Go See Deke or You're A Dick...
Alright ya dang yokels...Deke Dickerson (if I have to tell you who that is, disregard the rest of this blog) is a playin' THIS FRICKIN' THURSDAY at Johnny B's in Medford, OR (35 S. Bartlett)! That's March 1st! And it's only EIGHT BUX! Go...or wait around 'til Saint Patrick's Day and go see the geriatric-faux Irish "Shamrock Show" in Yreka that cost 10 BUX! Can you fucking believe that? Deke Dickerson for 8 BUX. A bunch of fucking losers in Yreka for 10 BUX! What's this world coming to? Oh, and make sure you also attend The Gallus Bros. (from Seattle) with Screamin' Gulch on SATURDAY! Look up the Gallus Bros...if yer not impressed, you're a dork! As ever, your U.D.O., FELIX

¶ 1:22 PM //   

LIVE FRICKIN' MUSIC!
Hey ya'll...yer a-missin' out on some grrreat live music at Johnny B's in Medford OR (35 South Bartlett St.). Tonight...Friday, February 9th...at 8:00...is the all-female bluegrass powerhouse known as the Flat Mountain Girls (and, not to be a perv, but they're HOT). Also, making one of their rare appearances is the Hillbilly fever of Screamin' Gulch. Get yer ass down there and drink Pabst on tap. Mention this blog and I'll even buy you a shot of bourbon! AND Monday, the 12th, the garage-rockin' mayhem of The Bloody Hollies (cool name!) and the Hollowbodys. So slick up yer hair and support live music that doesn't suck. As ever, yer Luke the Drifter, FELIX

¶ 3:28 PM //   

HOOTENANNY!
Hey ya'll, good news (I hope) to report. I'm organizing a weekly Hootenanny featuring ROckabilly, Country/Honky TOnk, Americana, etc. at The Vinyl Club in Ashland Oregon. Every frickin' Wednesday! Starting next (or, uh, THIS) Wednesday. I'm not supposed to tell anyone (because of Oregon law prohibiting such promotions) but all well drinks are only two damn dollars! So come to play, come to listen, come to drink or whatever. The ol' shindig will be kicking off at 9:00 p.m. Send me a damn e.mail if you want to play.

¶ 3:59 PM //   

The Continuing (Mis)Adventures of Joey Nova...
Joey Nova is a good Agent, Fnords. I especially love how he spends whatever free time he has (when he's not talking to his girlfriend on the phone or "texting" her) filing down pennies to the size of dimes to stick in parking meters. Very anti-establishment...or is it? Maybe he's just a tight-fisted wop! Ha! Either way, he cracks me up...and since he never reads my blogs there's no chance of him becoming a "moody wop" from reading this. I love him, though, seriously. Who else will go record shopping with me for hours? Here's what I done purchased lately (as if you care).
1. Hanoi Rocks - Two Steps From The Move
2. Christian Death - Only Theatre of Pain
3. Rudimentary Peni - Death Church
4. Tuxedomoon - Desire
5. Judas Priest - Stained Class
YOU MUST OWN ALL OF THESE ALBUMS. Or have them burned for you by an obliging soul. Anyway, speking of music. Here I am in fucking Hickspew County. Some girl on myspace was professing her love for Duran Duran. 20 years ago that would have aroused my contempt...but these days...hey, at least it's not My Chemical Romance. So I sent her a message telling her I like(d) Arcadia more. And I liked the Neurotic Outsiders even more. You'd think that would solicit a response...not around here. This place must have as many Duran Duran fans as it has volunteer firefighters and crankheads. My insights into the '80s pop phenomenon and blatant Japan (the band) ripoffs Duran Duran were evidently not appreciated. So goes life in the great northwest. As ever, your Only Theatre Of Pain, F.E.L.I.X.

¶ 2:14 PM //   

Illegal Fucking Leopard, Man...
So here I am at a place called The Oracle in Weed. It's a cafe. And a restaraunt. And (sort of) an art gallery. I need a headquarters for Sunday and Monday and Saturday after 3 and every frickin' day after 5. I'm not sure about this place. It's, uh, kinda hippy (or at least what passes for hippy these days). The Beats hated the hippies. At least Kerouac and Burroughs did. Because most hippies think that they're intellectuals by osmosis. And to prove my point I already overheard one conversation regarding books here that nauseated me to the core of my soul. Something along the lines of: "I don't want to go to college, man. They make you read too many books." Yeah. That's why (for better or worse) going to college is considered getting an education. Reading won't help you pull chicks (trust me...not anymore anyway). It won't even make you friends (trust me). It won't make you happy. But it might (and should) make you more intelligent and interesting (at least to me). And it might assist you in being able to locate fucking Tibet on a goddamn map (uh, so if someone like me asks you where Tibet is because you have a "free Tibet" sticker on your Volvo). Oh well. I can't judge this place immediately. But they don't boil the water for their tea (badbadbad). And, for people so "earthy", what's the deal with the silly fucking quasi ancient/futuristic "ambient" music they all seem to love so much. Oh yeah...The Beats. They hated the hippies (except GInsberg), mostly I think because they didn't read. But most backpacking beard-growing wannabe hippies who read Jack Kerouac don't even know that. Probably because they don't read anymore than they comprehend the thriftstore Kerouac books that take up space on their shelves. Oh well. What do I expect anyway? So I just got back from fucking civilizaiton (a/k/a/ Sonoma County) AGAIN. Pretty uneventful. Unless you count listening to Public Enemy's "Fear of a Black Planet" over and over and over and over again while one Agent Joey Nova took nappys and talked to his girlfriend on the phone for three fucking hours! Oh well...boy and girl stuff...what is one to do? Bollocks to haircut punk. As ever, your Rich Daddy, Felix.

¶ 4:25 PM //   

Report.
What a short strange trip it's been. Finally I was able to get out of squareass Siskiyou County for a spell...to pick up The Artist Formerly Known As Trish (who has just flown in from North Carolina). AND to spend some time with uberAgent Joey Nova. Normally, Joe and myself would have been half way through a four day whiskey jag by now. But we are to old to drink in such excess. And Joe has finally got himself a girlfriend...who I like (especially since she yelled "Cunty Cunts" at some rather obnoxious girls who were yelling at me from their parked car). So last Saturday we went to see D.'s band...and Forie's...and Jason's...and Mike's (The Harrington Saints)at the Gilman. Aren't we a little old for the Gilman. No! And there was Patrick (who is building a boat and sailing to Mexico to remove himself from Operation Mindfuck America). And there was Damon. And D. has a girlfriend now (somehow) that is so much cooler than he is. I told her about the Hank Williams tattoo I'm-a-gonnna get...and now SHE wants a Hank Williams tattoo. And also playing were The Lucky Stiffs (featuring one Tones Bones formerly of BUrnside). And Those Unknown (featuring of course Working Class Bill and NOW Joe Carr!) and another band that I can't for the life remember the name of with Gabe from Tsunami Bomb and Chris formerly of my favorite of all my mates' bands, Shut Up Donny. So it was like this big weird semi old guy punk reunion. And none of us really expected to see the others of us...which, of course made it cool. And I haven't been to the Gilman honestly since they opened the Pyramid brewery. And Pyramid ale tastes way way way better on tap than in the bottle. AND Garren Hitchcock Hanon and Kim actually drove all the way down from Skeezy-Ass Clear Lake (with two students from Garren's class). It was just a weird and semi-magical night. Without, by the way, all the fake punk posing that keeps me away from almost everything. Then we met Trish and Other Rachel at the stupid fucking Zeitgeist in San Francisco. How ironic: "Zeitgeist"...spirit of the age. And there are a bunch of so-called punks watching the fucking football playoffs. It just seems people are more into being seen than actually doing anything these days. Which, of course, makes me think back to Other Rachel who admittedly is "selling out". ANd then last night...so one certain Agent/friend of mine could hang out with his girlfriend who he never gets to see (it's a long story that I've been listening to for three days now)...I decided to give them some space and drink a few pints at Jasper O' Farrels in Sebastapol. If you want to know how I feel about Sebastapol, you need merely consult "Who Do They Think They're Fooling..." in the Unfathomable Misc. section on this here website. Some fairly decent Reggae band was playing so I drank several pints. And I waited for one Joey Nova to come pick me up in the frigid fucking air while I was standing around on the street (after the bars closed) looking like a male prostitute. Anyway...snapshot-snapshot. Now I will torture Joey Nova with Lorne Greene sings songs of the Ponderosa. As ever, your Ballad of Yreka, F.E.L.I.X.

¶ 10:00 AM //   

What Do They Know About Partying...Or Anything Else For That Matter?

So anyway...I guess my Blog Stalker is gone for the moment. Most of you C.O.T. Agents and Spies probably have no ideer about what I'm a-talkin' about. Some disgruntled Evil Weevil read something I wrote who knows when and responded rudely saying that I'm not a good "Trotskyist" (actually, TrotskyITE is the preferred nomenclature) because I don't like single mothers (or something). FIRST I've never said (or written) anything negative about mothers (single or otherwise) EVER. But some people will misinterpet whatever suits their mood or agenda...even (and sometimes especially) if it's wrong. Remember Tipper Gore? I AM against procreation by morons! For fuck's sake we're being outbreeded. I guess it doesn't matter now, it's too late. People like me will fade out which should make most people happy. I can accept that. OH...there was something in there about me needing to "get out" of Siskiyou County. DUH! Of course, I left here ummm...15 years ago. Maybe if the person actually read what was on the C.O.T. site they'd have a basic understanding of what I've been doing. Which isn't snorting crank in Etna and listening to Limp Bizkit. Anyway...I don't care. My presence is only required here for three more weeks. Unless a get a certain job I'm kind of considering. But why stick around in a place that's threatened by me. Like I'm the biggest asshole around here. Not the rednecks. Not the "rescue natiom" douchebags! Not the former (and present) corrupt cops who re-enter into civil service. Not dumbshit hairdressers who want to keep Siskiyou County a welfare state. NOt Tori Amos-listening "sensitive" guys. Not speedfreaks. NO...I'm the worst thing/person anyone has to confront around here. No...not some dickhead snowboarder/extreme sports clat, not some racist hick, not some peach fuzz mustachioed wal-mart jewelry counter 14kt gold chain wearing over their wifebeater shirt and baggy pants wearing wannabe. NO...ME! Welcome to my world, Agents. Thank the supreme deity of your choice one The Artist Formerly Known As Trish is a-comin' to visit. Maybe I should listen to my friends and laugh (like they do...at me...getting shit). I do laugh. Sometimes. But sometimes I just polish my guns and listen to Scandinavian Black Metal. And sometimes I just leave town every single fucking day. Oh poor me. bOO Hoo. "you just don't see the positive" some assfuck will say. Yeah, as evidenced by the content on C.O.T. (.com). Maybe THEY don't see ME. bECAUSE they'll be forced to wonder why they're such cowardly fucks! Ha. Now I'm laughing. Ha Ha Ha. See...I can be a babykins too. I really don't care. Viva the collaboration between Phil Spector and the Ramones. Viva Sylvia Plath. Viva French New Wave cinema. Viva girls with bellies! Viva a properly poured pint. And death to poseurs! As ever, your Great Satan the Bottling Works Mall, F.E.L.i.X

¶ 10:19 PM //