Kissyface

“Kiss me, flick your cigarette and then kiss me
Kiss me where your eye won't meet me
Meet me where your mind won't kiss me”
No You Girls Never Know - Franz Ferdinand

One of my guy friends asked me if women really consider the first kiss with a dude the deciding factor on whether we do the bedroom boogie with them or not. Sometimes it is, I mean, if it’s really horrible. If not, well one never knows.

When I was younger I had higher expectations of oral chemistry and if you had to show anyone anything, well it just didn’t feel right. Now that I’m a thousand years old I’m more patient and try to find the better in people if I do like them and work with them.

I was making out with this guy that was just awful, but he was really hot, smart, fun, and he knew who Peter Hook was. I tried to guide him and he lamely excused that he had a small tongue and was hopelessly resigned to that fact. It’s one thing to not know what to do, but to be unwilling to learn how to please your partner or to better yourself is just unacceptable. When it comes to tongues, uh size doesn’t matter unless it’s the equivalent of some creepy snake tongue - yeesh.

Now you’re thinking “Who the fuck are you and what makes you the kissing expert?” Well I can honestly say it’s one thing I’m good at - the rest not so much, but I’ve only heard the highest of compliments on my lip wielding capabilities. Yeah I’m tooting my own horn here, but my talent runs thin with everything else so I’m going to run with it.

If I could shove my tongue in between someone else’s dental work everyday, I’d be overjoyed. I really love kissing. I love it when it’s cold out and the small warmth of a kiss has ten times the fire. I also like to slip an ice cube from my lips through someone else’s. I like to gently but quickly suck their tongue all the way into my mouth in a sort of surprise maneuver, letting the other party know this is going further…soon.

I like kissing bejeweled lips. Piercings are lovely. The German had lip and tongue piercings going for him, but also that "take charge" desire sans any games made that experience the best in ages.

I like being kissed everywhere (well not the eyeball - yep in high school this guy licked my right eye, almost pulled my contact out) but especially the neck - that is definitely my “on” button.

I don’t recall the last time anyone else’s kiss made me shudder in my shoes, but I have the shoes picked out, so I’m ready.

Farinelli

“What does it matter to ya when you got a job to do
You gotta do it well, you gotta give the other fellow Hell”
Live and Let Die - Paul McCartney

“Farinelli” is a film based on the life of a castrated singer from the 1700’s. I saw this film right around the second round of child molestation accusations that Michael Jackson received back some years and it prompted me to write my first short story (have no clue where it is though).

I don’t own anything by MJ, I wouldn’t say I’m a fan (my older sister was when he was still kind of black), but I do have some fond memories that bear his influence and I guess I’m the type of person that really stretches to believe that someone isn’t guilty without a ton of proof. I know what it’s like to be lied about by thin lipped leeches that are nothing but the essence they drain of others, so I tend to look at every story from several angles before I sum up guilt or innocence.

My short story proposed a character similar to Jackson that gets castrated to keep his signature high voice. With modern technology, they saved some of his young jizz were he to feel the need to procreate. His older brothers donated as well for back up - just in case. One could easily picture the greedy, micromanaging Joe Jackson character sitting his son down and asking him if he truly never wanted to grow up, and then vaguely explaining how they could make that happen. Providing a scary whore (or Diana Ross after a few drinks) to him for his one and only sexual encounter before the castration, would most certainly attach the element of disgust to such acts and therefore ply him to go along with the plan of avoiding such messy encounters forever.

The boy never mentally grows as much as his bank accounts and can only almost overly relate to children. He never finds romantic love, just merely poses under the guise of it on the occasions when lawsuits arise or recording sales dwindle. He never felt good enough (some dad’s are great for building such dark and limiting foundations aren’t they?) so he changes his face and eventually his skin tone.

In my story, his façade caved when charged with molestation and the truth had to come out in order to prove he was the actual victim of more greedies. Castration is illegal, so his dad and everyone involved goes to prison while my Jackson character ends up having a psychotic break from the public humiliation and never recovers. His father, from a jail cell, organizes a truthfully detailed documentary about his crimes and makes millions that he won’t ever see or spend.

It never happened, but had it done, it would explain that annoyingly, whiny, kiddy voice he had that his brothers do not (Janet does), and give further insight as to why he was such a whack job.

I was OK with black MJ, but as soon as he started to become white, he totally backstabbed Paul McCartney (GASP). Sir Paul gave a young MJ some pointers about buying rights to songs because he and the other Beatles lost out on rights that seedy businessmen had them naively sign away early in their career. When the rights to those Beatles’ songs came up for auction, Jackson sunk six floors below LOW and outbid McCartney. I find such treacherous acts beyond my scope of forgiveness, especially since he allowed some of their songs for use in commercials. The music of the Beatles is too (insert highest compliment available in every language) to be used in the background of a shoe commercial. (My music, however, is not above such things and I’d happily provide any sequence of notes to get a buck - just sayin’.)

As a dancer, I moonwalked as a kid (you KNOW you did too) and still like to get down to some of his tunes. As a musician, I can appreciate the genius of his time, but am disgusted by his business tactics. As an animal advocate, I am repulsed by how he jacked poor Bubbles the chimp and all of his other exotic pets.

**********************************

The real Farinelli (stage name) lived 77 whole years, sex free.

My Musical Brain

“Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains
Within the sound of silence” Sounds of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel

One of my jobs back in NYC was at an advertising/PR firm that had the privilege of doing some work with Dr. Oliver Sacks. I was lucky enough to get to chit chat with him when he was on hold for my boss on a few occasions. The first time he called I was blown away as I had read his infamous book “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat”, and had seen the movie “Awakenings” which is based on another one of his works and of course, his life.

I’m not sure if he’s considered a Neuro-Psychiatrist or a Neurologist and Psychiatrist separately, but I am sure he is an author and he does awesome documentaries. Super grooooovy dude and this week starting tonight on PBS, he’s on a Nova special called “My Musical Brain”. It’s “an investigative look into the extraordinary impact that music can have on the human brain”.

PBS is different everywhere, but if you are a Tampa person it’s on ours July 1 @ 2am, July 2nd at 5am, and July 5 @ 7pm. Set your DVRS! He’s always interesting.

Phony

“Hey you, still silence in the eyes of the idols
Did we believe that you could know?
Hey you, doing everything you can just to blend in
But what was there to show? ” Can’t Believe a Single Word - VHS or Beta

My last post was about the fakers, whom I’m much better at spotting each year I take on. I try not to be fake, but I believe once someone tosses some phony my way, I’m contractually obligated to return the serve. I do dabble in “fake” out of boredom though.

When living in NYC, most of the parties I showed up at were attended by artsies only. EVERYONE was a musician, writer, actor, director, photog, painter, etc. so when asked what I did, I started making up shit. My favorite occupation to feign was Herpetologist. That always turned a few heads and garnered some “wows“. Usually someone would be like “A Herpetologist? I would never have guessed, wait, what IS a Herpetologist?” Not one person EVER knew what it was, yet they were always shocked that I could be one.

At the time I was temping at The Discovery Channel, so it was really easy to go on about working there doing research for shows like “The Crocodile Hunter”, and I would BS about grants I had obtained to start giving the Florida Alligator back its rightful land from humans. I said some far fetched shit until someone I really knew joined the chat and I would then have to fess up that I was just fucking with everyone. I always revealed the truth before parting ways; nobody took it personally and I bet to this day, not one of them has ever met a real Herpetologist. Neither have I.

Other than that kind of fakery, I’m pretty easy going, but you never want to fall asleep around me first. I always take compromising photos. ALWAYS. If you’ve been around me in the last ten years and snoozed, it’s a definite I have time and date stamped pics of you in a way you’d rather not be seen.

*************************

My two year phone contract was up a few months ago and I debated on switching carriers but have so many roll over minutes, the idea didn’t seem that attractive. The stalker doesn’t call anymore so I don’t need to go through the hassle of changing my number. I definitely needed a new phone but couldn’t find something I liked that my carrier would upgrade me to, and then they want you another two years along with your left cornea if they do give you a new phone.

I decided both of my corneas deserve to stay where they live and that I wanted an HTC Tilt, which on eBay is fetching anywhere from $150 (straight from the Shelter for Battered Phones) to $300 (new from the back of Ray Ray’s truck in Queens). Craigslist had one for $125 that I inquired about, and as luck would have it, the dude had a few others. One of which was $20 and worked fine outside of the broken screen and it didn’t come with ANYTHING. I snagged it and ordered a replacement screen off of eBay for $29 and a battery and chargers for $10. I did some research and did the screen myself and it’s awesome.

The screen is nearly Iphone size and all the blackmail photos I took uploaded so nicely to it. It’s like a portable relationship killer because if someone pisses me off, I might show their friends (or worse) them naked or with someone they weren’t supposed to be with. It’s against the law to email such things, but I can have whatever I want on my phone for some “show and tell” when I’m out. Great time biter when in line for the ladies room.

************************

Best to stay on my good side as we all have to sleep sometime =)

Fakebook

“Look out! Cause I'm just too fake for the world
I know it's just a game to me, I'm just too fake you see
I wish i didn't have to be but watch out
I got too much soul for the world

and it's breaking my heart in two
I got too much soul for you

I don't like it but it's true” Too Fake - Hockey


I got Facebook and last went on it in December I think, so twice I‘ve used it. I don’t care for it at all but see the constant array of friend requests coming into my Gmail, most of which have names that sound like they belong on the ever so popular “US No Fly” list. However, I will have to break with tradition and go on this week at some point as an old band mate’s name has recently parked in my inbox.

He was a great drummer and in our late teens he brought this guy in to play guitar for us that I wasn’t too keen on as he had a drug history. I was assured he was “clean”, but I was young and naive. It’s one thing when it’s pot or LSD experimentation, but when someone regularly uses heroin at any point in their lives, you should NEVER EVER (Simon Cowell ego size EVER) trust them.

I’ll never forget our last practice in a storage unit place all the bands rehearsed in off of Skipper Road in Tampa. We were mostly surrounded by death metal bands, but the dude next door to us was a lone drummer that busted skins 8 hours a day whilst secretly tending to the most well cared for hydroponic pot plants behind a fake wall he built into his space. Robby. If he’s not in jail, I bet he’s still there banging out a Rush song (ick). If not, I bet you can still smell that Christmas tree WEED smell when you walk by, heh.

Jon (no “H” which is ironic to say the least) was the guitarist’s name and he was talented but bossy. Most drug freaks are controlling and he was no exception. We packed up early as we had to be at a photo shoot for the band at 8 AM. The photographer was hard to come by and he wanted “natural” light, but it was also hotter than Satan’s balls during our normal wake stays so we had to comply with this early appointment. Had I known it was going to be the last time I’d see our PA system, I would’ve bid it farewell, but alas there were no final exchanges between us.

Jon basically left in our succession of cars and then doubled back and took all that he could sell, right down to foot pedals and even piddly drum sticks. We had no idea till his fake ass didn’t show up at yikes o’clock the next morning for pics. It was bad enough to be left and robbed, but embarrassed in front of the hot photographer dude just enhanced the event to a level that I’ll vividly remember when I’m beating people senseless with a cane in my silver years (I don‘t do gold, that‘s just tacky).

You’d think that would’ve been enough, but I got conned again by a heroin addict the next year. My best friend had just passed away from Leukemia and I received a handwritten letter from a former roommate that I had in DC saying she too, had gotten cancer and had no money for meds. She moved to San Francisco and pleaded with me to wire her some cash. Drowning in grief, I couldn’t bear the thought of another friend dying and quickly wired her a hundred bucks only to receive a call the next day from her sister telling me she got fleeced for 3 grand and to “Watch out for Karen, she’s on the horse”.

That bitch’s birthday is this week now that I think of it. I hope she’s dead.

SHE Says

"She says always through the nighttime.
Wasted drama with the nightlife.
And I will shake it up tonight just to make it right.
She says always all the time" She Says - VHS Or Beta

Every once in a while I run across a band name worth noting, and at this moment that would be Portland, Oregon’s “Hotter Than A Crotch”. Their Myspace (http://www.myspace.com/hotterthanacrotch) says “Campy Soul-Singer Punk for Awkward Horny People”, which sounds about right. They aren’t great or grating, but I give ‘em props for the moniker.

********

I caught Friendly Fires on Carson Daly’s show doing “Skeleton Boy” live. WAY better than I expected them to be on stage. You know I LOVE this song (Sketelon Oy!) but now even more so that I’ve heard it emanate from the sweaty, rasping version of FF. The singer sounds great on recordings, but a tinge of Colin Blunstone (one of my favorite singers EVER - The Zombies you tard!) seeps through in his breathier live performance. Fucking golden.

********

May 25th should be marked on your calendar for the new release by Phoenix, “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix”. A French Indie band that sings in English (yeay) so well, that I had no idea they weren’t when I played “Long Distance Call” to death on my IPOD a few years ago.

*********

While I was typing this, I could hear the neighborhood ice cream truck doing its rounds. It was playing “La Cucaracha” (Mexican Cockroach song). I fail to see how this would entice a person to want to place anything in their mouths that resides in that vehicle.