Not gonna even try to explain how AWESOME this is...
=faja (aka me)
“Don’t Put Me In, Coach” Is Now Available
1 week ago
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Saturday, August 7, 2010
...
I could see the ferris wheel far off in the distance, lights the only thing shining in a clear sky where there were no stars. It seemed so lonely over there, and I was looking at it from over a fence, and, imagine my thoughts when I finally approached today, to see it was looking out over a fence itself down to me, empty, without anyone filling it with joy, no secrets shared or awkward silences at the top, so, as we both stood there in silence, with really nothing to be said because, it had all been said, we just sort of became wall flowers in the landscape.
I eventually walked away, with a slight nod to say goodbye, and, I wonder, if it watched me walk away like I had the day before, frozen in place, and alone.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Seventh Inning Stretch
I scanned the trees, and finding the lights, and following the intermittent pings, found the field...
A scattering of parents, coaches, and kids...
I sat down in the right field bleachers and started taking notes...
Behind home plate was a starch man, I never saw his mead move, staring out onto the field. He resembled Edward James Olmos' same stiff poise, calm, and stare. Even had the Battlestar Galactica spectacles.
A few kids in front of me, and a couple of parents, noticed me taking notes and that obviously wasn't affiliated with anyone there. One kid turned around and asked who I was scouting.
Hrm, I thought. "Everyone."
Oh, now I'm part of the story. This could be fun but I'll have to be cryptic.
"Who's a lock out there?" I say as one kid starts spraying punchin' judys... "Ian, and...him." Referring to the kid at the plate.
The kid turns around to the other side of the plate. Edward James Olmos' eyes squint even more. More punchin' judys. You can tell the kid has a stroke, and he's not showing his power either. Quick compact swing, good balance, full extension on the swing, eyes locked on the ball.
Apparently he was the last one, as the coaches call it and everyone meets on the mound. Names are called out to return tomorrow morning, something I won't be doing. In fact, I'll be in another town, but let's not jump ahead, I'm still in character. Ian and the kid come over and one of the other kids says "Hey, go talk to the guy in the cop hat." Huh? Ooooh my Warehouse hat. A whole other story for another time.
Ian comes over but I talk to the kid first. "Nice BP. Any reason you held back?"
Ian and the kid smile. Of course they were holding back. I glance to the left but Edward James Olmos is gone like Starbucks ghost.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." I lie.
I've just realized something. I have to go. I've been holding back, but with a little breaking and entering ingenuity, maybe I can find an answer. I'm not running off to be Henry's Roadie or play Kerouac, not just yet. I think I'm beoming really attached to this new book and I need to know just a little bit more...
A scattering of parents, coaches, and kids...
I sat down in the right field bleachers and started taking notes...
Behind home plate was a starch man, I never saw his mead move, staring out onto the field. He resembled Edward James Olmos' same stiff poise, calm, and stare. Even had the Battlestar Galactica spectacles.
A few kids in front of me, and a couple of parents, noticed me taking notes and that obviously wasn't affiliated with anyone there. One kid turned around and asked who I was scouting.
Hrm, I thought. "Everyone."
Oh, now I'm part of the story. This could be fun but I'll have to be cryptic.
"Who's a lock out there?" I say as one kid starts spraying punchin' judys... "Ian, and...him." Referring to the kid at the plate.
The kid turns around to the other side of the plate. Edward James Olmos' eyes squint even more. More punchin' judys. You can tell the kid has a stroke, and he's not showing his power either. Quick compact swing, good balance, full extension on the swing, eyes locked on the ball.
Apparently he was the last one, as the coaches call it and everyone meets on the mound. Names are called out to return tomorrow morning, something I won't be doing. In fact, I'll be in another town, but let's not jump ahead, I'm still in character. Ian and the kid come over and one of the other kids says "Hey, go talk to the guy in the cop hat." Huh? Ooooh my Warehouse hat. A whole other story for another time.
Ian comes over but I talk to the kid first. "Nice BP. Any reason you held back?"
Ian and the kid smile. Of course they were holding back. I glance to the left but Edward James Olmos is gone like Starbucks ghost.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." I lie.
I've just realized something. I have to go. I've been holding back, but with a little breaking and entering ingenuity, maybe I can find an answer. I'm not running off to be Henry's Roadie or play Kerouac, not just yet. I think I'm beoming really attached to this new book and I need to know just a little bit more...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
"Listen to the stage manager"
I must admit first before I tell this story that I'd become distracted. By what or whom I was only beginning to find out. After what I would consider a fairly successful interview with independent wrestler Amy Shadows, I was about to embark on the worst professional interview attempt of my career. The interview was a failure of epic proportions. The adventure surrounding it, however, was not.
It started when I submitted a writing sample for the Oregon Music News website and suggested, after talking to one of their editors, that I attend a show at the Rogue Theater in Grants Pass, Oregon. I felt that with my past as a college DJ, and my young hooligan status during the era of this particular interview subjects beginning, that I could put together a fairly interesting post show piece on, none other than Henry Rollins.
Honestly it came to me as I was walking from Downtown to my place by the Joesephine County Fairgrounds and looked up at the Rogue Theater billboard.
"What the HELL is Henry Rollins doing in Grants Pass?" I thought. Ashland, sure, Medford made sense too. Social Distortion was playing at the Medford Armory in less than a month. Still, Grants Pass?
I mean, I was a fill in at a DJ gig not far from where I live at a place called "The Outback" a few nights before this where N2Deep's "Back to the Hotel" seemed like the latest Rap/Hip Hop craze. Wait. I'm not bagging on N2Deep. I was at Chico State working at KCSC as a DJ back in '90 when we booked them for our 40th Anniversary show.
...
See ?
Now, if Henry was with his band, or some SOA reunion tour(yeah right, and no I don't mean "Son's of Anarchy") maybe. Spoken word though, politically driven, and not taken from the Tea Party agenda in Grant's Pass? Right? I mean, ah never mind you get the puns.
The editor of the Oregon Music News website secured me a press pass + 1, and it was "On like Donkey Kong".(Yes you will need your 80's pop culture knowledge here kiddies) I contacted the Rogue theater and asked a few questions, not surprised by the answers of "lackluster ticket sales, no radio press, etc" and offered to apply some of my old Shoestring Angel Records street team tactics, like coffee shop 3x5 handouts, posters in appropriate locations, and after picking up some very nicely designed tour posters, hit the streets.
The response was similar to my 15 year old daja's.
"What? He's not playing music? Dad, I love reading and writing poetry and stuff but I'm not sure I'd PAY to hear Henry talk..."
Dammit. I wrote Henry, with a list of admittedly hurried and ill prepared questions thinking that the email would just get blown out of the 'verse and into the black.
Nope. Dammit again. I'll give Henry this. Even his professionalism is intimidating. I won't even post the email Q and A. I was that bad, and Henry said he didn't read any press about him anyway so I'll just stick to the story...
Day of the show. Everyone(OK mostly my friend "Muse") wanted me to get him to sign something. I made up some nifty new 3x5 handouts that had Henry's "Listen to the stage manager" on it with show info and I covered all the Dutch Brothers again early that afternoon. For you non Oregonians Dutch Brothers is the Starbucks of Coffee there. In fact I think the Dutch Mafia as they are known have out Starbucked Starbucks in Oregon. It's impressive. I could use some of that now to finish this story.
Still, I was distracted. After the Dutch Mafia visits I let my mind wander back to this new book, a sort I'd never encountered before, and I was and had been on my heels for almost a week by this "Klosterman-pedia" breath of well, awesome truth, none of which could be debated leaving me to meekly counter and hold on with a small grasp, something I would be doing later in the day, for my literal and figurative lives. I had maybe a +2 '80's reference advantage but only in the cheese factor categories like "Eddie and the Cruisers" or "Transformers: The Movie" knowledge. It was a flimsy roll of the die, but I kept getting deeper and deeper without doing any more research for the show all week until I finally must have uttered "Inconceivable!" and falling prey to it's Iocane powder like deadly effect and just began praying Henry would enlighten me with something during the show to free lance a piece worthy of the ticket price for the Oregon Music News website.
Here's the thing though. I never made it to the show.
For those of you with google maps, if you find the Josephine County Fairgrounds in Grants Pass, start to the right, on the dirt road to the right of the BMX Track. There's a path there that goes above the fairgrounds to a bridge, which crosses the river into a park, then leading to Downtown towards the Rogue. This was my path to Henry. If I'd just gone E, E, N, W instead of E, E, N, N. However, tired and exhausted from a "Pokemon, I choose you!" style battle of youtube links most assuredly involving Bon Jovi, John Cusak and Freddy Mercury, and quite possibly all of the above in a montage or two, I waked past the horse stalls, wondering if I'd catch of local Nashville Star icon Kristy Lee Cook and her dog and pony show, literally, and was walking down towards the bridge when a thought crossed my mind about the show that I wanted to write down. What I was thinking is absolutely inconsequential because who knows what would have happened if I had crossed the bridge right then, and made it to the show. Become Henry's roadie? Hitch a ride to the next show in Reno, NV and pull and "Almost Famous: 20 years later"? Quite possibly. So much so that I later had an email with Ben Fong Torres asking if he would have been interested in it if I had done that. He was quite funny in his response but I don't have permission to print it here.
Instead, the immense proportions of in which my life would change in the next 24 hours would end up relying on my imbalance on a log.
So I never did write down that thought. Something did go down, however. Moi. Off the log, just near the end, thankfully,where I fell forward into the steep creek embankment full of blackberry bushes, who while I found myself clinging to them for dear life they were doing the same thing to the embankment. As I gathered my senses I realized this is exactly what that new book had been doing to me. I looked 5 feet up to level ground. No rope. I somehow managed to pull myself to the top and emptied my shoes of rocks and sod trying to do my best Dread Pirate Roberts impression for any awaiting swordsman of sharp wit. Thankfully, below me were not the "Cliffs of Insanity", just a creek embankment of bruised blackberries, and the only wit was my own wounded ego. Noting the brush, filth, and jam covering me, I was in no shape to present myself to the Rogue or Henry, so the walk of shame, thankfully short, began back to my humble abode for a shower and change of clothes.
This completed, it was gettting dark as I headed back out, again passing the horses, where one seemed to laugh a quick small snort at me for my previous failure at trying to join Cirque de Logroller's troupe.
Passing by the log with a sound similar to the one given to me by the horse, I headed straight for the bridge, which is not straight at all, but rather seems to have two distinct humps in it like "Sally The Camel"(a nice aside for those of you now with teenage kids).
Now on the other side, safely away from logs which are not better than bad, nor good,
I heard an intriguing sound...
*ping*
"Huh?"
I stood there for another second.
*ping*
A sly smile creept across my face. I was never making it to meet Henry Rollins, or to the Rogue. somewhere, there was baseball.
*part 2 tomorrow*
It started when I submitted a writing sample for the Oregon Music News website and suggested, after talking to one of their editors, that I attend a show at the Rogue Theater in Grants Pass, Oregon. I felt that with my past as a college DJ, and my young hooligan status during the era of this particular interview subjects beginning, that I could put together a fairly interesting post show piece on, none other than Henry Rollins.
Honestly it came to me as I was walking from Downtown to my place by the Joesephine County Fairgrounds and looked up at the Rogue Theater billboard.
"What the HELL is Henry Rollins doing in Grants Pass?" I thought. Ashland, sure, Medford made sense too. Social Distortion was playing at the Medford Armory in less than a month. Still, Grants Pass?
I mean, I was a fill in at a DJ gig not far from where I live at a place called "The Outback" a few nights before this where N2Deep's "Back to the Hotel" seemed like the latest Rap/Hip Hop craze. Wait. I'm not bagging on N2Deep. I was at Chico State working at KCSC as a DJ back in '90 when we booked them for our 40th Anniversary show.
...
See ?
Now, if Henry was with his band, or some SOA reunion tour(yeah right, and no I don't mean "Son's of Anarchy") maybe. Spoken word though, politically driven, and not taken from the Tea Party agenda in Grant's Pass? Right? I mean, ah never mind you get the puns.
The editor of the Oregon Music News website secured me a press pass + 1, and it was "On like Donkey Kong".(Yes you will need your 80's pop culture knowledge here kiddies) I contacted the Rogue theater and asked a few questions, not surprised by the answers of "lackluster ticket sales, no radio press, etc" and offered to apply some of my old Shoestring Angel Records street team tactics, like coffee shop 3x5 handouts, posters in appropriate locations, and after picking up some very nicely designed tour posters, hit the streets.
The response was similar to my 15 year old daja's.
"What? He's not playing music? Dad, I love reading and writing poetry and stuff but I'm not sure I'd PAY to hear Henry talk..."
Dammit. I wrote Henry, with a list of admittedly hurried and ill prepared questions thinking that the email would just get blown out of the 'verse and into the black.
Nope. Dammit again. I'll give Henry this. Even his professionalism is intimidating. I won't even post the email Q and A. I was that bad, and Henry said he didn't read any press about him anyway so I'll just stick to the story...
Day of the show. Everyone(OK mostly my friend "Muse") wanted me to get him to sign something. I made up some nifty new 3x5 handouts that had Henry's "Listen to the stage manager" on it with show info and I covered all the Dutch Brothers again early that afternoon. For you non Oregonians Dutch Brothers is the Starbucks of Coffee there. In fact I think the Dutch Mafia as they are known have out Starbucked Starbucks in Oregon. It's impressive. I could use some of that now to finish this story.
Still, I was distracted. After the Dutch Mafia visits I let my mind wander back to this new book, a sort I'd never encountered before, and I was and had been on my heels for almost a week by this "Klosterman-pedia" breath of well, awesome truth, none of which could be debated leaving me to meekly counter and hold on with a small grasp, something I would be doing later in the day, for my literal and figurative lives. I had maybe a +2 '80's reference advantage but only in the cheese factor categories like "Eddie and the Cruisers" or "Transformers: The Movie" knowledge. It was a flimsy roll of the die, but I kept getting deeper and deeper without doing any more research for the show all week until I finally must have uttered "Inconceivable!" and falling prey to it's Iocane powder like deadly effect and just began praying Henry would enlighten me with something during the show to free lance a piece worthy of the ticket price for the Oregon Music News website.
Here's the thing though. I never made it to the show.
For those of you with google maps, if you find the Josephine County Fairgrounds in Grants Pass, start to the right, on the dirt road to the right of the BMX Track. There's a path there that goes above the fairgrounds to a bridge, which crosses the river into a park, then leading to Downtown towards the Rogue. This was my path to Henry. If I'd just gone E, E, N, W instead of E, E, N, N. However, tired and exhausted from a "Pokemon, I choose you!" style battle of youtube links most assuredly involving Bon Jovi, John Cusak and Freddy Mercury, and quite possibly all of the above in a montage or two, I waked past the horse stalls, wondering if I'd catch of local Nashville Star icon Kristy Lee Cook and her dog and pony show, literally, and was walking down towards the bridge when a thought crossed my mind about the show that I wanted to write down. What I was thinking is absolutely inconsequential because who knows what would have happened if I had crossed the bridge right then, and made it to the show. Become Henry's roadie? Hitch a ride to the next show in Reno, NV and pull and "Almost Famous: 20 years later"? Quite possibly. So much so that I later had an email with Ben Fong Torres asking if he would have been interested in it if I had done that. He was quite funny in his response but I don't have permission to print it here.
Instead, the immense proportions of in which my life would change in the next 24 hours would end up relying on my imbalance on a log.
So I never did write down that thought. Something did go down, however. Moi. Off the log, just near the end, thankfully,where I fell forward into the steep creek embankment full of blackberry bushes, who while I found myself clinging to them for dear life they were doing the same thing to the embankment. As I gathered my senses I realized this is exactly what that new book had been doing to me. I looked 5 feet up to level ground. No rope. I somehow managed to pull myself to the top and emptied my shoes of rocks and sod trying to do my best Dread Pirate Roberts impression for any awaiting swordsman of sharp wit. Thankfully, below me were not the "Cliffs of Insanity", just a creek embankment of bruised blackberries, and the only wit was my own wounded ego. Noting the brush, filth, and jam covering me, I was in no shape to present myself to the Rogue or Henry, so the walk of shame, thankfully short, began back to my humble abode for a shower and change of clothes.
This completed, it was gettting dark as I headed back out, again passing the horses, where one seemed to laugh a quick small snort at me for my previous failure at trying to join Cirque de Logroller's troupe.
Passing by the log with a sound similar to the one given to me by the horse, I headed straight for the bridge, which is not straight at all, but rather seems to have two distinct humps in it like "Sally The Camel"(a nice aside for those of you now with teenage kids).
Now on the other side, safely away from logs which are not better than bad, nor good,
I heard an intriguing sound...
*ping*
"Huh?"
I stood there for another second.
*ping*
A sly smile creept across my face. I was never making it to meet Henry Rollins, or to the Rogue. somewhere, there was baseball.
*part 2 tomorrow*
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Every time I look in the mirror, all these lines on my face getting clearer...
20 years. I actually have to say I barely survived my 20 year high school reunion. Apparently there is a missing persons report out on me that I should take care of when Monday morning comes.
In the meantime I have Bon Jovi in my ear, Kesey's "One Flew..." in my brain and the wiretaps and coils and capacitors of Nurse Ratchet's starched machinacintions in progress all around me.
I am absolutely "Stuck in the middle" as the Steeler's Wheel song goes, and I'm sorry if you get stuck here with me. I came from the North, plan to head South, but in the meantime I had to stop where it all began, right in the middle, in my hometown.
Now I have to fight my way out, away, and I must admit feel like I need to escape from here but only after metaphorically serving my time.
I've been working on some new short stories to tide the time until I can post some long overdue stuff to shoestringangel.com. Dani, the other contributor, has already matched me in works, and to be honest, if you find her blog linked here with some excellent others, by Mark Titus, former OSU basketball player and Club Trillion Founder, and if you're a baseball fan, "Life In the Minors", there's plenty of good reading anyway so I'm focusing on a Papillion style escape more than words, but I do have them... Plenty of them.
While I like the instant gratification of Facebook, I really miss the old days of Livejournal, etc, where people wrote more than incomplete sentences, they actually wrote out full paragraphs and sometimes more.
Check those out while I get the time to plow through job applications so I can get back to transcribing from my notepad and post new stuff.
Please just don't let this be the hotel that I can check out of but never leave...
In the meantime I have Bon Jovi in my ear, Kesey's "One Flew..." in my brain and the wiretaps and coils and capacitors of Nurse Ratchet's starched machinacintions in progress all around me.
I am absolutely "Stuck in the middle" as the Steeler's Wheel song goes, and I'm sorry if you get stuck here with me. I came from the North, plan to head South, but in the meantime I had to stop where it all began, right in the middle, in my hometown.
Now I have to fight my way out, away, and I must admit feel like I need to escape from here but only after metaphorically serving my time.
I've been working on some new short stories to tide the time until I can post some long overdue stuff to shoestringangel.com. Dani, the other contributor, has already matched me in works, and to be honest, if you find her blog linked here with some excellent others, by Mark Titus, former OSU basketball player and Club Trillion Founder, and if you're a baseball fan, "Life In the Minors", there's plenty of good reading anyway so I'm focusing on a Papillion style escape more than words, but I do have them... Plenty of them.
While I like the instant gratification of Facebook, I really miss the old days of Livejournal, etc, where people wrote more than incomplete sentences, they actually wrote out full paragraphs and sometimes more.
Check those out while I get the time to plow through job applications so I can get back to transcribing from my notepad and post new stuff.
Please just don't let this be the hotel that I can check out of but never leave...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Travelling
I'll catch up with more interviews in mid July, for now there are roads ahead, with many forks along the way.
Until then, I'm taillights.
Until then, I'm taillights.
Friday, May 28, 2010
My Interview with Independent Wrestler Amy Shadows is now online!
I met Amy through a twitter fondness of Chris Jericho, and after following her and seeing her determination and dedication to succeed as a female in a male dominated industry, I decided to find out a bit more...
Beware of the Dark, That's Where Shadows Lurks
=jason
www.shoestringangel.com
Beware of the Dark, That's Where Shadows Lurks
=jason
www.shoestringangel.com
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