Cat's Got My Finger

In the early morning hours, once again, dreams blend with the radio sounds.

Saying such strange things, melding with my subconscious, passing through.

I'm in a doctor's office, somewhere, the doctor is talking to me about being an "extreme runner" talking about how on his 30th birthday, late at night, he suddenly just ran for 30 miles until he was exhausted. Seems strange, 'cause in reality on the radio near my bed a man is being interviewed about the same thing, he is telling the same exact story. An orange cat appears, seemingly from nowhere, a pretty cat it is, so I begin to pet it. Suddenly the cat turns evil and bites my finger, I can feel its sharp little teeth and raspy tongue gripping down on my pinky. I yell for it to stop, I yell at the doctor and tell him to get it off, nobody is doing anything, the doctor is still talking about running. I'm freaking out, trying desperately to get the fucking cat to release my finger -- it won't. The radio hums, seeping into my head, where did this stupid cat come from!?

I awake, finally. What a terrible little dream. The radio is still on and the runner is still talking about his experiences. What the fuck? What is this called when reality blends with dreams? Feel like it is something out of a Gondry film. I look at my pinky, no bite marks, but it hurts.

This is "Pachuco Corpse" a 16" drum head striped pattern, created by Joe in Albany, CA. He is going to have a sale for some of his artwork very soon. Come and see Pachuco Corpse and various other avant wall hanging devices. They look good in a cluster method, so buy multiples and you'll be the envy of everyone you thought you ever knew. Blank days are not so unwritten anymore.  

The finger is refracted 

The Strobe Knows

The Strobe light continued to flicker -- tack, tack, tack, tack, tack -- an unrelenting assault on the senses, causing some to go into epileptic fits, swallowing their own tongues, almost choking, but somehow pulling it all back together to enjoy the final few minutes of Slope's very short and noisy set in the backyard of my parent's home, circa 1992.

Hmmm, seems so strange to think about this now. I've told the story a million times, I think, and have gotten a few laughs here and there -- mainly because most people can't fathom that a person like myself hosted one of the biggest and craziest parties of 1992. Ahhh, '92, I often think of you in these passing days. Clinton was president, 120 minutes was a Sunday night welcome respite, skateboarding fueled my days, and a powerful new force in me was emerging -- music --and deep and passionate force that was, and still is. So during this time, and particularly the Summer of 1992, my idealistic and optimistic world view was coming into full-bloom. Things were bright, my energy was at an all time high, I still had hair, people liked me, and I liked people. What a perfect time to throw a party, yes?

So my good friend, Alex, had this band called Slope, or Sullen, or whatever name they could think of that month. They were a talented group of wranglers. They played a kind of shoegaze, brit-pop, indie, Manchester style of music. The first time I heard it I loved it instantly. Most of the bands to come out of the high desert were of the punk, hardcore, and metal genre. They all sucked, I hated them. I was never into hardcore, I kind of liked some punk, and fucking despised metal. Nowadays I have an appreciation for this music, mostly because I have aged, like a bottle of cheap red wine, and have expanded my musical interests. But back then, the valley was filled with a bunch of meat-head jocks, just fueling their anger through lazily constructed music. Forming a band was easy for these people. All they had to do was have a singer that yelled and hollered a lot, a tuneless guitarist, a hack bass player, and a troglodyte drummer who just pounded out simple, prehistoric beats.

But Alex's band seemed to soothe the soul amidst all of this chaos. They were noisy, yes, like the great UK band Ride, and they conjured up some beautiful sounds. Sometimes they were noisier than the hardest hardcore bands in the area, and that always brought a smile to my face. So it wasn't until a couple of years of becoming familiar with their music that I thought it proper to have them play a show at my house... er...my "parent's" house. Plans were made, and it was decided that I would leave a few days early from a summer vacation on Catalina island with my family, and return home alone and host a "small" party for my friends.

Alex and Jon, the other guitarist in Slope, had told me that they were going to make a few flyers to tell people about the party. I said it was fine and told them to only hand out flyers to people they knew. My house was kind of out in the middle of nowhere, and having flyers with little maps drawn on the back seemed like a good idea. They were excited, I was really excited. Slope never got the opportunity to play too many shows in Lancaster, mainly because they never really fit in on the bill with other local bands. But I was going to change that, I was going to act like a small town Tony Wilson, and propel Alex's band to stardom!

So the day arrived. I was fresh off the boat from Catalina island, I think I was even a bit tan too. I guess I used to tan a little when out in the sun. Now, I just turn red and resemble some kind of devastated burn victim if I spend too much time in the sun. I was healthier then, tanned, still had hair, and girls liked me, blah, blah, blah...I regress, but now onward to the rock. We had planned to have some other bands play the party as well, to open for Slope. I didn't care about these other bands, I figured it was just a good idea to keep things moving along, and to have a bit more musical diversity throughout the night. I remember one of the bands being quite interesting, actually breaking away from the mediocre hardcore style that dominated the Antelope Valley. Alex and the boys did a little soundcheck earlier in the day. It sounded so good out there in the lazy summer afternoon, sound was bouncing all over my backyard -- off the rickety wooden fence and swirling around in the patio. We had sheep and a pig way in the back of our yard, and safely enough away from where the party would be held. When Slope finished checking a song I could hear the sheep baaaahing in the distance. They were frightened by the noise. I felt badly about this because I didn't want the animals to be scared or hurt in any way. I put up a little sign on the gate to their pen saying, "Please do not touch the animals, please leave them alone, the pig is very aggressive." I didn't want anyone, in a drunken stupor, heading back there and disturbing them.

So the day progressed and slowly transitioned into evening. A beautiful sunset was developing in the West, complete with purple and orange hues lingering in the expansive light blue sky, while traces of dark, dark, dark were quickly taking over the colorful canvas. It was nearing 8:30 pm, and in about an hour people would show up and the first band would play. I was milling about while the other bands were setting up. Alex took out the strobe light, which was present at most of their shows, and placed it over in a corner on a chair. He then came over, with Jon, to speak to me. The conversation went something like this: "Hey Joe, yeah, dude, we have got to tell you something about tonight. Well, you know we made some flyers for this party, right? And we passed them out to some people. Well, we actually made a LOT of flyers and went down to the mall and started handing them out to everyone. We even went out to the parking lot and put some on cars that had band bumper stickers and stuff. We just got kind of excited and went ahead and made a bunch of flyers, I hope you don't mind, was that okay to do???" I was a bit shocked, and really didn't want a bunch of random people showing up at this party. I even told my dad that I might have a few people over on the weekend, and that I was not going to have a huge party. But at that point I didn't care. I said, "Fuck it, that's cool. I'm sure not that many people will show up anyway, ya know?" It was too late, much too late...

The party started, a few people were there, mostly friends and the local skateboarding contingent. I was having a good time. The first band was playing and everyone was sitting on the lawn, or casually standing around drinking and being generally mellow. It was what I wanted, it was how I pictured it. But this peace would not last for too long. My friend Ron came up to me and said, "Joe, you need to see something, come this way". I followed him around to the front of my house and there in the stark blackness of 22nd St., the long dirt road leading to my house, was a stream of headlights that went on forever, and they were all heading toward me. I instantly freaked and mumbled, "Oh fuck..." It was like in the film Field of Dreams when at the end, ol' douchebag Kevin Costner looks out to the distant road and sees the endless stream of headlights emerging toward his little baseball field. I didn't know what to do, and again it was too late, much too late to turn back now.

I went back to the party, somehow in the ten minutes that I was gone, the attendance had doubled. There were now people all over my backyard. I didn't know most of them, and I don't think that they knew who the fuck I was. This is Lancaster, the high desert, nothing happens here, ever! And when something somewhat interesting does happens, especially involving youth culture, people are just drawn to it, it's not anyone's fault. Alex once said, "People just want to have somewhere to go." So I ran around, checking everything, making sure that nothing "bad" was happening, or going to happen. Jesus, when all of the cars finally parked along the dirt road on 22nd St., there was a line of vehicles easily stretching out a quarter of a mile. Upon returning once again to the backyard, it was total mayhem.

Ron V. was hanging from a tree in my backyard, he was flailing there and yelling, the branch finally snapped and he came crashing to the ground, only to jump up once again and start running around like a maniac. There was a mosh pit on my lawn, I mean like a hardcore pit! People were thrashing and dancing, stomping and waving their hands around. Groups of people were milling about all over the backyard drinking and smoking weed. The skateboarders remained somewhat calm, watching the antics with cautious eyes. There were hardcore guys and punkers everywhere. I even saw a few mohawks present. Strange and sketchy Lancaster goths were present, they stood around clad in big black trenchcoats and smoked clove cigarettes all night. A group of Hispanic gang-banger types even showed up. Alex's brother was with them and he kept asking me if he and his friends could go into my house to do a few "lines". I said no. People were asking me if they could use the bathroom in the house. I said no, and told them to just pee in the bushes or something. Girls were wanting to use the bathroom, and I'd let groups of two go in only for a few minutes. I stood by the backyard door, acting as the world's weakest bouncer. People were way off in the backyard, by the ship pen, the OFF LIMITS AREA!! I continually had to go over there and tell them not to bother the animals. Somebody wanted to let the pig out and have it run around in the mosh pit. My little sign on the gate was torn down.

This was not what I expected, not what I wanted. My simple little party was out-of-control. People kept showing up, they just kept building up in the backyard. I had placed a 50 gallon barrel in the backyard for trash and what not. The thing was full and overflowing by 11:00 pm. I put another one back there and that was full in about an hour. At one point I estimated maybe about 350 people in my backyard. I was sure something bad was going to happen. The mosh pit was huge, and the hardcore guys were getting rough. The gang-bangers looked everyone down, as if inviting trouble. It was scary, really scary. I tried to have a good time, but it was way too much for me. My heart was beating fast, and I knew there was no way I was going to get away with this. I would certainly be caught.

Slope was about to play and I was getting excited, but still distracted by everything around me. Some of my "big" friends helped me maintain control of the party. This eased my worries some. The gang-bangers even told me that they'd keep an eye out for trouble. Great, just what I needed. Like the Hells Angels at Altamont while the Rolling Stones played. Real great. So Slope played and I was into it, the pit stopped and most of the people just sat on the lawn. No doubt tired, drunk, and stoned at this point. Slope played and sounded great, they seemed to calm the party down, but at the same time maintained the necessary energy to keep things interesting. Oh, and the strobe, it was flashing incessantly, mesmerizing the eyes of many. People made out with each other by the sheep pen. The animals resting now. Dave L. was on acid somewhere in the bushes. But it was still loud, Slope were no folk band, and they played with their amps cranked.

To my "not surprise" a police officer appeared over by the front gate. I made my way over to speak with him. He was livid, he was super PISSED!!! I mean, this guy was the meanest cop I'd ever spoken to. He was old, with receding silvery gray hair, and he had the standard cop moustache. He was yelling at me, telling me that he was going to go back there and arrest everyone who was underage and drinking, and then fine me for every underage person (which was about 90% of the people at the party). I was shaking and nervous. Just then, as I was trying to reason with the cop, some guy walks right up to the fence and starts pissing on it, right there in front of the cop. The cop looked at me in disgust and said, "See, look at your so called friends, they're pissing all over your house!!" Then he said to me, "Who are you, what is your first and last name?" I told him and he said that he knew who my father was, and that he couldn't believe that somebody in my family would do this. What a dick. I was upset and went back to the party, told Slope to stop playing, got on the microphone, and told everyone to leave right away, it was over. The cop stood by the gate and scowled as people slowly exited out of my backyard. Who knows how many people drove home drunk that night? But people always drive drunk in Lancaster, so fuck it.

The strobe flickered until the last person left. Alex finally went over there and turned it off. He then said to me, "Damn, I've never seen you that mad before, you were really pissed, you even scared me!" I told him what the cop told me, and he understood. It was late, and I was tired, I didn't even drink much. I guess that's what happens when you gotta take care of business, which I did all night. The bright morning came all too soon. The backyard looked like a war-zone. Beer cans and bottles scattered everywhere, trash cans overflowing with 12 pack cartons and discarded Boons Strawberry Hill bottles. The grass was all dried up and resembled concrete. There were HUNDREDS of little cigarette butts everywhere. The tree was broken too. Luckily, the animals were alright, and resting in the pen. I fed them some grains and gave them water.
What a night. Later, I took a giant Hefty bag full of bottles and threw it into a juniper bush in the far reaches of our property, with the hope that my dad would not notice so many beers in our trash barrel and start asking questions.

Years later at home, during a college break for the summer, I took a stroll into the backyard and found that old stash of bottles. The Hefty bag most certainly weathered and gone, but the bottles were still all there, shining brightly in 120 degree heat. I laughed to myself and thought of the party, and the damn strobe light that saw everything -- tack, tack, tack, tack, tack.

Misanthrope vs. Misanthrope

So the other night, after a rock n' roll show held at 12 Galaxies in SF's mighty and decaying Mission district, I almost got into a fight with a street dweller, that is, a homeless person. Why the hell did this happen? Well it could've been due to a number of things, including, but not limited to the following: weird and good spicy homemade Indian food consumed earlier in the evening, beers drank at the club, Comets on Fire's squalling noise and ''70s rock antics, and a bit of the ol' balding, glasses wearing, misanthropic rage that I let build up way too often.

Yeah, maybe all of the above combined and probably, most accurately, it was just my own stupidity and self-loathing that got me into trouble. I really need to learn to keep that under wraps, ya know? It is just not healthy to let the velcro fly like that in the middle of a public place, and in the Mission for chrissakes! So, man, I just don't know why I got into this situation.

The guy came up to us - a small group containing me, Sarak, and Ton Loc. He asked us all for change - a normal homeless encounter for the most part. But, after Sarak and I explained that we had no change, and this is true, he continued to stand there, almost pleading to us, as if we were supposed to go to the nearest ATM and get him some large bills. What the fuck? I hate when these guys do that - makes me feel so guilty. Anyway, Ton Loc had already given him like fifty cents or something, and the homeless guy had a bag of food with him, so he didn't seem too bad. Plus, he seemed pretty high-functioning to me. He could have easily held a job somewhere. But, it is true, I don't know this guy's situation, and there could have been a number of things happening in his life.

I said to him that it looked like he was "hooked up" for the time being, and he didn't take very kindly to this banter. He said, "Man, it takes me four hours just to make enough money to buy a burrito" and that made me feel kind of bad. So the stupid, impulsive and vehement side of my brain just forced me to blurt out "Well, get a job then". I know I should have not said that, and it was a really stupid, cliched thing to say to a person on the street. What happened next, I just don't really know...it just happened so fast, and like a blurry dream. I remember him saying that he was going to beat my ass, and he was really pissed. The next thing I know, I'm standing in front of him, flailing around like a jackass, and jumping up and down, caught in some kind of insane fit of rage. There was no contact made, but I guess I was right up to the guy, making a complete fool of myself. I think I wanted him to think that I was crazy, and then he'd just walk away. But street people are tough, and they have seen EVERYTHING. So he just stood there. And after, when I walked away from him, he started coming after me, yelling "I'll beat your fucking ass!!!!!!!!!!" I really thought I was going to be in a fight. So dumb, so dumb. I am very dumb for doing that. Maybe I need a good beating? Maybe somebody just needs to kick the shit out of me and bring me back to my senses?

Well, I feel really badly for what happened, and luckily, there was no beating involved. Anything could have happened, the guy could have had a knife or some kind of weapon, I guess. He was really mad at me. And I should have not been that mean to him. God, I am stupid, please forgive me, it won't happen again, I promise. And to the misanthrope on the street, from this here misanthrope typing away, I am truly sorry. If I see you again, on the spit and gum laden streets of the Mission, I owe you a nice burrito. I am sorry, sorry, sorry. Ton Loc and Sarak, I am sorry you had to witness that. I will do better, I promise.

I'm out of touch, I'm out of time

No cell phone. No Blackberry. No laptop. No instant messaging. No I Pod. No TV (cable, that is). No wireless remote. No pager. No magazine subscriptions. No hair. Have weak computer. Have basic email. Two out of the above group? I guess you could say that I'm very much out of touch with the rest of the world. Especially not having a cell phone, jeeez, that makes me almost extinct.

It occurred to me the other day, while traveling for a work-related project, that me and a few others I know are pretty much obsolete in the eyes of many. People are always talking about what they watched on TV -- the Simpsons, American Idol, The OC, etc, etc...People are always talking on their fucking cell phones, and when they're not on them, they are still checking those little fuckers anyway. Always with their heads down, gazing like zombies into the little plastic devices, lost in there as if it were another world, or some 5th dimension that they're constantly trying to figure out. What the fuck goes on in those things? It's just a phone, right? What could it possibly contain that is so goddamn important? Oh, it pisses me off to no end. Yeah, and you are reading this right now thinking, "What a sap, he'll come around one of these days" Hey, fuck you people who think that owning a little plastic piece of shit strapped to yr belt makes you better than me. I just spoke to someone here in the office today who didn't know what a doppelganger was. How fucking pathetic. Maybe if she took her cell phone out of her ass, she might learn a few new words. You see, this world is going straight to shit.

I heard W being interviewed this morning (again) and speaking like a fuckin' dumb cowboy, per usual. I bet he has like five cell phones, in which he speaks his twangy, broken verbiage to five people at the same time. People love him because he is so stupid -- it makes them feel better, and they say "Oh George, he's just like me, he doesn't know what a doppleganger is either!"
So, where does that leave me? Uhmm, I'm still bald and George Bush still has his hair. That fucking cock-knocker, I bet he says things to his frat buddies like "Man, I need to get some stank on my hang-down!" Why does he get to keep his hair why I go bald and start to resemble Rocky from the film Mask?

It's just not fair. Why am I the only one out of all my friends (save for one) who does not own a cell phone? Why do I have to go bald. I look better with hair, I don't make a pleasant looking bald guy. Fucking sucks. Yeah, I'm out of touch, and out of time.

Clarity Overrides

Too much clarity in this day.
All of a sudden things got bright.
I'm still pining for some coverage,
at least while stuck here.

"Oh it's so beautiful outside, oh it is so nice!"
Everyone is saying. "Oh shut up" I say, because
I'm getting tired of hearing the same setinments
regarding the weather today. Don't people have
anything better to talk about?

When things become too bright in the mid-day
it makes me sad. I don't know why I feel this way.
I grew up in a town where I was constantly bombarded
by the harshest rays of light. This light, over time,
became too much and I moved - at least far enough away
so that it wouldn't be as constant.

But this is California, and even if I'm far enough North, the light
still has intense clarity. This clarity reminds of the desolate open spaces
that I once inhabited:

The dry and cracked ground, metal burning to the touch.

Shade providing little comfort, while mirages waver like teasing pools in the distance.

Sweating while thinking, thinking and melting, moving slowly, never ending daylight.

And night finally creeping in, with it the promise of something cool, but never for too long.

Slime Molds On My Mind

I like slime molds - the strange, plasmodium fungi/multi-celled species that exist in the dank and dark forests all over the globe. Some people think that I'm lying when I tell them about slime molds. Some people don't care at all. And some people are like "what the fuck is a slime mold??" Slime molds are quite possibly one of the first inhabitants of this earth, we may have even come from this oozing creatures that trawl for food along the forest floor. I don't really care if we did come from these things, I'm not one for pontificating on the many theories of our evolution - I've heard just about everything in regards to why we are here now - and frankly, it is a boring subject after a while. But slime molds, they are not boring! They have a fascinating cycle in which they follow to a "T", regardless of any outside forces or foreign influence. A truly amazing creature; slime molds start out as tiny little amoeba. They forage around in the forest feeding on bacteria and other detriment along the way. You can barely see them when they are this small and individual, but not for too long.

At some point, the individual amoeba excrete this "attracting hormone" called acrasin. Acrasin is basically a call to all of the individual slime molds to come together. Thousands of tiny slime molds (within a logical distance, I would assume) slowly start making their way to a central area. Once gathered together in this preferably moist and dark area, the individual amoebas assimilate into each other and become a huge mass of slime molds, which essentially form one giant amoeba, that is easily seen by the naked eye (some of these things get to be as big as 2 feet in diameter). The big amoeba, at this point, is usually a very bright color; sometimes radiant orange, yellow, or red. Sometimes they are clear too. If you can believe it, this giant thing moves around and forages on decaying logs, picking up pieces of crap here and there. They move very slowly, but still move! I mean, this is crazy, straight out of science fiction or something. I can't believe that more people aren't fascinated by them. Anyway, after a few days of feeding as a giant amoeba, the slime mold kind of forms into this big slug like mass and begins to move to a dry spot in the forest. Here, the slime mold begins its final phase.

The creature stops moving when its found an ideal place to rest. It sort of "dries" up and begins sprouting these fruiting bodies (spores and the end of tiny little stalks). I've read that these things can be very colorful, and resemble tiny little blue soccer balls attached to the end of toothpicks. When the wind comes, these little balls break open and spores are released and thrown into the air. The spores fall and scatter around an area not too far from each other. After a while, the spores then become tiny little amoebas, and the whole cycle is started over again. Fascinating, yes?

So, this is all well and good, but one thing is desperately not right - I have never seen an actual slime mold in the wild. I know much about these mystifying creatures, but still have never actually seen one, maybe I have, but it is unlikely as I would have recognized it right away.
Alas, I have never seen one, and I still want to. So, if anybody out there can tell me where to hunt for slime molds in Northern California, please let me know! Post a comment and give me info., for I have slime molds on my mind. Thanks.

Sleepless in Albany

So I got home late last night, around 2:00 am. The band I play in had a show in SF last night, we opened, and inevitably, had to stick around for the entire show before we could pack up and leave. Even if we wanted to leave early we couldn't. You see, this fucking weird band called Xiu Xiu headlined, and they have many fans, so we were stuck within a throng of stinky, sweaty and pompous indie-rockers. It's not to say that our band isn't indie rock, we are, but I don't think we exude that conceited, holier-than-thou kind of attitude that most people in this scene exude. For instance, I'm balding, the singer is balding, the bass player is just a little feller, and the organist looks like he just stepped out of a John Muir convention. At any rate, who gives a fuck, right? At least there were people watching us for a change, and some even seemed genuinely interested in the music. I just get sick of all this righteous indignation that the indie guys and gals cop all the time.

I went out to my car at one point while Xiu Xiu was playing, got kind of bored listening to the singer sing about cum on his lips, and some other such eccentric lyrics. I think he attempts to be polyamorous, but really he is just some guy who wants to touch tight indie rock girls butts. While I was at my car, trying to relax, I overheard two girls passing by and speaking loudly about the "indie rock movement". They looked like stuck-up rockers themselves, but were trying to dismiss the entire scene as being basically a self gratifying movement, whose only objective was to be "cool" and "underground". Stupid bitches, they are a part of what they are speaking against, and especially at a Xiu Xiu show - one of the strangest and more disturbing live bands out there - why would these girls even go to a show like this if they weren't into it??? Ahhh, fuck it. I started thinking, though, about indie rock in general, and my take on it is that indie rock music is created by normal people who put their heart and soul into what they do, regardless of what anyone else thinks. And you don't have to like what we do, that is fine, but don't act and dress and go to indie shows if you don't enjoy the music. Because it is really just about the music, not about yr. long, dyed, black hair, too short black pants, and white belt, or the girls these days wearing "ass jeans" with their cracks hanging out. Too funny, really.

So the show ended late, Xiu Xiu weirded everyone into some kind of existential, perverted, catatonic state. Guys were eyeing ass jeaned girls and assed jean girls were eying skinny dudes with meticulously messy hair. I'm old and gross looking, so the girls never eye me anymore, maybe back in '92 for about a month they did, though. Fuck, what am I talking about - I don't worry about that shit anymore - I'll be a married man soon enough, and I very much like the thought of that. I've never had luck with women until I met Sarak. Girls, in general, are mean. Especially when they know that they are good looking, and wear ass jeans.

So I got home late, was mad at Sarak for not going to the show, didn't take my pxl., and had trouble sleeping. There, in the still of the quiet early morning, lay a 33 year old, balding, skinny, OCD'd, ringing in the ears, stink footed, speed speaking, porn watching, mild-mannered, secretly intelligent, and worrier of a man desperately trying to fall asleep. Sleep comes slow, but when it arrives I take it like it will never come again.