Q: "What's brown and sticky??"
A: "A stick!" (Irish Joke - Traditional)
Ha, ha, ha! 72 hours on the road with the 3 outragious loonies from Ireland. Oh, yes, and they had a million of 'em, those three outrageous guys in their ties (I didn't have one - I have a reputation to uphold! right.) and this little fable (all true) is dedicated to YOU! They hail from the jolly town of Shannon in west Ireland, and I, Yours Truly, had the fine opportunity to meet these fellows and escort them around, and well ... drink. Which we did, three days and nights in a row. Starting with the Pearl Jam concert, which was friggin' great, insanely so. Dat boy can sing! And the band was tight as an English granny's bum (sorry mom!) and if anyone in Seattle is reading this you'll have to concur ya know, and our new friendship and an adventure had only yet just begun ... Rrrrock n roll, and whatnot and furthermore, now tune in:
"I'M STILL ALIVE !!!"
Ain't that the truth, and here we go and off we went, me 'n' Aiden (pronounced 'Haiden' in that Italian girls' accent, but more on this later) and also Dangerous Dave, and the man known as COX (say no more) also known as Brave Heart. Cool red beard and the wit of a wicked elf. Try to explain. Pause. Deep breath, carry on typing. How can I describe all that happened in those hours and days and nights? Hard to capture that magic vibe on the tiny limits of this world wide web thing. I wish you guys were my band! No wait, we WERE a band! Yes, we called it GHOST CHEESE. Or Cheese Ghost, I don't remember. Internationale Wicked Fromaggio she called it, the Italian girl from Pisa who joined us, 23 and sweet as pie. Now, I didn't dip into that sweetness, but all of our towers were leaning in her direction (if ya know what I mean). And Aiden is getting married (we wanna play at your wedding!) and all of this took place in, you guessed it, Berlin where yes, we did piss on the Wall (and many other things) and somehow we stumbled onto the idea of transforming ourselves into a Barbershop quartet! So we'd yell out a line and all sing in perfect harmony (screech!) something like:
"Loooook at those two DIKES ON BIKES!" (Uproarious laughter) Or:
"Would you like to come-come-come to the hostelll?"
Yeah, 4 part harmony deluxe and I swear a new style was born!
And then on to the first pub (of many) and then a club where we danced the night away, and did you know that you can turn ANY SONG into Bryan Adams' song 'Summer Of 69'? as long as it starts with a guitar or bass line, da-da-da-da. "I got my first real six-string, bla-bla-da-da-da. We sang that dandy shit to any and all with the loudest Barbershop Quartet howl ever that would make ol' Bryan shimmer with pride! And somewhere in there we danced with a Japanese girl called Yo-Yo. We'll call her Dancing Yo-Yo. She had fun, but I think our ballyhoo sort of blew her mind. This was on day 1. at 3 in the mourn! Then we somehow ended up in the Chunky Kitchen (secret code) at 6 am, where we proceeded to drink 7/9ths of a bottle of Martini. Ouch! Overkill. Then I slept on the boys' floor of their room and got exactly 3 hours of sleep, and woke up all limber and body felt great and hit the reception at noon (as promised) and had a coffee with the afore-mentioned Yo-Yo. Pretty uneventful. Quiet after-noon pizza extra fromaggio with my boys at my favourite snack joint, owned by that guy from Lebanon. (Man, does THAT guy have alot on his mind.) Then it was off to Potsdam ...
Potsdam - ghosts of Stalin, Churchill, cobblestones and too many Russian artifacts to mention, and home of the singer of my favourite euro-band, The Inchtabokatables. They played strings on my new song "I, Energy" so check it out, for any of you who don't know already because you're living in a cave, I suppose ... Yes, the artist who'll we'll call Robert Fucking told us tales of his rock 'n' prowess (the Irish boys ate it up!) such as the time he was playing a festival with the band Placebo, and he was having sex in the shower with a groupie, fucking Robert Fucking, and the singer from Placebo, Brian Milky or whatever-his-name-is tried to come in and then got his big bad bodyguard to try and open the door, and then Robert Fucking sent out a scream that would shock your socks off, opened the door half-naked, and Brian M. said, "Oh ... well, that's a good reason!" and walked away, with bodyguard in tow. We also drank a ton of beer and sambucco. Yum. Then more pizza and more beer, Potsdam style. Somebody made a toast to Fidel (!) I think it was Robert Fucking. And I pitched my idea to do an interview together on Berlin Radio 1 with the ENERGY song. Clap your hands say yeah, and after that had been decided, we drank some more beer and told another (true blue) story of how we went to NIN together and got caught with no ticket (there are different versions as to who may or may not have had a ticket) but we eluded the controlleurs with fancy basketball moves ... then brief hugs and burps and good-byes and a short taxi ride. Then the best part arrived like a sonic boom - we got on the midnight train to go back to Berlin, and um ... something was wrong. We got about half way there, and the train just stopped. Mid-track. In the dark. No sound. And rather then whine about it, the Irish party gnomes and meself did what any fun-lovin' criminals would do - we started to sing! We started rapping and dancing and singing, and there was some tripped out North African guy who joined in, singing and rapping in French (Internationale Cheese Ghost!) which was great. Someone has a video of all this, which went on for about an hour, and just kept getting better! (Please gimme dat video!) And at some point, some really stiffidy ticket takin' man came in and tried to explain in his best nervous apologetic whine why the train was stopped. That nerd really lit a fire under our feet. This is when our creativity REALLY kicked in! And remember that the text you will now read was a blur of beer and sambucca and cocktails and Pisa sauce - delicious! Went like this, in perfect rhythm / unison:
We have ... just ... one ... question ...
Why is the train not movin', movin', movin', movin'?
Why is the TRAIN NOT MOVIN' MOVIN' MOVIN' MOVIN' !!!???
And it got louder and louder and went on and ON, until that funny little man, well, he just had to leave! And we carried on in fine form and took the jam in various directions, as the train continued to just sit there, quietly, and our unity got better and better and fine-tuned and the Ghost Cheese vibe continued to improve (with time). Man, I tell ya that was a spicey jam! Very, very cool. Then we made it back, and somehow awoke on the third day, and went to the Indian buffet (which, by the way, I went to again today and the guy said to me, "Your friends drank alot of beer here!" to which I could've said, "You call that ALOT? You should have seen us in Potsdam!" Or maybe, "You're just lucky you don't have any sambucca, pal!"). And then we went to a sleazey house party and then someone invited us over to dinner and we ate all we could eat and then and then and someone said they wish they had my life, and I laughed and replied that it's all up-hill battles baby, and then another pub and a spontaneous French-bread food fight (which prompted an angry response from the man in leather who'll we'll call Karl who gave us free schnapps but then lectured us on how there's a bread shortage in the world and one shouldn't throw bread out the window and of course he is right, but to which I cool-y replied, 'Hey, didn't you ever see Animal House?') and then someone cried because her friend committed suicide ouch indeed (World Wide Suicide?) but even that didn't get us down 'cuz we was rockin' and rollin' and gettin tha groove on and I encourage everyone reading this to go to Ireland and meet the extraordinary people there, and I'll even meet ya there! Yes, boys, I thank you and had a most amazing time with food/drink/laughter and music. You are the best! I'll miss ya! We turned this ol' fuckin' negative world on it's head! Someone said it was the best weekend of their Life ... and the only thing I really need now, guys is ... MORE COWBELL!!! Peace, -Todd
I wake up in the morning (?) and I think of The Music, I go to the club and think of Music, hear my favourite DJ and have to think of Music, I eat a pizza and think of Music, then I go for a jog and think of Music, kiss my girl and think of Music, I have sex and I hear drums, I ride my bike (to save gas and oil, yes, but also look cool and sweaty like in an MTV video) and I think of Music, talk to a cop and think of rugged Music, talk to a child and answer questions about mathematics (and I see the musical configurations) and profess my love for Music, get in an arguement and then resolve it and think of choruses and verses (Music!) then hear that bass on the radio and go, "That's killer!" all-the-while thinking of Music, I play baseball and think about who's on third base but basically my mind is on the Music, look at a pic of Marilyn Monroe and my brain screams "Music!" and I go in the studio to record and mix music and think of Music, I laugh at the gawd-awful things that the Pope just said (angering precisely half the world) and think of Music to save his Soul, I go to a jazz club and think of Music, I go to a dark-wave club and think of Music, I go to a heavy metal club and think of Music, I go to the bank and I'm dreaming of Music, (not that crappy elevator shit their playing, but REAL music), I ride the train and am jotting down ideas for nothing-but-the-Music, I go to bed and fade to sleep with a wicked smile while the MUSIC plays in my head ... Day and night, night and day - ANY QUESTIONS? Peace, -Todd
Yes, I encourage everyone to ride the horny train ... let me explain. Or, this could also be titled, "Why didn't they let us in the club??" We got soooo lost ... but we were "The Sexy Seven!" on a horny mission.
This is the story of seven people from different countries, who met under dubious circumstances, and rode the train all night. The Horny Train! The (un)usual suspects were, The Big Englishman (so horny), the Tokyo 2 (really horny!) and the Quiet Brazilian (silent but also quite horny) the Shy Catholic (most horny of all!) and her friend (bi-sexual and horny towards both sides) and Yours Truly, Todd (ALWAYS horny). Where should I begin? Well ... it all took place in the magical city of Berlin. Anything goes in this town! So off we went to find this club, that the Tokyo 2 absolutely wanted to find, at all costs. Did we find it? Stayed tuned and I'll tell y'all. The first directions to the club that we got were ALL WRONG. They said, "Yeah - go to Warschauer Strasse. OK, we zipped over there, under a 4 AM beer disguise (no tickets!) underground on the underground! And someone said they were horny, and then the mad danse began. Suddenly we realized 2 things: #1. The club was not there, and we had to ride the train again. And ... #2. We were all horny! Hence, the "Horny Train." And I tell ya, we weren't the only horny ones on that (now 5 am) train! We asked another guy where the club was, and he (purposely) gave us more wrong directions. Bastard! He said, "Oh sure ... I know that club. I work the door there (he lied) sometimes. It's at the famous Alexanderplatz, under the Socialist-Watch World Revolution Clock, in an old Stasi building." Wow! we said, believing his anti-west lies. Of we went on the (next) Horny Train in that direction. It was way off! When we arrived at the exact point he'd led us to, there was nothing there but old ghosts. We asked the next punk rocker where the club was, and he laughed. "It's not here, at all!" he exclaimed, "It's over near the Ostbahnhof (old East Berlin train station)." Fuck! Now we'd heard 3 different stories. The Tokyo Two were clearly frustrated. It was nearly 6 am, and we still hadn't found the club yet. OK, think clearly - what do we do? Drink abeer at the train station, of course! I guess we really made that hot dog stand guy's night when we walked in, a group of seven, 007 actually, on a horny mission ... and ordered seven beers at 6 am! The Sexy Seven, being open minded party people, tried three different types of beer: Berliner, Jever, and Flensburger (my personal favourite). Through all of this, the Shy Catholic girl was getting more and more horny. It was obvious, it was visible. She was (not so) secretly dripping with lust for one of the Japanese guys. Don't tell her mama! Her chosen lover started picking up her sexy vibe. He mumbled something about "being so horny" in Japanese. She smiled a shy Catholic smile back, her friend who is the cutest (and horniest) Bi-sexual Princess in Pisa was busy watching other girls, the Big Englishman was polite (and horny), the Small Brazilian didn't understand a word, but laughed along, the Tokyo 2 were chatting back and forth in secret jargon, and I was giggling proficiently and enjoying my Flens. The double scoop of fun (the Italian 2) started saying that they hate it when people talk about Italians and the mafia in the same breath. That's not sexy! Then suddenly, three Asian girls walked in and started flirting, and we all hoped that this was NOT the dreaded Sushi Mafia! Cuz, ya know, under the rules of stereotypes and cliches, Americans are stupid, Catholics always are repressed until they (sexually) explode, and Asian girls always represent the Sushi Mafia! (Not a sexual term ...) Then we got back on the Horny Train, the same one we'd just been on, going the other direction. The Shy Catholic started asking the Pisa Princess (in Italian) if she SHOULD do this? Would it be morally right? What will you think? I'm not that type of girl, etc. To which the second guy from the Tokyo Two replied to the Pisa Princess, "Hey - my friend is a GOOD FUCKER!" We all just animals, basically. That says it all, and she was about to find out! When we finally DID find the club, it was after 6 am. The club was pumping, but they didn't let us in! Why? We may never know. I thought it was because I had a backpack (standard Friday nite fare), the Big Englishman thought (THEY thought) he was too old, the Shy Catholic thought (THEY thought) she was too young, The Pisa Princess thought the doormen were racist, the Quiet Brazilian didn't really understand what was going on, and the Tokyo 2 were just relieved to find the club! The Big Englishman asked in his best English for an explanation as to why they weren't letting us in. He was so polite. It was touching. He was a real gentleman (talking to some real thugs). It was really sweet how he tried to gentle-coax those burly bar room dummies into letting us in. They barred their teeth and barred us, to. Dunno why. He said, "This would never happen in the UK." Exactly. Got on the underground, and we were ALL TOO SEXY for that train! So off we went again, this time back to the hotel where we'd all met (or so I thought). Let's go back there I said to the sexy Japanese guy, who was most certainly about to score. No, no he said. Why not? I asked - the bar is still open. "I can't," he retorted, "I can't walk in there with this Italian girl, cuz I had sex with the receptionist last night!!!" Oh, man, that is scorchin' fuckin' hot! So we couldn't go back, and we had the choice of going to the park (now 7 am!) or heading off to a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend's flat. Which we did, and the Shy One had mad passionate dirty sex with One of the Tokyo 2 (while we watched) and the Princess from Pisa laid on the floor, soaked in vodka and yelling, "I am soooo horny!" and I say that vodka at the END of a long night is ALWAYS a killer, and I ended up at 9:30 in the mourn riding my bike across town with a smile and a laugh and COMPLETELY zonked outta my mind, and all I can say is that I'd do it all again and we MUST MEET AGAIN, and one or two of said accomplises have already told me that that was the greatest night of their lives, and I say to this, "Yeahhhhh ..." Live, Love, Prosper ... and be Horny. Always. Peace, -Todd
Things I did on my birthday:
Drank a strong black cup of Joe, read a book, sipped red wine with friends, helped a beautiful dancer-girl-friend of mine from Australia move her whole house, ugh, waited for these "Russian" guys to show up who she'd called as "movers" (she'd used them before, strong and young and hard), when they finally showed up ninety-minutes late they were actually two guys from Africa speaking fluent French, they'd sent the wrong guys, we looked at each other and she said, "Oh, BLACK RUSSIANS!" which was really funny and then the drinking began, and this is certainly the best anti-racist joke I've heard in awhile, and racism is quite simply ALWAYS a joke, right, and then after said move and key return (LOVE is the Key) we sat on the corner of Paul Robeson Street named after the great poet/singer/activist (I had to go all the way to Europe to learn about Mr. Robeson, one of the greatest Americans who ever lived, yes he was black, funny we never learned about him in school), and have you noticed that the theme of this short peace revolves around all things BLACK? and then I sent a message to that girl in Chicago who used to give me head til yo dead, ahhh so incredibly well (sorry, mom) and she showed me old records from Paul Robeson from her dad's collection, and we exchanged losing-your-virginity stories, how I met that gorgeous cutie from Mecklenburg on this same street and had my first German sex, but I'm getting sidetracked, yeah so we drank (another) black cup of coffee, and suddenly this old man came up to my friend and said in an exotic language, "Young miss, you really should stop smoking, I have lost a few people in my life to that terrible drug," and he was sweet and nimble, and he was polite and smart and fascinating, we listened and he rambled on, looked about fifty but said he was seventy, pretty amazing, fit as a fiddle and rides his bike every day, out-rides guys my age he said, said time is an illusion, then he asked me my age (as it were, my birthday) and I lied (to make him feel younger) and he laughed, and he carried on about politics and cities and countries and wars, and many things he'd lived through, including losing friends as I imagined her lungs getting blacker every minute, listen to the Wise I sayeth thee, tune in, we listened with young and hungry ears, and then he was gone as fast as he'd come, "An angel ..." she said, but whether he was flesh or a holy messenger who-knew but I tell ya this, the best thing he said stayed with me, "The most important thing to be grateful for is your health!" and I pass this on, and in this spirit I rode my bike for about an hour, then had a good drink and a laugh, they got me a chocolate cake! and I met my sexy new secret lover and did it doggie-style (to our mutual delight) while the guests in the restaurant next door listened on, while the photo of Preston Love looked over us, Preston my hero and friend, musician and mentor, Mr. Love the sax man genius who was yes, a BLACK man, and who's ghost (he died in 2004 at the age of 85, but could still out-run a jaguar) cheered me on as I did it with a delicious white woman! Oh, how I cried when he died. He said to let every day count. Let me be the new Mr. Love! I miss you so much, Preston! LOVE will never die ... It's great to be alive, Carpe Diem ... Gawd I need some sleep ...