I smelled the blood of a werewolf once and it was stinky. Like pent-up dinner from long ago let loose from its tupperware container. That’s what wereblood smells like. So, I bottled it up and got it to where I can spray it where ever there are too many farters.
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Archive for July, 2005
I went to visit my girlfriend in Atlantic City the other day. She does the motorcycle/trapeze act at the Steel Pier. Here’s the part about my awesome bus ride.
Getting there:
I take the Academy bus from Port Authority. It’s $29 round trip but depending on what casino you get dropped at, you get at least $17 back. (Get dropped off at the Tropicana or Showboat. You get cash and not a gamble card , with all your info given away.) I gambled $5 on video poker. I won 3.50 and then lost it all. That’s the way it goes. I don’t have gamble magic. Tim Delaughter does. He wins all the time. But, I’m cool losing a five.
Anyway, my bus stops at the Cheesequake rest area for a second pickup. There’s not enough room for everyone. One old dude was told to leave because a fellow who was waiting in line before him couldn’t sit down.
Bus guy: You need to get off. Come on.
Old guy to Young Dude: But I’m here.
Young dude with backwards visor: Come on.
Old guy: I don’t have a problem with you.
Young dude with backwards visor: Yeah, well I got a problem with you. I been waitin’ 2 hours.
Some old dude behind me yelling: There were six people before you.
Bus guy: Come on get off.
Old guy gets off. Young guy sits down. Old dude in back yells again.
Old guy off bus yells at bus guy. He’s turned to the side so as not to be so threatening and walks away, then turns around walks back and yells again, this time to the bus guy’s face. I think I counted four walkbacks and then we left.
Going back:
I took the 7:45 bus at Resorts. There’s no bay assignment to line up at so there became 2 lines, each hoping that the bus would stop at their line. I’ve never heard people clap for a bus until last night. I guess I should have. Well, it was my line the bus chose and every one from the other line came rushing to our line. One older lady ran to the front and was immediately yelled at by other ladies.
Bus guy: I only have room for five (out of 50 waiting). There’s an empty bus arriving at the Taj Mahal at 8:30.
So, we go to the Taj Mahal. Four women go the wrong way so I yell for them to follow me as I am a denizen of Taj, walking to the big red letters that spell BUSES thru the forest of stupidity called slots, and onto another long line of people who want to go home because the house always wins.
The older lady who cut earlier is there and is promptly yelled at again.
Older lady: Don’t yell at me. My husband is right over there!
I don’t know what that means but it shutup the other ladies, so I’ll know to use that one someday.
Well, this bus isn’t empty like Surefire told us back at the other casino. Then, it gets awesome. People start cutting in line like crazy and the other waiters (people who wait?) are booing and yelling at the line-cutters. The fantastic four behind me are telling each other how the bus driver should do his job, who is letting the persistent line-cutters on the bus.
Then, the coolest thing of this bus fiasco: This little old man starts yelling. Like a bark-yell. Holy shit was he loud. It was like a dog barking at a mountain lion who’s about to destroy him.
Then, the line moves and I’m two people behind those who can’t get on the full bus.
Then, security shows up. Not just bike cops. I’m talking the kind that you see in the movies: the old guys with secret service wires and suits.
And then Young Blowhard says: Can you all hear me? There is another bus leaving Showboat at 9:40.
Lady 1: We’ve been waiting for 2 hours!
Lady 2: You keep moving us.
YB: It’s first come first serve.
Lady 3: You let people cut in line.
YB: I’m sorry for the . . .
So, I leave because I don’t want to spend my evening waiting for buses. I opt to stay one more night and leave in the morning. Colt wants to go drink at the Pic-a-lilli but I’m too tired.
I get up at five, thinking no one will be on my bus. I take the local bus to the Taj and then realize I should go to Trump Plaza so I can leave earlier, 6:15am. An older couple is there and when I’m more awake I furthermore realize that my earlier realization was blurred and that I need to haul ass to the Taj but that’s too late so I head to the Claridge and tell my new old friends to follow me or we’ll miss the bus.
There’s a short line at the Claridge. And it gets past bus due time so the old guy shows me his schedule and compares it to my bus schedule and they’re different. I got mine on Saturday as I was departing at the Tropicana. I don’t know where he got his.
Old guy: Why don’t you call this number?
So, I do. The guy tells me my schedule is wrong and I tell him that there is a line of 50 people who don’t know that and that they should get their shit together. The old guy and his wife leave to catch another bus and I stay in line and wait for the ghost bus. I call another number and a sweet lady says, “I just sell the tickets. Call this number.” So, I call and the bus shows up.
Boy, am I relieved. I have an empty seat for about 15 minutes and then get Coughy-sleepy next to me and I play some chess on my phone and then I too fall asleep.
Visit Atlantic City!
Go see my friends in:
Jollyship the Whiz-Bang Episode 6:
“CRABQUISTADOR: Scavenger of God”
Thursday
June 28th
10 pm
Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
$8
Its puppets and pirates and rock and good writing. A definite must see. I will be there.
And then go see,
Ben Ickies’ Failure
followed by his Ambitious Orchestra!
Saturday, July 30th
9 pm – $8
Galapagos Art Space
90 N. 6th Street, between Kent & Wythe
L to Bedford
Tuesday, July 26, 9pm
Va Va Variety
Corn Mo and a host of other performers
Triad Theater
158 West 72nd St., 2nd Fl.
New York, NY 10023
Tickets: 212-352-3101
$15
The coolest thing about driving into Detroit wasn’t the burning Ford Explorer across from The Majestic. It was the air conditioner in my dressing room that served as an oasis to the extreme heat that the Majesticians love at their venue. It was really hot. So hot you could fry an egg mid-air due to the constant rising of heat which could also give a good jolt to a Frontier jet, the one that rivaled hydralic cars so well that they turned around and went back to the airport. (”We don’t know why we just have to go back.” Later, found it was a maintenance problem. Hi Ho.) Magically, the heat didn’t deplete the energy of the audience. They had a good time. And I didn’t need to take off my wonderful sparklejacket, Sparklecoats.
Thank goodness the venue didn’t read my rider. I put Pabst on there so I don’t rock the boat so to speak and they brought me Sierra Nevadas. I didn’t really get to drink any of my free beer so I gave it all to the Budget Rent-a-car guy who assured me he liked beer.
I got 2 nosebleeds today. The first one just started flowing and wouldn’t stop. Nosebleeds are beautiful nuisances. Just like my friend’s pomeranian who pisses in my hallway every time she brings him over. Then, I got one in the shower. Blood going all over the tub floor. I felt like Carrie. Except no one was around to laugh at me.
Everyone supposedly gets nosebleeds when they come to Boulder.
The show was very intimate. Some guy offered me some shoes. My shoes are getting worn. I may take him up on his shoes. I bet Boulderians are apprehensive about buying white shoes because everyone would have obvious blood on their shoes as opposed to the silent blood shoes of a brown-shoed diabetic. My uncle has awesome diabetic shoes. Clowns in Ringling get fitted for their clown shoes. Those are some shoes you don’t want to see blood on. In Colorado they tie sacks to cover shoes and do the Emmet Kelly imitations. Works like gem. My shoes are gray. Shoes.
Tour with They Might Be Giants!
July 9-10
Boulder, CO
Fox Theater
July 12
St. Louis, MO
The Pageant
July 13
Indianapolis, IN
Music Mill
July 14
Detroit, MI
Majestic Theatre
July 15
Cleveland, OH
Odeon
The Music Mill is part of a shopping strip off 82nd St in Indianapolis. Its very nice to be able to go to Barnes and Noble to kill time and best of all I went to Office Max to get some cd’s to burn for I ran out of my other ones. I began my factory work at the bar of the extremely clean venue. Goodness is that place clean.
It’s so new that the ghosts are confused. “Hey where do I go? Where was the Burger Chef I was eating at before I said, “I don’t feel good.”
One of the bouncers was telling me about some fights he had to break up at a show there recently.
“Who is this band playing?”
“They Might Be Giants.”
“Rough crowd?”
“You’ll be throwing out at least 50 hooligans that love to fight when ‘Dr. Worm’ starts playing?”
“Moshing too?”
“Yeah, they go shithouse violent when Robot Parade starts playing.”
“Give me a nod when that happens.”
“You got it.”
Just kidding. That conversation never happened. It started out as such, though. But it should have.
I had to play extra long because I went on too early. The set was interrupted after 3 songs and was told to start the set over 15 minutes due north of then but then came to the idea of just keep going. What did I say? Anyway, so I did. And I looked to my right at the ghost holding his ill-fated cheeseburger shaking his head in disbelief that the Burger Chef was going to have bands playing.