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Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Strange Dreams

I had this dream the other night where I was hanging out with Glenn Danzig.

Having been a music journalist for the better part of the last 15 years, it's not usual to dream about your job.

Only I haven't done much interviewing of bands in the last few years because I have been too busy being punk rock dad.

It's not unusual for me to have fucked up dreams

But in this dream it was more or less like two dudes eating lunch and talking shit.

I remember there was a conversation about guitarist Joe Christ, er John Christ, and how he had lived in the Tower B dorms at Towson where I went to college. We chatted about how this guy told his girlfriend that Danzig made him dye his hair black and change his name.

The next day I couldn't seem to shake the Danzig-isms that popped up.

I still can't.

And I still can't stop listening to The Lost Tracks

Back when I was a nut job music fanatic, my friends and I would drive hours to see shows. But when it came to Danzig, we would drive to the end of the Earth.

When the guitarist I mentioned above was recruited for Danzig's band, they played a show somewhere's on the other side of Baltimore for his family and friends - a "secret" show that I had gotten wind of through the dorm room gossip channels. Problem was that me and my buddies had already made plans to go see the Leeway/Cro-Mags show at the (old) 9:30 Club that same day. Fortunately for us, the Danzig show was at like 6pm. So we saw Danzig (well not really, he's so small I couldn't see him because he stood/sang lower than the heads of the people standing in front of the stage) at some cheesy bar that you would never see a band at unless something like this came up.

Or unless you were really into Trixter.

I saw Chuck Biscuits at the fast food place across the street and wanted to say something gay like "that D.O.A. 12 inch is one of my all time favorite punk rock records" but decided for the even gayer "have a good show."

We got lost trying to take a short cut after the Danzig set and walked into the 9:30 Club as Leeway was finishing their set but still caught a sloppy Cro-Mags set.

Some time after that the same crew of friends and I drove to NYC to see Danzig open for Slayer and we stunned when he got booed off the stage by the teething Slayer fans.

They were pits on top of pits at that show.

I can say this: back when NYC was dangerous, I never felt safer leaving the show and getting on the subway than I did that night when it was all longhairs (Secaucus in da house!!).

Return To Normalcy


Some days you just have to take baby steps... or just concentrate on breathing.

Much like addicts and their 12-Step programs, dealing with the recent voodoo juju that has been haunting my family lately, all we can do is take it one day at a time.

My life is in a constant state of unpredictability: every day something changes on the fly and I have to switch gears.

Case in point was yesterday.

One of my many jobs is to deliver promotional collateral around town to museums and hotels.

But when I got to the office to pick up the goods my contact was not there yet this was the only day I could find the time to pick up the stuff and start the delivery process.

I was lucky to have my oldest son to help but he secretly (or not so secretly) just wanted to get paid for it.

So I returned home, dropped off my son and opted to go to Social Security to get a new card issued since that dickhead thug stole my car with my wallet inside. Only when I got there, shortly before 10 in the morning, there already was a two-hour wait. I don't know why I wasn't smart enough to envision the SSA office being like the DMV but I guess I just wasn't.

Then I got the call saying that the contact had come in and I could go pick up the boxes.

So I swung back by home, got my son, picked up the boxes and made most of the deliveries.

One of the new drops I have to make is at the Carolina basketball museum.

I figured I'd take both my kids with me to this one.

Both were completely enamored with the scene and the rich history of UNC b-ball on display. You'd been hard pressed not to get goose bumps walking through the place (unless, of course, you are a Duke, Wake or State fan). I've long been a fan of archivalism and this place was rife with it - from championships rings and coaches' suits to Sean Mays' shoes and Guthridge's "excuse jar" - there didn't seem like there was much that wasn't included.

The trip there was a nice return to normalcy but the cloud of needing a new car and finding the money to buy one still hangs over us...
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Attention To Detail


I thought this was a great idea: to put these display boxes in the the floors.
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My Personal Favorite


By far the best thing for me to see at the Carolina basketball museum was this letter sent to Michael Jordan from the desk of Duke's Coach K.

"I am sorry to hear that you no longer have an interest in learning more about Duke..."

Warning: Duke fans hide yer eyes.
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