't changed my mind, I'm just keeping some stuff to myself in an effort to, I don't know become a better person.

     Curse you, Barak Obama. Blew the curve for EVERYBODY!!!!!!

     The date for the Tension Envelope reunion has been set. April 4, 2009 Valley Theater, Fowler Colorado. Be there. The gig will be digitally recorded thanks to my good friend Elaine who got me a Tascam MR8 digital recorder for Xmas. I'm still learning how to use it and will post a new tune here as soon as I can.

    Not much to report. Only that I hope this page can one day be my 'celebrate Mott the Hoople' place again. Or at least that the rancor stops. It truly can be a new day. Just like every other day, the choices are ours. Me, I'm gonna shut up now.

Obama in '12
byrnes

Posted by: timbyrnes at 20:59 | link | comments (14)

The Sixties Are Over: The Ballad of Maura Culhane

     In the  last three weeks my senior cat Camille has disappeared, I found my alleycat Grumpy's body in the dumpster, having been hit by a car and deposited there by a thoughtful neighbor and my 88 year old Aunt Maura passed away. Maura Culhane lived all but the last 15 years of her life in the environs of New York City, a single woman negotiating the early morning streets alone. She came away hard w/what we liberals condesceningly call the 'just the way it was at the time' racism.

     God bless her she still called 'em niggers to the day she died. She was a tough old uncompromising bird who really didn't like much of anything and could suck the air out of a room at will.  Cynical as the day is long and bitter, oh my god  was she bitter.

     She spent the last 15 years of her life in front of various trelevisions, essentially waiting to die. So I can  see from the above paragraph that I am JUST like this woman, so I obviously have a lot of introspection due (that phrase was so awkward because I refuse to say 'soul searching'. I'm such a pussy.)


    And I  certainly can't read THIS at the funeral!
    Or could I!

     Going on radio silence for awhile. Take it away, Jim.
tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 16:56 | link | comments (22)

Boxing Outside the Think: A Dream Sequence

   (Authors note: The standard accusation thrown at me by our resident Christofascist is that I'm an entertainer and not a serious person. I refer the word 'artist', as I don't get paid for this shit, but that's another story. He once rebuked me w/ a snide "No business like show business, eh Tim?" To which I reply: THERE'S NO BUSINESS BUT SHOW BUSINESS! An idea, a belief, a feeling, a creed, a code of morality, whatever, once you start the attempt to share it w/other people, you start selling it! There is no purity inside or outside of self, because we are all products of our history. We are all products of our education. We are all products of our upbringing. We are all products of our individual, personal inclinations which are, of course, formed and informed by all of the above. Bottom line: We are all products.)    

     "It's a hot night here at the Heavenly Polo Grounds. I'm yr ring announcer Lester Bangs, and we're here for the Fight of the Afterlife. The fighters are just now entering the ring."

      (Mic slowly falls from clouds)

     LBangs: " In this corner, ladies and gentlemen, the challenger. Standing 6 feet 3 and 3/4 inches, weighing in at 148 lbs. soaking wet w/change in his pockets. The Nihilist From the East: Mahwah Tim Byrnes"

       (Loud booing from crowd, scatterred cheering from the section that smells suspiciously like sulphur)

     LBangs: "And in this corner, the reigning champion of all He surveys, standing higher than the clouds in all His eternal majesty, weighing in on everything that ever matterred and, praise him, always backing the right horse. He's mean, he's clean, the Galillean Grappler, The Nazarene Knockout King, Ladies and Gentlemen, yr Saviour and mine Jeeeeeeeeeeesus. H. Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiist!!!!!!!!"

       (Tumultous, nay, rapturous applause, halos getting flung in the air, glorious trumpet music comin' outta nowhere, and I swear I saw a couple of bitches flying, man!)

      LBangs: "Our Lord and Saviour is in his corner praying w/cornerman Jim Muglia. Let's see if I can get them on mic. (Loud electrical zapping sound. Bangs appears back onscreen, face now blackened) Well, that didn't work, maybe we can listen in  on Byrnes and his cornerman, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright."

     JWright: "Now I wants you to git in dere and justa kick dat honky's ass! Kick him in da Holy Balls!!! Ain't representing shit for us. Now kick his thorny headed, water walkin', tragedy ingnorin', broke his promise to the promised people's, loaves and fishes multiplyin'  ASS!"    

     Byrnes:   Uh, ......OK

     (ding!)             

     LBangs: "Round one! Byrnes comes out, looking even whiter than usual, he's got his arms outstreched, and he's walking up to Jesus w/and I can't believe this, folks, w/his chin up! Jesus floats like a butterfly, one of the many wonders of His creation, up to Byrnes, and it's a right! A hard right! Another right, another right, another and another and another right. Byrnes is reeling and bleeding from his potty mouth. Another hard right from He who came to save the world!  Byrnes is waving his arms spasmodically, looking like Joe Cocker in a fish bowl. Byrnes staggers up  to Jesus, spits out his false teeth and, oh my goodness, he's kicked Jesus in the Holy Balls. I can't really see too well now, what w/all the flames and lightning suddenly filling this arena, ladies and gentlemen, but it appears that Jesus is pissed! "

(15 minutes later)

     LBangs: (Sounding bored) "And another right. And another. And another. Byrnes is little more than a long, skinny pulp of blood w/big ears, now, folks. Jesus stands back and raises his arms. The crowd roars!!! The arena is filled w/the triumphant light of good over evil once again. Pepperland is saved. The mouth of Byrnes has been silenced. Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus! Huzzah! Huzzah!!!!   Oh, what's this?  Byrnes is moving, he's trying to raise himself off the canvas! Great googly moogly, folks, I can't believe it!  He's on his knees now, facing Jesus! He's taking his gloves off! Could this be the long awaited surrender and supplication of the heathen Byrnes, for which so many of the faithful have prayed so long??!!! Oh, no, he's raising his hands to the Lord, I think he's making a one fingered gest............. "

     (Suddenly the screen shot slips upscreen like unraveled film and from offstage left comes that Oscar winning rabbit, Bugs Bunny, carrying a large pair of scissors and wearing a wily grin)

     BBunny: "Sorry, folks, but due to circumstances beyond our control, and understanding, we are unable to show you the rest of this cartoon. But let me tell ya what happened................................"

De-Ba-De-Ba-De g-g-g-god d-d-damn am-am-america!

                                                                              

                              

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:09 | link | comments (104)

Told Ya We Were Doomed. Told Ya, Told Ya. Didn't I Tell Ya?

     I was watching the lovely Sara Vowell on Jon Stewart the other night and she was riffing on how, absent the type of reassurance that comes from real leadership during a crisis such as the imminent failure of the American, if not global, financial system, she consoled herself by going online and re-reading FDR's Fireside Chats. Yes, it was funny, but it'd have been funnier if it weren't so damn sad. And possibly true. We as a people find ourselves staring down the barrel of No Future for real, and all we wanna do is look back.

     To FDR. To Jesus. To the fictional 'good old days' we've all invented. To the America that never existed, the one where all men are created equal. To a time when we could ignore the world 'cause it wasn't in our face 24/7 in this magical new era of multimass communication. To a time when might made right and nobody asked any questions.

     And whither our leadership? W.'s turned into a blurry photograph of a President. McCain's running around like Al Haig whenever Reagan took a nap ("I'm in charge!!! I'm in charge!!"). Sarah Palin's providing material for Tina Fey. Obama is, of course, too cool for school. He's really not doing anuthing much more than projecting calm, but seems to me that, while comfort might ultimately be a useless commodity when yr house is on fire, it is after all, comforting.

     And this is the best we can do? Maybe we are doomed.

     Just an additional note of paranoia before I go: Be aware that W. has written into law something called Executive Order 51, which apparently allows him to suspend, in the event of a national crisis, any or all government activity, up to and including the election. Also, at the same time a battalion of Army soldiers (who's anacronym is prounounced SEA-SMURFS), a battalion that up until recently was in Iraq, containing civilian populations, is now currently training in Colorado Springs. Google it. Juan Espinoza wrote 1 of only 2 articles I've read about this in The Pueblo Chieftain, of all places.

     I'm just saying.

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:54 | link | comments (47)

An Open Letter the the 3 or 4 People Stll Reading This Crap

     First off, in the interest of disclosure, I'd like it on the record that I haver never killed a baby. Thought about it once on a long bus trip, but never went through w/it. I see that during my absence (just working a lot, nothing major) our disinvited, yet somehow still resident, Christofascist wingnut has been busy.

     This is a man who somehow sees my potential 'salvation' (read: my falling for the same fantasy he has, oh, and in exactly the same manner) not as a reacharound by the arm of compassion, but as a VICTORY!!! Something about me w/my tail between my legs.

    There's that Christian love I've read so much about. My take is that man invented god, right? Now of course I could be wrong but not Jim! Oh no, he knows the mind of god, this god of love and mercy that gives this little peckerwood the license to call people 'baby killers'. Once again, if that's yr god, Jim, then fuck her.

     You are not going to 'shut down' punkrock and neither am I going to ban you from here like you've been banned from those Christian websites for your hate filled nonsense (I cop to posting hate filled nonsense, too, but as I've never claimed to represent a loving god, I'm not the hypocrite here. You are.) And I'll tell ya why I'm not going to ban you. For one thing, I believe in free speech, no matter how idiotic, Also, Jim, you are the most unintentionally funny person this side of Sarah Palin. But most importantly, to me, I love giving you a forum so the 3 or 4 people that are still reading this crap can see the venal stupidity that results when someone takes Christianity to the extremes that you have. Thanks for doing my work for me.

     We get it, yr anti-choice. Then don't get an abortion, MAN. Focus on yr own damn family (oh, and btw, the reason I don't ask about yr kids is I don't give a fuck about yr kids. Do you give a fuck about my cats? No. So, shut up.) and post yr drivel elsewhere. One post of disagreement is usually enough, especially when yr posting where yr not wanted, but 50 plus posts basically represents a diseased ego talking to itself.

     Oh, and yr paranoid, too. Matching timestamps in order to determine the identity of a poster. Pathetic.

     One last question; how lonely do you have to be to hijack someone else's blog? Go ahead and bask in the reflected glow of my mediocrity if you must, but trust me, we're not laughing w/you. We're laughing at you.

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 16:14 | link | comments (19)

Kill Whitey: Just How Stupid Do the Republicans Think We Are and Are They Right?

(Authors Note: Sorry it's been a while. In the space of the last 3 weeks the person I was cutting trees down for, the same man I was to rent the Almost West Virginia house from, suddenly passed away. His son swooped in and is selling the house and it now looks like I'm not gonna get paid for the tree cutting. Also 2 new people moved in on either side of me, both of whom own pit bulls. Walking Buster and Sarah has taken on the flavor of redneck rollerball and if that wasn't enough, thanks to CSPAN, I watched nearly all of both National Conventions, so my mood might be a little, shall we say colored, and evident in the following piece. But not by much.)

    In an act of cynicism to which I can only aspire, John McCain - or more likely the Republican Party - selected Sarah Palin as his V.P. in a transparent attempt to mollify his Christofascist base and perhaps wrest a place in History from Hillary Clinton. Palin, a red hot trailer trash hockey mom just slightly to the right of, say, Hitler, has gone, in days, from deserved obscurity to the spotlight of the National Stage (if only for minutes at a time) w/a resume and familial issues that have the Republicans flip-flopping like the dying fish they are.

   Take the 'bridge to nowhere' debacle. Palin proudly boasts that she lilled this particularly odious earmark but fails to mention that she kept the 27 million dollars to buils the access road to said bridge. Reformer, my ass.

     Then there's 'troopergate', where it's alleged that Palin (ab)used her power in an attempt to get her sister's ex husband fired from the Alaska State Troopers. Reformer my ass.

     And of course, there's the pregnant daughter. Now, I agree that this is nothing new and that things happen in even 'the best of homes', but I find it suspect and not a little creepy that suddenly the Republican Party just looooooves illegitimate children and have chosen this issue to proudly bow out of people's personal lives and not, say, Bill Clinton's infamous blowjob. Reformers, my ass. Besides can you imagine the outcry if Barak Obama had, say,  a 17 yr old daughter who got knocked up by a thuglike boyfriend who showed up at the DNC looking like he just won the Stupid Lottery?

      Serious side note: OK the kids are off limits, but check out the Palin boyfriend's myspace page (and I quote:) 'I'm just a fuckin' redneck. Fuck w/me and I'll kick ass.' and, of course the deathless 'I don't want kids.' Trust me, this whiteboy's a punkass slut who's getting shotgunned into marriage by a political machine.

   Watching Palin, McCain, Romney and their ilk spew their brandy new 'change' message all the while lying through perfect teeth about working surges and airplanes on ebay appalled me. 'How stupid do they think we are?" I thought. 'Is anyone actually buying this crap?' I thought.  Then I watched the cheering masses in St. Paul and have listened to the locals talk about her (Palin) like the second coming of Joan of Fucking Arc and I slowly start to realize why we've been saddled w/the most corrupt administration West of Putin for the last 8 years:

     People are stupid.

     Not just ill-informed. Stupid. And lazy,.But mostly stupid. Around these parts and other parts, I'm sure,  Palin's getting praised for dangerously idiotic comments like 'The Iraq War is a call from God" and that the (so far nonexistent) plan to end the war is 'God's plan'. Come on, folks, we've had 8 years of these 'God talks to me' religious wingnuts and look where it's got us. Hated by much of the world for our simplistic and overbearing certainty that god blesses our 'right' to tell other cultures they're not good enough.

   So fuck this gun totin', bible thumpin' wolf murdering bitch from the North country who, 13 days into the zeitgeist has the gall to demean community service while exalting her own intentions to hide from the press.

   And while yr at it fuck John McCain for kissing W's ass just to win a contest and betraying what integrity he had all the while reminding us that he's a war hero. But you know what? McCain crashed not 1, not 2, not even 3, but five fucking airplane in his career. I'm starting to think he's bad luck.

Wright in '08

gopd damn america

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:05 | link | comments (66)
parts

Almost West Virginia: The Revolving Doors of Perception Roll Once More

   I'll dispense w/the usual appy-polly-loggy about being away for so long, I was working, 'nuff said and does anyone really care anyhow? Well, yes of course we do to one degree or another. Hey, you know what one of the greatest things I ever heard during my alcohol rehab experiences was? For those lucky enough never to have lived such a life as to require the rehab experience, let me open a little window: most mornings and afternoons are spent trying not to fall asleep in a little combination schooldesk/chair dealie while the same guy you listened to yesterday drones on and on giving essentially the same lecture each day. Repetition apparently works and is needed when trying to drill the obvious into that numbest of skulls, that of the drunken drug addict.

     Well, this one guy, let's call him George 'cause that's his name (Hi, George!) had basicallt 2 riffs: A) "Healthy people aren't any better than sick people, they just have more power" and, my favorite B) "Do we really care about you here in rehab? Yes, just not much."

     He had me w/the 2nd one. It had the ring of truthful sarcasm and, like any good trigger, made me think. 'Well, yeah," I thought," Folks do care in the sense that most would, were you on fire, put you out, but would leave the cleanup to the professionals. The 'nobody loves me' excuse gets lost when you really see that, well, nobody loves you, but we'll show you good things you could do so maybe you can love yerself, but really, Skippy, it's (as usual) up to you. NEXT!!!"

    I bring this up because, let's see, oh yeah, my apartment. As noted above, the little ghetto I've been living in had become something of a madhouse. CPS still hasn't shown up, the kids are still running around all night, smells like they're boiling fucking ammonia in the apartment next door and syddenly the guy next door can't afford to feed the GOLDEN RETRIEVER he keeps chained up on a 3 FOOT chain and I'm finding myself supporting half the resident's animals while being continually annoyed by the other half, who just act like animals.

     So, I'm torn between being judgemental (my specialty!) and trying to just bring a little good to the situation (3 burritos in the morning for the Retriever, a pack of cigarettes to his owner, maybe don't call the police one night etc.) when suddenly a third option opened up. Dig: when my house burned down 6 months ago, the old landlord rented me a new, smaller apartment for the same exact rent, guaranteeing me 1st shot at my old place once it was remdeled. That was, again, six months ago. In the meantime, he hired a drunk to fix my place who's 1st official act was to diamantle the shower in my new place. He was goi9ng to repair it, even had the new walls and fixtures laid out on my sidewalk. Then he gets the bright idea to 'wait until I finish yr old place' then he gets arressted. Twice. Then he leaves the state. Then the new landlord tells me it'll be another month. That was 4 months ago. The last straw came 3 days ago when the new landlord asks me if I'll help in move the aforementioned walls and fixtures from my sidewalk (they've been there 4 months now, remember) to a shed, thus assuring my shower will not get fixed and again promising me that he'll do it after I 'move back into yr place.'

    Later that night the universe hooked me up w/the possibility of a rental house 3 blocks south of where I am now except this time I'll have a fenced yard for Buster and Sara, a full basement for Flashback rehearsals, a garage for a cathouse (and I mean actual cats, don't get all offended) on a dead end street surrounded by old people. Almost West Virginia. (It's a John Denver reference and I don't believe in heaven. Do the math.)

     It's not a done deal and I don't want to jinx it, but it looks real good. In the meantime I'm figuring out a way to leave the ghetto gracefully (who'm I kidding, I want to crank Flashback up at 4 in the morning the day I leave, but I don't think I 'm really that immature. Or would be able to keep Dan or Kenny up until 4 in the morning!). I'll have to come back night after night, rounding up the straycats who love me and as such are those I cannot abandon. I really want to call the new landlord something dirty, but he is after all, a businessman and cares about me, just not much.

     Wish me luck. It feels like a graduation. Between the upcoming move, the tree cutting job (and I've worked 6 days and haven't fallen out of a tree yet, so whoever lost the pool, pay up) and my actual job, Ima gonna be pretty busy and among the missing, but all in a good cause. Gotta go email the Envelopes and let 'em know I'm not dead. Keep whatever faith you like, buy "Fight With Tools" by Flobots 'cause it rocks and stay tuned for more adventures 'cause life just keeps rocking and rolling.

     I wonder how much trouble one can get into for Grand Theft Retriever?

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:38 | link | comments (8)
am for the exact same rent only

Sorry It Took a While: We Were Just Tuning.

     I am, alas, one of those old men afflicted w/a trick back. I have no idea how it happened (although I tell all and sundry it's an old football injury: 'Yeah. Fell off a bar stool watchin' a jet game'.  What can I say? I'm a card. Deal w/it.) but every so often I turn my skinny frame like the wrong way and the pain comes down like a freeway and I wind up walking like Groucho Marx for weeks at a time and, basically, that's what happened 3 weeks ago and that's why I ain't been here.

     I am not dead. And ain't nobody won nutthin'!

     Has been a busy 3 weeks work wise and home wise and even music wise. Have finally settled into a consecutive 4 day work week and will be starting to help a friend cut down some trees at his sister-in-law's on my days off. Apparently I can make enough money in a week or so to pay for that sexy digital 8 track I've had my eye on. The living situation just keeps getting weirder and weirder; drunk all the time mom leaves her 2 kids (ages 5 and 7 and you know I'm guessing) w/the alleged crackheads next door who party all night and blast bad disco on the stereo.

     And before anyone gets too outraged, don't worry I've already called CPS.

      Because that's what a responsible person does and, let me tell ya, these people were a lot more fun when they were just annoying alcoholic sociopaths. Before these kids got involved the situation was manageable, even fun in that it gave me something relatively valid to bitch about, as opposed to another antiFloyd screed, and I loved the irony of being the one who called the cops for once. But the other night, 'bout a week ago. It's 2 in the morning. I don't get home from work till 11:30 pm, have to walk the dogs, feed the cats, unwind, watch Charlie Rose so I'm not going to sleep until 2am, right? I no sooner get under the covers when the headlights from their incoming van (bars just closed, remember? This is a Tuesday night, btw) flood my bedroom, followed by the noise of 5 drunks in their early 2o's falling out of the van and into the apartment next door, which shares a wall with, you guessed it, my bedroom.

BOOOM BOOOM BOOOOOM goes the most insipid bassdrum track I've ever heard. Through the wall and through my skull for I'm not kidding like the 4th night running (and why is it people who insist on making me listen to their music never play anything I like?) so I get up, dress accordingly and march out like a skinny policeman and knock on their door. I actually have to knock 4 times before the occupants hear me. Anyway, post 4th knock, the door flies open and here's this guy (my next door female neighbor always has a guy) I've never seen, striking a drunken bare knuckles fighting stance. He somehow knows my name and proceeds to use it 15 times in one sentence, asking if it's the music that's too loud or them. I lookes past this and him to see 3 other glassy eyed males and my neighbor, she who shall remain nameless, looking at me like I'm the enemy 'cause I guess in this case I am. There on the couch sat these two children taking it all in and processing it who knows how but does anyone here think it could remotely be good?

     So I told the drunk guy to'... just do it' after the 13th apology and promise to be quiet. I've learned from my own fieldwork that you can't reason w/a drunk. So idiot me wrestled w/it for a few days, each night I heard those kids yelling in the parking lot. Now they weren't getting beat y'all, they were yelling out of sheer abandon. Or abandonment?

     I don't know why I decided it was my call to make. Probably because everybody else in the complex was commenting on it was a shame the way those kids etc and the ever popular 'something's gotta be done' which for once I not only agreed with but acted upon. Well, not to blame America first, but I made that first call a week and a half ago and nobody's been out to check on those kids yet In the meantime our local police have been turning around in our driveway a lot more lately (Thanks, Jim!) and 2 other neighbors have taken up the task of calling the cops when the party goes out of bounds and stand there outraged when the cops show up, so at least now I'm getting a little sleep. Talk to y'all soon, I gotta make a couple of phone calls.

Viva la France!

tim

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:32 | link | comments (3)