A Fractured Fairy Tale, Part Two

Lady Y and J were making a habit of it. Things had started to get weird. Lord N was never around. Here was a lonely lass with eyes that could melt any man's heart. What was a poor stall vendor to do?

J had thought that he and his one true love would whether the storms of time forever. When this idea proved to be folly, as his L was swallowed up by the Unbelievable Serpent Consumption, he resorted to what he knew best. Lots and lots of self loathing. Loads of it. Enough to kill lesser men, not that he was all that high up on the mighty man scale to begin with. He took some comfort in the fact that his liver was mightily fortified with his white trash Irish stock and his music player was chock full of madrigals that would kill men of a less melancholy state.

Every Saturday night, as his stall closed down and the market was done mercantiling for the day, he would meet Lady Y at a remote and clandestine mead house were they would not be spotted. It had been going on well over a month now, and chaste it most certainly was. Until the night when the Baron showed his face in their favorite spot, spouting platitudes and empty threats that had only warmed J's heart in the past.

"Ah young J," the Baron began, drunk and staggering in, a thin piece of drool dangling from the corner of his mouth, "what art thou doing making time with Lady Y? Art thou one big doof? Don't you know Lord N will have thoust nuts in a vice if he were to ever disocver you two making time together?"

Truthfully, J had not considered his nuts at all. They had been somewhat in the back of his mind for sometime now. In fact, he had almost forgotten he had them. These were troubling times.

"In truth, dear Baron, the Lady Y and I were only discussing new flooring for her mansion. I can get her a deal on good Pergo floors at mightily a discount."

"How about getting me a discount on a strong ale?"

It was good to see The Baron up to his old tricks.

"Everyone knows you two are making the cutie eye at each other," said the Baron mischievously. "If thou doesn't want me to spill the beans, you had better buy me a ale, and a Maker's on the rocks tut suite. That'll shut me up right and good."

J knew the Baron was only half serious. He paid for The Baron's drinks and turned to Lady Y.

"What are we doing?"

"I don't know. What are you doing?," Lady Y replied, showing her best poker face. "I'm having a drink. How about you?"

These women. They were inscrutable.

After The Baron collected his medicine, the three of them sat in silence as the jukebox played songs of longing and regret. Finally, after housing his two drinks, The Baron stood clumsily, belched and said "Give me a cigarette, you little shit."

J obliged.

The Baron clattered out the front door of the watering hole into the warm April night. Smoking one of J's cigarettes, he was out of earshot for the moment.

"We got trouble on our hands, Lady Y," J said dejectedly.

"Whatever do you mean, Master J?"

"I mean, I look forward to our talks every week. But what of Lord N? And what of you? If we were ever to be caught, my nuts would be swinging from a tree."

"Then you better find some other place for them, J."

"Why do you want to spend so much time with me? Are you really going to be buying new hardwood floors? I hear talk of great tiles from Portugal. Let me see what I can do."

"I care not for Portugese tile. All I'm interested in is this next round of Bacardi and Cokes and bourbon. How you like me now?"

"Me fancies you quite mightily."

"Thanks. You ain't so bad your own damn self."

"This can only lead to no good. Your ousting from the house of N. And my death most probably."

"But we haven't done anything bad, have we? One kiss and some lemonade, big whoop. Where does that rate on the big scale of bad shit done to others knowingly? Is it really that awful?"

"I guess not. But it still seems wrong somehow."

It was then that Lady Y kissed him forcefully on his lips. He did nothing to pull away. She slapped him playfully on the cheek. J was hooked good.

"There. Now we've done something bad. What should we do next? I tire of this remote watering hole. I'm a lady dammit, and I want the good stuff. Let's sup on pizza and Pabst. At your rent stabilized hut. I hear there are matches consisting of three point shooting and gritty zone defense being played right now on the television. Perhaps Squire Manu will do something truly out of this world. Or maybe Big Shot Bob. Let's locomote."

It was then that The Baron wondered in, farted loudly and tripped over the dog warming himself by the fire. He wasn't getting up anytime soon.

And The Winner Is...

The day is upon us, and as promised, we here at Soy un Cabron have made a decision. It was not easy, as decisions like these never are. But after much thought, some politicking on the part of the contestants, and a revelation on the part of the Twilight Singers that there is to be added booty to the prize, the judges have made a decision.

The winner of the First Ever Tdawgblog Contest is.......


MISS JESSICA SONDERS!

Miss Sonder's heartwarming and sidesplitting entry on Prince was too good to not give two enthusiastic thumbs up to! We salute you Miss Sonders and hope you are prepared to rock your fucking socks off. And knowing Mr. Dulli, most probably your delicates, too.

Fear not, all other entrants, for there is something in it for you. There were many great entries on topics far and wide, from childhood to love gone wrong, to self loathing, all set to the music of PJ, Mark Lanegan, The Beatles and even Richard Buckner! And as a sincere thank you for all your soul baring efforts, you will recieve not one, but TWO CD's courtesy of Soy un Cabron. The first is a self made compilation entitled, simply enough, "The Best Of Greg Dulli." The second is a burned copy of the new Twilight Singers CD, 'Powder Burns', which is already being hailed by several indie critics as the best rock record of the year.

As an added bonus for the winner, the judges at Soy Un Cabron have recently found out that they will be escorting Miss Sonders to a Twilight after party on the eve of the show!

Sometimes it pays to know people.

Sometimes those people owe you money.

Sometimes you try to do something nice for someone, but the signals get all crossed.

Somtimes only Greg Dulli can understand.

Thanks again to everyone for entering!

A Fractured Fairy Tale, Part One

Y lived with her boyfriend Lord N in a castle high above the peasants and paupers of the kingdom. Her long beautiful hair and big brown eyes captivated many from afar. She had the fineries of the world at her fingertips but real love was not among them. J had met her in passing one day as she came down from the castle to do some shopping and see how the common people lived. He was struck by her remoteness and slight melancholy. She bought many fine items for her castle from him, mainly because there was something in him she found appealing. He helped her find things to her liking and took them back to her castle for her. She offered him a tall glass of lemonade as a thank you for his efforts and he politely accepted. They chatted about things and she was struck by his melancholy as well. There was something deep and hidden about both of them, and each could sense it in the other. No one messes with a lord's lady, though, you know what I'm saying?

She continued her weekly trip into the town, making sure that he would be there when she came down. She looked forward to his visits to her castle with her items in tow, and there talks about the sadness each of them felt. She offered to make him dinner, but he declined, more out of fear of the Lord N than from disinterest. She assured him that N was away, fighting wars in far away lands and wouldnt return until Monday at the earliest. He reluctantly agreed to stay, although he knew deep down it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

They continued their weekly routine for sometime, always ending with a lingering sense of an unspoken something between them as they said goodbye. Trudging home the many miles to his small hut on the outskirts of town, J would stop at a local watering hole to think things through. His mug of ale emptied many times over, he would wonder if what he was doing was truly wrong or if he was just befriending another lonely soul such as himself. J had lost his one true love, L, some months ago to the Unbelievable Serpent Consumption. He would ponder her absence and tell the proprietor to play songs sung in a minor key by balladers such as Greg the Drunk or Ryan The Lout, and even sometimes Mark The Haunted, troubadors who truly got at what was eating J alive. As he would trudge over dales and hills home in the late night light of the moon, he would often sing their ballads loud and off pitch. More than once animals arose from their slumber angry and would try to attack J as he keened from deep within. He had the cuts and teethmarks to prove it. But he arose each day and went back to his stall, looking forward longingly to his next encounter with Y.

Their visits continued and once she even snuck away to meet him at his watering hole of choice, totally unannounced. Everyone mistook them for lovers, and he didn't mind the confusion. He was at odds with himself because he was still in mourning and knew he wouldn't be over L for a long time, but he deeply wanted to spend all the time he could with Y. But she was a lord's lady. And he was a mere merchant, no one important or of any note. Y also shared the same name as L's mother. Funnily enough, Lord N had the same name as L's father, and J was accutely aware of the irony there within.
It was as if the hands of fate were playing a cruel game with his heart, and he didn't know the rules. He had been cheated on before, and never wanted to do that to someone else, even if he was a distant and possesive Lord.

After her surpise visit to his watering hole, she asked to see where he lived. He told her it was dangerous for a fine lady such as herself to walk through the woods so late at night, but she told hime not to worry, for she was a grown woman and could fend for herself. Lord N was away fighting another battle and she could do as she pleased. He reluctantly allowed her to follow him back to his small rent stabilized hut, and they sat talking of gossip from within the town on his tiny thatched futon. They spoke of the troubles of Baron von Lovechops, a famed poet and novelist in the village, one given to excessive drinking and wild proclamations about such and such a dead writer. He was deaf in one ear and had accused many of being the cause for his drunkness, even J once. He felt it an honor to even be recognized by such a famed lunatic, and politely agreed that he was the root of the Baron's trouble. The Baron then asked him if he could borrow some money for another drink. J took this as a sign of the Baron's affection towards J. He lent him the silver neccesary.
He had never been repaid. It was The Baron's way.


As J was relaying this story Y kissed him on the lips.
He felt something he hadn't felt in months. Pleasure. Excitement. Tingling. They embraced for a moment or ten, before J guiltily stopped and told Y that what they were doing was wrong. He told her she should go back to her castle and wait for Lord N, who would probably be bringing her fancy fineries from his war mongering abroad, and maybe even tickets to see Radiohead. Neither of them made a move for the door, and finally J spoke.

'I shall walk you back to your castle.'

'You are mightily filled with ale, dear sir,' she said.

'That is true. Perhaps I should pee first.'

'Good idea.'

He took care of the matter at hand and then took her by the hand and walked her out his door into the windy night. Lit by moonlight they walked the many miles back to the castle under the cover of night and finally they arrived at the draw bridge of her castle.

'The Lord isn't back yet. You could sleep on our couch and in the morning go back to the village.'

He declined. She insisted. After a lengthy discussion on the matter he agreed. Plus he really had to pee again.

Last Day To Enter!

Finally, at long last, the competition has started heating up. We've had a wave of entries in the last 24 hours, with some serious trips down memory and musical lane. I thank everyone that has taken the time to enter my contest. I hope there will still be some more entries before the midnight deadline. Winner to be announced this Friday!
In an effort to show you just how bad a mutha the Dullster is, I was checking out setlists from the first few shows, and the dude is covering 'Crazy' by Gnarls Barkley!
How effing cool is that? That is by the far the jam of the summer, and he's already working it into his show! If you haven't heard this song yet, please do yourself a favor! Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo Green, fah realz.

Five, Five & 6

Obliteration. It's a word that's been popping up alot lately. For various reasons.
Last week was a milestone marker for many things, and me being the memory whore that I am, noted the irony of several different 'anniversaries' all coming to pass in the same godforsaken seven day period.

Consistency, according to Emerson, is the hobgoblin of little minds. I am hoping he wasn't referring to the San Antonio Spurs when he wrote that. Nevertheless, it's hard to believe it's been FIVE FREAKING YEARS since I started working at the museum.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! I just found out if I'm here one more year, I will get A PENSION. I'm not even thirty, and already I'm almost eligible for a pension. I guess in some ways this is a good thing, right? We probably won't have social security by the time I'm 65, so that extra 80 bucks is going to really come in handy.
I've been lucky to have a regular monkey job, focus solely on the art, not had to take the work home, just been left free to 'live' my New York life. Why the hell do I feel so lame then? I never envisioned staying in one place so long. I've been here longer than I went to college, longer than any relationship I've had, and only seven months shorter than the entire time I've been in NY. Am I of little mind?

Don't get me wrong, it's been good to me at times, for sure, and I have come to know a rogue's gallery of sychophants and playas who I hold near and dear to me. I could tell stories that would make your skin crawl and your liver harden, and some of you have heard said stories. One person in particular, begged me to quit talking about work because it made me upset, which in turn made them upset.

The other thing about my job is that I feel a slow atrophying of hope. Again, obliteration. I don't know how I managed to pull myself out of this a few months ago, but some days it feels incredibly difficult to get out of bed and go deal with the general public. I'm not complaining and I'm not looking for reassurances, I'm just saying. The consistent dull ache of the museum has invaded every cell of my soul. And yet I keep on. Why? Is it because it's the only job I know of where I can speak to people in a variety of accents and guises without fear of getting in trouble? Is it because I have priceless works of art in back and front and side to side of me? Is it because I can go hide in the storage closet and read or run lines or even sleep if I want to? Is it because of people like The Baron and Little Robbie and Rev. Erection and Doctor Feelwood? Is it because most of my friends here can apply the dialogue from The Big Lebowski to almost any situatuion? Or is it because, as The Baron has stated several times, we in visitor services are like the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer. We just aren't fit for the real world. It's an almagamation of all of the above I'm sure. At heart I know I'm one sentimental bastard, and sometimes it feels like all my miscreant pals at work are all I have. I know that that isn't true, but feelings are harder than facts somedays.
I also know, deep down, that I'm damn lucky to have this job because my supervisors truly want me to make it out of here. And what other soul sucking dead end job can you say that about?



On to the second five of my obliteration themed entry. So fellow music listeners of the world, as I have all but given up hope on anyone entering my contest, I take you now to the most recent root of my bile. My iPod broke. Again. This is number four now to have either been a lemon from the word go, stolen, or fallen apart after just a few months. What happens is that the earphone jack shorts out, and so I can only get sound out of one earphone. So me and Apple play this game where I describe the problem and they try to get me to fix it and then they send a empty box to the museum and I send them my iPod and they send me a new one. I'm not sure who made up this game, and it's not actually all that fun to play, for anyone, I'm sure, and it seems to me that there are no clear cut winners or losers, so really, what's the point?

I just got my new one (which makes FIVE)and am cautiously loading tunes onto it. You can take away my booze, my cigarettes, my coffee, my woman (and you most certainly have) but please just leave my music. I go crazy without music. I need it. It's my favorite thing in this whole godforsaken thing called life. I draw so much more inspiration from music than I do theatre or movies or paintings. It helps me find characters, clear my head, form ideas and generally stay saner than I want to. I'm someone that tends to apply meaning to almost everything, look for the inherent symbolism and interconnectedness of it all (a byproduct of my Catholic upbringing, no doubt) and I'm starting to wonder why I have had nothing but trouble with the miracle musical vessel that is iPod. The iPod I bought for heartbreaker apparently works just fine, as does everyone elses that I know. Sure, they have a two year lifespan at best, but what can you do? Is the cosmos trying to tell me something by the repeated failings of modern technology? What's the value in only being able to get sound out of one earphone? Is the universe telling me that I'm not listening well enough? Or am I just one unlucky dude when it comes to MP3 revolution?




Last Friday marked the 6 of my story. As in six months since. Why does it only seem like ten minutes ago? Why do some people recover so fast? When did love start to turn to hate? And someone please, please answer this philosophical quandry that has been racking my brain the last two months:

Baby, baby where did our love go?

Like, literally.
Where did it go?

Tucson?

Budapest?

110th Street?

Oh right. I remember now.

That's it. I'm done.

Contest Extended!

As no one save one has entered, I have decided to extend my Twilight Singers contest a week, until midnight May 22nd.

I am trying to not take it personally that not one of you great scribes has told me what band or album does it for you.

Maybe no one wants to rock out with me?

Oh well.

Someone give it the old college try.

Everything Ends

I just saw the series finale of Six Feet Under.
My favorite show ever.
A little part of my life, the last three years and change anyway, is gone.
This show has been like church for me at times.
I know this sounds trite, but I mean it. I found out alot about me through watching this series. I found out alot about love too.

I tip my ginger ale and thai to the swinger in the backrow.
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I am also proud to announce we have our fist entry into the tdawgblog Twilight Singers contest!

I want to also add that 500 words is not a minimum, but a ceiling. I just don't think I will have time to read anymore than that.
Also, by using the guidelines set forth by NaNoWriMo, 500 words is about a page and a half. Feel free to fall far below that number. I just want to read about what makes other people tick. Or rock, as it were.
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Much more to write, but I'm all tuckered out after another exhausting evening of playing out the perfect storm that is NERVE.
And by perfect I mean devastating in a highly personal way.
I am Jack's sense of obliteration.