This thing's gonna kill me.
Welcome back, Superfriends. You all get a gold star and an early mark for hassling me about posting in my journal more often...god knows there are some stories I could tell.
They are legion.
Had a great time at the Townie on Saturday. I had some man hugs, some drinks, some girl hugs and some glitter in my face. Perfect.
Sweet Jesus, they're breaking into my journal.
Oh yeeeah.
What's the latest? Well, I posted a thread on the SGAU boards. Check it out.
I've got two auditions this week: one on Wednesday for a Wild Turkey drinking, Camaro driving, fuzzed out stoner band, and the other one on Thursday for a Crue-styled rock and roll juggernaut.
There goes my hearing.
Busy times, folks. Hope to see you out and about soon.
Fake rock and roll.
Faker rock and roll.
Real rock and roll.
Welcome back, Superfriends. You all get a gold star and an early mark for hassling me about posting in my journal more often...god knows there are some stories I could tell.
They are legion.
Had a great time at the Townie on Saturday. I had some man hugs, some drinks, some girl hugs and some glitter in my face. Perfect.
Sweet Jesus, they're breaking into my journal.
Oh yeeeah.
What's the latest? Well, I posted a thread on the SGAU boards. Check it out.
I've got two auditions this week: one on Wednesday for a Wild Turkey drinking, Camaro driving, fuzzed out stoner band, and the other one on Thursday for a Crue-styled rock and roll juggernaut.
There goes my hearing.
Busy times, folks. Hope to see you out and about soon.
Fake rock and roll.
Faker rock and roll.
Real rock and roll.
Dem bones dem bones them dryyyyyyyy bones.
It's been an intense couple of weeks. Working and playing your ass off six days a week takes a serious toll on your home life. Who knew spending time away from the computer, house and regular friends could be so much dirty, sleepless fun? Not me...but now I know better.
Got a vanilla gig tonight at the Empire. Still not getting paid anything, but there's riders on the storm for my own music as soon as I can write more than the half-dozen songs I have already. Perfectionism is a bitch.
Not sure if I can make it to the masked ball...but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe I can go as Tuxedo Mask:
Or Wrestling Mask:
Or Mask:
I did have a Mask Condor when I was a lad...speaking of which, it's 2006, so where's my motorbike that turns into a helicopter? Hmmmm?
Where's all the cyberfucking, cyberfood and cyberpeople?
Tied one on two weeks ago with a buddy from work, and he met an amazing girl, and they're going out. Did it again last week and another friend met another girl, and they're going out. I'm a high powered, irresistable girl-magnet...for whoever I'm with at the time. Hell of a franchise opportunity here, folks. I'll put an ad in the Yellow Pages:
Lonely?
No confidence?
Butch Dapper
is FOR HIRE.
Meet the girl of your dreams...
JUST STANDING THERE!
1-800-DESPERATE
T-shirts coming soon.
X
It's been an intense couple of weeks. Working and playing your ass off six days a week takes a serious toll on your home life. Who knew spending time away from the computer, house and regular friends could be so much dirty, sleepless fun? Not me...but now I know better.
Got a vanilla gig tonight at the Empire. Still not getting paid anything, but there's riders on the storm for my own music as soon as I can write more than the half-dozen songs I have already. Perfectionism is a bitch.
Not sure if I can make it to the masked ball...but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe I can go as Tuxedo Mask:
Or Wrestling Mask:
Or Mask:
I did have a Mask Condor when I was a lad...speaking of which, it's 2006, so where's my motorbike that turns into a helicopter? Hmmmm?
Where's all the cyberfucking, cyberfood and cyberpeople?
Tied one on two weeks ago with a buddy from work, and he met an amazing girl, and they're going out. Did it again last week and another friend met another girl, and they're going out. I'm a high powered, irresistable girl-magnet...for whoever I'm with at the time. Hell of a franchise opportunity here, folks. I'll put an ad in the Yellow Pages:
Lonely?
No confidence?
Butch Dapper
is FOR HIRE.
Meet the girl of your dreams...
JUST STANDING THERE!
1-800-DESPERATE
T-shirts coming soon.
X
More than a feeling
(More than a feeee-ling)
Ah, prog rock. The harmonies are as big as the hair, as tight as the flares, and the guitars as dirty as bong water.
One keyboard is never enough.
Dentist schmentist.
Capes are for Gods among men...of rock.
Now, banished to the AM dial, prog sits in the corner of an attic filled with Pac-Man t-shirts, rubik's cubes, brown corduroy bean-bags and airbrushed posters of wizards riding dragons.
No song had meaning if it was less than seven minutes long. If your band had less than six members and/or no keyboard player - forget it!
And then punk rock came along and the boogie van dream died. The ELO was switched off, Rush crawled to a halt and people said "No" to Yes.
Our fathers smoked pot to these bands. They made out to them, played Asteroids to them, and listened to them after school, sharing a stolen beer with mates. It must have meant something to them, even if we don't feel it in the same way.
I found myself starting to buy this music this week. It reminded me of the old AM radio stations Mum used to listen to in the green Datsun when she would drop us off to school.
I think I'm reaching for something that has slowly been tapering off, generation after generation...some kind of youthful purpose or frivolity that has worn away in a world of ever-increasing seriousness and pressure. People used to be kids until they were twenty-one. Now they're lucky to get to twelve before they're getting fingered on the swings, drunk on Malibu and stressing about their university course.
So feather your hair and hit the roller disco, outdoor gig or boogie van. This music may be the last gasp of youthful exuberance and expression there ever was...sans agenda.
(More than a feeee-ling)
Ah, prog rock. The harmonies are as big as the hair, as tight as the flares, and the guitars as dirty as bong water.
One keyboard is never enough.
Dentist schmentist.
Capes are for Gods among men...of rock.
Now, banished to the AM dial, prog sits in the corner of an attic filled with Pac-Man t-shirts, rubik's cubes, brown corduroy bean-bags and airbrushed posters of wizards riding dragons.
No song had meaning if it was less than seven minutes long. If your band had less than six members and/or no keyboard player - forget it!
And then punk rock came along and the boogie van dream died. The ELO was switched off, Rush crawled to a halt and people said "No" to Yes.
Our fathers smoked pot to these bands. They made out to them, played Asteroids to them, and listened to them after school, sharing a stolen beer with mates. It must have meant something to them, even if we don't feel it in the same way.
I found myself starting to buy this music this week. It reminded me of the old AM radio stations Mum used to listen to in the green Datsun when she would drop us off to school.
I think I'm reaching for something that has slowly been tapering off, generation after generation...some kind of youthful purpose or frivolity that has worn away in a world of ever-increasing seriousness and pressure. People used to be kids until they were twenty-one. Now they're lucky to get to twelve before they're getting fingered on the swings, drunk on Malibu and stressing about their university course.
So feather your hair and hit the roller disco, outdoor gig or boogie van. This music may be the last gasp of youthful exuberance and expression there ever was...sans agenda.
It's the Baba Ram Dash-for-Cash News, with your host, Butch Dapper.
Happy Australia Day, Folks.
Could this country possibly get any better?
It's days like this when you can really feel the Australian spirit...
...and the Australian culture...
...that truly defines us as a nation. It brings a tear to my eye to know that our future is assured for our children...
...and their children.
Happy Australia Day, Australia. You bloody ripper.
Happy Australia Day, Folks.
Could this country possibly get any better?
It's days like this when you can really feel the Australian spirit...
...and the Australian culture...
...that truly defines us as a nation. It brings a tear to my eye to know that our future is assured for our children...
...and their children.
Happy Australia Day, Australia. You bloody ripper.
Hola, folks. It's time for the quiff report, with your tour guide, Butch Dapper, at the wheel.
Something terrifying is brewing under my skin...excited atoms and liquid sleaze running so hot I feel like some Freddie dancing and Elvis rock and roll. Damn, blast and fuckity-fuck girls, that's all I want to do right now. Cooking? Nope. Study? Forget it. Housework? Maybe a little. Boys and girls, I want hot lights, tight jeans and loud music...and it's going to happen, people. It will happen.
I've got something to put in you.
Edit: This.
Something terrifying is brewing under my skin...excited atoms and liquid sleaze running so hot I feel like some Freddie dancing and Elvis rock and roll. Damn, blast and fuckity-fuck girls, that's all I want to do right now. Cooking? Nope. Study? Forget it. Housework? Maybe a little. Boys and girls, I want hot lights, tight jeans and loud music...and it's going to happen, people. It will happen.
I've got something to put in you.
Edit: This.
"I know cool...and cool's teamin' up with a good balanced breakfast."
Teamin' up with Mr. T cereal
It's gettin' on the team...
The team that knows how cool breakfast can be!
You get a crispy corn taste with a toucha brown sugar...
Teamin' up with Mr. T!
What a day. Bought a new digital camera, read some HST, did some laundry. It's like a never-ending orgy here, folks.
Free and clear of assignments in only five days. I'd feel better, though, if they were actually finished. I still can't get this horrible idle gunk out of my veins...pinning me down, putting things off...madness. It's do or die time. Sempre fi, gluteus maximus.
I'm toying with the idea of getting a tattoo on my left arm similar to this guitar strap. Just musing about it for now.
Yeah.
Candygram for Mongo.
It's just that kind of day, folks! A day for tall-haired drummers and their octopads, about new jeans and old records, Corona, girls and pathological hoarding.
To hell with that angle. That's the kind of talk that belongs to the age of Knievel, when all a man needed was a motorbike, a Diablo sandwich, eight flaming school busses and a deli-ticket system of groupie management. Where are these old-world "real men" now? Are they extinct, or are they thriving out there somewhere, hanging on to the rules of their era in their own archaic way? What would you do if you met one of these guys today? What if he didn't like you? An ipod is poor defence against a motorcycle chain or broken whiskey bottle.
Tangents again. In the words of Salvador Dali: "I don't do drugs. I am drugs." The man had something right. He also wanted to eat his wife alive with a spoon, and that's no metaphor...
...and that's where this entry ends, too loose to continue.
Freeze, creep.
Edit: I mean, this.
It's just that kind of day, folks! A day for tall-haired drummers and their octopads, about new jeans and old records, Corona, girls and pathological hoarding.
To hell with that angle. That's the kind of talk that belongs to the age of Knievel, when all a man needed was a motorbike, a Diablo sandwich, eight flaming school busses and a deli-ticket system of groupie management. Where are these old-world "real men" now? Are they extinct, or are they thriving out there somewhere, hanging on to the rules of their era in their own archaic way? What would you do if you met one of these guys today? What if he didn't like you? An ipod is poor defence against a motorcycle chain or broken whiskey bottle.
Tangents again. In the words of Salvador Dali: "I don't do drugs. I am drugs." The man had something right. He also wanted to eat his wife alive with a spoon, and that's no metaphor...
...and that's where this entry ends, too loose to continue.
Freeze, creep.
Edit: I mean, this.
Who's a lazy bastard then?
Me, me, me.
Far too long between posts, and for no good reason. It's been fiendishly busy for me for these past five weeks, but not so busy as to preclude posting a journal entry or two. My neck glands are secreting a chemical form of chronic laziness and denial into my system...something must be done about it. Selah.
And to hell with that. Yesterday I finally met some of the beautiful creatures that stalk this site in the flesh. A big hello to spookshow_baby and babyfirefly, two Woollongong girls with incredible edible hair and a love for all things sex and rock and roll. I salute you twice...each.
I also had the (brief) pleasure of meeting morgannahh at the bar. She's twenty feet tall, with sterling silver arms and a razor sharp belly beak. Don't believe a word of it, she's like a little ray of black light sunshine in the shape of a girl. Selah.
Played some music today, yessiree, music music music. The only thing missing today was the drugs, which are few and far between. The rock and roll took care of itself. Well sung, Steven, you're a credit to the species homo vocalis erectus.
I have a thousand-tonne weight of assignment responsibility weighing down my scrawny neck and I'm not gonna take it anymore. I can't wait until this damn diploma is finished. All I want is my dream car, one of these beautiful cabinets for my rig and to rock like this man. By muff, it's going to happen this year, or I'm done for.
I can't believe I'm in the quagmire of study when the holidays are on. Lips, beach, bourbon, nipples, rock and roll...it's ALL OUT THERE and I'm face down in books, rather than buttocks. What the hell, who needs a business degree. Maybe I'll switch to marketing and sell the world instead of trying to own it.
Enough drivel. Time to get down (ironically) to business:
1. Finish diploma.
2. Take a four month break. Maybe five.
3. Work my ass off...sell a bunch of guitars.
4. Build Tori's guitar.
5. Buy that Firebird.
6. Road trip with the biker bitches.
7. Write those songs.
8. Get that band.
9. Meet Elvis.
10. Fuckin' rock.
Start being a teenager at twenty-four...why not? The boy becomes part man, part pile of unwashed clothes and hormones. It's all uphill from here folks, hopefully at some ludicrous incline I can barely handle.
Yowza.
Double yowza.
Me, me, me.
Far too long between posts, and for no good reason. It's been fiendishly busy for me for these past five weeks, but not so busy as to preclude posting a journal entry or two. My neck glands are secreting a chemical form of chronic laziness and denial into my system...something must be done about it. Selah.
And to hell with that. Yesterday I finally met some of the beautiful creatures that stalk this site in the flesh. A big hello to spookshow_baby and babyfirefly, two Woollongong girls with incredible edible hair and a love for all things sex and rock and roll. I salute you twice...each.
I also had the (brief) pleasure of meeting morgannahh at the bar. She's twenty feet tall, with sterling silver arms and a razor sharp belly beak. Don't believe a word of it, she's like a little ray of black light sunshine in the shape of a girl. Selah.
Played some music today, yessiree, music music music. The only thing missing today was the drugs, which are few and far between. The rock and roll took care of itself. Well sung, Steven, you're a credit to the species homo vocalis erectus.
I have a thousand-tonne weight of assignment responsibility weighing down my scrawny neck and I'm not gonna take it anymore. I can't wait until this damn diploma is finished. All I want is my dream car, one of these beautiful cabinets for my rig and to rock like this man. By muff, it's going to happen this year, or I'm done for.
I can't believe I'm in the quagmire of study when the holidays are on. Lips, beach, bourbon, nipples, rock and roll...it's ALL OUT THERE and I'm face down in books, rather than buttocks. What the hell, who needs a business degree. Maybe I'll switch to marketing and sell the world instead of trying to own it.
Enough drivel. Time to get down (ironically) to business:
1. Finish diploma.
2. Take a four month break. Maybe five.
3. Work my ass off...sell a bunch of guitars.
4. Build Tori's guitar.
5. Buy that Firebird.
6. Road trip with the biker bitches.
7. Write those songs.
8. Get that band.
9. Meet Elvis.
10. Fuckin' rock.
Start being a teenager at twenty-four...why not? The boy becomes part man, part pile of unwashed clothes and hormones. It's all uphill from here folks, hopefully at some ludicrous incline I can barely handle.
Yowza.
Double yowza.
Na na na nananana hey Jude.
Watched Tommy Lee goes to College tonight...and for a guy who co-produces his own show, it turned out derivative and stiff. The only thing keeping the whole damn boat from sinking is his ingratiating grin and hyperactive style. Otherwise, it gets two thumbs down. Selah.
Tests, tests, tests. Yet another exam this Saturday. The hope is that my calculator will transform, Moonwalker-style, and win the test for me. Best not to think about it at this point.
I feel the soft vibrations of music happening...yessir, I may well be playing again soon. Ran around the house tonight playing a few Elvis licks...especially this one. Ah, fat Elvis, my favourite elvis. Not Extreme Elvis, although I must say he comes close. To your head. Selah.
What an awful tangent. The point was that I feel the rumblings of music happening again, possibly with Steven. The poor bastard just lost good people...and a little rock and roll goes a long way with that brand of heaviness. As soon as these exams are over, out comes the merkin and the Big Muff and there...goes...the neighbourhood.
I'd like some Bettie Paige fridge magnets 'Tis almost the season, after all.
Watched Tommy Lee goes to College tonight...and for a guy who co-produces his own show, it turned out derivative and stiff. The only thing keeping the whole damn boat from sinking is his ingratiating grin and hyperactive style. Otherwise, it gets two thumbs down. Selah.
Tests, tests, tests. Yet another exam this Saturday. The hope is that my calculator will transform, Moonwalker-style, and win the test for me. Best not to think about it at this point.
I feel the soft vibrations of music happening...yessir, I may well be playing again soon. Ran around the house tonight playing a few Elvis licks...especially this one. Ah, fat Elvis, my favourite elvis. Not Extreme Elvis, although I must say he comes close. To your head. Selah.
What an awful tangent. The point was that I feel the rumblings of music happening again, possibly with Steven. The poor bastard just lost good people...and a little rock and roll goes a long way with that brand of heaviness. As soon as these exams are over, out comes the merkin and the Big Muff and there...goes...the neighbourhood.
I'd like some Bettie Paige fridge magnets 'Tis almost the season, after all.
