It’s Tiny Time!
april 12th, technically yesterday, was my birthday. i am very old and have lived thru many odd things. rather, i am very odd and have lived thru many old things.
tiny tim (i wrote “tiny time” at first, then corrected it)
david letterman
shannen doherty (sp?) (i’m not taking time to look up the spelling of her name coz i don’t think she’d do it for me)
claire danes
david cassidy of the Partridge Family.
marley shelton
art alexakis of Everclear.
a friend named kim who was a music lawyer and the girlfriend of rob, the Mick Ronson-esque drummer from the band Lotion.
that guy at ottobar the other night talking on the phone.
all of them were born on my birthday. april 12.
art alexakis was born on the same day in the same year. he’s the only same day/year bday person i’ve ever met. tho he took great pains to tell me i wasn’t his first. we’re both very alike. crotchety old bastards with a taste for many of the same bad things. one of our big differences is that I like my band, Cinnamon Toast, but i was never terribly fond of his.
pretty much everyone else on the list above (some i’ve met, some not, so i’ve experienced them in the “real world”) share many of my personality quirks. here are two of the main ones i’ve noticed:
1) we polarize folks very quickly. you tend to love us or hate us. either one is fine, because we all secretly want to be alone to read.
2) we’re so self-interested/vain that we take time out at the tail end of a birthday to write a blog about how potentially douchey we can be. or maybe that’s just me.
i swear to fucking god, the only reason i got on here was to write that earlier, while i was trying to say something like “if you’re interviewing Paris Hilton you shouldn’t bone up on your philosphy or anything heavy like that beforehand, you should just walk into the room and throw a shiny set of keys or a ball of yarn on the table in front of her”
and instead of saying “ball of yarn”
i said a “barn of y’all.”
i think if i threw a whole barn of y’all on a table in front of Paris Hilton she’d be a little confused about who some of you were.
or are.
why was everything lowercase in this entry except for a weird select few people/bands that were awarded uppercase status?
i hope you had a good time on my birthday. don’t feel that you have to send me belated wishes. that’s not my point. when you’re old you don’t care who calls or writes (or rather, you don’t care who doesn’t call or write). birthdays seem to lose almost all meaning after 37 or so. it all changes. this day that used to be the centerpiece of your world when you were 10 years old turns into a weird depressing age like 32 where you feel like a complete failure and your mom forgot to call. (both of those things have happened more than once. but not at 10.)
and finally the day comes when you realize that everything and everyone on earth doesn’t rotate around you and they’re not all dying to celebrate that special day once a year and watch you blow spittle onto a firey cake. but the good thing is that once you realize all of that, you’re old & with someone who loves you.
if you’re sending me letters and i haven’t answered them yet and you keep checking the myspace mailthingy and it doesn’t say “he read it”, it’s because i haven’t had any time to go thru my myspace mailthingy and look at anything. i hired a young Lithuanian boy named Conrad Bain who okays picture comments and such, but i don’t let him answer my mail. but i will.
and if you’re my friend, i probably miss you and think about you all the time (even if you think i don’t just because i hibernate for long periods of time because i’m freakishly depressed, recently evicted, and have a terrible haircut.)
also, if you have my cell number and call me, don’t leave me a voicemail because i don’t have the access code # and couldn’t hear it if i wanted to. if we’re meant to talk, Jah will make it so. or maybe Buddha. or the Scientology god. (isn’t it some kind of sci-fi lizard-man that you have to pay tens of thousands of dollars to become “clear?” does Scientology God want us to talk?)
in 1971 on my birthday i got a copy of the T.Rex LP “Electric Warrior”. it fucking ruled the planet. still does. there is no God. the planet is ruled by a small corkscrew-haired Brit who died in a car decades ago. and he’s singing Jeepster. and he’s gonna “suck ya.”
i’m living yogurt!
