Blogging and Wanking.

O.K., let me get a couple of things straight right off the bat before I dive into this compare/constrast exercise.

1. This here blog of mine? It is what it is and it ain't what it ain't. Whatever it wants to be is what it will be. There's no gestalt, there's no boundaries, there's no nothin'. There's a couple of things that consistently pop up that seem to give it form and that's O.K., but that's just because there are things that preoccupy me. One of these things is music because music is more important than you realize, to ALL of us. The other thing is the me-hating-the-world thing. Yo, I didn't make the fucking place and I refuse to feel like I belong in therapy because I hate the world. There's plenty of other things that I belong in therapy for.

I don't hate the world for petty things. I've got lots of really good reasons for hating the world and I'm willing on any given day to stop hating the world but see, the world of people is a hateful thing. I don't hang on my world-hating. It's not a crutch. I'd be willing to relinquish it the second the world stops being hateful. O.K.?
Here's the deal (and I'm going to be forthright about my abilities and my talent because if I'm going to explain just why I hate the world I can't exclude that). I write O.K., right? There's an abandon and a cynicism or something, that makes an appealing read. Maybe it's the refusal to let anything be sacred or what. I don't know.
'Kay, take that reasonable ability and multiply it by 100.

That's how good a musician I am. And writer, and singer, and arranger, and engineer. I'm sick with music. I breath music. I played a show with a band last night, a fantastic band who I will talk about later. I stood in for their regular bass player. These guys have three albums out from whence they draw their material. With a week and a half's notice, I got up on stage with these guys last night and fucking slew. I really can't think of a single mistake I made. We're talking three sets. We're talking 40 songs. It was almost supernatural. These songs are not "Louie Louie".

That's how good I am. Somebody has to say it, you know?

Now, the reason I'm comfortable stroking myself like this is a)because it's fact, b)because I've had my ass kicked to Scranton and back 65 times by the music industry, and c) because, like many people who hate the world I have, shall we say, I slight distaste for myself. I dunno, you know? Maybe it's this, maybe it's that. Who cares. So, if I get to feel my oats as a musician it is liberating for me so if I seem full of myself trust me I ain't.

Best case scenario for me in life?

Scraping by playing "From This Moment" at weddings.

Yes, I've spent the last 22 years suffering to succeed. I've watched my contemporaries get good jobs and buy homes and all that lot. I've played more and driven more and written more and hurt more than any fucking musician or singer or whatever. I don't care who it is. I'm That Guy. But unlike That Guy I don't get to make it into a funny story on VH1 Fucking Storytellers. So, it's not that funny.

Any time I've had the slightest, tinyest chink of a break I've barrelled into it blazing, given it everything, milked it absolutely dry. Sacrificed anything. And any time anyone in a position to do anything for me has done anything for me I have proven my mettle in any manner. Commercially, commitment-wise, anything. I've never choked. Well, once at the Coachhouse in San Diego but that was from paranoia. I learned my lesson.

Actually, in my last couple of years in the Industry I did tell a lot of people to go fuck themselves and I stayed in bed a lot, but that's because there was no reason not to and certain folk were badly in need of going and fucking themselves, dig? You know who you are, cocksuckers. I take that back. I don't used cocksucker that way anymore. You know that.

Weddings, babe. Cover songs at weddings. Yeah, boy.

So now you know why I hate the world.


2. My charm? I really Don't Give A Fuck. I don't care what anybody thinks about my shit. I really don't. I've spent far too much time caring about what jackoffs think of my output. Read it or don't read it, Jiminy Fuck I don't care. Got nothing to do with what I think of anyone, and in the rare instance that someone comments I'm invariably amused and heartened. See, I get to do something that does something for ME. Good deal. I've got probably less than 30 years left on this planet. I've smoked a lot of cigarettes. I have to figure out how Pleasing Oneself works before it's too late.

3. I have no problem with wanking in the original sense, speaking of pleasing oneself. I think it's a perfectly acceptable activity and gets some of us through the day. Glass houses, you know?

O.K. so I guess we're clear, huh?

So I run into this guy at the club last night. He's kind of a tosser, this guy. He's a converted NeoCon with lots of facts and figures to explain why we should let poor people die in the street and all like that, right? How Entitlements don't make sense and how great the Current Administration is, yeah? Now, we know how great the C.A. is. It ain't too great. Unless you're fond of the taste of shit and like drinking turpentine. You like that stuff? You're probably down with the C.A. Or you're one of those rich shitstains that should be put to the guillotine like they used to in civilized times. Middle class and lower class people that are down with this stuff? Holy shit! Wow, is that ever stupid.

So, I axed this guy what he'd been up to. "Oh, I've been doing a lot of blogging," he tells me.

Wow. Is it just me or is that totally wankerific? I think that's wanktastic. "Doing a lot of blogging". He's been trading jabs with "some of the big boys". What an idiot. "Doing a lot of blogging". Is that something you admit to proudly? Is it something you admit to at all? If somebody asked me what I'd been up to I wouldn't say that. I have been doing a lot of blogging, I guess, though, huh? Can that be our little secret? If I wanted somebody cool at a club who had just slain 3 hours of unfamiliar music with a week's notice to think that I was cool I'd be far more likely to say, "Gee, tell ya one thing- I ain't been doing much of that freakin' Blogging, that's for sure." I'd say, "well, I been up ta this and I been up ta that, but I ain't been up ta a whole lot of Bloggin, chrissakes." I'd be like "I've been practicing my guitar". Then I'd buy them a shot of Patrone tequila because it always takes the edge off. I notice a significant improvement in mood after one of those. Two, I feel great. Three? Three and I'm a contender for Biggest-Smile-In-The-World. Buy me a lovely shot of Patrone and you're cool in my book. If I pop one of those right at the top of the set I'm like, unstoppable. It stops being a chore and starts being a priviledge.

"I've been doing a lot of blogging. Sparring with the big guys." Boy is THAT some lame shit.

Get good at something. Clean some shit up. Make someone smile. Do what this guy does.
Bring the people something good for their brain. That's a public service right there, man. You're gonna learn some shit right there, man. Unlike in our fucking schools or any of that.

Can we keep the wanking down, though? I don't mean the good kind. Everyone should do more of that. I've read it actually thickens the ozone layer back up. I dunno. I mean the "sparring with the big guys" shit. Didn't anybody tell you?

The Big Guys are ASSHOLES.

ASSHOLES.

With their FAST CARS and CRAZY SUNGLASSES and their LOOSE WOMEN. And their LAISSEZ-FAIRE attitude and their FAST MORALS. And their record collections with COREY HART and SAINT ELMO'S FIRE and th' MOTELS. And their FAST CARS.