Oklahoma!

So I was watching a show on the Biography channel... Or maybe it was on some other channel but the show was called Biography. Or something like that. Either way, the show was about Dana Plato, st'ar of tel'vision's Diff'rent Strokes. So a few th'ngs occurred to me as I was watching this. First of all, Aimee was watching Lost which essentially banished me to other realms of the house. I ended up in one of the spare bedrooms sitting indian style on the floor, with a beer and in a t-shirt and underwear just to give you the visual. You know the story of what happened to Ms. Plato, right? Otherwise you should stop reading this before I ruin it for you. I mean, she was a child star of 80's television so she's obviously deceased like everyone else who was on TV in the 80's. And everybody knows that if drugs or alcohol didn't kill them before 2000, they were just gassed in a gigantic chamber shaped like a big TV so they all got their due. Don't you worry about them...

But something that was interesting was during all the little montages of her going on different drug benders, they would show the same grainy stock footage of someone chopping up cocaine on a mirror, followed by an ashtray with lit cigarettes in it sitting next to a rocks glass filled with some copper colored liquor, then a closeup of someone dragging on a cigarette, then someone rolling a joint and then they'd finally move on as the narration continued about her eventual spiral into death. But that was when it hit me. WHO SHOOTS ALL THAT STOCK FOOTAGE? Is there a company who just shoots stock footage of car crashes, hookers walking down the street, airplanes taking off, people doing drugs?Could we make an entire film with nothing but stock footage?

As the show continued, they'd show the cast of Diff'rent Strokes, with the logo font of "Diff'rent Strokes" which got me thinking, "What was wrong with the 'e' in 'Different'?" I wondered if they left the 'e' out of the scripts for this show. There as no 'e' in Dana Plato's name. Nor in Conrad Bain's, who played Mr. Drummond. Did Todd Bridg's or Gary Col'man take offense? Was it because they were black guys? Was this a conspiracy, and did Dana Plato have to die to finally get it all covered up?

Anyway, she died in the back of a Winnebago from an overdose of Soma and Vicodin in Oklahoma...thus proving my theory. Anyone who has ever experienced fame on television, who ends up in an RV in Oklahoma is going to die. And that's just fact.

The Super Bowel

I know it's not spelled that way but boy! What if it was? Super Bowl 44 is in the books and yes, this one took on a little more importance to me because it involved my chummy school yard cheer skidoos, the New Orleans Saints. And yes, they won. We celebrated by getting blackout drunk, and I ended up sitting at the bar demanding Danny make me "A Metallica Shot!" "Um, what's in a Metallica shot?" "I DUNNO... JUSS MAKE ME A FUGGIN' METALLICA SHOT!" For the record, the all new and hastily improvised Metallica shot is basically Goldschlagger and Jager. While I didn't vomit, I came violently close. I then went on to have conversations with people I don't remember, but the Saints hath woneth, so what doth it matter?
Something worries me a little though. Could this be an end-0f-days phenomenon? I mean, I'm not the most religious card in the deck, but naming a sports team after an angelic servant of the Deity (or as wikipedia defines it, A person officially recognized, especially by canonization, as being entitled to public veneration and capable of interceding for people on earth) seems like it might be a little sacrilicious. And with the whole 2012 bullshit quickly approaching, could this spell doom for us? I feel vindicated for being such a fan of them for so long, finally seeing them win the ultimate in sports lore. But, was I kind of comforted by seeing them be eternal cellar dwellars? I kind of resonated with them. I mean, I kind of feel like I've been marred as this seeming forever loser of sorts. Now I can't relate. They're champions to my chump.
But for the moment, I will toast them and bask in their glory. For all the years of watching some grainy highlight film from the great past, with some historic runback or reception constantly happening with a hapless Saint chasing after them, finally this franchise gets theirs. Congratulations to the Saints. You guys did it, and its well deserved.

So here it is. Metallica Shots all around, please!

Famous Last Words.

I once read somewhere that Elvis Presely's last words were "I won't." They were in reference to him telling his girlfriend at the time that he wouldn't fall asleep on the toilet again. We all know now that he actually DID fall asleep on the toilet, the dead kind of sleep... fell off the toilet and turned purple until said girlfriend found him sometime later. Something that always stuck with me is that the poor guy probably hadn't flushed yet. But anyway, the king was dead, with poo all over his butt and laying on his bathroom floor. That's moderately embarassing, right?
And recently, Kill Bill and Kung Fu star David Carradine was found with his hands bound, a rope around his genitals, and hanged to death in his hotel closet. Another completely humbling way to die for a celebrity. The guy was like 70+, which doesn't excuse the fact he was tying rope around his balls and beating off in hotel closets by any means, but I mean... what the fuck? Still, if Elvis' last words were "I won't", what were David Carradine's? "Yeah... oh yeah... yeack.. yeeeeeeeeh hiyah eck eck ECCCCCK..."?
So if those are a few 'famous last words', I figured I'd throw out a couple that maybe each and every one of you could possibly throw out on your death bed, if and when that might be. You don't even have to give me credit. Using these would be more of an honor than anything else.
1. "Hey. Hit me with that wolf's mouth!"
2. "Aw dingle. Dingle. Dingle?!"
3. "I peed on a gang. Yeah, that's them. They finally caught up with me."
4. "Hey knife holders. Fuck you!"
5. "Went up to Chesterfields this morning. I got nothing else to see."
6. "Oh hell yeah. I ate that rancid chicken breast you left sitting out by the dumpster!"
7. "Hey mobsters. Here's your kid back."
8. "You think my head would set off that bear trap?"
9. (singing) "LET'S LEARN BRAIL ON A HORSE'S TAIL!"
10. "Skip, skip, skip-a-loo. Grass, grass, FIRE!"
11. "No, that wasn't real poison."
12. "I know you did something to the sandwiches, and I'm not mad. I just need to know if it's going to hurt us."
13. "Vacation in this fire was a terrible idea."
14. "Ok, first person to the ocean floor wins."
15. "Go fuck yourself, Mr. Escaped Lunatic With a Weapon."
16. "Ooooh, what a fast burning candle!"
17. "Let's play a new game I call 'Swing By The Neck'. I'm first, motherfuckers."
18. "The bees appear more docile. Now we can finally play with them."
19. "Hey Bill. Throw me those tent stakes as hard as you can. Couple knives and cleavers too. Seriously. COME ON! I need them. I'm ready."
20. "Hope it's still safe to walk through my favorite ghetto here, naked."
21. "I'M RIDING A TIGER! HE LIKES ME!"
22. "We all headbutt the goat on three, fellows. One, Two, THREE!"
23. "Dudes, that chick totally wants to make out with me. I'm a little skeptical because her jaws are made of metal and razorwire, and she's got some electrical shorts here and there. Plus she is literally on fire, and has loaded pistols for hands. But fuck it. Here goes nuthin..."
24. "What a neat puzzle. So you pull the grenade pin like this, and THEN what happens?
25. "I can probably stop this nosebleed with more alchohol and another handful of trail mix. Right after this nap."

Words.

For years, I've been in a creative funk. I sit down to write lyrics, stories, drawings, public dancing performance art (which has thankfully never remotely materialized) and I come up with a stanza or two before watching skateboard tricks on Youtube or looking at old comic books. Poof. Inspiration flow perished. When's supper ready? One guy who never ever had that problem left town the other day, and he didn't come back. And that is really something that I'm having some problems dealing with.

Several years back, I had this problem but it was when I was still in a band making an album, playing shows, etc. I had to write lyrics to finish songs that my band collectively wrote, and they were sitting there waiting for me to catch up. Only problem was that my composition book had dried up. I had plenty of fire for the first record we did. I had words flying off the end of my pen for days. By the time we were making the second one, I'd turned my focus from life's various pains to line dancing, being beaten randomly in your house, dogs, indie rock bands. I mean, yeah - there was still spots of passion in whatever I wrote about, but it was different. And once that record was finished, I turned off the faucet and started several cover bands. And I didn't have to think about anything. I didn't have to try.

A friend of mine who was on a similar path decided he would turn the other direction. I think for awhile, and I don't know this for sure but it's what I gather from his music, that he was in a similar state at the time. Being that the lyrics are about a kind of theoretical/kind of autobiographical nature, but angry and raw.. it's what I take from the songs and really I guess nobody is here to tell me any different at this point. But something would happen to him soon after that would change the way he lived life all together. His dad passed away, and it set him off in a crash course of life living like I could only dream of. I didn't know that pain, that loss. Shit, I didn't experience any loss. I'd experienced joy, and gains, and marriage, and well - happiness as far as I knew. And life was picture perfect in 9-5 land with a white picket fence and a yard in a suburb in safe and quiet Baton Rouge.

His life however was whiskey, and the road, and women, and hell raising, and rockabilly kicking. His life was in the eerie dank of New Orleans to the streets of New York City. Love lost and gained, seeing the world abroad with bottled zeal I only read about safely in novels.

Today I sit in my beloved hometown, and yes I still love it. But the other day I was reminicing about the old days. Youth at our feet, armed with my band. I was talking to Adam and I told him about how life is not what it was here. That I miss the comaraderie. All the buildings are still here, and the place still looks the same, but a lot of my mates are scattered all over the country. We were supposed to get together this NYE for some rocking out, but that's all over with now. I could make a phone call to St. Petersberg, Shreveport, Seattle, Atlanta, New Orleans, Antarctica, Bollivia, and people could make it in. But getting one of our members a ticket to come back home isn't going to be so easy this year.

If anything I can walk with from this it's as follows. I'm wasting my life with network TV, afraid to leave my house, not tasting and seeing and hearing what's out there. Justin was a year younger than me and he lived more life than I will have at 60 years old assuming I make it. We didn't get lives to live in safe caves. We weren't granted existence to be afraid to exist. He lived the ever loving shit out of his life, and god dammit I'm not going to let what he wanted me...us... to learn about life go to waste.

I've had the desire to pick up my old composition book, and it seems like inspiration will flow a little more freely than it did in the past. But I'd give up wanting to write anything forever to have him back here, just like everyone else. I just hope he knows somewhere, somehow, that from now on I'm going to look a little harder at things. I'm going to listen a little more, and feel a little more, and laugh a little more. I'm gonna go to more shows and read a few more books.

While the band might be finished here on earth, you got one hell of a jam session to plan. And until then, I've got to live life more full for you and I promise to you, I'm going to do that.

I miss you, my brother. I'll see you on the other side.

the sam blog grows up

hello,

  In case you're wondering, this is gonna be me new home on tha interweb. Needless to say, myspace blog tools leave a little to be desired, so I'm currently importing (manually) all of my musings since January 2005. So if you're bored and have nothing, like REALLY nothing to do, take a trip down memory lane through the eyes of someone who merely exists to exist. Come on. It'll be fun...

The Two Greatest Pains In The Ass

In life, there are necessities, needs, wants, and musts. Some you have to do and some you don't. Like, for example, I don't really like going to the DMV but I know it serves a purpose. I may not agree with their efficiency but I get it. You kind of need a state department to take care of that bullshit. Plus you only have to go every 4 years or so, to renew a license or get a change of address or get a duplicate or get a license plate or whatever. Either way, it's not like you need to go all the time.
But there are two things (and I will add to this list as it comes available) that I find to be an extraordinary unnecessary pain in the balls. These 2 things are:

1. Getting something notarized.
2. Getting a vehicle inspection.

Both of these things are quite frankly, absolutely useless in my opinion. Both of them are wastes of valuable time. In fact, here's a benchmark to really measure how unneeded a task is... Neither of these tasks can employ someone full time, at least not logistically. Almost every notary I've met has a license to do it, a stamp, a certificate... but they still have a day job. It's not like notaryland is going to keep them well fed. And state inspections kind of make sense to me, but it's obviously an annoyance to anyone who performs them. Like, see the little orange sign out by the road that says "Official State Inspections" or whatever it is, and you instantly know they don't really want to do it but they will if they have time.
Usually you go in and the exchange goes like this:

Q: "Hey, you guys doing inspections today?"
A: "Yeah. But come back at 4:37pm this afternoon. And bring me a brass statue of a crab, 2700 lira (former Italian currency). And make sure your trailer hitch is encased in purple plastic with a Barbie logo on it. Oh and we're only doing hatchbacks and French Peugot convertibles today. I see you have a truck. Our truck inspector won't be here until Thursday from 9:15 am to 11:38am."

And the notary thing. Ok, what's the deal? Do I really need someone reassuring me that I'm doing something legally binding? I can sign a check. That's ok. But want to transfer a vehicle title? Then "meet me here at my office after lunch, about 3:19. Our notary would be glad to help you complete this meaningless task you so seek to finish. Sign here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. No not there. Here! Great, you fucked it up and we're going to have to do it all over again. Ok, now give me $23 cash in $2 bills and go over there and wait in line".
Fuck it, you know what I'm going to do? Open a store called "State Inspections, Notary, And Other Pains In The Ass". You'll also be able to pay your water bill, obtain a Wood Destroying Insect Report, drop things off for the Salvation Army, send off certified mail, defrag your computer, and soft boil an egg.

Should be a hit.

e-mule

I wrote a joke...
Me: What do you call an Emu getting his Email?
You: I don't know... E-mule?
A: No. An emu is a bird, dumbass. It can't get email.
You: Oh. Yeah... yeah, I guess you're right.