MotolovE

I've moved to http://www.livejournal.com/users/motolove/

Ouch.

I just had my egotistical legs cut out from me and the fall was to much to bear.

Allow me to 'splain.

I was downstairs in the wardrobe room of the this little theatre I work in, and our wardrobe assistant was dying some pants green.

I said, "Can I just stick my head in there and dye it green?"

She looked up at me and said, "Well, you'd have to bleach your hair first."

"Look here, missy," I scoffed, "I used to have all sorts of colors of mohawks and the like, so you don't need to tell me!"

She looked me up and down and said, "Really? You don't seem like the punk type to me."

"...", I responded, as my entire life as a frontman flashed before my eyes and fell out of my head.

"Well, actually," I stammered, "I was the... oh forget it."

So that was the final straw, the shot of tabasco my bloody mary sorely needed. I've got more punk rock (and no funny spellings here, I'm talking about rolling in broken beer bottles, breaking your teeth on the stage, watching Gigi Allen light his shit on fire punk rock) in the flab on my ass than these neo-punk freakshow's have in their whole fucking body. Now, to be fair, my ass weighs about as much as one of these losers bodies. But still!

So expect a little more out of me in the coming weeks. A little drunker, louder, smellier and just more god-damned punk rock.

Here endeth the rant...

OK, I know I've been away. Things have been swirling strange these days, and I just haven't found the time write.

I'm sorry. You know I still love you, right?

But then something happened last night which I must protest. Something so vile and evil and unthinkable that I don't even know where to start. But I'll try.

Last night, the lakers stole one from my beloved Spurs.

And I mean STOLE. As in to steal or cheat. Either that or they defied the laws of physics.

Allow me to 'splain:

With .4 seconds left, the lakers hit a shot to win the game. The only thing is THAT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE!! The NBA, in it's infinite wisdom, long ago established a rule that said that .4 seconds is the minimum time needed to inbound the ball and get a shot off. But that is it, no move, no dribble and certainly not enough time to catch, turn around and shoot fading away.

And it just had to be the lakers. The evil lakers. The personification of all things bad in sports. And to borrow a phrase I first coined to Christastrophe, I just hate that anthropomorphic freak and his rapist sidekick.

But it warms my soul when I look ahead to this time next year. My beloved Spurs will have all their team back, with $10 million to spend. They will have two of the best young stars and the best player on the planet.

And the lakers. Malone and Payton will be gone. Those two have made life miserable for Tony and Timmy. Kobe will be serving 5-25 in a Colorado Pen. And Shaq will be 34, 330 pounds and all alone.

At this point, there is nothing I hate more than the lakers.

Got some news today that is sure to lift my spirits and clear all my blues away.

My favorite cousin, who is like a brother to me, is having a baby.

And this just about makes my year.

My cousin and I have a special connection, forged by possessing similar qualities in a very intense and talented family. We share a similar intellectualism and view of things. When he around 3, we all knew he was a 3000 year old soul just waiting to be realised. We were married (to other people sicko!) within one week of each other. He is also a Marine, just a few weeks from the end of his final tour. But before you get your mental image all set, he's not your typical Marine.

He voted for Nader.

Need I say more?

Anyway, his will be the first addition of a new generation on this side of my family. It's something we have sorely needed for a long time.

I'm giddy.

You are Maureen Dowd! You like to give people silly
nicknames and write in really short, non
sequitur paragraphs. You're the most playful of
the columnists and a rock-ribbed liberal, but
are often accused of being too flamboyant and
frivolous. You tend to focus on style over
substance, personality over politics. But your
heart is in the right place. Plus, you are a
total fox.


Which New York Times Op-Ed Columnist Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Well, here I sit, sick again. I used to never get sick. Then I moved to NYC, where you are closer and more intimate with the disgusting masses than in any other American city. Now, about once a season, I get some throat/ear thing. A few years ago, I had an abscess that not even my doctors could explain. I knew it was something weird when every fucking doctor in the hospital came by to look in my gullet.

"Hello, I'm the best doctor in the hospital and I heard you have a freakshow in your throat. Can I take peek?"

"Sure Doc, I'm just sitting here watch Judge Judy in my assless hospital gown. Why don't you stick that big hunk of metal down my throat."

But I digress...

So, I'm sick now, again. It kind of snuck up on me, tapped my on one shoulder and then ducked over my other shoulder. And it made me do something I can't ever remember doing.

It made me bail on a show.

Now, before you get all crazy and in an uproar, as you, my loyal readers are wont to do, understand that I have another show tonight. I'll be there to be sure, but if I had performed last night I would not. So I made a choice.

But I still feel like a heel.

Understand that I have been a performer since the age of five. And I have ingrained into my psyche a sort of performers loyalty which makes it a sin in my eyes to let your fellow artists down, in any way. I do group art, and in group art, the need and feelings of the individual are secondary.

But, yo, I feel el crapitan.

Just wanted to share.

Where do we go from here?

So, back in 1963, there was this thing called the Vienna Convention. Not as famous as it's sister city named convention, Geneva, the Vienna Convention helped to establish the rights of foreign citizens charges with crimes in other countries. It says, among other things, that persons accused of crimes have the right to contact their own government for assistance. And, much like your right to remain silent, it is the responsibility of the arresting government to inform the accused of that fact.

Today, the World Court- the high court of the UN- announced that 51 people from Mexico had been deprived of this established global human right by the good ol' U.S. of A. And where are those 51 Mexicans?

Death Row. Every one of them.

It's no secret that I am vehemently opposed to the Death Penalty. Not only is it more expensive to execute someone than to imprison them for life, it is intensely arrogant of our justice system to assume that our brand of deciding guilt or innocence isn't so fallible that an innocent person couldn't be executed by the state. The true beauty of our justice system is appellate review; no one decision can decide a man's fate. But it's hard to release someone who is dead, Hollywood movies aside. Not to mention that it has never been proven to be a deterrent of crime.

But now, the world court is saying that 51 people sit on death row who didn't get the rights afforded them by a globally agreed upon document, right here in the 'Land of the Free'.

As long as you're not Mexican, that is.

The new American ethos: kill em all and let God sort em out.