Death's Head Soup, Anyone...?

Look deeply into mine eyes and know the disdain they feel...
So what's new then with mein main Graveh, then? Not much. Working my ass off and needing to make my ass go work out today. Not sure if it's gonna happen or not.
Kinda tryin' to pump myself up for it right now...
I did go buy me some kick ass Nike Force hightops, black and shiny, so I'd better put them to good use. Also growing the Zappa 'stache and accompanying flavor saver. Hope it comes in better this time. I've come to the realization that I may be cursed with...
"the world's first documented cowlick within a moustache!"
Yay for me!!!!!!!
So other than that, my schedule looks pretty bleak and solitudinal for awhile. Wish somebody most awesome would come and play a show nearby. But I live in hell with a bunch of tone-deaf fucking morons.
So you know what kind of artists come round here then?
Fucking Lyle Lovett.
Big band, Swing, and Country to choose from?
That or fucking REO Speedwagon and whoever the fuck is pathetic enough to tour with them.
HARRUMPHHH.
Look away now...
Piffnicity with all the necessary trappings...
(to boot.)

See What I have To Work With Here?

My brain is fried, creativity is gone. I am nothing more than a husk. What would you have me do then? Bleed the last drop of my sanity for your amusement and perverted pleasure? Also nothing much has went on, and even though I saw Accepted, it wasn't even worth ripping on. That bad.
And the fat kid from Granny's Boy was barely even in it. Nice trailer, assholes!!!
I bought Silent Hill on DVD, and the trailer for Ghost Rider is unbelievable.
Who would have thought Nicky Cage had it in him, eh?
Now...
Check Frank out!

May 1981 and a 1991 Cure flashback...

So...
This was when my life was the coolest. No bills, no worries...
And I had absolutely no idea what pussy was in any way, shape, or fuzzy form. Actually, although it doesn't look as glamorous now, we were styling back then. We also lived in a brand new house with lots of room. With exception of the birth of my daughter, my life has never been happier than in this picture. I know I look happy in my later years too, but I mean pre drugs and alcohol life. I would smoke pot for the first time around a year later, too.
Ahem...

Segway, please?
Here is me around 1991 maybe? Using Sandy's camera to snap surprise pic in the middle of a main street in Springfield, lipstick crosses on forehead and all.
Eat your heart out Robert Smith!!!
Back in my senior year of high school, I dated a weird punker chick that was only 14 or 15. Very interesting hangouts with her, I dumped her shortly before she got the mohawk. Once I gots a little more money, nicer threads, and a car, choicer pieces of ass followed. I'm sure Einstein has a theory on it somewhere...
What, you disbelieve?!?!?!?!
I wish I had more pics from this time period. I was one wild lil sumbitch!!!

Spike, You Lazy Eyed Halfling!

I will keep this short and sweet.
Spike Lee?
I hate you. There, I've said it. I saw your interview on the net yesterday. And you are full of shit.
The rest of you need to wake up. He's the kind of guy that takes us back a few steps. And that is not good.
And did I mention he is full of shit?
What will you do when THE MAN is gone?

WTC, the 411 on 9/11!

WTC. Saw it. Wasn't as impressed with as I was Flight 93. I already remember what the pain of that day feels like. I did, however get a view from that day as I hadn't pondered before.
The one from under the rubble. From the gasping voices of number 18 and 19 out of twenty to be pulled out alive. A courageous story, indeed, but a little long in the tooth. I think we can dispense with the niceties now...
Stick a fork in it, it's done.
When I'm sitting in a theater, more interested in rooting out chucklers to whup the tar out of, then it is time to move on to the next underappreciated tragedy. I can give remembrances in my own special way from here on after.
We were also the youngest in the audience too. When it was over, you could have heard a mouse fart. Creepy.
I give it a strong B. I just wasn't in the mood for it. I need zombies. Things Crunching.
Tacos...
I bought all the ingredients but must have grabbed the wrong thing on a few of them. Whole black beans instead of refried, a pain in the ass but still easily remedied. Instead of grabbing the superfilled 18 pack of taco shells, I snagged a 12 shell deal that came with seasoning packet and sauce. What a dumbass!
So I will now leave you, as I have to head back to the Neighborhood Market and grab some more shells. My kids and I have been craving crunchy tacos for the longest time. Twelve just won't do. It never does.
First day of school tomorrow. I don't have to worry about my kids burning the house down for awhile. Now I just have to worry about the freaks out there!!!
What a trade-off...

Did I mention...?

That Charlie don't surf?
An-n-n-n-nd it's my birthday!

Charlie don't surf and we think he should
Charlie don't surf and you know that it ain't no good
Charlie don't surf for his hamburger Momma
Charlie's gonna be a napalm star

Everybody wants to rule the world
Must be something we get from birth
One truth is we never learn
Satellites will make space burn

We've been told to keep the strangers out
We don't like them starting to hang around
We don't like them all over town
Across the world we are going to blow them down

The reign of the super powers must be over
So many armies can't free the earth
Soon the rock will roll over
Africa is choking on their Coca Cola

It's a one a way street in a one horse town
One way people starting to brag around
You can laugh, put them down
These one way people gonna blow us down

Charlie don't surf he'll never learn
Charlie don't surf though he's got a gun
Charlie don't surf think that he should
Charlie don't surf we really think he should
Charlie don't surf

Snakes? Ebert? Italian Meatloaf? Muthaf**kin' Planes?

Well, I must say, I'm flabbergasted and at a loss for words.
"Why?" you ask.
Snakes on a MUTHAFUCKIN plane!
That's why!!!
Shaft was in there too. How fitting, as I felt quite shafted myself.I had planned on seeing World Trade Center but Snakes was rated R, and I didn't want to leave any kids' eyes and ears unprotected. And it started way later, about thirty minutes. So I spent about an hour and forty minutes looking up at the sky (through the cinema ceiling) and asking the gods how they could let something like this happen. He also throws out a random M.F filled rant about said Mutha-lovin' snakes on said Mutha-lovin' plane. My kids loved it.
Hopefully they will grow out of it...
Hey, I used to love the shit outta Knight Rider so...
I'm already hearing talk of sequel, maybe Hasselhoff can sign up and dust off his acting chops for us so the Germans can quit hogging him all to themselves.
So it's my berfday. I'm hopefully going to eat at Johnny Carino's tonight, they are way better than Olive Garden. They also serve this bread with the oil and some kind of seed thingies, and the calamari is the bomb. I will gorge. Eyelids will grow heavy.
Then sleep will overtake me for awhile...

I saw a picture of Roget Ebert, he looks like a handpuppet in that suit. It is also creeping the hell out of me.
In the words of Keanu:
"Cancer? Whoa!"
Time to pass the ball, Rodge. I'm open, baby!!!!
Over here!!!
Wanna see my creds?
Hey, I gave this turd a twiddling thumbs down. How's that?
SWISH...

Halle Berry Scary...

Went to da cloob tonight. Place called Savannah. It's ok even though they only play beaner music. Even danced some of it with my old lady. Weehaw!!!!
She has a black friend that's into the latin flavor. Some OTHER chick showed up that looked an awful lot like Halle Berry.
Emphasis on de awful!!!
Awfyl ugleh!!!!!
Nice grill she was sportin. I could have kicked a football through the gap in those chompers...
Yet another reason to get down on mah knees and thank Jehovah I don't drink!
An EDIT to deal with here...
This just in! Someone got some sloppy doobers. Pretty sure it was me. I got called in after I posted this short but sweet blog entry. A couple of tequila shots and around six beers was too much for my wife to overcome her lust for a steaming hot bowl of the Graveh's manchowder.
Yes, yes, I know. Do the math. I know it wasn't a marathon, ok?
But when you are dealing with someone who had, once again gang, six beers and a couple of shots of tequila, you wanna get it before they pass out or
throw up. It's just that simple.
I likes it simple...

The Magnificent McFlurry!!!!

Clocks go slow in a place of work
Minutes drag and the hours jerk
So get back to work an' sweat some more
The sun will sink an' we'll get out the door
It's no good for man to work in cages
Hits the town, he drinks his wages
You're frettin', you're sweatin'
But did you notice you ain't gettin'?
Don't you ever stop long enough to start?
To take your car outta that gear
Don't you ever stop long enough to start?

That's how it feels. I ain't gettin' and I'm gettin' a little weary of frettin'. The sweatin' is startin' to piss me off too! It's been a long hard week at work as well. Jamming to a Little Sandinista by the Clash right now. So what's new?
Hmmm...
Went to Springfield for Russell's funeral. I got into Springfield kinda late, then did a snatch and grab mission on my sister. We went over to Keith's house, where I met up with he, Greg, Bennie, Bennie's indian lass, and Jennifer. Keith and Jenn were already well on their way when I got there and were reliving past tragedies. And falling down alot, mostly Jennifer.
Ok ok, all Jenn.
But Greg saved the day and got us out of there intact. We headed over to Sam's. I met up with Russ's cousin Kenny, his two kids, Sam, Roy Jones, old hangout chicks named Theresa and Meredith, and other assorted peoples whose names escape me at the moment. Believe me, brow furrowed deeply remembering the names I did put down. So, I saw alot of cool pictures of Russ and the Philzone site he used to post messages at. I was feeling kinda down, and the weed I brought wasn't hitting hard enough for some reason. I was hoping somebody had the "killer" bud. Sam asked me if I'd been adjusted yet.
I said, "No, I feel kinda maladjusted, to tell you the truth."
He bellowed, "Well-l-l-l then! Let's get this man his adjustment then!!!!"
He hands me a pipe with black stuff smeared in it. Hash, he says. It was very nice, and had a good body high. I would like to dance with THAT devil again...
Yay for me! I can check hash off the list now, if such a list exists.
The next day, after buying new shirt and shoes for my suit, I stop over at Sunny Valley to chat with Russ one last timeand smoke an obligatory doobie. When I finish, it starts pouring down hard and a lightning storm spun its macabre web in the sky, RIGHT OVER THE FUNERAL HOME WHERE RUSS WAS AT. And I had just asked for a sign.
Go figure. Russ was always like that...
Proving me wrong.
(The rest of the story tomorrow as it is 2:35 in the morning and I am a wreck. I can't keep my eyes open any longer.)

Russell Lane's Obituary

I'm heading off in just a little bit to Springfield. My friend, Keith called me earlier today, he had just found out. I'm dreading this, but have to go.
The picture above is his obituary, if anyone who happens to look up his name and finds their way here, please get in touch with me. I would love to hear from any other friends of Russell, regardless of whether I know you or not.
Peace...

Descent Into Possumtoed Bitter Reflections of Tig Ol' Bitties...

So I went to see The Descent tonight. A gaggle of cameltoed chicks spelunking their way through uncharted caverns laden with ghoulish possum headed broccoli babies and pitfalls by the oodles.
Can you say "Snap"?
(As in bones crunching...)
After snazzy but lame trailers for Saw 3 and Texas Chainsaw Massacre retread, I was wowed and amazed by what I saw. Although only female characters, the writing was sizzlin'...
Until the end. The very last scene/scare is just as unnecessary as the fact that they practically telegraphed it beforehand/leading up to it. It just cheapened it for me a tad. Otherwise, it would have stood out nicely. Thankfully, it didn't even have any T&A in it. I give it a solid B+ for the sweet semi tasteful gore and edge of your seat fast paced...ness. You get the picture, right?
Just leave when she starts sobbing by the road at the end. Before she looks into the passenger seat really slowly...
Still missing Russ, saw his death notice in the "net" paper, still feels unreal. I'm probably going to hit Springfield early evening tomorrow, see some people, crash somewhere, maybe with sis, and go to his funeral the next day.
There is a spot in the back of my head that feels like someone is putting minor electrical charges through it, and I feel the sensation of falling, but in a bad way. Like I am gonna splatter all over.
Death blows. I'm glad I never died by any accidental/purposeful means. But the alternative isn't all it's cracked up to be. Outlive everybody and feel the pain of their death.
Yay!!! Our purpose in life is to die and ultimately be forgotten, or if lucky, perverted by historians or (at best) gossipy mentally challenged descendents. Double yay!!!
I've heard that hearing the true MEANING OF LIFE is maddening to the mortal mind. Isn't this maddening enough? A lifetime of near bursts of greatness followed by crushing defeat, wearing away slowly at your lifemeter, not to mention your resolve. What a way to go.
Doomed, I say!!!
If you are lucky, you find God from wherever you stashed him way back at the end of childhood innocence. You can dust him off and hope that you either don't need him for a long time or you can hold up the facade long enough to slip into those pearly gates lest you backslide into sick depravity yet again. Comfort is nice. No one likes to go knowing that this is it. Maybe I will take that route myself some day, maybe not. Either way, we all gonna find out.
Who is behind the door? Jesus? Bhudda? Burt Convy?
Who, damnit?!?!?!?
Whoever you are, I am not amused. But I'm just being realistic.
You must be though...
amused, that is...

A Bientot!!!

Russell Edward Lane, Rest in Peace, Fellow Space Traveler...

I just got a phone call earlier from an old friend, Jay. He said my best friend, Russell, died yesterday. I didn't believe it at first. Jay has a habit of telling me evil lies, he had just recently told me Russ was a crackhead and a bunch of other dirty fibs. I got Russell's mom's number and called her. She filled me in on the details. It crushed me to hear her voice telling me all the things she told me. The worst part is that he and I had planned on getting together soon.
The whole thing is fucked up, really.
After high school, I had lived for a year with Russ and his mom. Somewhere in there afterwards, we'd had a falling out. On my 21st birthday, as a payback for a '90 Billy Idol show I'd treated him to, he took me to see PHISH, one of the best shows I've ever done in my life! After '93, we had only seen each other once, and very briefly. We were headed completely different directions in life, and a long parting seemed unspokenly necessary. Around a month or so ago, I had gotten a hit from Jay on my myspace page, talked to him, and filched Russell's number off him to call. We talked for several hours, and it seemed like our friendship had never even been on hiatus at all. Emails ensued.
We are talking at least ten fucking years here!
We were supposed to get together in the old house we lived at and do it up right one more time. He still lived there. That's how fucking cool he was. All the teenage things you go through in life, he and I stonily trudged onwards, dropping hits, rolling the Octabellifonioctic helma, smoking em like there was no tomorrow, and wriggling our bodies to the bodacious fingerings and string pluckings of Jerry-Bear and gang.
His funeral is on Sunday in Springfield and he will be cremated afterwards. I'm so bummed about the whole thing right now. The cruel gods are conspiring against me. Every possible happy futuristic plans I have to straighten out the wrongs in my life keep crashing and burning.
So the best friend of mine all throughout high school and beyond, the one who rolled our daily fatties from one end of high school to the other, the buddy who trippingly flailed next to me at dead shows, and shared many a plate of Springfield style cashew chicken and Burger King chicken sandwiches in silence is gone. Although I
DO feel we had mended any broken bridges and repaired a long stagnating friendship, I feel like we were robbed of a renewed, stronger bond.
Now I get to go to his funeral...
For you, buddeh, I am smoking this fattie, and jamming to the Terrapin Station cd. I would break my near 3 year sobriety to clink a St. Pauley Girl dark with ye right now. I know you are hanging with Jerry, and Frank, and Jimi, and so many others. Put a bottle of Stolichnaya in the freezer for me. I'll get there eventually...
Hope it's pretty fucking chilled by that time!
Got an amigo/amiga you haven't seen or heard from in forever? What a reason not to be late...
R.I.P. Russ