Travel day. Hotter than hell. Crossed the border into the badlands of Tijuana. Got my usual room at the Hotel Nelson. It should be peaceful until Friday night, when the armies of mariachis start wailing two stories beneath my window.
Fear not, dear reader…sure, it’s the most dangerous city in the world, but I am one suave gabacho, and I am protected from on high by the powers of darkness.
N.P.: “Fuzzbox Voodoo” – ZZ Top
Wishing a very happy birthday to Angelina Jolie.
The Hejira to the South has been postponed one day.
N.P.: “Majesty” – Ghost
So I just rushed home to write about what I just did, but was preemptively told that I can’t write about it. Yeah, dammit.
As you know, dear reader, I don’t have very many close friends. But those that I do have are pretty amazing people, many of whom do some pretty amazing things. So occasionally I’ll get to preview an album, a book, a play, a movie, whatever one of my friends has been working on, and more often than not, these things are pretty incredible. And my first instinct is to show up here and tell everyone about this really cool thing. But if it isn’t totally finished or hasn’t been released yet, I can’t say anything about it. Which can be frustrating in situations like this. At the same time, though, it’s pretty cool to be walking around knowing what people will be listening to, watching, et cetera, at some point in the non-immediate future. It’s like knowing a really cool secret. And it makes me smirk knowingly.
So I’m here, smirking knowingly, and not saying a word.
I’m also exhausted, and not making much sense. I need to sleep. Tomorrow I take Tijuana.
N.P.: “Play That Funky Music Rammstein” – DJ Cummerbund
I keep seeing commercials where restaurants are not only openly admitting to but actually boasting about selling smaller portions. What the hell kind of world are we living in, dear reader? Seriously. Ours is the worst culture in the history of the world. “Let’s choose the restaurant that gives us less food for the same price.” How pathetically bereft and devoid of will power does the herd have to be, knowledgeable reader, to not only need but want to have their portion size determined by an outside party?
Hell. Better hit the desk whiskey before I get worked up.
The writing was okay today.
N.P.: “Gimme Shelter (feat. Lzzy Hale)” – Stone Sour
Well, shit. Today sort of spun out of control early on. Friends in need and such, which is cool, but I didn’t write shit. Tomorrow is Day 2. Should be better.
N.P.: “Reach for the Sky” – Spiderbait
Ten days of chaos and writing starts tomorrow. Time to finish some shit whilst having new adventures. I need to finish the Tijuana thing that’s been lurking around for years, and what better way to do that than in TJ? If I end up down there, I’ll update you here, on my antisocial media.
One way or another, I have to get out of this wretched hotel. That goddamn charwoman is looking like the Crypt Keeper and generally giving me the fantods. I need a break. But first things first… gotta get some sleep. Or at least see if I can in this disgusting heat.
N.P.: “Fuck You” – CeeLo Green
Good Lord, dear reader. I just made chicken using the Trader Joe’s Ghost Chili BBQ Sauce. Not bad. Usually their “spicy” stuff isn’t really super spicy (I’m looking at you Trader Joe’s Ghost Pepper Potato Chips), but this shit is no joke. Made my chin sweat. Yowza.
And but so anyway I just started working on a thing about iconoclasts that’s been brewing for a couple of years. It’ll probably end up here when it’s done. I find it a rather unpleasant subject.
Alright…back to it.
N.P.: “Anything Goes” – Guns N’Roses
I’m being quiet tonight, dear reader. We lost another good one today.
Bill W., you will be missed. Thank you so much.
I’ve been doing a bit of social engineering lately, dear reader…you know, just for fun and profit. And I’ve got to say I’m a bit surprised with its efficacy. I used to do a lot more of this, but for some reason I fell out of practice. But it does work. You know what doesn’t work? Walking in the front door and asking for something, a job, a date, whatever. It’s as if you were playing chess, and your strategy was simply to ask your opponent for his queen, please: the only thing he’s going to give you is a middle finger. If you want a job, create a crisis or some kind of dire need, and then suddenly make yourself known as a ready solution. Don’t ask anybody on a date…just make the idea of a life without you seem so repellently boring as to be unacceptable, and the rest is inevitable.
Ain’t no social engineering in writing, though, dear reader, as I know I don’t have to tell you. For we are the People of the Pen, and we have an endless supply of bitter ink. Right? Right. Write.
N.P.: “Would?” – Opeth
Pausing today to remember The Fallen.