Spinal Tap and my favorite live shows from Portland... aka... another weird Monday list...

OK, so I have a couple topics to discuss this week: the best/my favorite Spinal Tap songs and my favorite shows from my time in Portland, OR (which is not as expansive as you might think. Turns out there’s lots of venues, but not a lot of great one, and not a lot of great music in the city of Portland. College towns are better for mid-level artists. You know, the ones who are famous enough that we’ve heard of them and they’ve played enough shows to be amazing but not too big to phone it in at some “enormodome” type venue). With more than one topic (since I forgot to post this last week, you know, because I was moving into a new apartment and exploring the music scene in Charlotte, NC; so, fuck you) to get to, and already 5 Elijah Craig bourbons in me, let’s “get on with it” Monty Python style.

 

So, here we go. Here are my favorite Spinal Tap songs:

1) GSM (aka “Gimme Some Money” for the uninitiated)

Why is this song #1? Well, you probably figured that I would fucking tell you, didn’t you? It’s #1 because it’s the #1 song I’ve played from this movie over the years. Just as Spinal Tap used it to soundcheck (in Milwaukee, WI, no less! Go Brewers! Despite the fact they have been eating a dick lately…) with it, so did my band. I’ve played or fucked around in rehearsal with this song so many times, it’s basically a Bradley Wik and the Charlatans song by now. In fact, the producer/engineer/mixer of my first album “Burn What You Can, Bury the Rest…,” Rob Stroup, used to also play this with his band. Kinda part of the reason I recorded with him. Kindred spirits/lovers of weird/funny shit.

 

2) Big Bottom

The fact that this song features not one, not two, but three basses plus the synth playing bass lines… Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe it’s only funny to musicians but I can’t imagine how terrible this sounded live. No frequency filling, just lots of bass harmonies, which shouldn’t be a fucking thing. So fucking funny and strange. Also, “My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo. I’d like to sink her with my pink torpedo” might be the greatest couplet of all-time. Shakespeare ain’t got shit on Tap.

 

3) Sex Farm

Because.. Just because. The opening line is “Working on a Sex Farm…” What a ridiculous concept that even all the fucking jokes, which are awesome, seem to pale in comparison to this absolutely absurd premise. Also, the words “Sex Farm Woman.” Just, such geniuses who came up with this. The jokes about pitchforks, raising hard love, plowing wheat fields is all secondary to the immaculately genius idea of a “sex farm.”

 

4) Tonight, I’m Gonna Rock You Tonight

Umm, using the same word twice in the same title (and chorus) is amazing. I stand amazed by the fact that they say “not a dry seat in the house” in the first fucking line. The genius of these men cannot be overstated. Spinal Tap may be the greatest Rock N’ Roll band ever. Except for their “Shit Sandwich” album. I hear it’s not great…

 

Like the great Brett Favre, lists are better at 4, so we’ll stop there. But, honorable mention is definitely “Heavy Duty” for its’ use of the word “duty” which always makes me laugh. Especially the line “Heavy Duty brings out the dootie in my soul…”

 

OK, here are the greatest shows I saw while I lived in Portland, OR, which was more than a handful of years. Yes, that city sucks and I hate it more than anything in the world but I did see some amazing shows there, so below are the top 4. In any other city, I would have had to do a top 20, but in Portand, 4 will suffice. Even the performances of people I love like Ryan Adams, Wilco, the Hold Steady, etc. were less than spectacular due to the shitty crowds in Portland who are “too cool” to have fun at shows. Fuck that. Music is about communing in something that can’t be found anywhere else and can’t be experience outside that moment. I’ve watched Bruce Springsteen’s live at the Garden DVD probably 100 times and it didn’t even live in the same country from when I ACTUALLY saw the Boss at the Garden. Same for every other live DVD I own (and that’s lots). Anywhere, enough preamble, here you go":

 

1) Damien Rice - Keller Auditorium

Damien is the proud owner of 3 of my favorite all-time shows. For those keeping score at home, that includes all 3 times I’ve seen him live. The first time with a hundred or so people in Madison, WI on the inaugural stateside “O” tour. My buddy Jake kept making illicit comments about the girl dancing on the stage during the opening bands set, which turned out to be Lisa Hannigan. Turns out she’s pretty fucking gorgeous. We didn’t know back then…

 

The second time was in Chicago during the “9” tour. He was equally stunning. It’s hard as artists graduate to larger and less intimate stages to see if they can maintain their awesomeness. Damien did. He did in spades.

 

The third time in Portland, I took my girlfriend (at the time) who was skeptical at best to see this show. She was more interested in the opener Markéta Irglová (from the movie “Once,” and a real life band I hear…) before we arrived. She proceeded to be mesmerized by Damien (as we all were) and occasionally I still hear her talk about how “sexy” he was, especially on “Me, My Yoke and I.” I have to say, she isn’t wrong..

 

2) Joanna Newsom - Schnitzer Hall

This was on the “Divers” tour. Needless to say, my girlfriend (at the time) was equally not excited to Joanna. I assured her it would be amazing, but had to almost force her to attend. You can always tell a great concert when two people who are really into each other (sexually) don’t speak or even look at one another for almost two hours. I actually forgot I bought a drink and it sat there half-drank for two hours until we left and I realized I paid $12 for a shitty whiskey and promptly poured it down my throat. But, it was the second time in a year that I totally blew her mind with a live show recommendation. Though, the flipside of that is that she didn’t want to come out to many more shows since nothing would compare to Joanna and the kind himself, Damien. Fair…

 

3) Bonnie “Prince” Billy - McMenamin’s Crystal Ballroom 

It was the first time I ever got to see Will live. I had spent years living in areas he rarely toured, moving during a tour and missing the shows in both my new and old living places, and generally playing geographical “phone tag” with the man responsible for some of my favorite albums (“I see a darkness,” “Viva Last Blues,” and “Days in the Wake”). Finally, I got a hold of him. Yes, it was at one of my least favorite Portland venues. You know, the kind that sections off the front of stage area for minors and makes people drink in the back (Fuck you Berbati’s and re-opened Satyricon as well; both of which closed down shortly after I played them… The Jon Fickes curse continues…). But, the show was wonderful and to finally see my man Mr. Oldham was a treat. He’s a much better singer than he lets on and his band was amazing. Sure, they didn’t play many Palace era tunes, but this was like 10 years later so I’ll forgive him since he did indulge us in more than a couple “I see a darkness” tunes.

 

4) Shonen Knife - Dante’s

#4 was tough as there were a lot of great bands I saw in Portland, but were better at the shows I witnessed elsewhere (read: Ryan Adams, Wilco, the Hold Steady, Modest Mouse, etc.). Land of Talk or Helle’s Belles (the all-girl AC/DC tribute band) are my runners-up but it’s hard to top the random awesomeness of Shonen Knife. First, that night had started strange. My girlfriend, my buddy and his wife all went to this hipster fucking 90’s club because we wanted to get fucked up and sweaty dancing to ridiculous tunes (and hoping against hope that somehow, some way, they would play the Prodigy) but they kicked out my buddy because he was “drunk and couldn’t talk straight,” aka because he had one beer and he was born and raised in Scotland. Also, he had lived for over 10 years in America and his accent wasn’t that crazy, until about 8 more drinks. But since we got thrown out of the shitty hipster club, we wandered over towards Dante’s. Well, actually we were headed to Kell’s or that underground place that had cheap drinks and welcomed drunks when we decided to stop at Dante’s for some pizza by the slice. We hears some strange punk coming from inside. The show had already started so the bouncer let us in for free (after we explained what had happened at the other club). On stage were these three Japanese girls fucking rocking out and singing about how much they liked green tea. Needless to say, we were hooked. We got a Ramones cover shortly thereafter and we fell in love. I’m not sure how much of the show we missed but we still got to see an hour of their set and it was fucking magnificent. Fucking magnificent. I’ve been obsessed ever since.

It’s funny thinking back on the shows and how I’ve seen better shows in Seattle, Salem, Eugene and Spokane during my time in Portland, but the above were my favorite 4 in the city of Portland. An amazing group of performers trying their best to make a Portland crowd not be a bunch of fucking dicks and actually enjoy themselves for once…

 

(dictated but not read)

 Two Words: Shit Sandwich

apologies are in order, or they would be if I WASN'T MOVING ACROSS THE FUCKING COUNTRY... aka Greetings from North Carolina!

I know, I know. I've been gone for two (or is it three?) weeks and you've suddenly realized how indispensable I am to your life. I, for better or worse, realized how much I actually like doing this blog, or weekly ranting/venting, however you like to frame it. But, alas, life moves pretty fast sometimes and I needed to stop and smell the roses before they passed me by. Oh, and I was busy going through, throwing out, selling, donating, burning, packing up into boxes then packing into a 7'x7'x7' POD (sorry, Relocube. U-pack, baby!) and figuring out how the fuck to fit the rest of what I needed/couldn't fit into the POD, sorry, Relocube (which was significantly less than I anticipated as waaayyy more fits into a 7'x7'x7' space than one would think), into the back of my car, which, by the way, I had to very quickly find as my previous car was suddenly unavailable to me. So, that was one week. Well, two pretty much, I guess, if I'm being honest. Turns out I had a lot of shit and I needed to clean house. I was so used to moving every couple years, and therefore, purging every couple years that I never really accrued "things." I just had a couple guitars, an amp and my Horicon Marshmen embroidered (says "Brad Wik" on the side pocket) gym bag that I got for being on the fourth grade basketball team filled with all my clothes/notebooks/etc. That was usually it. I would media mail any books, CD's (remember those? I do, turns out even though I've lost about 200-300 over the years, I still have about 600 or so; and that's not counting the 500 or so I have left of my first two albums, which I will be working hard to sell now that I'm out of the fucking black hole of a music scene most people call "Portland, OR") and DVD's (remember those? I do, turns out I have approx 350 or so. God, did I like to waste my money, and living space, on physical media... Oh, and speaking of taking up living space, I still have 200-300 of my vinyl records to sell too, which are in nice, carpeted Odyssey DJ storage boxes and have become part of my furniture, like TV stand and side table, until I find 200-300 new fans who still enjoy vinyl) and that was that. Simple. After 8-9 years in Portland (blech), I accrued slightly more "stuff." PA equipment, more guitars, my aforementioned CD's/albums for sale, T-shirts, etc. It all adds up very quickly and my back has been more or less sore for about three weeks now. I did get a Bear Mattress with Celiant technology (look it up, it's science and Tom Brady likes it) which is helping but I could still use some recovery time. Luckily, there's a pile of boxes staring at me right now from my new Charlotte-based apartment which need putting away. Wait, that's not lucky. Fuck...

Anyways, buried the lede. I'M IN FUCKING CHARLOTTE, NC NOW! That's right folks, I've moved all the way across the country and I couldn't be happier. I've lost like five pounds, been sleeping better, drinking less, and generally just assuming a much more positive demeanor. In short, life is good. What a strange thing to say, but it's true. I haven't felt this way since I left New York City over nine years ago at this point. Yes, it's humid. Yes, it's not a huge metropolitan city like NYC, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, or any of the cities I've lived in before but I love it already. The people here (so far) are wonderful and I've felt a renewed energy towards making music again. I've even taken on producing a couple podcasts for work. I saw lightning for the first time in years last night. My apartment has central heating and cooling! Everything I need is within 10 minutes in any direction. Everyone I meet isn't in a fucking band. Beer tastes better (they're not all fucking Xtreme IPA's out here!). Burgers can be had for $5. There's ample places to play music where the people actually kind of give a shit. Weird Al is playing here this week! With a symphony!

I haven't unpacked my record player, CD player or speakers yet (Project Debut Carbon for those keeping score at home), nor do I currently own a chair (I'm currently kneeling on the floor whilst writing this) so it's still a work in progress but things are happening! I wanted to give a quick update since I've been gone for so long (has it been two or three weeks? For real, I can't tell time anymore) and here it is. I'll be back later this week with another blog to get things back up to speed but I finally unpacked my computer and felt the need to jump on here.

Talk soon,

(dictated but not read)

depression and... fuck it... aka... four ellipses in the title, good writing...

Finally home for a spell, I spent the week trying to re-spark my creativity which had waned over the last few months. Well, to be truthful, it has come in and out for the last few years. Making and releasing my last album “In My Youth, I’m Getting Old…” nearly killed me, with its myriad of issues, near-lawsuits, in-band fighting, just to name a few. It nearly broke my will to make another record. It didn’t, of course, and I’ve been working on two projects on and off for the past year or two. On and off because I can’t quite figure out what I want to do, how I want the songs to sound and feel like, how I will release them, EP’s vs. LP’s, and how I want to play shows and tour going forward. I’m making some big life changes very soon, which will help but ultimately I have felt like I’ve been floating in an abyss creatively the past year.

It’s not as if I haven’t been creating some amazing music or stopped writing altogether. Since my last album was released, I’ve probably penned about 20 songs. Not all of them are showstoppers, but I’m in love with at least half, probably like 12-15. I’ve recorded, re-recorded, re-mixed, and generally fucked with them until I hate them and then started over. Something was blocking me from wrapping them up. Something, indeed. It was me…

Depression is not something that is easy to quantify. I have it I’ve been told (not that I really needed telling). But the hard part is how it ebbs and flows, so suddenly and so drastically. Yesterday, I spent most of the day recording some amazing takes with some beautifully fucked up sounds that I lavishly spent hours playing around with. I couldn’t get enough of just hearing myself play and sing the new songs. It felt like it was FINALLY starting to come together into something coherent. The guitars were the perfect blend of overdriven, delayed and chorused, murky and flowing, distinctly wonderful and responsive to my every nuance and I felt as if I could bathe in them all day. And I did. It was magical. I was so inspired and so sure that my next (solo) album would be wonderful and be the first to reach a mass audience. There are so many people who could easily love not only the sounds but the stories. The album is a deep dive into my depression over the years and some of its consequences. The songs are insanely personal (somehow even more so than my last two albums which were all true stories as well) and I cannot wait to share them. I was so proud as I strummed and sang my heart out onto the (digital) tape.

It made me feel like I was back to the old me for a change. But the old me was in these songs, sad and struggling, unable to understand what and why this was happening. Why was everything seemingly conspiring against him and his happiness? Why can’t he accept the good things in his life and stop chasing the chaos? Why can’t he muster the strength, energy and courage to be the best version of himself and love himself in the process? Why does he continue to surround himself with people who don’t care and will leave at a moments notice? Why isn’t HE writing these songs instead of continuing to live them? Would writing these songs help him at all anyways? Didn’t seem to help me…

Those were the questions flowing through my brain as I listened to the playback. I started to fall back into him. I started to drink, a lot. I remembered I hadn’t eaten all day. I felt sick. I got light-headed. I lost the will to continue recording (my neighbors probably appreciated it, though). I hated music. I hated everything. I decided to get drunk, eat some pizza and watch “Get Him to the Greek,” my movie version of comfort food. So, that’s what I did for the next two hours. And after that, I decided, it was best to keep drinking until I passed out because if I couldn’t bear to sit alone in my thoughts for another minute. I turned back into HIM. I knew it was happening but couldn’t pull myself out. I sort of didn’t want to. I wrote three new songs just this week. Maybe HE knows what he’s doing. Maybe that’s just the process. Maybe I need HIM. I wish I didn’t think that was true…

I was grateful the Brewers game went long (18 innings) so I could continue to waste what was once a super productive day. I reorganized some of my record storage boxes as I watched the game drift into the night. I then convinced myself to stop feeling sorry for myself, go to bed, sleep it off and I would record again today. I left everything set up and it was all ready to rock n’ roll. I got up this morning, groggy and a little hungover, but mostly alright after a couple cups of coffee. I turned everything on and strummed a few chords. I was going to start with the last song I tried playing yesterday but couldn’t quite get right. I got about halfway through when I realized I wasn’t really giving it any energy. It felt slow and sad, but not in the right way. Another song maybe. I re-tuned my guitar and found myself halfway through another shit take. Suddenly, I started to sweat. I felt light-headed. I didn’t want to do this anymore. HE didn’t want me to do this anymore. HIS stories needed to stay untold for another day. HE won, again…

When I broke for lunch (some leftover pizza and a beer), I felt better. “Pack this shit up and watch TV for the rest of the day,” I said to myself. The Brewers were on, playoff basketball was on later. Perfect way to waste a Sunday afternoon. So that’s what I did. All I wanted to do was get back in the studio (read: second bedroom) and continue to make beautiful sounds that made me feel so magical, like a musical wizard, for hours yesterday. But I couldn’t. HE wouldn’t let me so I spent the next hour convincing myself I didn’t want to anyways. I wasted a perfectly good Saturday night and Sunday on being depressed. What a weekend…

When I said earlier that I had been tinkering on and off with music for the past couple years, this is what I meant. This is what happens. I don’t know if the songs put me in a terrible place because of the lyrical content or because Portland, OR has burned my will to be an artist to the ground, pissed on the ashes and then dropped a fucking bomb on those piss-ashes. These songs are about my time in Portland. Maybe Portland is trying to keep these songs away. Who knows…

Writing those words just now, maybe that’s it. Maybe the songs reminded me of how shitty it is to be in Portland and then I got sad that I’m still here. That happens a lot. I get angry and sad at the same time. It’s a weird, shitty cocktail of awfulness. Maybe that’s what they mean when they say “Keep Portland Weird,” as in “keep making people who live there feel a weird sense of dread every day.” Something I’m a big believer in is energy. Like all things have energies, even cities. But Portland actually has a vacuum of energy. Everything in nature needs balance so the energy of its’ inhabitants flows towards it and away from them. That’s why everyone whose been here for more than a few years hate life. Every person I meet who is still bursting with energy is new to town. It’s one of the easiest ways to spot a recent transplant. They still care about life and stand out like a sore thumb. Maybe I’m just jaded…

If any of you have days like this, I feel for you. It sucks. It’s hard. It’s a fight, daily. But know that you’re not alone and, at least one person, me, is right there with you. They may not mean much to you but I know just knowing that has helped me feel more human. And know I have some music coming that may help you feel less alone and that other people understand your pain as well and you’re going to be alright. I just don’t know when I’ll be able to finish it yet…

(dictated but not read)

umm... aka fuck Portland, love Modest Mouse and Mike Trout...

Well, at least this week I don't feel like shit. I am down in L.A. though so unfortunately this will be a brief one. I don't have much to say as I spent the past week eating soup and bread trying to not shit my pants. Fun. And not that shitty as fucking band who RUINED MY FUCKING 2012. Well, come to think of it, I guess they're the exact same amount of "fun." Food poisoning and Fun., what a pair. It's like looking a mirror. One's shit at music and everything they do and one is just shit. Or is it vice-versa? Separate but equal... too soon? 

If I had anything interesting to say, now would be the time to say it. But I don’t. I’m just fucking tired. I’m probably going to be tired until I leave fucking shitty-ass Portland (even though I’m not there now). I do get to see Mike Trout play baseball in person on Friday for the first time in my life. I’m so excited. He’s like the fucking Bruce Springsteen of baseball but I’ve only watched from behind my television screen. I know it’ll likely be a normal Mike Trout game on Friday but that’s exactly what I want to see. Greatness in it’s average environment, being “average” great. Other than that, I’ve got some business to conduct and some friends to see. Have I mentioned that I’m so fucking tired??

Sorry all for the short post, but I’ve got to enjoy L.A. (mostly Anaheim) whilst I’m here and get my shit taken care of. Oh and get some fucking vitamin D, whatever that is (says the Pacific Northwesterner).

If you need a listening recommendation for the week, I’ll redo Bradley’s Vinyl Obsession of the week or whatever the fuck I called it last time. This week it’s Modest Mouse “The Moon and Antarctica.” The thing Modest Mouse does as well as anyone, if not better, is create atmospheres and moods with their music. Before Isaac even utters a word, you feel, see, smell, taste and hear the landscapes. It’s an incredible feat and he’s fucking incredible at bringing you into his world, into the world he wants you to see. “Lonesome Crowded West” will always be my favorite Modest Mouse album, hell, it got me to move to the Pacific Northwest all those years ago and once again (kind of, long story) more recently. I saw a quote from Isaac from some random interview where he stated he didn’t really like Portland but it was more or less where the car broke down and he ended up. I feel the exact fucking same way. It was a weird non-compromise/compromise between me and an ex-girlfriend that brought me to Portland and weird shit upon weird shit that kept me there. I swear someday I’ll write a book about my Portland experience and it’ll get a lot of “what the fuck”-s. It’s messed up. There’s lots of sex, drugs, Rock N’ Roll, some suicide, some attempted suicide, police involvement, blackmail, hospital bills, and on and on. You get the idea. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, nothing…

(dictated but not read)

Why the Good Doctor is Autism-racist (if that's a thing) and why House is much more realistic portrayal of Autism... aka Help an Aspy muthafucker out...

Bradley talks about being Injun Brad, Portland, OR, but mostly about what he thinks of the way people with Asperger's and Autism are portrayed in movies and television.  Bradley also gives some of his favorite (non-diagnosed) Asperger's/Autistic characters in TV and Film and explains why Rick and Morty may be the most important show on television for people with Asperger's and/or Autism.  Any reason to promote Rick and Morty is one Bradley will take, not that the show needs any advertisement at this point.  But, it does need to be recognized for its bravery in the field of Autism.  Thank you Rick for being a (semi) positive role model for us Aspy muthafuckers.  Thanks also to Dr. House and Han Solo, we are forever in your debt...

Scenes from a bubble in a blue state...

Haircuts, Portland, Trump and Depression... Just another day in paradise...

One of the most annoying thing about having Asperger's is how traumatic it can be to do very simple, routine things.  Like I've mentioned before, grocery shopping, for instance, can be very difficult.  To combat this, I buy the same things, in the same order, while walking the same path throughout the store.  This makes it easier to deal with and I can essentially shut my brain off to avoid any potential panic and/or freakouts.  But, if there is someone, say, looking at eggs when I come to the buying eggs point in my route, I can feel my blood pressure rise and I become very agitated to the point where it might ruin my day or I might simply leave the store and all my groceries, and try again another day.  It's frustrating, to say the least; especially for my poor girlfriend.  None of this could (or should, as a practical matter) make sense to her, so she's left to try and deal with my insanity, which, God bless her, she mostly does.  Occasionally, and quite understandably, she'll get upset with me and my shitty attitude which only makes me even more ornery.  It's not a pretty cycle, but, try as I might, I cannot stop or change it in any way.  My brain is just not wired to work another way.  I wish it was; mostly for her sake.  But, we all have our shit to deal with.  Speaking of...

So, another very normal thing that has been traumatic for me for as long as I can remember is getting my hair cut.  I don't really remember why, or what the impetus for this was, but it's very emotionally, mentally and physically draining for me to get a haircut.  For years, it was so bad that I had to literally get blackout drunk before I could face it.  It's very strange to wake up with a new haircut, having no memory of how/why/where it happened, but so it goes.  I felt terrible for the poor gal in New York City who, thrice, had to cut the hair of a man teetering in and out of consciousness/sleep.  Needless to say, she received a very large tip each time, something like $30 or $40 (on a $25-30 haircut) if I remember correctly.  She definitely earned it...

It's getting better, but it still helps a great deal that Bishop's in Portland cracks you open a beer the minute after you write your name down on the waitlist.  Bishop's is one of those "alternative-type" hair salons where there are pictures of naked ladies on the bathroom walls and anything from Bon Iver to Megadeth can be heard on the speakers overhead.  The hair stylists are similarly diverse and there's something very comforting in that, for reasons I don't quite understand.  I suppose it's just because I feel more at home with the black makeup crowd than the typical hair-cutting crowd.  Actually, that's probably it.  I can feel at home with almost any anyone, race/religion/sexuality/etc., but I cannot deal with people who like to get their hair cut.  I just don't understand them and cannot connect with them in any way...  Anyhow, after a cool, crisp, refreshing Montucky tallboy, my name was called and it was my turn.  I started my usual cold sweat and did my best to pretend I wasn't terrified inside.  "Hey, my name is_______." she said very dryly.  I think it started with a "J."  I can never remember hair stylists' names.  It's probably because I'm so focused on not having a borderline panic attack that those details slip through the cracks and right out of my brain, like a hotel key card down an elevator shaft.  She definitely fit the bill for a Bishop's barber.  "Probably a big Deerhoof fan," I thought.  Then, "why the fuck would that be the band I think of?" Then, "but, then again, who isn't a Deerhoof fan?"  "Lots of people, you dumbass.  You're an idiot..."  These are the conversations I have with myself regularly.  I'm sure she said something else while I was having this inane conversation, with myself, in my brain, but I didn't hear her.  Just nod, I've learned over the years...

"What are you looking for today?" she asked.  I, as I always do, pulled up a picture on my phone of what I looked like with the hair I would like to once again have.  She said "OK" and then some other questions I don't remember, to which I replied "that sounds good" while, again, nodding.  She started cutting the constantly growing dead cells of the top of my head.  "Any plans for the weekend?" she asked.  Casually, and without thinking, which I am unable to do during a haircut anyways since the only thought I can muster is "I'm going to be OK..." over and over, I said that my girlfriend and I were thinking of going to the women's march against Trump.  She simply replied with "I have some friends going to that but I'm going to be working."

We chatted for a while about that before it struck me just how fucking weird this whole situation is.  HOW THE FUCK DID WE GET TO A POINT WHERE A MARCH AGAINST THE PRESIDENT OF THE FUCKING UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IS A FUCKING CASUAL AFFAIR?  How divided are we as a country that people protesting the President of the United States, normally one of the most influential and respected people in the ENTIRE WORLD, is a normal, expected, acceptable thing?  I understand that by living in Portland, Oregon I live in an extreme version of this scenario (although, racially it's still a very strange city.  I can't remember who made the joke first, but that the black population of Portland is dependent on whether the Blazers are playing a home game or not, which illustrates well the demographic of this city.  It is very welcoming to gays, homeless and other normally estranged groups, but at almost 90% white, it still has a weird not-quite-there-yet vibe).  Like many major cities, there is a bubble that exists here that only takes 5-10 miles in any direction to disappear.  I often compare Oregon to my home state of Wisconsin.  Outside of Portland, Madison or Milwaukee, you're in the "Red" lands.  And no, that isn't a Native American joke because we're all dead (being half Native American and half White is strange.  Couple that with growing up Catholic and it's amazing I don't hate myself more.  I hate myself a lot, don't get me wrong, but not half-white-half-injun-raised-Catholic-level hate myself).  I'll put it this way, if you live in Oregon and don't own a gun, you probably live in Portland.  But, the larger point, again, is that things are so fucked that disavowing our own "elected" (not going to get into my thoughts on that here, but all I'll say is that I'm not certain voting is on the up and up.  Don't worry, I just got refitted for my new tin foil hat...) President is a very nonchalant, normal thing these days.  I could see our country moving farther and farther towards their respective sides, but this is still shocking somehow.  Maybe it's liberals being sore losers (Hipsters especially hate the concept of "winning and losing") but this seems like something more.  And, unfortunately for all of us, we have exactly the wrong President to reunite the two extremes.  He will only make it worse; much, much worse.  It's sad and depressing that (some, well, a big chunk, but not all) humans in America have somehow lost what makes us "humans" and not just another animal:  empathy, understanding and logic...

I remember when I was young and in school, we had to write papers on a given topic.  I don't remember what my topic was, but the instructions were clear:  write your thesis, research it thoroughly, THEN research the opposite so you can understand why people would think that and see how your opinion fits into those two opposing thoughts.  That was also the basis of high school debates as well.  If you can understand the opposition then you can start to actually win over/convince those on the other side, as well as reinforce your opinion.  If you only knew and argued strictly from your point-of-view, you would only strengthen those already there and never win over anyone else.  Well, if this election proved one thing, it was that Horicon, WI had a decent school system, apparently.  The other part of my desire to understand things is very Aspergian.  Being unable to understand the emotional aspect of things, I love to deep-dive into why people think, act, behave, decide, etc. a certain way.  I have a very different understanding of people than most because of my "limitations."  But, that has served me well over the years in understanding that each conflict has two sides, and both are probably flawed in some way and the answer is rarely one or the other.  It's usually neither, in fact.  But, here we are.  I try to avoid thinking of these things daily but sometimes I can't.  And, yesterday, while getting my hair cut/trying not to have a panic attack the reality/gravity of this situation struck me, rough.  I'll go on and do what I have to to get through (thinking bourbon will help).  Remember, nothing lasts forever and there are plenty of noble pursuits to keep yourself busy with for the foreseeable future.  To that point, I have two albums coming out!  Shit, why am I ranting about this?  I have work to do.  Rock N' Roll isn't going to Make itself Great Again on its' own...

More concussion, Asperger's and power outage blues...

Blah, blah, blah something about concussions and Asperger's.  Also, some song recommendations...

One of the most difficult things about having Asperger's is that for a large part of my life I have to pretend to be someone different.  It's not an easy task and it feels very dirty.  It feels as though I am cheating or betraying myself and my life; that I am not being true to my life's purpose.  It's a very strange, imposter-type feeling that I carry most days.  The only thing that I could compare it to is how introverted people feel and are affected by meetings with strangers.  It's exhausting.  It physically wears me down to behave like a "normal" person for 9-10 hours a day.  I can't do it.  Well, I can and do, but only because I have to.  I don't have a choice.  The only jobs for mentally unstable, socially indifferent, self-absorbed people are:  Musician, Actor, Athlete or just plain old crazy rich person.  Seeing as I'm not rich, athletically gifted (though I was a pretty damn good shortstop) or absurdly handsome, musician seems to be the only way.  And I'm trying.  Believe me, I'm trying.  For English-speaking songwriters, there's maybe 15 people alive who are better than me.  But, as we all know, talent and skill and brilliance don't amount to diddly-squat so all I can do is keep on keepin' on, Joe Dirt style.  At some point, I'll tell the tale of the latest Bradley Wik and the Charlatans album, which is still on its way out, by the way.  I feel like James Franco in "11.22.63" when he was trying to stop Lee Harvey Oswald, the universe was throwing everything it could at him to prevent this from happening.  I'm not sure why God and the universe hate this record so much but fuck it, I'm gonna get it out there if it kills me.  The world deserves it.  Do I think this record will catapult me into the upper echelon of American songwriters?  Maybe.  But I definitely think this record will be a grower.  It may not light the world on fire immediately but the songwriting will sustain it until it gets its righteous recognition.  It will, goddamnit, if it's the last thing I do...

Speaking of last things, man, do these concussions last forever?  The ibuprofen I'm taking for the headaches will kill me before anything else.  It's been three weeks and I still can't see straight.  It's like being three drinks in all the fucking time.  You can see, but it's not perfect.  You can drive, but it's not your favorite thing in the world.  Even watching TV is not easy, and that's the fucking easiest thing you can do in the whole world.  Fucking seriously, three weeks in and the only thing that works is my ears and my ability to listen to music.  But, even then, my mind wanders.  I'm unable to focus completely.  It drives me fucking bonkers.  I almost stopped listening to a vinyl record part of the way through.  And I firmly believe that once you start a record, you play it all the fucking way through.  It was a sobering moment where I couldn't help but realize my predicament.  I hate it.  I can't wait to be "normal" (or, at least, my version of "normal") again.  Fuck concussions.  Fucussions.  Is that a thing?  ("The Grinder" joke for those who watched that immensely hilarious but ill-fated show.  Man, it was so good to have Fred Savage back in front of the camera).

Also, we're currently experiencing a severe storm warning.  I've watched a tree fall on a car in front of my apartment and prayed that the trees in front of my living room window don't pop in for a visit.  It was funny, the power went out this afternoon for a while, and I remember thinking "Shit, now what am I gonna do?"  Which, is silly for a number of reasons.  First, I always complain I never have enough time to play guitar/music.  A perfect, non-power activity.  Second, I lived for years without a computer, internet, etc. and those years were amongst my most productive and fulfilling.  One of the things I hate about our society is that the more convenient and easy things become, the lazier we become.  It's so much easier to sit at home and watch Netflix or Hulu than it is to actually do something that contributes back to humanity; whether that means conversing at a bar or playing music in front of people or whatever people do apart from those two things (my only outside of the house activities).

I never thought I'd love a cat, but goddamnit, I love my little kitty.  She can tell I don't feel well and has made it her (current) life's goal to make me feel as comfortable as possible.  Normally, all she gives a shit about is food.  She's like a little fucking dog.  She runs up to greet us when we come home, begs for food whenever we walk near the kitchen and love to curl up on our laps late at night while we watch SportsCenter.  Living in this kind of crappy, small apartment means no puppy dog for me, but she is somehow even better.

How about some music?

SONG I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD RIGHT NOW:

Not sure if I've mentioned this one before, but, fuck, this is a song and a half:

"Cost of the Cold" - Joan Shelley

It's got 800,000 some odd plays on Spotify, and I reckon at least 500,000 of those are mine.  You'd be surprised how many times you can play it in a row on the 5 1/2 hour drive to Spokane, WA...

SONG I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD EVER:

Again, I don't keep track of music mentions, so this might be a retread but this is, without a doubt, one of my favorite songs ever:

"I'll Believe in Anything" - Wolf Parade

This is one of those songs that just fucking hit me at just the right fucking time in my life.  I've said it before but I'll say it again (you wouldn't be reading this if you didn't give at least some shit about what I say) that one of the most amazing things about music is that a song can mean so many different things to so many different people depending on when it wandered into their life and what they needed from it.  I needed it to be my everything for almost six months, and it delivered without asking for anything in return.  It perfectly summed up all the pain and sadness and hope for me and the girl I was dating at the time.  I was young and molting my exoskeleton, caught vulnerable by the world before I could protect myself once again.  She was on her third exoskeleton but previously had been damaged so deeply that each new exoskeleton that grew out was already in a weakened state.  I hope she was able to adapt and grow a proper shell.  She deserved some protection from the wild.  I wasn't strong enough to give it to her at that time...

Well, that's about it.  Hopefully, I'll soon be able to report without said concussion and be back to my full powers.  But, until then, these may continue to be sparsely broadcast.  As always, go forth and, uh...  Shit, I can't remember.  Well, then just go forth for now, I suppose...

Someone Help! I've Been Trapped in my Apartment for Three Days!

Random Snowed In Thoughts…

            I would like to start by qualifying that, yes, after three days of snow in the fair city of Portland, Oregon, I am still snowed in.  In fact, my phone yelled at me violently, well, not yelled, it was really more of a fire alarm at short range, that the City of Portland has issued a statement urging people to stay inside and not travel due to poor road conditions.  Now, to the layman, the everyday tax-paying citizen, if you will, the proper course of action would be to, oh, I don’t know, maybe take some action.  Maybe hire some plows and salt trucks, something.  Their advice was to just sit tight, as it was supposed to warm up over the next couple of day and the rain should, hopefully, wash away all the snow…  What a plan.  They must be fucking geniuses.  Hopefully they all get re-elected, or better yet, they leave their houses for some coffee or orange juice or a prostitute, whatever, and they slip on the ice and the shitty, packed-in snow on their roadways and crack their heads, and since everyone was advised to stay in they bleed to death, concussed and unable to call for help, lying in the road, like the fucking morons they truly are…  Or at the very least, they could stub their toes.  And I mean really stub it bad, like bend the nail back and chip a little off because that’s what happened to me walking around my tiny apartment trying not to get all “The Shining” all over everyone.  Anyways,  I’m going to devour five or six cups of coffee while I type, got to get this wonderful day going.  So, let’s move on to the randomness…

            Cup of Coffee #1:  Bruno Mars…

            Now, I haven’t actually written anything about the Super Bowl yet, or hardly even spoken of it, since that tragedy of a football game on February 2^nd, 2014, except to congratulate my friends who happen to be Seahawks fans.  They should enjoy it though, as it’s only a matter of years before Pete Caroll fucks the team over, they get busted for cheating and their Lombardi trophy gets revoked(see:  USC)…  Just kidding, the NFL doesn’t revoke trophies like the NCAA.  Theres no real punishment for cheating(see:  Belichick)…  Oh yeah, Bruno Mars.  So, the one thing I did want to talk about, in regard to that dreadful waste of advertising money(Tim Tebow’s “no contract” ads were my favorite, if you were wondering, which I know you probably weren’t), was the Bruno Mars halftime show.  To be fair, most of the people I ask about this actually LIKED his halftime performance and found it quite entertaining.  And, since a lot of people I knew grew up in the nineties, the RHCP thing was a nice touch.  Like most things, I fall on the other side of the fence, I fucking hated it.  FUCKING HATED IT.  Maybe it’s the fact that he constantly gets compared, by critics and therefore unthinking morons who have been diligently trained, by facebook and twitter and 24-hour news, to regurgitate talking points as if they were their own, to Michael Jackson and James Brown.  Not only are those two giants of the music and entertainment industry that we’ll never see the likes of again, they are also two of my favorite performers of all-time.  No one will ever compare to Michael Jackson.  I’m pretty sure that’s what Sinead O’Connor was singing about.  So, I take offense to that.  Also, it set a bar and a standard to which Bruno couldn’t possibly reach even if he(or she, I’m still not sure exactly what this untalented lump of shit is.  The closest thing I can approximate is that if James Brown, hence Bruno's blackness, had a retarded, illegitimate child, who claimed all of his recessive genes, none of the talent or creativity or awesomeness,  and that child knocked up Katy Perry, hence the shitty pop “music,”the resulting baby would be called Bruno Mars) was talented at all.  I think my favorite thing that was written about this, was when Steven Hyden of Grantland wrote:  “A band comes onstage wearing suits that match what Mars is wearing. You typically only get that sort of showmanship on cruise ships.”  His overall review was pretty positive, but still, I crack up every time I read that.  To be honest, I wasn’t really listening to the songs.  After about five seconds of each new song, I wanted to murder someone.  But seeing as I was in a room full of people I had just met, I didn’t want to make a bad impression.  Afterwards, I almost felt bad for Bruno.  It’s bad enough to be a douche on national television, but to be shown up by a fifty year-old RHCP, featuring Will Ferrell on the drums and a guitar player who was either experiencing a bad acid trip or just ate Jack in the Box and was trying desperately not to shit himself in front of America,  must not feel so good.  And he most certainly was shown up.  It’s clear RHCP were comfortable and ready to rock, no matter how big the stage, as they’ve been doing it for years.  Bruno seemed like he was trying to prove he wasn’t the product of James Brown’s retarded, illegitimate, recessive-gened child and Katy Perry…

            Cup of Coffee #3:  Rick Astley…

            Last night, while being cooped up again in my shitty little apartment, I was trying to pin down exactly what it was about Rick, and more specifically, the “Never Gonna Give You Up” music video, that was so amusing to me.  Maybe its because he looks like a sixteen year old ginger who stole his fathers yachting clothes. Maybe its because he sings lines like:  “You know the rules and so do I…” or “You wouldn’t get this from any other guy…” or “I just want to tell you how I’m feeling…”  Maybe its because the video features a random black dude who likes to do flips while he’s cleaning and getting ready for work.  Maybe its because Rick could be, quite possibly, the worst dancer ever.  What the fuck is that side to side hand shimmy thing that he does the whole song?  It’s the single worst white guy dance move I’ve ever seen and its so hard to watch.  I never thought I would see someone who made Phil Collins seem black by comparison.  Rick could be be the whitest guy ever.  Who knows.  But, for any guy who feels like he’s unlucky with women, Astley and the video for “Never Gonna Give You Up” is proof positive that any guy can get laid…

            Cup of Coffee #4:  Random Lists…

            Anyone who knows me well knows that I love making lists.  Top five albums or songs or movies or whatever.  I know, very High Fidelity, but its fun.  By the way, if you have never read the book, you need to stop whatever you’re doing, unless you’re listening to Rick Astley and boning, then by all means keep it up, go find it(hint:  there’s these things that the kids hardly ever use anymore, ever since Al Gore invented the internet, called libraries where they keep tons of books) and read it immediately.  Nonetheless, here’s five random top five lists for you…

            Top five human sensations or feelings.  Now, I’ve never been married, had a child or won the lottery, but I assume those would be my top three if they should ever occur.  Since, I’m not that lucky insofar, here’s what I do know:

1. Predictably, having an orgasm.
2. The first time I put on socks after having cut my toenails.  A close second...
3. The feeling I get just after having taken a large poop that’s been brewing for a while.
4. Taking a shower when I’m really gross or dirty or sweaty or whatever.  Very often following #1 or #3.  Hopefully “or” will never turn into “and.”  I have never had, and cross my fingers, never will have, a sex-pooping problem…
5. Peeing after holding it for as long as humanly possible.

I’m kind of surprised at how low “peeing after holding it” came in, but there you go.

Honorable Mention:  Performing onstage and eating, which leads me to...

Top five favorite sandwiches:

1. Meatloaf, which just might be my favorite food in general
2. Egg salad, I wish I had the patience to make egg salad but I don’t
3. Tuna, the whole concept of lunch is based on tuna
4. Cucumber, tomato and spinach, probably the most refreshing sandwich you can eat, ever
5. Meatball sub from Subway, I think they put heroin in it because it always makes me sick, and for some reason, I always want more

Honorable mention:  Turkey, and I’m talking real turkey like left-overs from Thanksgiving turkey, and the Reuben.

Top Five Monty Python Sketches:

1. Upperclass Twit of the Year
2. Ron Obvious
3. The Dead Parrot
4. The Ministry of Silly Walks
5. The Homicidal Barber/Lumberjack Song

Honorable mention:  The Piranha Brothers, The Bishop and Confuse-a-Cat

Top Five Ramones Songs:

1. Blitzkrieg Bop
2. Sheena is a Punk Rocker
3. Judy is a Punk
4. Teenage Lobotomy, how can you beat a line like:  “Now, I guess I’ll have to tell’em that I got no cerebellum”
5. I Wanna be Sedated

Honorable mention:  Glad to See You Go, Rock N’ Roll High School(partially, well mostly, because of my PJ Soles obsession), Cretin Hop, Surfin’ Bird(Damn you Family Guy!), She’s the One

      My music listening goes in extreme patterns of obsession.  I’ll listen to the same records for months on end.  Right now, the two artists I am obsessing over are the two artists I’ve made Top Fives for.  The first being the Ramones and the second being…

Top Five Shania Twain Songs:

1. Any Man of Mine
2. From This Moment On
3. Man! I Feel Like a Woman!, my favorite memory of this song is when I was like 10 or 11 my good buddy’s seven year old little brother loved this song so much and used to run around the house singing “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” all day
4. Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?
5. I’m Holding on to Love (to Save My Life)

Honorable mention:  You’re Still the One, That Don’t Impress Me Much

For the record, I am a huge Shania Twain fan.  Come on Over and The Woman in Me are just great records.  Each quite different in scope but both are chock full of wonderful country pop.  I even own, and occasionally listen to, Up!  I’m not exactly sure the reason Shania’s music is so near and dear to my heart.  It probably has a lot to do with nostalgia, as she was the biggest thing in the world when I was around 12, and she’s pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean.  But it also probably has a lot to do with the fact that Come on Over and the Woman in Me are two great pop records that are fun to listen to.

Five Random television facts:

The television character I would most like to be:  Brian Hackett, Wings…

The television character that I think the most like:  Larry David, Curb Your Enthusiasm…

The television character I would most like to be friends with:  It’s a tie between Tracy Jordan, 30 Rock and Buddy Sorrell, The Dick van Dyke Show…

The television character I would most like to be “friends” with:  Audrey Horne, Twin Peaks…

The television character’s alter ego I wish we got to know sooner, before the television show was crappy and we didn't care anymore:  Serena, Samantha’s “evil” twin on Bewitched.  Bonus Points for being the impetus to one of the weirdest things I ever saw on TV:  Quentin Tarantino singing “I’m Gonna Blow You a Kiss in the Wind,” a song Serena sang in the episode of Bewitched when she wanted to be a Rock N’ Roll star, on SNL…

If you couldn’t already tell, I’m very bored from being trapped inside for so long without a woman's touch…

Cup of Coffee #6:

Six cups of coffee before nine o’ clock is just too much.  So, I’m going to go waste my time doing something else for a while.  I’ll probably be back sooner than later…  Goodbye for now…