For just $5 you can change the world...

That's right. I'm broke. It's a terrible pickle.

I've got to buy a plane ticket on April 29th (yes, that very day) so that I can fly across the ocean to continue work on my PhD, which will enable me to eventually get a job teaching, at which time I will be given access to young and sponge-like minds, and I will fill them with the best thought-soul-spirit-revolution-food that I can channel... thereby potentially changing the world, see?

So, here was my thought. I'm broke. I need cash. And to ask any ONE person for the amount of cash I need would be just... weird. I don't know anybody who's sitting on a stack like that. HOWEVER, just about EVERYONE that I know has $5. So, I figured I'd ask everyone I know for $5 (it worked for Henry Miller, man) and if even a handful of ALL the folks I know gave me just $5.... I'd be able to do the seemingly impossible.

In return, you will of course have my eternal gratitude, and I would also like to initiate the $5 money tree for all of us... as a collective means of survival and thrival with which we can all collaborate on pursuing our hopes and dreams, for a mere $5.

So... if you're down for the $5 revolutionary intra-personal help tree, please send cash, checks, or bags of change to:

Juli Crockett
4629 Echo Street
Apt #4
Los Angeles, CA 90042

Or if you see me, give it the pass and a wink, and I'll probably smile real big and give you a hug.

I hope this works. If you've got a better idea, I'm open to suggestions and searching for solutions.

- juli

mitch hedberg is dead. :-(

i love that funny motherfucker. if you've never heard him, i suggest you take a listen right here: http://www.mikeindustries.com/blog/archive/2005/03/mitch-hedberg-rest-in-peace

he makes me giggle like a stoner. he saved my life whilst driving cross country with a car-load of folks who didn't understand the concept of entertaining the driver so's they don't fall asleep. the guy who brought the hedberg cd is forgiven, of course. they are all forgiven, actually. i hope they all have forgiven me for being such a psycho. it was one of those rights-of-passage things, methinks. the kind of thing that you don't understand WHY you're doing it in the moment, just that you must.

the trip is far enough away that it has undergone that amazing transformation into something truly wonderful... and it is no longer the painfully excrutiating thingamajig that i thought it was, during the experience. it was dope. those folks are fly by me. alright.

it's too bad mitch had to go the way of the inspired comic... john belushi, chris farley, mitch hedberg... to the limit.

a new unedited from the heart post, compliments of juli crockett.

hello everyone. i'm broke. this is my own fault. the situation of brokeness tends to arise, i hear, when one refuses to "live by the rules" and do the things that "everybody else does" like "go to work" for a significant number of hours each day. i don't like to do this. i like to watch my turtles and hang out with my boyfriend.

that's right, my boyfriend. my boyfriend whom i can't stop fighting with. my boyfriend who broke up with me, bought a house, and asked me to move in with him in the same day. in between we got accupuncture. accupuncture ain't something he'd normally do. accupuncture is for fags, that's what he'd say. but with the help of a rental car and his birthday, i tricked him into accupuncture in Gardena and he loved it. we went back the next day. the day that he bought a house, dumped me, then asked me to move in with him. that's my boyfriend.

and then there's me. feeling me. free spirit me. crazy me. weirdo me. normal/abnormal/subnormal me. me me me. call me what you like, but call me. that's me.

my turtles have had two days of real, direct sunlight after a long, long winter of no real sunshine that has blanched their shells a weirdo white color. if anyone knows anything about turtles, please let me know what's wrong with them.

i love weezer. midnight confession #1.

some dear friends of mine who help me stay on level bought me an electric guitar. my boyfriend bought a house in Duarte. i am horrified. everything will change. change is fun. i am broke. broke is fun, so long is there is nothing that you feel you NEED to HAVE or DO that requires MONEY. such as, a plane ticket to switzerland so that you can go to school, that has already been paid for (the school) but you need a plane ticket to get there.

plane tickets cost money.

i think i most certainly need to start writing in my little blog more with abandoned and word-spitting glee. i'm sure i will do it, too... because i'm going to have to put in 40+ hour weeks on the computator from now until i set flight for the Swiss Alps... and during those long weary hours on the computator, staring into the pixelated hell which is cyberland, i will assuredly grow lonely... and in this pit of loneliness, i shall want to cry out for help, solace, understanding, and love.

see you then.

I'M ON THE FLIPPIN' COVER OF MUSIC CONNECTION MAGAZINE!!!!!!!!!!

You can see it online on the 14th at www.musicconnection.com

OR... You can buy it right now at your local news-shack.

OR.... You can check out these links:

http://www.evangenitals.com/musicconnection.jpg (cover)

http://www.evangenitals.com/musicconnection2.jpg (feature article on THE EVANGENITALS!!!!!)

OR you can check out OUR copy TONIGHT at FREE SHOW at Mudpuppy's in Highland Park!

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

ick ick ick....

well, it's finally happened.

after years of working with pornographic images. after a life-time of being a jolly consumer of smut. after frequently sharing my porno-happy bliss and strip-club adventures with my significant other. after all this time... its finally gotten to me.

the envious affliction of "less than" and "not enough" has somehow dug its way into my guts and is gnawing at my insides.

thoughts of eating disorders and excessive exercising, the insatiable need for attention, the desire to be an hollow object, judged solely on exteriors, utter shallowness and purely superficial considerations overwhelm me.

this is not healthy.

what the fuck is going on? have i fallen victim to the power of the male gaze? is it time for my latent feminism to rise up and counter the vicious molestations of advertising and commerce upon my delicate psyche? is it just that summer is coming?

it may be time for a new job.

Here's a link to the Sports Illustrated article... http://www.evangenitals.com/blog/juli-si.jpg

We did a scan of the page/pic/bit about me. Check the cover if you want to pick up a copy for yer'self.

Things are getting wacky around here. Did the photo shoot with Sports Illustrated yesterday. Entertainment television shows calling me at work, checking out the "rumors" of my relationship to Million Dollar Baby. All this is gonna blow over soon as the movie takes it's prizes.

I found this old interview I did for a magazine called "With it Girl" back in the day. Thought I'd share it. click on the picture of me, on the scale, giving it the hard-eye.

Stepping back in the gym for a minute certainly brought the bug back. Got to see alot of old friends and familiar faces. Even got to hit the double-end bag for a bit. Dub Huntley, my black daddy and hall-of-fame trainer predicted, "she'll be back."

If my shoulder stopped hurting so bad, that could be true.

In the meantime, the Evangenitals are spreading the sunshine all over and I'm loving the way it feels. I love being in a band. I love staying up late, eating cookies, having a boyfriend, sleeping in, being a student, a writer, a playwright, a director, a friend... and pretty much it's either all that OR being a boxer, for me.

Believe it or not, both sides of life are mighty tempting.

million dollar baby.

alright... here's the story. short form.

Back when Juli was a boxer, she had a trainer. His name is Dub Huntley. Dub had a best friend, who was an old white guy named Jerry Boyd. Jerry Boyd was a writer, it turns out, and he wrote under the pen-name FX Toole.

FX Toole (aka Jerry Boyd) published a book of short stories called "Rope Burns" which contained a story called "Million Dollar Baby" about a poor lady from the Ozarks who gets a late start in boxing and becomes a world-class contender in the fight game.

When Jerry Boyd (and/or FX Toole... whichever you like) met Juli, he believed her to be the human incarnation of this character he created (except for the fact that Juli is not a woman of limited prospect who's only hope is the fight game) however, Juli WAS a country girl, a latecomer to the fight game, and definitely had champion potential (in her trainers professional opinion).

When the short story was optioned for film rights, Jerry sent all of Juli's fight tapes, along with info about her, to the producers of the film. They saw it, they liked it, they wanted a meeting.

Due to a series of dubious universal signals, Juli didn't go to the meeting with the producer, and gladly passed up the opportunity to get sucked into the Hollywood Shuffle. Jerry died of a heart attack (which he had a LOT of in his final years) about a month later.

2 years later... Juli is retired with sore legs and a bum shoulder, and Hillary Swank is doing a damn disturbing Juli impersonation (according to everyone that knows Juli's fights and has seen the movie) in a film that will probably win an Academy Award. Weird.

Juli just got interviewed by Sports Illustrated. Turns out that Dub Huntley spilled the beans about the character being based on Juli.

The good news is... Juli got out of the fight game undefeated, with sore legs and a bum shoulder. Anyone who's read the book or seen the movie can tell you that it could've been a lot worse.

Neither Dub or Juli have actually seeeeeeeeeeeeen the film yet, for a variety of reasons. Namely, Juli finds it depressing that she can't box anymore, and disturbing that the girl looks so much like her, and Dub misses his friend, Jerry Boyd.

i'm at rehearsal. i'm not rehearsing at the moment. i'm in the kitchen, talkin' to salad, waiting my turn. we're rehearsing for brett's solo-with-band front-man escapade at the derby on thursday night. tomorrow night, the genitals have a show. brett's been rather focused on his show, yet managing to take care of business all the same. growth and change. new opportunities. branching out.

evangina's gonna do it again in long beach, first wednesday of the new year. my mom's in town. she just met my boyfriend's mom. it went alright. the mom's chatted and the boyfriend tried to locate his cousin who was just arrested for assault. he didn't do it.

holy shit. i just got called in to play tamborine.

i'm not kidding.

when "other than" really isn't an option... i'm left with just being myself.
poop. woot. hooray.

i've been feeling kinda blue lately. perhaps it's the season. perhaps its the perils of finding myself in a relationship after many, many years of unwillingness to be in a relationship. as soon as i find myself *in* one, i remember why i was unwilling. it is scary and at times painful. it strikes me as almost completely unneccessary. i do not understand the purpose and function of romantic relationships, other than for breeding and rearing children.

i'm reading this book about love. it's not a self-help book or anything, it's a study on the nature and chemistry of romantic love. lots of research about brain chemistry, neural networks, animal behavior. it pretty much verified for me that the reason for the evolution of romantic love *is* in fact for the purpose of breeding and rearing children. mystery solved. we get duped into it for the sake of humanity. it's totally natural, all of it. the agony and the ecstacy. anthony de mello can suck my teat, today. the zen-masters may try to free us from the pain of desire, but that shit seems to be hard-wired in there... the attachment, the desire, the longing.

it appears that *my* mode and manner of loving is more like that of a praire vole, and *his* manner of love and affection is more like that of a male grizzly bear. interesting.

i like milton's version of the adam and eve myth in paradise lost (if i remember it correctly). instead of the common biblical interpretation that SHE gave HIM the fruit and got them expelled (hateful source of a chasm of distrust, suspicion, and animosity) milton tells it as a love story. after discovering that eve has eaten of the tree of knowledge, adam eats as well, out of love. he would rather be expelled from paradise and trudge the road of difficultly with his eve than remain, alone, in paradise.

i'm such a dork.

read lisa's blog. we're gonna lay it on the line tonight. no holds barred, bleeding heart bingo. good times.

Praire Vole: (yes, it's vole)

i'm exhausted. just worn out. it's so peaceful.

last nights show was wonderful. a great turn-out for a thursday night, and so much love. it's the love that floors me every time. so many hugs and smiles and excited people. our limited pressing of the first album sold out. my mirror-image reverse screw-up unicron shirts sold out. folks are feeling it and it left me sitting at home, wearing nothin' but my socks, wrapped up in blankets, just sittin' there for a minute and feeeeeeeeeeeling it.

peace.

holy shitballs.

how do i thank you all? how do i thank the people who play with me, the people who listen to us, the people who give us places to play, my employer who lets me have a ridiculous schedule and run my band site off the work server, my boyfriend who delights in my schizophrenia, his folks who dig me, my mom who supports every jack-ass adventure I invent, my siblings who think I'm cool, my landlord who took a chance on me, then let me move my closest friends and bandmates into the building, my best friend who defends me from the peepers, all the boys I loved before, whether they know it or not, John Maus, who gave me my first guitar, John Brandt, who gave me bass lessons in New York, Tim Emmons, who taught me the Sergio line, Gordon Torncello, for keeping me safe all those years, Alana and Alice, for making the world so lovely, Lisa and Brett and Jones and Dub and Claire and Irina and Melissa and Goodson and Shaughn and Travis and everyone that's put their energies into me. the list goes on and on.

can you tell I'm feeling it today?

i see an ad campaign coming on.....

Gratitude. Feel it. Live it. Dissolve in it.
You won't regret it.

Are you feeling it?

11/5/04

Dear Friends,

Ok, it sucks. Really sucks. But before you go and cash it all in, let's, in
the words of Monty Python, 'always look on the bright side of life!' There
IS some good news from Tuesday's election.

Here are 17 reasons not to slit your wrists:

1. It is against the law for George W. Bush to run for president again.

2. Bush's victory was the NARROWEST win for a sitting president since
Woodrow Wilson in 1916.

3. The only age group in which the majority voted for Kerry was young adults
(Kerry: 54%, Bush: 44%), proving once again that your parents are always
wrong and you should never listen to them.

4. In spite of Bush's win, the majority of Americans still think the
country is headed in the wrong direction (56%), think the war wasn't worth fighting (51%), and don't approve of the job George W. Bush is doing (52%). (Note to foreigners: Don't try to figure this one out. It's an American thing, like Pop Tarts.)

5. The Republicans will not have a filibuster-proof 60-seat majority in the
Senate. If the Democrats do their job, Bush won't be able to pack the
Supreme Court with right-wing ideologues. Did I say "if the Democrats do
their job?" Um, maybe better to scratch this one.

6. Michigan voted for Kerry! So did the entire Northeast, the birthplace of
our democracy. So did 6 of the 8 Great Lakes States. And the whole West
Coast! Plus Hawaii. Ok, that's a start. We've got most of the fresh water,
all of Broadway, and Mt. St. Helens. We can dehydrate them or bury them in
lava. And no more show tunes!

7. Once again we are reminded that the buckeye is a nut, and not just any
old nut -- a poisonous nut. A great nation was felled by a poisonous nut.
May Ohio State pay dearly this Saturday when it faces Michigan.

8. 88% of Bush's support came from white voters. In 50 years, America will
no longer have a white majority. Hey, 50 years isn't such a long time! If
you're ten years old and reading this, your golden years will be truly
golden and you will be well cared for in your old age.

9. Gays, thanks to the ballot measures passed on Tuesday, cannot get married
in 11 new states. Thank God. Just think of all those wedding gifts we won't
have to buy now.

10. Five more African Americans were elected as members of Congress,
including the return of Cynthia McKinney of Georgia. It's always good to
have more blacks in there fighting for us and doing the job our candidates
can't.

11. The CEO of Coors was defeated for Senate in Colorado. Drink up!

12. Admit it: We like the Bush twins and we don't want them to go away.

13. At the state legislative level, Democrats picked up a net of at least 3
chambers in Tuesday's elections. Of the 98 partisan-controlled state
legislative chambers (house/assembly and senate), Democrats went into the
2004 elections in control of 44 chambers, Republicans controlled 53
chambers, and 1 chamber was tied. After Tuesday, Democrats now control 47
chambers, Republicans control 49 chambers, 1 chamber is tied and 1 chamber
(Montana House) is still undecided.

14. Bush is now a lame duck president. He will have no greater moment than
the one he's having this week. It's all downhill for him from here on out --
and, more significantly, he's just not going to want to do all the hard work
that will be expected of him. It'll be like everyone's last month in 12th
grade -- you've already made it, so it's party time! Perhaps he'll treat the
next four years like a permanent Friday, spending even more time at the
ranch or in Kennebunkport. And why shouldn't he? He's already proved his
point, avenged his father and kicked our ass.

15. Should Bush decide to show up to work and take this country down a very
dark road, it is also just as likely that either of the following two
scenarios will happen: a) Now that he doesn't ever need to pander to the
Christian conservatives again to get elected, someone may whisper in his ear
that he should spend these last four years building "a legacy" so that
history will render a kinder verdict on him and thus he will not push for
too aggressive a right-wing agenda; or b) He will become so cocky and
arrogant -- and thus, reckless -- that he will commit a blunder of such
major proportions that even his own party will have to remove him from
office.

16. There are nearly 300 million Americans -- 200 million of them of voting
age. We only lost by three and a half million! That's not a landslide -- it
means we're almost there. Imagine losing by 20 million. If you had 58 yards
to go before you reached the goal line and then you barreled down 55 of
those yards, would you stop on the three yard line, pick up the ball and go
home crying -- especially when you get to start the next down on the three
yard line? Of course not! Buck up! Have hope! More sports analogies are
coming!!!

17. Finally and most importantly, over 55 million Americans voted for the
candidate dubbed "The #1 Liberal in the Senate." That's more than the total
number of voters who voted for either Reagan, Bush I, Clinton or Gore.
Again, more people voted for Kerry than Reagan. If the media are looking for
a trend it should be this -- that so many Americans were, for the first time
since Kennedy, willing to vote for an out-and-out liberal. The country has
always been filled with evangelicals -- that is not news. What IS news is
that so many people have shifted toward a Massachusetts liberal. In fact,
that's BIG news. Which means, don't expect the mainstream media, the ones
who brought you the Iraq War, to ever report the real truth about November
2, 2004. In fact, it's better that they don't. We'll need the element of
surprise in 2008.

Feeling better? I hope so. As my friend Mort wrote me yesterday, "My
Romanian grandfather used to say to me, 'Remember, Morton, this is such a
wonderful country -- it doesn't even need a president!'"

But it needs us. Rest up, I'll write you again tomorrow.

Yours,

Michael Moore
MMFlint@aol.com
www.michaelmoore.com

Friends.

At the stroke of Midnight (more or less) under a full moon (more or less) The Red Demon breathed what might just be its last breath at the mouth of the 110 freeway in Pasadena, California, USA.

I offer up this epitaph, which was one of the first bits of prose ever to grace the Genitals site, back in the Borrego Days of Yesteryear.

It fared with her as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land.

Know ye, now, the Red Demon?

Glimpses do ye seem to see fo that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God -- so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be gloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!

For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! Is all this agony so vain?

Take heart, take heart, O Demon! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray fo thy ocean-perishing -- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis.

The land seemed scorching to its feet; Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable, deep memories yield no epitaphs .

Aye me....

So it goes, the cycle of life, the inspiration and expiration and life and death of it all.

Shall I repair her?

Would it be nothing more than sentimental foolishness to hang on?

As I said before, and I'm sure to say again:

I've been know

to hold on

to the bones

long after

the meat

has gone.

it's a crazy little posse we've got forming. growing in numbers. united in a feeling that can't even be put into words but we signify it by pointing to the banner flying with the L-O-V-E in biggun letters made of that gooey stuff that is pumpin' through your guts just after you hang up the phone with the one you're really feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelin' it with, at the moment. whomever they may be, on that day, at that time, in that instant.

i once fell in love with a man riding a bike up a hill on a hot day, simply for the effort he was exerting. i love effort. i love the effortless, too. but shit on a sandwich, do i ever love effort. right effort. right thought. right practice. in a world without right and wrong. how completely audacious!

it is hard for me to make a sentence go in any one direction. luckily... when reading (in the english language, and a few others) we move our eyes from left to right, top to bottom, and follow the phrase withersoever it goes. (e e cummings had some other ideas) however, the instinct of the masses remains. the hoi polloi, in general, reads LEFT to RIGHT.

when listening to another speak -- save for flights of fancy, blank spots, possible drug interference and intentional or unintentional ignoring -- we listen as we live, in real time, experiencing linearity, following the narrative, abstract though the subject matter may be, withersoever it leads.

all i ask on this night like any other night is the courage to follow, withersoever thou leadest my aching frame, to heed the call of adventure, wheneversoever it heralds, and to love. dear god, to love. to cultivate the unconditional giving of self to thy chillin's and plebs. thy hoodlums and wackos. thy dejected, rejected, snotty and shitfaced. oh lord, sweet lord, daddy of the sugars, momma of the chickens, sister of the lovesick, brother of the bigness, cousin of the unconscious, uncle of the uglynasties, friend of the faithless, lover of all things just as they are and however they may want to be... give it up. give it up to us like a 5am jackpot after a long night of pullin' dry on the one armed bandit.

i can see it. it's already happening. it's as ridiculous and pathetic and gorgeous as it can be. the love is raining down, everywhere i'm looking. the sky is fucking falling and it's about time. the rain is helping it all soak in.

today is one of those days.

an entire day has been wasted. or, rather, i spent a lovely day with my boyfriend. it rained. or, more specifically, it rained on my car. my car that has no roof. my boyfriend let me drive his car home, so i wouldn't get rained on. i cried in the car on the way home... i'm not sure why. it had something to do with the temporary sensation of the unfairness of all things and the fact that i can't seem to ever be sufficiently "honest" for my own rigorous quality standards. time. money. space. perception. the haves and have nots. the hard and the easy. the simple and the complicated. the simple hard and the easy complicated. the utter unknowability of anyone. diseases and treatments and treatments that are worse than the diseases themselves. i am tired. soooo tired.

i've been having one of those fish-bone jammed in the throat feelings every night lately, or at least on the nights when the boyfriend is in the bed with me. i find myself wanting to tell him that i love him, and the wanting to tell him that i love him makes me feel like i'm choking on a fish bone. (understand, he already knows, see... it is not the big "reveal" that i am speaking of here, but simply the g'night & g'bye chattering relish and repetition of the sentiment)

so, what exactly is it about the saying and repeating and assuring and vocalizing of the love pledge that i seem to think is so necessary and/or important? (not necessary enough to actually say it, though, just wanting to want to enough to choke on the bone and NOT saying it, thereby, one would hope, relieving myself of the affliction of both the bone AND the desire to say it in one simple utterance) who am i trying to convince? who is in need of these vocal cues and assurances?

simple? hard? easy? complicated?

where choking is involved, fear tain't far behind. i think confusius said that.

fear of the fear of the fear of the fear.

I live in a world of pain. I ain't talkin' about the ills of the world and mass psychic human suffering, neither. i mean straight up, in my body, aching burning crippling fucking PAIN on the 24/7 and it just don't stop for nothin'. Save for a hump. In the midst of a hump, it's a pain-free zone. Or at least something powerful enough is happening that I am not tuned into the constant hurting. At work... it hurts. Even when I sleep... it hurts. Sometimes when I'm driving, the frosty bites of my topless vehicle hurling down the freeway and the lack of safety and guarantees on the freeways of Los Angeles are sufficient to over-ride the ache. Sometimes when I'm deep in thought or laughing really hard, it spares me from the act of feeeeeeeeeeeeeeling. For a bit. But then it comes back. The hot coals in the shoulder. The baseball-bat cross the upper-back. The chronic migrane. The calf-muscle ever-threatening to seizure in a full-blown Charley-horse. This is the frame I live in. This is the body that I beat senseless for 29 years. I am neither surprised nor resentful. More than anything, I am amazed that it has held together so well. A sigh of gratitude and a stretch. Bones crack and the neverending flame burns on. I hurt.

live music

photo by: livemusic

Evangenitals on Phone Cam...photo by Steve Diet Goedde

Well... That party last night was something special. Alana (aka Rev Mindy Chiu) did it up right at the Hotel Cafe and laid down a spread of good eats on which even my pre-show jitters couldn't deny me some good-time chewin' and grubbin'. I ate. I wore a dress. I was wrapped in silver with a tiara on top. Lisa tried to put fake eyelashes on me, but glued my eyelids together and one of 'em kept curling up on the edges, so no falsey bat-bats for me. Don't fret... I was still wearing the flippity flops. Ya don't stop.

Douglas Kearney hosed us all down with fire and brimstone from his flapping hip-happening lips of action. The man is a poet. Fascinoma tore it up. The addition of a bassist has catapulted them into some seriously rockin' terrain.

I'm digging the little big family we've got growing up around us. Everywhere we go, it gets more and more home-like. That's the trick with having a posse. Rather than rely on Fast Food Restaurants and Strip Malls to make us feel at home, wherever we roam, we just keep doin' shows with familiar folks. And the family is growing and growing, good vibes a'flowin'.

Please forgive the mad rhyming. Doug Kearney put the music in me.

Next up The Derby, Greatest Hits Show. 11pm on a Friday Night. That's a hot ticket. There ain't no buddy bands on this card, neither... so we're depending on the friends and family to show up, fill the rug, sing along, and help up warm our newest home away from home away from home... the world famous, movie-magic, built by Cecil B Demille (you can thank brett for that trivia-bit) DERBY. We're taking requests for this one... so bring 'em on. Tell us the show you'd like to see. Let it be. Set yourself free. Give it to me. What up, g?

so... i'm a bad web writer. i admit it. i don't have the flow. the consistency. there was a time in my life, not too long ago, that every little thing that happened was immediately filtered into cyber-space. the reach, scope, readership, interactivity excited me. i had cyber-friends, cyber-chats, cyber-love affairs, cyber-plots and counter plots. it was exciting. and what happened? the well ran dry. it stopped working. the "reality" (as opposed to the virtual-reality) of it all hit me. whilst my mind and fingertips were engaging in all sorts of relations, my body... this shell, this vessel of fleshy meaty goodness that "I" lives in was just sitting around getting headaches and backaches, staring into the glowing void. it depressed me. my inner hippie started its lonesome revolt, attempting to rouse the support of my legs and arm, lungs and eyes, demanding a return to some sort of "nature"... demanding fresh air, exercise, liberation.

it's a slow process, recovery. i get out sometimes. it's still necessary to put in some time with the beast. to make some money, pay some bills, answer some emails, check some links, spread some news.

i wonder if my back and shoulder and head and legs didn't hurt so bad.... would I stay in more or go out more?

i got love for the beast. no doubt. welcome to high tech. reach per millions. the world wide web.

i have a headcold. that's the name for it. my sinuses are clogged. i feeeeeeeeel like my nose is running constantly, but it's not, cause it's stuffed up. the taste of the sickness is hanging dank in my throat. feels like there's something in there that if i only pushed hard enough i could make it come out. i'm tired and the hot-coal in my shoulder is burning like hell.

my mom is coming to town for the derby show. i had to reserve her an airport shuttle, cause we're gonna be practicing when she arrives. i hate being sick. the simplest things get hard when i'm sick. and singing ain't no breeze, neither. no sir. luckily my vocals can be a little raspy and squeaky and still fly. evan-tastic. wee-haw.