I didn't have to pee in anyone's baptismal jacuzzi
Had a great weekend with Mary Simon. We love her. Met her mom and family. All very nice. The gig went well - kind of weird though. I only did 5-6 songs, but everyone sat there with their arms crossed and not moving a muscle. I figured, well they're younger people, and my music style appeals to an older crowd, so whatever, that's okay. They'll perk up for Mary.
So Mary gets up with her band and rocks the house (or the church as it were) and they all....sat there with their arms crossed not moving a muscle. Hmmm...
But she sold 30 CDs! Whoa! Me? I sold 3.
I didn't sing Kiss That Boy or Tasted Like Ice Cream, as I thought they might stone me, then stone Mary for associating with me, but I must say, people were very nice.
It's strange at times, being both a Christian AND a lesbian, because I have to be closeted to each about the other. If I tell gay people I'm a Christian, they blow a gasket, and if I tell Christian people I'm gay, they freak out. Sometimes. I'm speaking in generalities though, because I've met many Christians (like Mary, and the guy who produced my CD, and his wife, and the guys who played on my CD, and...) who are devout Christians but don't care that I'm gay. They understand that even if they have a moral issue with it, my life actions are between me and God, and not me and some jerk waving a bible in my face. Anyway, I have a unique perspective on God and Jesus and what it means to be Christian, and I'm into all that metaphysical shit, too. But I digress. Some day I'll post my god manifesto.
Mary and I had an interesting conversation about the night, because here I was nervous about singing "out" songs to a Christian audience, and she's nervous about singing Christian songs to a bar crowd. Go figure.
The next morning Mary and I went to her church, where she does the music for the contemporary service, and they had a guest preacher there who just blew me away. Not only did he present an inspiring message, he was an amazing speaker. After, we went to East Side Mario's for lunch and good canadian beer, then off I went.
Did I mention we love Mary?
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
Too Busy To Blog
I have been so frickin' busy. Not even listening to the radio or TV, so I don't even have a rant, which is okay because truth be told I haven't been as aggravated. But that's not the point of my post today.
The point is just to say I'm going to Toronto. No, not to get married. Because God knows I can't do that here. But I digress. I'm doing a gig with Mary Simon. She's doing her CD release even though she has a sore throat.
The gig is in a church. We'll see if the walls come crashing down when this "abomination" crosses the threshold of his house. Even though I am a Christian.
I'm sure the Border Patrol will be a more formidable foe than any homophobic Christian!
Peace, peeps!
I have been so frickin' busy. Not even listening to the radio or TV, so I don't even have a rant, which is okay because truth be told I haven't been as aggravated. But that's not the point of my post today.
The point is just to say I'm going to Toronto. No, not to get married. Because God knows I can't do that here. But I digress. I'm doing a gig with Mary Simon. She's doing her CD release even though she has a sore throat.
The gig is in a church. We'll see if the walls come crashing down when this "abomination" crosses the threshold of his house. Even though I am a Christian.
I'm sure the Border Patrol will be a more formidable foe than any homophobic Christian!
Peace, peeps!
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Happy Saturday
Here is my Anti-Valentine's Day Hiaku, © 2003 by Bitter.
High Coup
Dumb hetero girls
Pussywhip their nice boyfriends
On Valentine's Day
Buy them some flowers
Or they'll hold it against you
The rest of the year
What if he's decent
Two-four-seven, three-six-five?
It doesn't matter
Get used to it, boys
This is the way it will be
The rest of your lives.
_____________________________
That being said, there's one reason to celebrate St. Valentine, the Roman priest.
Emperor Claudius believed that he was having trouble getting men to go to war because they did not want to leave their lovers and families. He also believed a married man made a bad soldier, since they perhaps would not fight to the death. For this he banned marriages. St. Valentine, believing this an unjust law, secretly married people. For this he was arrested, jailed, and executed.
St. Valentine should be the patron saint of gay people everywhere, who are unjustly prevented from marrying. We can relate to this history.
And as a second thought, remember when black people we not allowed to marry white people? Just a reminder.
Here is my Anti-Valentine's Day Hiaku, © 2003 by Bitter.
High Coup
Dumb hetero girls
Pussywhip their nice boyfriends
On Valentine's Day
Buy them some flowers
Or they'll hold it against you
The rest of the year
What if he's decent
Two-four-seven, three-six-five?
It doesn't matter
Get used to it, boys
This is the way it will be
The rest of your lives.
_____________________________
That being said, there's one reason to celebrate St. Valentine, the Roman priest.
Emperor Claudius believed that he was having trouble getting men to go to war because they did not want to leave their lovers and families. He also believed a married man made a bad soldier, since they perhaps would not fight to the death. For this he banned marriages. St. Valentine, believing this an unjust law, secretly married people. For this he was arrested, jailed, and executed.
St. Valentine should be the patron saint of gay people everywhere, who are unjustly prevented from marrying. We can relate to this history.
And as a second thought, remember when black people we not allowed to marry white people? Just a reminder.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
I have nothing to say.
Just checking in. In a fit of Virgo Moon hysterica (last week) I've been really busy rearranging my office and am now wading through piles and piles of crap that have been sitting here... well, piling up waiting for my attention. Which I gave it. Which of course means I haven't had sex all week because I've been here instead of...there. Not that you care.
See what happens when I actually plan a task and stick to it? I don't read the paper or see the news or any of those other things that cause me to erupt like a whitehead on a teenager's face. Those teeny little details of life in America that make me so totally mental because I lack tolerance for just about everything stupid and annoying, which much in America is. No media, no rant. Which is fine. I've been a little tired lately anyway, and have enjoyed the feeling of not having my stomach in a knot.
I remind myself of HotHead Paisan, the Homocidal Lesbian Terrorist, who is so burnt out by the media's constant bombardment of images reminding her of everyday injustice in the world that she occasionally loses it, packs her guns and grenades, and with her sidekick cat "Chicken" in tow, they go on a rampage and make things right with the world again. Ah. My heroine. I miss Hothead, as they are no longer making that comic 'zine. But I have everyone of them. Perhaps it's time to read them again.
So let that be a lesson to me. Turn off the TV and perhaps two things will happen: 1) I will catch up on work and maybe even book a tour, and 2) I may even become nice.
Just checking in. In a fit of Virgo Moon hysterica (last week) I've been really busy rearranging my office and am now wading through piles and piles of crap that have been sitting here... well, piling up waiting for my attention. Which I gave it. Which of course means I haven't had sex all week because I've been here instead of...there. Not that you care.
See what happens when I actually plan a task and stick to it? I don't read the paper or see the news or any of those other things that cause me to erupt like a whitehead on a teenager's face. Those teeny little details of life in America that make me so totally mental because I lack tolerance for just about everything stupid and annoying, which much in America is. No media, no rant. Which is fine. I've been a little tired lately anyway, and have enjoyed the feeling of not having my stomach in a knot.
I remind myself of HotHead Paisan, the Homocidal Lesbian Terrorist, who is so burnt out by the media's constant bombardment of images reminding her of everyday injustice in the world that she occasionally loses it, packs her guns and grenades, and with her sidekick cat "Chicken" in tow, they go on a rampage and make things right with the world again. Ah. My heroine. I miss Hothead, as they are no longer making that comic 'zine. But I have everyone of them. Perhaps it's time to read them again.
So let that be a lesson to me. Turn off the TV and perhaps two things will happen: 1) I will catch up on work and maybe even book a tour, and 2) I may even become nice.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Thoughts on the Grammies
-No, we didn't win in the polka category.
-Kudos to Patti Labelle for dropping Janet Jackson's name during the segment from which Janet was dis-invited.
-I can NOT believe Justin Timberlake won best male performance in the pop category. His mother looks like a putana and I'm pretty sure he's sleeping with her.
-I had to laugh when Latifah, introducing Christina Aguilera, said "Sometimes it's not about the spectacle", then Christina appears onstage with a full choir, full orchestra, and stage smoke. She gave a great performance though. But she should have been arrested for crimes against fashion for that hideous dress she was wearing when she accepted her award.
-Beyonce is my new hero. What an amazing, unique and beautiful performance she gave, and she's classy to boot, not like all these other tramps and harlots.
-What an insult to Chick Corea and Arturo Sandoval to be matched with the Foo Fighters and Justin, respectively and be made to play down to their levels. I mean, asking Chick Corea to play over G, Em, and D chords? He could fart those changes.
-Yay to Sarah McLachlan and Alison Krauss together.
-I would have LOVED to see the diva hissy fit Celine Dion (a/k/a the anti-christ) threw about the sound problems after her performance.
-I loved the whole segment Samuel L. Jackson did as the preacher of funk, with Earth Wind and Fire.
-Yoko Ono needs to eat something. And she needs to drop the accent, she's been in this country for 40 years already. And she needs to be bitch-slapped, on general principle.
-Madonna. I still can't figure out why I like her. Whatever.
-I have no idea what happened after 11:00, as I stopped watching after that, because I had to go home and I was pretty drunk by then, having consumed many shots of rum and a couple of beers, because it's the only way I can get through this obnoxious parade of no-talents winning awards for excellence they don't possess, while talented artists rot in coffeehouses.
-No, we didn't win in the polka category.
-No, we didn't win in the polka category.
-Kudos to Patti Labelle for dropping Janet Jackson's name during the segment from which Janet was dis-invited.
-I can NOT believe Justin Timberlake won best male performance in the pop category. His mother looks like a putana and I'm pretty sure he's sleeping with her.
-I had to laugh when Latifah, introducing Christina Aguilera, said "Sometimes it's not about the spectacle", then Christina appears onstage with a full choir, full orchestra, and stage smoke. She gave a great performance though. But she should have been arrested for crimes against fashion for that hideous dress she was wearing when she accepted her award.
-Beyonce is my new hero. What an amazing, unique and beautiful performance she gave, and she's classy to boot, not like all these other tramps and harlots.
-What an insult to Chick Corea and Arturo Sandoval to be matched with the Foo Fighters and Justin, respectively and be made to play down to their levels. I mean, asking Chick Corea to play over G, Em, and D chords? He could fart those changes.
-Yay to Sarah McLachlan and Alison Krauss together.
-I would have LOVED to see the diva hissy fit Celine Dion (a/k/a the anti-christ) threw about the sound problems after her performance.
-I loved the whole segment Samuel L. Jackson did as the preacher of funk, with Earth Wind and Fire.
-Yoko Ono needs to eat something. And she needs to drop the accent, she's been in this country for 40 years already. And she needs to be bitch-slapped, on general principle.
-Madonna. I still can't figure out why I like her. Whatever.
-I have no idea what happened after 11:00, as I stopped watching after that, because I had to go home and I was pretty drunk by then, having consumed many shots of rum and a couple of beers, because it's the only way I can get through this obnoxious parade of no-talents winning awards for excellence they don't possess, while talented artists rot in coffeehouses.
-No, we didn't win in the polka category.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
I'm not a TV lesbian, but I play one in real life...
I know I'm a lesbo, but please shoot me real dead if ever:
1) I become a golfer.
2) I can name the current top-seeded female tennis player.
3) I hang a Georgia O'Keefe print on my wall.
4) Or for that matter one of those insipid Anne Geddes baby photos.
5) I vote for Hillary Clinton.
6) I go camping for fun.
7) Or for that matter I think Michigan is a great idea for a vacation.
8) I think Cris Williamson is the end-all, be-all of "women's music".
9) I think that the L-Word is great television.
10) Or for that matter I arrange my schedule to watch any of these obnoxious "gay" shows whereby every extreme stereotype is paraded into American living rooms, even though I've spent my whole life fighting to convince America that they are only stereotypes and do not accurately portray the gay community as a whole, and even though real life gay people who exhibit these stereotypes have been oppressed, bashed and murdered because of them.
I know I'm a lesbo, but please shoot me real dead if ever:
1) I become a golfer.
2) I can name the current top-seeded female tennis player.
3) I hang a Georgia O'Keefe print on my wall.
4) Or for that matter one of those insipid Anne Geddes baby photos.
5) I vote for Hillary Clinton.
6) I go camping for fun.
7) Or for that matter I think Michigan is a great idea for a vacation.
8) I think Cris Williamson is the end-all, be-all of "women's music".
9) I think that the L-Word is great television.
10) Or for that matter I arrange my schedule to watch any of these obnoxious "gay" shows whereby every extreme stereotype is paraded into American living rooms, even though I've spent my whole life fighting to convince America that they are only stereotypes and do not accurately portray the gay community as a whole, and even though real life gay people who exhibit these stereotypes have been oppressed, bashed and murdered because of them.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Fuck those fucking misogynist fuckers
Men have been looking at girlie magazines since they were 12. They go to tittie bars and pay stupid amounts of money to watch a bimbo dance and stick dollars in her g-string. They pay for sex. They go to porn shops and go into video arcades and adult movies, all for a glimpse of female skin. This is no secret to anyone in the universe who has two brain cells to rub together.
And now eveyone's gonna implode because they saw a speck of a half-covered tit for a jillionth of a second.
And let me just say this: "Costume malfunction" my fat ass. "Accident" my left ovary. Why was she wearing the pastie then?
That being said, I'm here to say that Janet Jackson is a chickenshit wimp. Because if she wasn't, she'd be having a press conference to say, "Look, assholes. Kid Rock was singing about cocaine and crack and methodone. Nelly grabbed his prick the entire time he was on stage. One of the advertisers was a pharmaceutical company hawking an impotency pill that specifically mentioned "erections". And y'all are gonna single me out as inappropriate? Nobody minds that my male dancers had their nipples to the wind. My nipple was covered. Why is the male breast viewable in public and not the female breast? Because we have overly sexualized views about what exactly the female breast represents and what it's purpose is. It is archaic and we need to start changing our perverted thinking about women's bodies."
Not one of those half-time acts was appropriate for a "family-viewing" audience. So why is she being singled out?
Do I have to spell it out for you?
Because she's a W-O-M-A-N.
Men have been looking at girlie magazines since they were 12. They go to tittie bars and pay stupid amounts of money to watch a bimbo dance and stick dollars in her g-string. They pay for sex. They go to porn shops and go into video arcades and adult movies, all for a glimpse of female skin. This is no secret to anyone in the universe who has two brain cells to rub together.
And now eveyone's gonna implode because they saw a speck of a half-covered tit for a jillionth of a second.
And let me just say this: "Costume malfunction" my fat ass. "Accident" my left ovary. Why was she wearing the pastie then?
That being said, I'm here to say that Janet Jackson is a chickenshit wimp. Because if she wasn't, she'd be having a press conference to say, "Look, assholes. Kid Rock was singing about cocaine and crack and methodone. Nelly grabbed his prick the entire time he was on stage. One of the advertisers was a pharmaceutical company hawking an impotency pill that specifically mentioned "erections". And y'all are gonna single me out as inappropriate? Nobody minds that my male dancers had their nipples to the wind. My nipple was covered. Why is the male breast viewable in public and not the female breast? Because we have overly sexualized views about what exactly the female breast represents and what it's purpose is. It is archaic and we need to start changing our perverted thinking about women's bodies."
Not one of those half-time acts was appropriate for a "family-viewing" audience. So why is she being singled out?
Do I have to spell it out for you?
Because she's a W-O-M-A-N.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Do you really need a rodent to tell you when spring is coming?
Now, really, people. Who among us anxiously awaits the silly goings-on in Pennsylvania, pacing the frozen floor like a father in the maternity waiting room, wondering if the stupid ground hog saw his shadow or not? Whether that pampered creature saw it is irrelevant, if in fact ground hogs are even AFRAID of shadows. And how do we know he actually sees it? Does a pea-brained burrowing animal even know what a shadow is?
Just go look at your frickin' calendar and count the weeks between now and the Spring Equinox. Oh, look at that, just about six weeks away, isn't it?
Don't those morons in Pennsylvania have anything more exciting to do down there than play with what should be roadkill anyway?
One ground hog stew, coming up!
Now, really, people. Who among us anxiously awaits the silly goings-on in Pennsylvania, pacing the frozen floor like a father in the maternity waiting room, wondering if the stupid ground hog saw his shadow or not? Whether that pampered creature saw it is irrelevant, if in fact ground hogs are even AFRAID of shadows. And how do we know he actually sees it? Does a pea-brained burrowing animal even know what a shadow is?
Just go look at your frickin' calendar and count the weeks between now and the Spring Equinox. Oh, look at that, just about six weeks away, isn't it?
Don't those morons in Pennsylvania have anything more exciting to do down there than play with what should be roadkill anyway?
One ground hog stew, coming up!
Whew!
Well, it's over! Two CD release concerts out of the way. What a relief! And they went so well, too. The Buffalo show had about 125 people and we rocked! My pals were there and they were screaming and whooping and hollering. Made almost 600 bucks at the door plus CD sales. Of course, that's gross - had to pay the expenses, split it with Mary, then pay the band, which left me....40 bucks! Woo hoo!
Then the Rochester shows went really well, too. Lost money there at the door, but made a good chunk on CD sales. And MY BAND ROCKED SO HARD!!! They were awesome. It's the best I ever heard my drummer play. After the Rochester show we had to tear down the entire system - I brought my own sound system, plus all our gear, and by the time I got home, I was so fucking tired I was stupid. Dropped a few things off at home, then Kelly put me in her car and brought me to her house. Turns out when I left my house I had left the water faucet running in the bathroom, and my mom found it when she got home. Told you, stupid tired. No damage done.
I slept until noon on Saturday, then went home for awhile. Went back to Kelly's later on to watch a movie which I fell asleep during, because I was still so tired. But by Sunday I was a new woman. Relaxed, rested, and not a bitter feeling in sight. Because for a brief moment in time, my dreams had come true: I was playing with a great band to large, appreciative audiences and making money doing it. I was feeling the love.
More, please!
Well, it's over! Two CD release concerts out of the way. What a relief! And they went so well, too. The Buffalo show had about 125 people and we rocked! My pals were there and they were screaming and whooping and hollering. Made almost 600 bucks at the door plus CD sales. Of course, that's gross - had to pay the expenses, split it with Mary, then pay the band, which left me....40 bucks! Woo hoo!
Then the Rochester shows went really well, too. Lost money there at the door, but made a good chunk on CD sales. And MY BAND ROCKED SO HARD!!! They were awesome. It's the best I ever heard my drummer play. After the Rochester show we had to tear down the entire system - I brought my own sound system, plus all our gear, and by the time I got home, I was so fucking tired I was stupid. Dropped a few things off at home, then Kelly put me in her car and brought me to her house. Turns out when I left my house I had left the water faucet running in the bathroom, and my mom found it when she got home. Told you, stupid tired. No damage done.
I slept until noon on Saturday, then went home for awhile. Went back to Kelly's later on to watch a movie which I fell asleep during, because I was still so tired. But by Sunday I was a new woman. Relaxed, rested, and not a bitter feeling in sight. Because for a brief moment in time, my dreams had come true: I was playing with a great band to large, appreciative audiences and making money doing it. I was feeling the love.
More, please!
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