That’s her stick. Lili’s skate.
She skates. Just street type of stuff. No ramp.
She will kill you. And you will damn well know it when it happens.
Maybe by keeping you up at night or peeing on your carpet…but she will get you.
I got funny dogs.
Why have them around?
I mean, they cost a lot.
Why have one? Why have two?
I like the little guys, I mean, Michele hasn’t figured out the “kick off the bed part when they are bothering you” part yet. But she will figure it out.
I have had them running around my whole life. So it really doesn’t bother me. They sleep on her side of the bed, cause I kick them off when they are on my side, so it works.
I am not really sure where she got her compassion from.
The “let’s let them sleep” thing.
Well screw that. I don’t want dogs all over me. She likes it.
She let it slide. If they get into me, I throw them out. Guess that is what the difference is between a dog owner and someone who just has dogs.
Screw them. If I can’t move my legs and I have an animal farm at my legs someone is gonna move and it ain’t gonna be me.
Wife wakes up with back pains. Cause of the dogs.
"Well I just didn’t want to move them."
Well you know there is a reason they sleep on your side of the bed, right?
She can’t do it. I toss those bastards around all night when they step on me.
She puts up with it.
Hell if I know.
So now we got a cat. Walking around here. I gotta figure this guy out. Dogs don’t care, which is cool. But something is going to break and alliances will be formed,
I just want to see it happen.
Either I am gonna get another animal sleeping on my couch with the other crew or something else is gonna go down.
Either way, I am gonna watch Price is Right reruns in my underwear and see how the story is told.
Just posting pictures of my dogs.
They are cute and they sleep a lot. Plus, my stories are kinda no one wants to hear and shit like that.
So I am stepping off.
You can’t really fuck with this kind of shit.
That is my buddy.
My wife hates this story. But a friend wanted to hear it so what he hell.
There are certain things that you can do, if you can figure it out, to get into shows for free. Not like free blow jobs. I am not talking about that.
Press pass. You get someone behind you who works at a magazine and they can get you backstage cause they stupidly think you are going to write something about it. Which I never did. I had a big skateboarding magazine behind me. So I could get into big shows for free with that stupid orange tag that said press. Even though I never wrote anything.
Ug. This might be a long one.
So this gig happens every year in , idunno, somewhere in England which for some reason they decided to do it in San Francisco one year. Holiday under the sun. Something like that. Three days. I can’t even remember where it was at. It wasn’t GAMH or Fillmore but somewhere around the Embarcadero.
Sorry if you don’t get where it was at but some place around the Bay Bridge in San Francisco.
I was living at some place not in that town so I was staying at some cat’s house somewhere in the Castro. And that is all I remember.
So it had like this huge line up of bands from all over the world. Cool. I got sponsored by a magazine so I got my press pass so I can go anywhere.
So this is when the story starts.
A guy who was rich beyond belief lived in the penthouse above my friend. Bunch of Australians flew in for the show. So we went up there.
Before the show.
Piles of cocaine on the table. Bottle of bourbon. I am not really sure about the bourbon. I drink, or drank, vodka. So for two days, we would be up doing dope and hanging out with this crowd. I mean it was cool but you kinda step off after a few days of being up.
So the third day came.
Exploited was playing. What the fuck. We have press passes so lets go.
I walk up the stairs and look around. I lost my friend. Oh well right? He can take care of himself.
Turns out he passed out on the stairs and had to be carried out.
So I go backstage and hang out with Exploited and yeah they have their drugs and had mine. But man, I had been going for almost 72 hours and my shit was shot. I can deal with three days on speed but coke is different.
Please remember that it has been over 10 years since I did drugs. Take this story as a story and nothing about bragging or any shit like that.
Sometimes shit happens and sometimes it is you. So take my stories as you want.
So the show ends. Great. I walk out not knowing my first name. Mixing dope is not really a good thing.
So I sit. I wait. My friend has to be here. I didn’t know where he lived. Somewhere in Castro. I knew where my brother lived but I wasn’t going there.
Bands roll out. I bullshit with them but they all leave. The singer of that one band asked me if I was alright.
Alright. I need to find an alley to sleep in or figure something cause I have no money
A taxi comes by. Yeah dude. 4 in the morning. I got no cash so I tell him to hold on. Walk into a store and call my friend. Get his address.
I told him if he takes me there, I would tip him hardcore.
So he took me. I got the other guy to wake up and kick down the driver and we sat and drank bourbon until everything wore off, which was a bitch cause he was moving to New York with his band in three days. So there was nothing in the place.
I had a blanket.
I walked back upstairs to the penthouse and the Australians were gone. There was just dust on the table and the place was destroyed. Guy asked me who I was. I mean, jeez man. He liked to call lines of coke “snappers” which I never heard of but I said it to him.
"snappers….you know who I am……"
Oh yeah he did. You wrecked this place last night.
I don’t remember that.
You and the Australians. You aren’t welcome here. Go away.
So I spent the night on a hardwood floor which I guess is better than an alley.
I was going to post a story about a time with a band for Cullen but after I got done writing and re-reading it, it was one of those stories that should not see the light of day.
I’m still kinda pissed, well more confused, how I missed the whole tree decorating thing last night. Yeah, I am not very Christmas like and yeah and don’t really have any sort of religion but I do like watching the step kids decorate the tree.
Even though I know that they only like it cause they get free stuff at the end of the year.
Which I don’t like. But whatever, right?
I get my parents a Junior’s Cheesecake and they have all their friends over and they talk about the one or two times in New York and get all the streets wrong and I am damn well sure they do the same thing when my brother gives them something from Austin.
But I never really want anything.
I mean I got my dogs and my wife and a backyard and pretty much that is all I need.
I would like a shotgun but who am I kidding. This isn’t California anymore. Guns just don’t show up.
Funny story. I was in California, one of the first times with Michele. And yes, I have lived my whole life in California. Northern California. Yeah I live in New York now but my head is always back there. Things were just different. Not like different as in “I hate New York” but just different. San Francisco is a little different than New York. It is just the way it is.
So we are sitting around with my dad. Michele and I. In California. He talks about something and all of a sudden we were talking about guns. Not rifles. Shotguns and handguns. I guess he was trying to impress my wife. He goes on about reloading shells and all this and how I knew how to do it before I knew how to brush my teeth and whatever.
Michele’s ears perk up.
So in New York, guns are hard to get unless you go underground which I am way too old for. So I had to abandon all my gear when I moved.
So my dad brings out my old stuff. Stuff that I thought he said he burned.
This is stuff I gave him when I stepped off the curb and cleaned my shit up.
So we have an SKS, AK-47, mini UZI, two 12 gauge shotguns, one 20 gauge, a Beretta 92PF and a ruger short barrel 357.
Plus all his shit.
Well this isn’t really the way I want to go but if Michele wants to fire them off, ok.
So let’s go shoot. If you really want to.
But we are not taking those and we are not taking that one and we are sure as shit aren’t taking that one.
So we grab a few pistols and two shotguns and go out to a range. Well, they had some sort of competition going on at the range so we were out of luck with the gauges. Tough luck, right?
So they went back in the cases. But I did know one place. So we drove our ass out to the middle of nowhere to this other range. I know I can fire 38 reloads out of a 357 but that really isn’t the same. Since I didn’t want to pay for the full 357 rounds, we rented guns. Believe that? We ending up with Glocks. 9mm which I guess if you have never fired a gun before, this is alright. It kicks to the side cause it is light on the top but whatever.
So I get a bunch of reloads and load it up. Give the gun to Michele. You wanted this. Do it.
So that broad blasted the shit away. I mean, for never firing a gun before, she tore the shit out of the target. It was funny. Gun kicks back, semi type of kick back meaning you done fired all of them.
She looks at me and says “I never want to do that again.”
Which just made me crack up.
I mean bang bang bang bang bang! is what you hear on the streets. Fire and forget.
Ranges are like bang……………………………bang…………………….bang…………….
But here was Michele….bang bang bang bang bang to where the owner had to come over and tell me to slow her down.
I was too busy laughing.
Like other unintelligible British bands … The Exploited perhaps?
No I got them.
The band I could never understand was The Business.
Still to this day, I think that was the only thing my brother was good for. We were all sitting in a bar before the show and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand the Cockney guys. They were talking about my jacket, which I still have a form of it around here somewhere. The one I can’t wear cause the step daughter says it looks like a drug dealer jacket. They loved it.
It’s just a leather with an arms cut off levi jacket around it.
They were, I guess, comparing it to their Doc Martins.
Every time they talked, my brother got it. So I had to look at him for a translation. This went on for about three hours.
So we all got drunk and it all got worse til I finally said “I don’t understand” so many times I figured it was time to go to the show.
But the Exploited, I am guessing Wattie, I understood him.
I do have a funny Exploited story. Maybe later I can tell it.
Cullen posted a GBH song and that kinda stuff always makes me think back. Yes I know them and all that stuff but I went to hang out one night. I had a shitty little hotel room in San Francisco with 4 other’s in it. I was hanging out with a girl at the time. Someone was playing the Big Women song. She got all upset that they hated women.
Um. That’s really not what the song is about.
So she, never being from the scene I was in, I mean fuck, she grew up in South Dakota so you could see that this was not really going anywhere. And yeah, I have been to Sturgis and yes I can talk like a South Dakota type of person if I want to. Mount Rushmore is cool. Plus that big Indian thing statue. Crazy Horse (?). Idunno.
So here we were. Some broad who thought it would be fun to go to a punk rock show. Well, I mean, I don’t really go to shows. I mean, I kinda hang out back stage and bullshit. But whatever. You want to go, whatever.
So she pulls on this pair of pants that she was writing on all night. Punk rock shit and poems all that crap. With a Sharpie. I hate that shit. If you have to dress up or do your hair for a show, well those are just my feelings.
So anyways, we get in and all that and we go backstage and I am drinking my beer. GBH was easy to understand. They aren’t like other British bands where some of them, I can’t fucking understand and need a damn translator to figure out they were talking about my jacket. GBH was always different.
So this broad after them. About that song. Why do they hate women?
I am kinda looking at her thinking “oh shit. You heard the song one time and you think you get it?”
So the singer just politely says “I like to fuck fat women.”
Kinda ended that story.
And I got to drink my beer.