Stop asking, I ain't going out!

     Friends are always bitching at me that I never want to go out anymore.  "What happened to the Greek?  The guy that used to call me on the phone every-fucking-night asking what's going on this evening?  Let's get fucked up!"  Well, first of all, Greek grew up......hahahahahaha  yeah I'm not buying that one either!  

     As stated previously, I don't like people.  I don't want to be around them anymore then I have to.  Working in retail 9 hours a day forces me to interact with them.  Whether it be employees, customers, or bosses, I want to flip the fuck out on all of them.  But I don't because I'm a pussy.  I hold in all the anger and frustration...until I get home.  I start slamming down beers and call a fellow piece of shit or two that can relate and unleash all the hatred built up from the day.  

     I'm uncomfortable being around groups of people and not being able to be myself.  I NEED to be intoxicated to function and have a good time with strangers as well as "friends."  Apparently, my "friends" and strangers alike say that I'm an asshole when I get drunk; "You're such a better person when you're sober."  NEWS FLASH:  That is who I really am!  I'm a fucking asshole!  Alcohol is the only thing that can unlock the gate holding back every real thought in my mind.  What I say to you or anyone else (most of the time, sometimes I'm just drunk) when I'm drinking beer is how I really feel.  Now, you may take it a different way then what I was thinking but that ain't my fault.  Stop being so sensitive and smile!  When I'm drinking you're getting the REAL me!  

     I'm very well aware this isn't the healthiest way to live one's life.  It's how I live mine.  Deal with it, or don't.  Just remember, your friend, brother, son, etc.,  really is a dick and there is nothing you can do about it.  Doesn't mean I don't love you, just means I can't stand everybody else!

     So guys, please, understand when I ain't interested in going out and getting fucked up with y'all.  You all are more than welcome to come over to my place and get fucked up all night long! 

     ...or until 9 o'clock, then you got to get the fuck out!

gII

The Off-Center of Attention

     One thing I love about being a musician is performing live.  Whether it be atop a stage, amidst fog strewn graves, or among a many inebriated individuals at the local bar, each has it's special, memorable moments.  One's that stick with me and drive me to keep playing whilst life continues to become more complicated and pressurized. 

     Now, I'm no singer/songwriter although I do write and sing songs.  As where the former generally creates their own material independently, I prefer to work out songs within a group-type setting.  (Note to self: It's called a band you pretentious dick!)

      Moving on... So, when I perform live it is always with at least one other person, usually more.  And when I get together with a drummer, guitarist/vocalist (and pianist, if I'm extremely lucky!)  and shit just locks, it is a high that will last for days.  I'm all smiles and excited and motivated as fuck.  For the following week I'm just daydreaming about the future.  Like when you meet someone new and talk on the phone all night and then afterwards you go to bed thinking of what the rest of your life could be like with that person.  That is the feeling I get after playing a 45 minute set out in the woods on a cold Autumn night in Mt. Kisco, New York!

     Then, as is life, I go back to my real job and all motivation and passion gets sucked out of me and I just want to go home and drink.  Beers, that is.

     I also love playing live when someone in the audience notices a predicament I may be in.  I smoke.  I drink.  I play bass.  I love doing all three simultaneously.  Performing for a bunch of smoking, drinking attendees is hard to watch when your hands are full.  We played a gig this past July on the island of Aero, Denmark, where smoking was "permitted" in bars.  So I lit up a butt on stage and supplied an adequate backdrop in which the "stars" could shine.  (No disrespect you two, you are true and shining stars, love you both!!!)

     Anyway, I lit up a butt on stage (or rather slightly a bit off stage as the stage was really only meant for 1,) something I haven't been able to do for years in the bars back home.  Apparently, someone was watching.  Every time I would finish my L&M this gentleman from Germany would walk up with a lit cigarette and stuff it in my mouth.  Hans introduced himself after the first set; Verbatim:  "I like vatching you play, don't fuck my vife."  She was the attractive blond standing next to him whose name I refused to remember for fear that this guy might actually kick my ass for even acknowledging her.  He turned out to be a really cool dude who just enjoyed watching a good show. From my perspective, it was an on point off-the-cuff show.  One of those shows where the "star" starts playing some random cover that wasn't discussed beforehand and assumes you'll be able to catch on and you just happen to nail it.  Drunk.  And Smoking...  I love it!      
    
     Back home at the Kisco gig... I had set myself up with 2 steins full of Captain Lawrence to hold me through the set.  Didn't last.  While playing, a spectator (Jeremy) grabbed one of my mugs, disappeared, then reappeared with a full frothing blessing of alcoholic goodness.  That kind of shit goes a long way to someone who's job is to supply you with musical accompaniment to your evening's goings-on.  Or at least it does with me.  I'm supposed to be there for your entertainment.  When I'm given a beer or a smoke on stage in between songs on the fly from someone enjoying the show and just wanting to help me out...you make my fucking night!

     These are only a few examples.  The night I suffered a concussion from overzealous Burnbath fans dancing like rabid monkeys onto the stage is a story for a another day.  Perhaps the next one.  Man...that story is actually pretty fucked up, and it has nothing to with the concussion...

     In conclusion, I love putting myself out there.  Sometimes it might end with me getting punched in the face.  At others, I'm the "star."  Either or,  as much as I hate being in public, being the off-center of attention ain't a bad place to be... 
           
gII

For the ladies...

     Ever take a dump while showering?  Dude, yesterday morning I thought I might pop my shower-shitting cherry.  

     Woke up at 5:25 am to the voices of Mike and Casey going on about today's goings-on.  Slapped the snooze, got up and made my way towards the bathroom.  Flicking the light switch I gaze into the mirror and noted that I look particularly awful today.  What else is new?  I step into the shower, finger's mentally crossed, praying that by simply raining hot water down upon my head the shame and hangover may wash away from my soul and spiral down into the drain never to be seen again...right.

     As we all know, that shit may feel really good but eventually you have to get the fuck out of the shower.

     Except this time...oof.

     It started with a slight pressure, a little gas perhaps.  No problem.  Let out a poot, continuing my morning wash.  Then out of nowhere, I'm struck with a tremendous urge to either blow some serious ass or shit my fucking face off!  As I lean against the sort-of-glass door I contemplate my options.  Holy shit, I might have to get out of here and dump.  But the pressure is so paralyzing that I can't move. 

     Just...want...to...relieve...the...pressure!

     I can't hold it.  This is going to happen.  Oh god this is happening...

gII

      

Not Enough Leaves

Just as spring arises from the last vestiges of winter
And Her rebirth begins
I long for our love to rekindle and ignite
That which has laid dormant for too long
If each blossoming Sunflower could fill your heart with love
And every new leaf could cast a shadow over ever wrong
I've done, I would wish for an overflowing bed of Sunflowers
And for an endless grove of Oaks
In hope that one day you could again love me
If each fresh blade of grass were another day with you
And if at every dusk, when the sun sinks just a little bit slower
low the horizon, could extend those days just a little bit longer
Then I would wish for boundless fields of grass
And for every day to rise in late June
If only your love could change like the seasons
Than maybe your trust could explain a reason
to love me.

Antisocial: Nothing personal

     I don't like people.  In general and more often than not in person as well.  It's not a matter of what they feel I need to be told but rather why they feel I'm the one to be told of such things.  Look, I could really care less about what you wish to tell me.  And 9 times out of 10 I do.  Care less that is.  Though I never actually counted.  More likely it's 10 out of 10 but color me generous.  Believe it or not I'm not a bad person.  (well, not too much really...and depending on who you talk to, they may have deserved it...  or not.  I do feel horrible about those who did not.) 

     On occasion I do succumb to the blabberings of that random individual behind the counter, or standing beside me at the counter, or on the other side of my counter, and I smile and sometimes laugh.  When I do it's mostly genuine.  Perhaps I may convey my own lame observation.  Unless I'm working.  Then the initial laugh is real but the response winds up becoming some forced cliche, not wanting or being able to say what's really on my mind. 

     It's not because I feel that I'm better than everyone else.  Quite the contrary.  I think that rather everyone thinks they are better than me.  And while many people surely are more "successful" human beings than I, or at least according to what our society deems the standard, we're all in the same fucking boat!  I have no idea the problems and circumstances surrounding your existence.  And you don't know mine.  So who the fuck are you to analyze and criticize my decisions in regards to my life, something you know nothing about.  Yet, we can't help ourselves, can we?  We all become experts when it comes to breaking down the actions of others trying to find cause and reason.  When will we learn that our initial assumptions are almost always wrong?  Unfortunately, probably never.  I don't want to call myself diplomatic.  I ain't never gonna receive "diplomatic immunity" for any crime I committed...(is that a double negative? hmm, maybe I will then...fuck, alright.  I may have a chance.)  But all I'm trying to say is if you don't approach things with an open mind and reserve judgment before all the facts are known, how the hell do ever expect to grow and mature?  You don't know everything, you never will.  And don't tell me that you know "enough."  There's so much to experience out there that you could never possibly know "enough"!  

     Life's a piece of shit.  It doesn't have to be.  Get off your lazy ass and do something about it.  Anything.  Stop waiting around for someone else to change your world.  In the end, the only one that is there for you is you.  Life sucks and you're to blame...

     Harsh words?  Definitely.  So what the fuck are you gonna do about it? 

     Probably nothing, just like the rest of us...

gII

Hurricane Irene: East Coast Threat or Economic Saviour?

     I find myself spending alot of time in grocery stores.  I was in one yesterday.  That would be Thursday, August 25 2011.  The place was a madhouse.  People were at the door waiting to get in at 6 in the morning so that they may be first to get their "in case of emergency" supplies.  A little crazy or perhaps very responsible.  From then on it was a non-stop barrage of frantic panicked consumers needing to get their hands on anything and everything to ensure they could survive the next 3 years cut off from society.  They would not stop coming.  By 11 am I had to ask myself what the fuck?  Am I the only one that has to work on a Thursday?  It was the busiest day I've seen since the week of Christmas .  In fact, Hurricane Irene surpassed all holiday sales I've seen to date.

     Now it's Friday.  Second wave.  God help me.  They're back.  Apparently there's a whole other part of the community that don't have to work on Friday's.  Man did I choose the wrong fucking profession.  Today it was like the world was coming to it's end.  Again, the moment the doors opened customers were overloading their carts with every perishable item they could grab... 

...and that's my "what the fuck?" moment.

     Dude.  Let's all pretend were rational human beings for a second.  A hurricane is on it's way.  

     Worst-Case Scenario:  You die.  

     Ok, that sucks and probably ain't gonna happen anyway so relax.  

     More likely scenarios are thus:

 You lose power
 Your basement gets flooded
 Windows get blown in
 Lawn furniture blows away
 Tree falls on your car (I dread that one!)
 Your newborn gets torn from your arms, hits
 the pavement face first and is sucked down a
 sewer drain in a swirling pool of blood and
 garbage never to be seen again.

     That's pretty fucked up and I apologize.

     Back to my "what the fuck?" moment.  Losing power is the most likely, if not the number 1 scenario in this situation.  So why the hell would anyone be stocking up on PERISHABLE anything?!?!  What are you going to do with the 10 pounds of deli meats you just purchased when your refrigerator don't work.  What about the 3 gallons of milk you bought?  Do you plan on playing the "Let's see who can drink a gallon of milk in an hour and not puke" game.  Don't forget the 5 bags of ice you bought.  What good is that going to do?  It's ice asshole.  It melts.  What can you possibly keep cold on 5 bags of ice for any extended period of time that will save you from death?  How much shit are you really gonna fit in your cooler, stupid?  Think. 

     But on the flip-side, business has never been so good!    Like I said before, we're making more money this week than any other week last year!  The way you folks are spending money it makes me question the real state of our economy.  Natural disasters are a grocery stores best friend.  I want to take this time to thank you all personally for letting the media brainwash you into buying all sorts of shit you don't need.  

     You only need 2 things to survive Ms. Irene.  Beer and Cigarettes.  Unless you have children.  Cigarettes are not meant for kids.  

    And fuck water.
  
     Good luck everyone!

gII   

A Confession...

     I admit it.  I have a problem.  I can't control myself.  I just feel so damn good when I'm doing it!  It's an addiction and I blame our materialistic-oriented society.  No, I blame myself.  Put a few beers in me and before you know it I'm on Amazon buying all sorts of shit I don't need, or really want (I'll explain the latter later.)

At first, I'll log on looking for a good read to expand my library.  Usually it's a Stargate Novel or some Terry Pratchett hard-cover edition from England.  One of my most recent purchases was a $30 Stargate:SG-1 board game that I just had to have, even if I don't have any friends to play it with.  I'm about to play it by myself 'cause I'm that much of a geek.

     $30.  Not bad.  Ain't gonna break the bank.  But that's where they get you.  Spend $50 and you can get "FREE SHIPPING!"  Well, fuck.  What's another $20.  So now I'm adding a couple more books to the cart.  Oh, look at this CD they recommended for me, this shit looks awesome!  Add it!  Before long I'm looking at about $200.  Still, ain't too bad...until it arrives on my doorstep.

     Once I thought I was ordering MLB: The Show (baseball video game) for the PS3.  When it finally arrived I was so excited, till I opened it up and saw it was for the PS2.  Dumb-ass.  If you don't play video games you may be saying to yourself "yeah, so?"  Understandable.  Here's another one...

     Growing up I loved the Disney movie "The Black Cauldron."  Read the book.  Always wanted to own it.  So when I saw it available on DVD on Amazon 20 some-odd years later I just had to have it!  Imagine my surprise and heart-breaking disappointment when I opened up the box from the post office to find a fucking VHS tape.  Really?  VH-fucking-S?  For $20???  Fuck me.  I later found out it's available for rental on Netflix, which I subscribe to.  Watched it.  Not as cool as I remembered it to be.  Again, I suck. 

     This last time around, as previously mentioned, I bought the Stargate:SG-1 board game in addition to 6 more Stargate novels.  And, of course, I bought 2 copies of the same book.  God Damn It!  The complications of shopping on-line whilst drinking. 

     The cool thing is when the mail comes it's like Christmas.  You get all the presents that you always wanted.  Granted, you bought them, but thanks to the glorious effects of alcohol, you forgot.  Once again, alcohol helps one make decisions an otherwise indecisive, insecure, tentative human being would never make.

Here's to being single.  And alone.

gII

European Tour 2011 - smokers

     This one is for the smokers.  Cigarette smokers.  (Sorry boys, didn't get a chance to smoke any real shit on this trip.  Put the feelers out there but nobody really trusts an American in Europe.)  Anyway.  Here in the states we're paying outrageous prices for cigarettes.  The taxes are more than the actual cost of the product.  In New York you can pay up to $12 for a pack of 20 smokes.  That's bullshit!  But I didn't really have to tell you that, did I?  The last 2 packs of butts I bought were from the "Dubbele Adelaar" in Hooglede, Belgium.  From a vending machine.  Remember those?  Now, I'm a Camel Lights smoker ( Or Camel Blue whatever-the-fuck smoker.)  They weren't available but the 24 count Pall Mall was.  For 5 euro. That's around 7.50 U.S. dollars, on the heavy side.  Still way the fuck less than anything you can purchase in New York, plus 4 more smokes!  And!!!?  They all cost the same.  Let me clarify.  There appears to be no "state-by-state" regulation on cigarette prices.  Wherever I was in any given country the price for the same pack of butts remained the same throughout the land.  There's a government seal similiar to our state seal on each pack.  Except their seal also denotes price.  Imagine that.  Here's the price.  Pay it ...or don't.  You ain't gonna find a better deal.  Talk about regulation!  
     I guess my real gripe stems from this:  America is exploiting cigarette smokers unfairly and unjustly.  Taxes on our cigarettes rise steadily year after year.  For what?  They say it's supposed to act as a deterrent, to turn people off from smoking.  If that ain't a steaming pile of horse shit I don't know what is... other than an actual steaming pile of horse shit, I'm well aware of what that is thanks due to my neighbors.  
     The government knows smoking is an addiction.  They openly preach on it.  They also know that we, as addicts, will continue to buy tobacco regardless of cost 'cause we're fucking addicted!  So I say FUCK YOU AMERICA!  If you all agree smoking is so deadly to our health than BAN FUCKING SMOKING!  If it's killing that many people each year than why the fuck do you continue to let us smoke?  ...Oh yeah, that's right, 'cause we're paying your mother fucking bills!  You hypocritical pieces of shit!  I hope you die from lung cancer.  

hugs and kisses

gII      

European Tour 2011 - Chapter 1: Drinking in Belgium

  It is Thursday, July 28th, 2011.  My first full day back from a 2 week trip across the Atlantic.  As always, Europe never fails to impress or intimidate this shy, wide-eyed American (unless, of course, I'm in Belgium.  Then I become very sleepy-eyed and opinionated.  Beer reference...they're quite strong and delicious.)  I traveled with some family and friends through 3 different countries.  We drank, we played, we fought, we forgave (or at least I hope they have) and explored many towns and cities none of us have ever been in before.  So much has happened within the past fortnight that it'll take me twenty more to tell the full story.  And even then I'd probably would've left some shit out.
     Here's an abridged beginning.  We took off from JFK on an Indian plane, serving Indian food and showing Indian movies.  We landed in Brussels, Belgium at around 7 in the morning local time (their local.)  Stayed a night with some really great friends, traveled to Germany, made our way up to Denmark, then shot back down to Belgium.  Itinerary at it's most basic.  Details to come.

Chapter 1

Belgian Beer

     Now, I haven't been to every beer-producing region in the world but after some online research and years of very in-depth, hands-on experimentation I have deduced and ultimately concluded that Belgium is by far the front runner in all that is glorious and wonderful in the universe in regards to God's beverage of choice.  (It's beer, silly.  Wine is for sissy's...or for after the beer has run out.)  Every single one I tasted was like tasting beer for the first time.  And believe you me I've tried as many as possible (like that was in doubt.)  Each brand has it's own uniquely shaped glass designed to enhance the experience.  It's almost surreal the first time you enter a bar in Belgium.  You see all these different glasses lining the shelves, presumably for decorative purposes.  Then you start ordering one drink after another and realize "Holy shit!  They actually use all of them!"  
     I'd like to address one of my personal favorites.  Some may say it's not the best that Belgium has to offer and that may be true.  But the mere mention of it's name turns heads, some smiling, some shaking in a silent "No!"  
     Every Belgian smirks when the talk of Duvel enters conversation (yes, it means Devil.)  A smooth yet deceptive 8.5% blond that will easily destroy all morals and turn nuns into whores (Or at least that was the plan...well, the destroying of morals part definitely, but the nuns, that's on them.)  And yet Duvel is the first drink I am offered every single time I am introduced to a Belgian.  Perhaps they can sense I enjoy beer, or trouble, could even be a test.  That's the other thing about the Belgian culture that I've been exposed to.  Whenever you meet someone new there are 2 Stages.  Stage 1:  Greetings and Salutations.  Stage 2:  Let's have a beer!  It's all about breaking the ice and conversing, getting to know each other.  Beer becomes the social lubricant it was meant to be.  It's encouraged, embraced even!  
     I think there must be an unspoken rule, for lack of better phrasing.  You can have a drink.  You can get drunk.  You can even get obliterated.  As long as you're not starting fist-fights with anyone other than yourself, you're cool.  And we'll find you a ride if you need one.
    
So when are we moving there?

     Back to today.  First full day back.  Gotta go back to work tomorrow.  Really not looking forward to that world of shit.  Head to the store to pick up some provisions...milk, drano, beer.  At 12 noon I'm sitting in the sun drinking a Budweiser, reading a Stargate Novel and unwinding from the whirlwind that is a European vacation.  Before I know it the 12 pack is gone and I'm looking at an empty fridge scratching my head thinking "what the fuck?"  I built my tolerance so high drinking Belgian beers I've completely fucked my American beer drinking standards.   The Magical "8th" Beer just became The Magical Mother-Fucking "18th" Beer Mother Fucker!"  Fuck.  My country's beer sucks.  And don't tell me I can buy better beer here than Bud.  I know I can. I do.  Weekly.  The fact is you can get shit-faced on $50 at any random bar in Belgium.  SHIT-FACED!  Try that in America.  I have.  It don't happen.  Belgium.  A land where beer is crafted with care, made to savor, and enjoyed by all (at quite reasonable prices.)  And is always accompanied by friendly smiling strangers open and eager to strike up a conversation.  If you've never been you need to go.  Especially if you're a beer drinker like myself.  I'm ready when you are!

gII

No Sober, No Rover : Pet Shops Rebel Against Potted Patrons

     I recently read an article in the paper pertaining to purveyors of puppy's politely pushing people of a plastered persuasion, predisposed to purchasing a poodle, pug, pug-a-doodle, or any other precious prospective pet back out the entrance with a stubborn refusal to sell them "Man's Best Friend."

     Which is, as being a current purchaser of a puppy under the influence (Me, stupid.  Not the puppy), a fantastic idea.  Owning a dog is a huge responsibility right up there with raising a child  or negotiating your job, child, and canine commitments around a steadfast refusal to abandon alcoholism.  I bought my dog off an internet website in May of 2010.  I always wanted a beagle.  Loved their personality and, to me, beagles are the embodiment of Dog (I'm sure all dog owners feel the same way about their dog, at least I hope they do.)  The site had pictures of her at 4 weeks of age and God was she adorable!  So I did my research.  For 2 weeks, every night, I would go online and read up on everything about beagles.  Their behavior, their needs, their history, intelligence, compatibility tests, EVERYTHING!  Everything I read brought me closer to the conclusion that a beagle was the perfect companion for me!  All I had to do was click "PURCHASE."
     Sober, I may never have done it.  But alas, I drink most nights so chances were this puppy would be mine whether or not a good idea it was...
     Sometime around May 30th I found myself sitting in front of the computer, beer cans encroaching upon my monitor, a bit before 9 o'clock in the evening.  Hand on mouse, slanted arrow circling the "CONFIRM" button, I had to think this through.  Is this what I really wanted?  Can I do this?  Do I have the time to feed, walk, play, love, this beautiful baby bitch?  And what the fuck?  Who buys a dog off the god damn internet?  I click this button and there goes a decent sum of money I may never see again.  But look, there's pictures of celebrity's and the dogs they've purchased on this very site!  How happy are they?!? It has to be legit, right? I mean, come on!  Look at these photos!

     Crack another beer...fuck it.  Click!

     Not 5 minutes later my cell phone rings.  Oh fuck.  

     "Good evening Mr. Deuce!  Congratulations on the newest member of your family!  What airport would you prefer to receive her at?"  What? No home delivery? But everything I order on the internet just magically shows up at my front door!  No dick, she's coming from Ohio and she is a living creature.  What have I done?

     Fuck.  Looks like I'm in this for the long haul.  I clicked "CONFIRM," my money's gone and I doubt I'll ever see it again.  Hey, still might get a puppy out of it...

     Information exchanged.  I psych myself up the following 2 weeks.  Friends and loved ones express mixed emotions regarding my decision to introduce a dog into the household.  Ranging from "Please tell me you're lying" to "That's fucking awesome!"  Both prefaced with "Are you fucking kidding me???"  Keeping up the positive outlook to all, I suffered trying to suppress my own doubts and reservations.  After all, here's a decision I made without conferring with anybody else for the fear they would reject my proposal without consideration and leave me dejected, resentful and angry.  Better to act first and ask other's opinions later when it comes to questionable matters of the heart, no?...  I thought so too! 

     Waiting for her arrival, everyone present was waiting giddily apprehensive.  We all saw the pictures by now.  It was time to see the newest addition to our family!  After given the run-a-round by airport security of where the fuck you pick up dogs arriving on planes, we found the debarkation station.  Standing, waiting, anticipation turning to impatience, a cage finally rolls down the conveyor belt.  Inside, oh inside...

     The most precious, adorable, beautiful 8 week old beagle I have ever seen!  Boy, did I ever make the right decision!!!  I picked up the cage and took her outside.  Cage in hand, my dad opens the door, takes her out, hugs her, and never let's go.  The little one and I name her Daisy Lu while we walk through the parking garage.  We got in the car and she slept the entire ride home. 

     Nowadays, she won't stop digging holes in my fucking backyard!

     Point of the story (bit long, apologies) is that sometimes people need that little bit of alcohol to push them towards making great decisions in their lives.  Especially us shy, timid, reclusive introverts.  While I applaud pet store owners making it a practice to turn away stumbling drunks from committing a life altering acquisition, there are those of us who require a sip of liquid courage to help cross that Bridge of Uncertainty. 

     I guess, in summation, GOD BLESS THE INTERNET!

...and beer...and puppies.  beer first though...