Yep. I cut my doo. I chopped my mop. I got a new look (doin' it for the Kids!)
Here's what they've been saying:
"Is it REAL?"
"You look like a Beatle!"
"You look like those guys in Air." (throwback to the Beatles)
"Is it a wig?"
"Keep doing crazy shit like that. I used to do that stuff, before my hair fell out."
"It looks sexy."
"Is that a perm?"
I could go on. But it's just hair, ya know? ... it grows, you cut it, it grows back. Constant change. Just like life. I'm in the flow ... Why do I feel like Madonna?
Hi everyone ... get stuff like this all the time, but this one I've just gotta re-print. Seems one of my musician pals (we'll call him Pot Boy) decided to play around with text from my Blogs, and come up with a mish-mash stew, something new. Here's what he wrote, in it's entirety ...
"Golden Dildo Soup"
I dreamt of music, and far-away places, and then I walked around the front of the theatre, and saw Janet's Boob. Oh, Boob ... when will you ever learn that the drummer left the stage to take a dump! Then Karl played the bejesus outta his transvestite hookers!
"What's the Nakedman doing RIGHT NOW??"
Karl wailed. "How did he GET those two chains, anyway?" He had this snarl that he'd whip out after a solo (or during!) or smack-dab in tha middle of a Beave-Weave. Then I requested a mythical Fairy-god-Mother on crack, and woke up with my arms wrapped around my guitar case, in a pickup truck. So they chatter together for a bit, and come back with a new offer: Are you doing the Stone-Bone somewhere? If so, buy all the phoney-baloney top dawg stocks and throw them into Golden Dildo Soup bonds, with Abercrombie, the Multi-Orgasmic Man, and also one of the world's best bass players! The end.
(I don't remember writing anything about "Janet's Boob on crack." -Todd)
My lawyers said to say that ...
What a delicious excursion into the minds of men ...
(Or - A review of the new film, "The Fog Of War.")
This is for the girl also known as, "Robben Banks."
Cruising with my gal-pal deb, of LA marathon fame, in her rented somethingerother, listening to old Rod Stewart, having a ball ... And the night before, at Spaceland, where we met and, in effect, created the legend of Robben Banks, (get it?)who we'd decided would be like a Bonnie and Clyde figure (or maybe they were calling me Clem? or was it Clay?). Cute, with dark mascara eyes, and punk writen all over her. And we watched free bands (one was great and the other one sucked) and drank free beer, and just generally felt free ... Beck wasn't there. But he usually is.
Then later we made out in the women's restroom.
Thank you, Spaceland.
Then up this morning at the crack of dawn, caught tha train to Santa Barbara. Cruising along the beach in the early morn, watching the surf from my train window, thinking, "Aww, this really ain't so bad ..."
Santa Barbara, California, at dawn. A beautiful sight to see ...
I slept in this old theatre. Why? Because it's closing in one week, and because I can. And because Kerouac would've. It's just like poetry. But do you wanna know what is was? Do ya? Do you wanna know how it was in there, pertaining to how it might have been, would you like to know the if's and's and butt's about the whole she-bang?? Well, I'll tell ya what is was in there, in that beautiful old stone majestic temple, haunted with ghosts and stories galore, I'll tell ya all what it was like in there, to sum it up, it was ... in a word:
Yeah, I was keepin' it real, it was cold in the haunted old halls of that Theatre, last night. But I thought to myself, Gee, think of all those people in Afghanistan who suffer every night. It's not THAT cold. And they probably don't get to wake up at the crack of dawn and go get some fresh, hot coffee, either. So, you know ... it's all relative. But I WANTED to do it. I wanted to be there, listening to my deepest thoughts in the dark, in the silence that surrounded me when the people were gone. Do you ever sit in silence and hear yourself think?
You should ...
And I dreamt of music, and far-away places (so close), and of love and dreams and the Chili Peppers and Green Day and the Atari's and a kitten-like girl who loves music, and Queens Of The Stone Age, and Charlie Parker and Miles Davis, and Muse and AFI, and all o' my favourite bands, and even Avril (yes, Avril!) 'cuz she's cute (and Canadian). And then my mind drifted to all the hungry people of the world, who I used to be (and may be again) and to all the posers and Mormons and Kings Homecoming Dance Princes and fools and geniuses and liars millionaires and tramps. Quite tha Calico ensemble.
Then I walked around to the front of the theatre, and saw the sun breaking through from behind the mountains, and wished I'd been here at the turn of the century, or at the Gold Rush, or something. Yes, it seemed like a mining town in Colorado, or something, the hills all naked and welcoming in the past, and I day-dreamed of another time. It was beautiful, surreal, poetic. Then I went to the swankiest breakfast joint in town, and hob-knobbed with some real losers, money people, in fact they treated me like gold (or at least a rock-star, which I may or may not be). They called me, "Sir." Ha! And I drank that fresh coffee I spoke of before, warmed up, thought of everyone out there that I've ever met, smiled, and the circle was completed. Paid extra, skipped hurriedly out the door, to some imagined meeting that didn't exist (like the rest of those guys) and went for a walk along the beach.
How could you expose yourself like that?
How could you do this to our young nation?
How could you sway MTV into such touchy territory?
How could you show Justin Timberlake for what he REALLY is, a dirty ol' man!
How could you, how COULD you?
Oh, Boob ... when will you ever learn??
Timing is everything ...
Why did you pick this time to pop out in tha spotlight?
The holy institution of the Super Bowl is tarnished forever ...
And by the way, if it was so spontaneous, why did you wear that boobie-star?
How do you think this makes your twin sister feel? Does anyone think of her?
And most importantly:
When will you do it again??
Heh. We all await your shiny return ...
(52 million signatures attatched)