Sake For Sakes Art
June 17, 2004
Now then, what does it mean when someone says ‘the world is run by assholes’? Got me. I always think the next shot should come without request. We can drink to you or we can drink to him or we can drink to her. Matters not a bit to me. Traffic is worse than profanity. WORSE. Cable is worse than traffic (not TV but cable Internet). Can you even blame the kid at Blockbuster for hating our guts? I need a glass of water. Now. For real. Oh, and I have begun to stop eating crap. And that’s tough, cause I love crap. But my father had a heart attack when he was 45 (he’s now 68) and my grandfather (his father) died of a heart attack when he was 82 (though he was healthy as a horse. Me and Rusty had just visited him 2 weeks before he died in ‘96 and he was adding on to his house.) But Gramma had died just a year before and they had been married since 1932 and, well, you know THOSE statistics…
So, in summation, I am avoiding that stuff (though I can never say no when Hannah or Scottish Keith or Tina and I pass a kebab shop!) In order to stay alive and pay more taxes. (The economy needs a boost, right?) But mostly so i can attend my son’s school functions. Funny thing, i was at a bar and a friend said that he’d seen one of my shows and thought it was mighty of me to keep a straight face, considering how much i sucked. Now, keep in mind, this is a very good friend whom i dearly respect. And what i loved about his words (and him, in general) is his honesty. But i would prefer to take the position he’s wrong. Now, I COULD be wrong. We certainly laughed and hey, i have been pretty wacky at times but, you know, judge me on the product, not so much on the presentation (at least not ALL the time.)
Ok. So then I got to thinking…..HMMMM…or maybe it should be typed like this: HOOOOUUUUUMMMM.. What could really be the, er…problem? NO PROBLEM. Sir. No problem. And it’s really all for laughs, innit? But I refuse to proclaim anything. It’s SOOOOO boring and I would rather slit my throat than defend a song. Perhaps it’s best to say this: “I’m, happy, hope you’re happy too…” And then i imagine Bowie offering me a cuppa tea and me saying, wot are you, nuts? You’re rich; bust out the 26-year-old Glenfiddich, dude! And everyone having a good time. Its not that tough, really. The world NEEDS critics. I am just too sleepy to pay attention. And I apologize for that.
see, the bartender says I drink too much. I say the bartender charges too much. Therein lies the classic tug of war; good (me) versus evil (the bartender). But what can you say to a classic Butthead? Except, ‘pour the drink’? How tough is that? You bend yer arm and, wooolah, gravity has stepped in and the booze is in yer glass! Well, wot can you do? So, Mike , wot do you like? WELL, Mike I like people and stuff. Wot do YOU like, Mike? Well, since I’m you, well, you’ve already said it, cowboy. You are REPEATING yourself. And why? WELL, if you really must know, what i think Mike REALLY wants is for his friends, WHO READ HIS DIARY to say, Mike, wot the f*ck ARE YOU typing? I am reading your weak piece of sh*t at work on my lunch break, getting tuna all over my trousers and here you are taking the piss out of me. You are right, my child. I am truly sorry and i promise you 2 coupons at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. And thus, the inroads to the diary that wouldn’t dance have now napped. I only hope, Mike, you are a man with luck on your side. No, sorry Captain, I cannot promise that.
Promises, apologies. Doesn’t that give you a vague feeling of your first date? Oh, sorry to bring up bad memories, mike> what do you mean? You mean the big teddy bear you bought for K——– in 1984 that she threw in the trash? Wow, you still got that chip on your shoulder, kiddo? Not really, pops. Her dad was really good in pool and always refilled my Long island ice tea. He made the best shots. But then i overtook him, beat him 9 games to nil. He got sober after that and stopped talking. >>so what did you do, Mike? I bought 6 bottles of Ernest & Julio. On sale. Yep. Sat in the garage and wrote songs. Really bad songs. I was 19 years old. OK, maybe 2 good songs. I tried to be a vegetarian, which works great when you got some geldt in your peldt. But when you are flat brokaroni, that cheeseburger looks like the winning lottery ticket. And i saw K—— a few years later, after my band had a bit of popularity. It gave me so much juvenile satisfaction to hold out my hand (for a ‘high five’) when i saw her and then, just at the last moment (when she tried to slap it, effectively to think she was cool with me….), remove it, laugh and say: SIKE!!!!!! …and then i mutter under my breath…’sucka…’….Revenge was never so sweet….but revenge never really feels that good does it? …(sh*t, who am i foolin…)