... to blog like a normal person.
When I take a cursory glance at most blogs, they seem to trend inward and somewhat mundane. Most people write about things that impact them directly. Family issues specifically regarding their children is always a major topic. That's understandable considering the pro-creation movement that has been "sweeping the planet." Many discuss personal projects - painting a room, cleaning the garage (I prefer the Mo Sizlak term "Car-Hole"), or some kind of arts and crafts adventure. Some are obsessed with their pets and the joy derived from picking up a pile of dogshit in a Walmart bag. This honestly isn't a rip on everyone. I've just always wanted to convey my thoughts on things that might interest an outsider. I'd like to think these ramblings might appeal to some anonymous dirtbag living in Trenton, NJ. Maybe somebody out there enjoys the godless tirades. Maybe they enjoy systemic disruptions and the specifics regarding the inevitable demise of our country.
Incidentally, I find it interesting when people say that the U.S. is in decline. It's my contention that the decline started in the 1960's. Too many people equate top tier wealth, opulence and mega-mansions (and don't forget stretch limos) with greatness. Truth be told, our country peaked when there was a solid middle class and plentiful decent jobs. When we actually built things and had real service industry. Not insurance gimmicks and late fees. When we didn't have an overtly imperialistic foreign policy. But again, I digress. This is supposed to be about trying a normal blog entry.
I think I broke my middle finger on my left hand yesterday. I was helping a friend move a queen size mattress and I never had a decent grip on the damn thing. Anyway, it was kind of wobbly going down the steps. And my finger got jammed into the wall. Sucked. The tip of my middle finger (some call it the perching finger) on my right hand was bent inward. We fashioned a temporary splint. What's crazy is the accompanying reaction I experienced. I started sweating profusely and felt really flush. Honestly, I started seeing spots and felt like I was going to throw up. I needed some sugar and carbonation, but I think the Coke Zero probably didn't help much. People suggested I go to Doctor's Urgent Care, but seriously, what the fuck are they going to do for a broken finger. Well, other than charge me $119.00 and make me sit in a waiting room for an hour and sign all kinds of gibberish self-pay documentation. Anyway, my finger is still fucked up as of this morning. So I made a new splint with a piece of black plastic, a tiny bit of a Crown Royal bag (for added comfort) and some scotch tape. This morning it's still pretty sore. Perhaps "broke" is too strong a word. Suffice to say, it's definitely fractured. I prefer the term "fucked up."
In other news, Gig and I went to see My Morning Jacket at Station Square Friday night. They've changed the naming rights on this place more times than the late Michael Jackson was aroused by young children. I.C. Light Amphitheater, Chevrolet Amphitheater... now it's Trib Total Media Amphitheater or something like that. Possibly the best concert I've seen all year and I've seen some serious sick-ass shows in 2010.
Last night though, I delved into a different concert experience. I strolled over to my old stomping grounds in Martins Ferry and went to the Steel City Bar & Grille. I like how they add the "e" on the end of the word "Grill" as if it's a fine dining establishment. The Toys, Tongue & Cheek and Kip Winger played outdoors. I hadn't been to this place in about 2 decades. Aside from a painfully slow and inept bartender, I had a pretty good time. It was a little on the loud side for my tastes, but it's always a deafening experience. At least it was outside. Both bands sounded great. There was a weird buzz when Kip Winger emerged. People began to surround and pester him. He's kind of on the diminutive side, probably 5'7" or so. I thought this was peculiar because back in the 80's hair metal days, they always made the singers seem larger than life. At 6 ft, I literally towered over the guy. At least he didn't have some mammoth perm. That would have stolen the show. I had planned on getting him to sign a jar of Skippy peanut butter for my friend Nicole. I wanted him to sign it "Kippy." But I lost interest after the broken finger incident earlier in the day.
My thoughts on Kip Winger are the following... it was unusually bad. Granted I only listened to two or three songs. Who the fuck really wants to listen to a super loud guy playing acoustic guitar? Well, I guess I'm the only one. Hardly a virtuoso, this guy and his songs just aren't that great. I know, all bout the negativity. Seriously, some of the crowd seemed truly trapped in a fugazi time warp. When you think about it, Martins Ferry and Bell-Dirty are like the towns that time has forgot. Time is the enemy. And it is a merciless foe. But the crowd of about 120 loved it all. The squeals of delight were caustic and had a deep, gruffer sound. Most attendees were chain-smoking and middle aged, so it had more of a muffled, gruntal quality rather than the American Idolesque pre-pubescent shrieks of celebratory joy.
And to top it off, they had a DUI checkpoint in the middle of Route 7. Those fucking pig bastards. Very mean-spirited place to set up a roadblock especially on a Saturday night. They do it about twice a year in that spot by the Bob Evans intersection. I only had a few beers and even made history by consuming not one, but TWO jello shots. Nonetheless, I zipped through town and avoided it. I wonder how many people, already down on their luck, impoverished and despondent, got ensnared in this pigpoint. Sounds about right, "Yeah, I was having the time of my life. Kip Winger was singing "She's Only Seventeen and this hottie was grinding up on my cock. Next thing you know, there's a cop sticking that fucking breathalyzer in my face. Dude, they ruined my life. If I only didn't chug that last Jagerbomb. Fuck." The irony - he only blew a .08.
It would appear that my effort to blog like a normal human being has failed. I'm gonna go run.