okay, first off, in the title, i am SO not criticizing people who smoke pot. but working my first of THREE widespread panic shows was worse than i ever could have imagined when it came to the box office. scary, scary stuff. and walking through the crowd was even worse. that “au natural” smell (now with PATCHOULI!!!) is bad enough when there’s one or two of them together.
[continue reading…]

07/18/2002: “”

life is a series of cycles; and yesterday, unfortunately, one cycle ended for a buddy of mine…the “working shows for star” cycle. it seems that at the sheryl crow show (which i skipped due to the weather and what i THOUGHT would be a somewhat hectic week that has turned into an incredibly hectic week) something, somehow, someway pushed him into a profanity-laden tangent within ear shot of the promoter and he was “no longer welcome” to work their shows…..so guess who has to fill in on THREE all-day shows that fill the hole between the show i was scheduled to work LAST night and the jewel show on sunday?

that’s right…MY dopey ass.

the three shows in question are not-so-little hippy shows for widespread panic. two of the three are already sold out. like WAY sold out. like no prayer of a release kinda sold out. but what i’ve learned is, that is a term the general public doesn’t seem to grasp, which baffles me.

last night i worked our lady peace, which MUCH to my surprise sold the fuck out. pretty early in the night, too. so, i made two signs…one to hang in each box office window, and then me and nate stayed (i get to work with him at all three widespreads AND jewel…talk about bonding, huh?) to do guest list and pre-paid will call (like when you order over the phone or internet). the sign in HIS window said…

OUR LADY PEACE HAS SOLD OUT!!!
(not meant in that “they’ve gotten too commercial sort of way…)

keep in mind, it WAS me who hand wrote the signs…they were half-sheet size, and i put them at eye level to the customers. the one on my window was a bit longer; it said…

OUR LADY PEACE IS
SOLD OUT!!!
THAT’S RIGHT, KIDS
SOLD OUT!!!
YES, WE ARE SERIOUS

and we STILL had customers coming up and asking for tickets. or seeing if we would release unclaimed (but already paid for) will call. or just sell ’em one “so my kids can go in and see the show…”. the last guy even added (in front of his teenage kids, no less) “if you won’t float me two to get them in, what does that teach them about this world?”

do you guys remember the “don’t be melodramatic rule” from yesterday? i fired back at him (in front of his kids), “it teaches them the value of planning ahead and not waiting till the last minute so they don’t have to embarrass themselves begging for something that ISN’T gonna happen…”

(understand the two quotes from this yutz i put on here are just bits of a five minute diatribe of his i had to sit through, all done in the name of making ME look like the asshole because i have this inability to “hook up” a perfect stranger who happens to NOT be female and cute, two exceptions to the “stranger hook up” scenario…so, FUCK him)

and at a hippy show, it’s a whole different world. these are kids that have been taught that money (which most of their parents make sure they have PLENTY of, despite their appearance) is not the only commodity in this world. they also feel they can trade affection (note: NOT sex), hand-made crafts, food, weed (okay that last one MIGHT just work if it’s good, not shake, not filled with stems and seeds…aw, you know the rules) in order to get into a sold out show; or in the case of tonight’s gig, buy a ticket.

the next three days have nothing but patchouli-drenched ugliness written ALL over them…and keep in mind i get to sit out and sweat at these first two AFTER putting in a full day at the office…and then there’s saturday’s finale, and then jewel (which is also damn near sold out). saturday and sunday night (particularly sunday) i plan on getting so drunk i can barely see…so count the typos on the next few entries here on the ‘whore kids…and if you don’t see entries daily, kick in to get me bailed out, k?

Replies: 2 Comments

good to know your buds got your back like that, ya know?

sean (i kinda write all this….except the comments ofher people do, of course…) said @ 07/19/2002 05:07 AM GMT

you don’t get it, do you? one bottle of patchouli will last like, a couple of years. a bar of soap? maybe a couple of weeks.

anyway, I’ve got bail money and time on Sunday night, if you need it.

astrofishy said @ 07/18/2002 07:02 PM GMT

THIS title needs explaining REAL quick, doesn’t it? (for those who feel it doesn’t, use the email link to drop me a line, k?). the story behind THIS one can be summed up VERY easily…don’t try and get melodramatic with me. it’s not fun. it’s not cool. and if you’re doing it for “show” purposes, you will lose. badly. don’t even TRY it. word to the wise.

learn from world gym’s mistakes. (now gold’s gym, but never mind that now…)

see, world gym (like gold’s gym, and pretty much EVERY corporate anything) has their own rules about pretty much everything; including a dress code. now, while i agree that people shouldn’t be in there in a clown outfit, or a business suit, or whatever, i feel shorts and a t-shirt should be acceptable. and i don’t know too many people who would disagree with me on that.

since my world (work-wise…and now that i think about it, every-wise) is a bit more rock and roll than corporate, and i typically have to run around in the hot texas sun (when we can see the sun and aren’t stuck in our new found “rainy season”) i tend to wear jean shorts to work. swap a t-shirt, wife-beater, what have you into the mix and you’re ready for the gym, right? especially at the downtown location where they began renovations on the men’s locker room on FEBRUARY 5th and had signs up that it would be completed within a month or so. apparently “…or so” is what makes it go the same pace as my home improvements, except i never put up a time limit sign and mine doesn’t inconvenience a shit-load of people or ruin a major gay social area…despite the rumors of what goes on at my annual birthday bar-b-Q’s (i am SO kidding).

the point being, changing there is now a major pain in the ass (pardon the pun) and so typically what you wear in is what you work out in…in my case, denim shorts and a sleeveless shirt. all good in my eyes. not so much in the eyes of one of world gym’s “assistant managers”.

i walked in the door and do the same bit everyone else does….start spouting your membership number as you round the corner, and you’re done with them before you hit the little stairway that takes you up into the first weight room. you never break stride. except this new, gung-ho, former high school jock-looking son of a bitch stops me…

“sir….what are those?”, he says, pointing at my shorts. i think he MUST be kidding, so oddly enough, i get a bit sarcastic in my response…

“they’re shorts, um…*i look at his name tag*…jason. you know; pants with little legs?”

“no sir,” he replies, with almost military-like precision, “they’re jeans…and jeans are not proper work-out attire. i can’t let you in…”

“first off, if they were jeans, you wouldn’t be able to see my calves. but you CAN, because they’re SHORTS. it’s not like they’re capri pants or something (YES, i’m straight..but i still know what capri pants are. sue me). and second, what the hell do you MEAN you can’t ‘let me in’? i PAY for this membership monthly. i’m in shorts. i wanna workout. what’s the FUCKING problem?”

“the problem is, SIR (said in the most sarcastic tone) that blue jeans, regardless of LENGTH (he still wouldn’t call them shorts) are not proper workout attire. now if you would like to BUY some more appropriate attire, we DO have some for sale…”, he says, gesturing at the “world gym apparel” rack in the lobby.

“okay, i’m gonna pretend you didn’t EVEN try to pimp out y’all’s clothing on me, ’cause that will get this even uglier than it already is. but i’m in shorts. they’re nice, they’re clean. they have no rivets or snaps or anything so it’s not like they can damage the equipment…they’re SHORTS. just like EVERYBODY else is wearing, they just happen to be made of denim. you guys CHARGE me to workout, so i’m GOING to work out. have a good one.”

and i start up the steps into the weight room.

the motherfucker stepped IN FRONT OF ME.

“SIR…(i’ll be damned…the tone CAN get more sarcastic) RULES are RULES. without them society as we know it would crumble and anarchy would ensue…”

i was blown away that he would take it that far. make that big a show of it. and more impressively, use the word “ensue” in a sentence properly. but i wasn’t so impressed i was gonna turn around. oh HELL no. he was breaking my melodramatic rule. and he was just doing it for show, since it was about 5:15 in the evening, and a line of just-off-work (gay) exec types was forming behind me. the next thing that came out of my mouth endeared me to the regulars of this gym for all eternity.

“so, what you’re saying is, that if you allow me to wear DENIM (the cloth of satan) into your hallowed halls, and disobey this “rule”, that it is the end of the world as we know it?”

(and i feel fine….shut up….you were thinking it….and now i’ve got yet ANOTHER song stuck in your head)

“EXACTLY!!!”, he replied, happy i finally “got it”.

“which would then mean my ASS is the center of the universe?!?!?”

THAT he wasn’t expecting. that blew him out of the water. and got a round of applause from the homo-minions behind me (understand this isn’t meant in some sort of demeaning way; but the membership at the gym is predominantly gay men).

at this point, he stepped out of my motherfucking way and i walked in to work out. oddly enough, i never saw this guy there (or at any other gym in austin) again. i think i may have scarred him for life.

good.

Replies: 1 Comment

You GO girl!

more red than dead said @ 07/17/2002 05:45 PM GMT

one of the most noble things we as human beings can do is save another person’s life. when one does such a thing, occasionally there is a reward involved. sometimes it’s a small gesture, like a card or a handshake. sometimes a bit more grand, like a cash reward or some sort of public display in the media.

but occasionally, it’s something really cool….like naked, squirming, tanned, blonde, barbie-doll-looking women moaning and squealing on into the night as you and kimberly, the porn star in training, share an evening together that also had me wondering how i feel about my toes getting licked. but perhaps i should back this up a bit and explain…

saturday evening, on my way in to work the lyle lovett show, i was talking to josh and planning the night’s drinking excursion when the other line rang and it was kimberly. i hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days, but one of the last times we HAD spoken, it was about she and i going to the sheryl crow show together on tuesday. figuring that was what the call was about, i got off the phone with josh only to hear a voice that KINDA sounded like kimberly say, “i don’t know who you’re on the other line with, but hang up on them ’cause this is more important….this is a matter of life and death…”

she went on to explain that for some inexplicable reason she had been feeling weaker and weaker over the last few days and for the last couple of days hadn’t even made it out of bed. when i asked her what brought it on, she said she didn’t know what had done it and she didn’t know what to do about it. since i was committed to working the show that night, my hands were pretty much tied. i suggested she drink plenty of fluids, make herself get up and move about a bit, and i’d call her on sunday and check on her.

when i called her sunday she sounded 100% better and explained that it was due to two factors:

1. my advice on hydrating and moving around

and…

2. her fear of what i would say in HER astrowhore tribute….

so basically, i saved her life. which we decided was something worth celebrating, so i drove to san antonio to see her. we went out to dinner at outback, and she just said she had been feeling bummed lately, and wanted me to help cheer her up. no problem, i thought…i had a logical plan.

if you have a friend who’s a guitar god in training, you take them to alamo music. likewise, if they’re a porn star in training, you take them to the adult megaplexxx. so tonight i got to go shopping for porn with an expert shopping buddy. someone with a working knowledge in the field. a few “items” browsed and pondered, one dvd was purchased, COUNTLESS others made fun of, and back to the grotto de porn star we did go.

the rest of the night was a bit odd…barbie-doll looking naked women splashed in the surf with each other, or guys, or what have you; and through it all we had the xxx-rated version of “mystery science theater 3000” going with me, kimberly, and beufford the basset hound in training critiquing, comparing our skills to theirs, what we would (or wouldn’t) do the various women on the screen if WE got a hold of them, etc, etc, etc…

the dog, by the way, was the one who started licking my toes, for those of you who have forgotten how “special” kimberly thinks i am (i.e. she doesn’t wanna fuck me)…it’s just the fact he decided to do it after he watched twenty straight minutes of lesbian sex that i thought was a bit odd…what can we say? sometimes he’s a b-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-d dog….

Replies: 1 Comment

You really did know exactly what to do to cheer me up. The Adult Video Megaplexx was like taking a kid to a candy store…a fat chick to a buffet…Chet to a petting zoo full of blind, crippled sheep. Speaking of that, can ANYBODY explain why when most guys have Penthouse and Hustler stashed in their mattresses my boyfriend has a copy of Mother Goose’s nursery rhymes with particularly stiff and crusty pages when you get to Mary Had a Little Lamb and Baa Baa Black Sheep? And why is it that phone sex with us always starts out in a nice green pasture where he coats me with honey and rolls me in cotton balls? How come he grabs my ears and says “who’s your daaaaddy?” every time I tell him I want it rough? And WHY is it that when he says “i love you” he spells it e-w-e instead of y-o-u like everyone else?

Sandee Krotch (aka Porn Star) said @ 07/15/2002 08:09 AM GMT

saturday i got up early to repair the fence and try and prevent further neighbor “issues” between the couple that lives next to me and the couple of dogs that live WITH me…afterwards, i got changed into old clothes (okay, so just the nasty ones that i’d worn to work the friday lyle lovett show, but same difference at that point) and went out to mow the grass…but it was raining.

since i needed to make a san marcos wal-mart run to get some contacts and the $5.00 house mess solution (i’ll explain that last one in a sec) i said, “fuck it…maybe the rain will stop by the time i get back” and got in the car. well, i backed out half the length of my driveway and saw how little it was raining, judging off what was on my windshield, so i pulled right back in the carport, got out, and fired up the mower.

best mow of my life…if there is such a thing.

no dust. no sneezing. no grass stuck to my socks and shins…plus, it was cool the whole time. it started coming down harder and harder as the morning progressed, but i kept on mowing. understand my house sits on a little more that a third an acre, so my front yard is pretty big…but it got done. mowed, mulched, and thanks to the rain, watered. i’m just enough of a kid to enjoy playing in the rain, and just enough of an adult to enjoy gasoline fueled power tools, so this was a good combination for me. and as i rolled out to austin later (after one SERIOUSLY major shower) i could pass by my neighbors houses on the way down the street, scoff, and say out loud to myself, “they need to cut that shit”.

apparently mowing in the rain is not looked at as “sane”…but then again, neither am i. from now on, i plan on ONLY mowing in the rain.

then it was off to austin, with a quick detour by whole foods (for pills) and wal-mart for the aforementioned house cleaning aids…2mm thick contractor’s trash bags. they can hold ANYTHING and they’re HUGE. (yet don’t come with twist-ties or flaps..which was a bummer) i started going through the rooms in my house that are piled with stuff, disorganized, and generally needing attention before they get painted, re-floored, etc. i made four piles…

1. can’t do without it
2. CAN do without it
3. what the fuck is it?
4. might need it later

i then fill the huge-ass, thick-ass bags with piles two AND three AND four and put them out at the curb. problem solved. we’re on our way. i’m thinking i might take a week off at the beginning of august and just finish my house up…ya know, do more in five days than i’ve done in five months. i am SO sick of living in a half finished project, ya know?

so anyway, then it was off to work the second lyle lovett show (a man admired by women all over the state for keeping his hair THAT high in texas humidity). same set as before (and i believe every tour for the last three years) but a MUCH nicer night, climate-wise, and afterwards the saturday purple ritas at baby a’s with josh…ahh, some traditions just need not be broken.

sunday was reserved for seeing officer lance’s new house, and now ONE YEAR OLD daughter (who i’d never seen…pretty sad considering we all live in lockhart, huh?) plus of course kagan the wild child (who remembers me as “the guy with the big snake”..why can’t more women remember me that way?) and his calum-hated wife heather (plus, i put this page on their IE favorite’s list…and don’t worry, heather is WELL aware of the calum-dislike…i’ll tell you the story later it y’all really wanna hear it)

this weekend ALSO marked the end of my buddy shane’s car getting more action than me…yep, you no longer have to blow the pontiac sunfire to get it to fire up for you (sorry, ladies). and you should hear how shane planned to celebrate this little “milestone” in his year…..

“dude, i’m gonna go to the store and by a case of cold beer…like good shit. shiner or something. then i’m gonna pull my car up in the backyard, sit on the hood, and drink a beer. after i FINISH the beer, i’m gonna get in my car, and START IT. rev the engine a bit. then turn it off, plop back down on the hood, and drink ANOTHER beer. then get back in, and start it AGAIN. and keep going till all the beer is gone, starting it up between every round. i’m never gonna leave the house or anything, just enjoy the fact that i’m drunk off my ass, and able to start up my own car…”

party on, shane…

Replies: 1 Comment

well my plan for the car worked out
, but i wound up going with mickeys.

shane

not shiner said @ 07/16/2002 05:03 PM GMT

so, where was i? oh yeah…the apd thang. my commute to work, from the ass-end of my driveway to the parking garage of our building is forty-three (43) miles. it takes about an hour. what’s funny is that i typically cover the first thirty miles of the damn thing in the first thirty minutes. how? because i “liberally interpret” the speed limit. i don’t look at it as a law; but more of a suggestion. i mean, if you’re a bad driver, you’re a bad driver…and likewise if you’re GOOD, you’re good.

well now, apd (austin police department, for those not from around here) have decided to pick on us commuter types. this one ONLY targets those of us who trek some miles to come to work here. the new austin “border patrol” sits on one of the southern most bridges on i35 (like 1327, or onion creek) and guns you from up top; then radios down to a pack of two-wheeled demons on the side of the road and one of THEM comes and pulls you over. when i took the time to ask one of the apd guys why this was their new spot, he said because they need people to slow down on their way in, ’cause EVERYBODY that heads in that way is speeding…

no we’re not, bud…we’re AVERAGING. there’s a difference.

see, remember i told you that i cover the first thirty miles of a forty-three mile commute in thirty minutes…but i allow an HOUR to get to the office. that’s not including pulling over for brisket breakfast tacos. that’s not if i have to stop for gas. and i’m not one of those gung-ho morning types who shows up at 8:42 and puts 9:00 on my time sheet. that’s to get there BY 9:00.

do the math.

that means that on ben white blvd. (aka hwy 71, aka 290 west, aka capital of texas hwy, aka 360…welcome to austin!!!) where the speed limit is 65 mph (just like it is on almost every stretch of road the first thirty miles of my commute) it takes me thirty minutes to go TWELVE miles. hell, it takes almost ten of that thirty just to make it from the EXIT RAMP of i35 to where my tires are actually ON ben white…

ain’t THAT some shit?

part of the problem lies in the fact that the people building the i35/ben white fly over are taking longer than the egyptians took to build the pyramids. and going off the looks of it, they didn’t learn jack freakin’ squat from the 183 flyover, where they made it just ONE lane, creating big-time backup constantly. dallas gets two or three lanes…why can’t we? as long as they’ve taken, they could have built us all individual DIRECT roads from our homes to our offices by now…

so, officers, let us have our 90 mph part of our commute…it makes up for the “follow the dumb ass with the eight billion ‘jesus loves you’ stickers at 28 mph in the fast lane of a 65 mph road for thirty minutes” part balance….and isn’t balance what life’s all about?

on sunday’s little f.b.c. excursion (i.e. fajitas, booze, and cigars) at beth & bd’s place, post-gram-passing, i was attacked. relentlessly. and i’m still feelin’ it…and that’s not meant in a good way. and it’s NOT from the fajitas, the booze, or the cigars.

you see, i was wearing these shoes i picked up at the nike outlet that can best be described as summer ninja footwear. “summer” because they are undeniably light and comfortable, and most of the top is open (save for the toe cap and an elastic strap) so my tattoos on the top of my feet show. “ninja” because they have a “split toe” design where the big toe is actually separate from the rest of the foot. almost like mittens, but in a running shoe version. due to the foot flesh exposure, and the pools of water now just sitting around here in central texas festering in the sun, we have two issues that make outdoor “fun” not so fun…humidity that makes you almost have to gargle the fucking air before you can completely inhale, and mo’ squitoes.

that was NOT a typo…i meant is. MO’ squitoes. as in more.

and bigger.

some of these little shits have landing lights. some of them even project an in-flight movie…i swear the one last night was showing “mr. deeds” right before it met the business end of the august 2k2 issue of stuff magazine. just ungodly little flying menaces.

and vicious, too.

when i was throwing on my shoes this morning (NOT the ninja ones…first attempt at socks since the assault), i could count 29 bite marks around my feet and ankles. twenty-fucking-nine!!! that’s just plain ridiculous. i don’t know if that area of my body even holds that much blood. and you cross into the thirties if you start looking at my hands…i actually have three on the back of my left hand that for a perfect upside down triangle. i guess that’s where the gay mosquitoes got me.

i hate them all and i want them to die.

mosquitoes, that is. not gays. although gay mosquitoes ARE on the list due to the hand biting…nothing to do with them sucking more than blood or anything. but these little fucks are tough. i swear i saw a couple of them splashing around in the citronella bucket candles smoking a menthol before planting his little blood sucking face dead center of the tattoo on my left foot…right on the black line, and then had the nerve to look up at me and say, “the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice” JUST because he happened to be sucking on black inked skin. they may have beaten citronella, but they can’s win against the palm of your right hand coming down at mach four.

one down.

six hundred and fifty eight billion, nine hundred and eighty four million, six hundred and forty two thousand, seven hundred and eighty three to go.

and that’s just on my block.

i was getting ready for a lunch engagement in north austin when i got called in on “family” duty. not my family by blood, and not my family by marriage (having never been married and starting to get the feeling i’ll never BE married, that would have been quite a feat)…no, it was my OTHER family; the one who’s phone number is saved in my star tac as “FAMILY II” (as it has been in every mobile i’ve ever owned). and our matriarch had just left the building for the last time to go take her place running the smoking section of that big chunk o’ sky i call “Liz’s Lounge” (named after my mother, the first of the mighty females in my life to head that way).
[continue reading…]

saturday night in live oak, texas; and i’m going shopping. we DO have a list, and it has all of THREE items on it…

1. ranch dressing
2. liquor
3. a live hamster

so, as you can tell, being in live oak and all, it was a saturday night with kimberly, the porn star in training (who last night i found out is quite the cook in addition to her many “other” talents.) but this was all the second half of my saturday , so let’s look at the brief FIRST part, shall we?

i’ve never been a big fan of the COMMUTE to the job lasting longer than the job itself. like when i drove two hours, round trip, to actually work all of two MINUTES in san antonio. or the time i drove five hours, round trip, to corpus to work for twelve minutes. well, last night i finally got an austin one. for reasons beyond my control (and reasons that, for professional reasons, i won’t go in to here) i drove ninety minutes round trip to work eight minutes. so that already threw my night’s plans off. throw in a dead cell phone battery and the original plans totally derailed. so we went with a tasty alternate: kimberly, the porn star in training. and went shopping.

and i KNOW you guys can remember the list.

well, due to kimberly’s personal tastes and what she did and did NOT think we needed to make our saturday night one to truly enjoy, we chopped the list down to only two items.

we ditched the ranch dressing.

kimberly, occasionally in touch with her masculine side, decided that we didn’t NEED salad to go with the sixteen ounce ribeyes she’d grilled up for us. or potatoes. just steak. and booze. and a live hamster with all the trimmings.

oh…by the way…had i mentioned that today was brandal’s seventh birthday? brandal being kimberly’s son. he turns seven today (happy birthday, brandal) and wanted a pet; kimberly thought that a hamster would be a good, inexpensive call. now…what were y’all THINKING we needed a hamster for? you damn perverts. that is SO not me. my three rules are:

1. no animals
2. no kids
3. no stuff that you do in the privacy of your own bathroom.

other than that, anything that happens between me and a woman (or two, or three, or…) is all good. and the hamster would CLEARLY violate rule one (which were not listed in any particular order, i might add). not all abide by these rules, as the internet has shown me. as has kimberly’s boyfriend…

ONLY kidding. those rumors are TOTALLY unconfirmed. i mean, a lot of guys buy those sheepskin mittens to polish their cars. but most people actually use them on their CARS. and don’t name them “sam”. but never mind all that now. that’s a WHOLE different story.

Replies: 3 Comments

Kimberly buying Brandal a hampster??!! You might want to ask her about her past experiences with her own hamsters…

The Porn Star’s Mom said @ 07/13/2002 04:14 PM GMT

You forgot to mention that I risked death by snakebite to grill those steaks. And by the way, I wasn’t kidding when I said I dropped yours.

Porn Star said @ 07/07/2002 07:08 PM GMT

is a chicken considered a live animal?

real red said @ 07/07/2002 06:53 PM GMT

so, my day at a glance…woke up this morning at 6:45 on a little under five hours of sleep after doing dinner and a movie with kimberly, the porn star in training (allow me to clarify, i WENT to a movie with her…men in black ii. it had it’s moments, but over all had a bad case of sequelitis where it pails compared to the original…just didn’t want y’all to think the two of us MADE a movie or something).
[continue reading…]