So it's been a while. But we've been busy. Life has been taking up way too much time lately. And the rest of the time i've just been sitting around moping. Work. Working. Work, work, work. It's time-consuming & largely boring, but the Green is the Thing. It hit me yesterday, as i was working in the middle of a torrential downpour - & well into the process of rubbing my nipples completely raw - that a fire needs to be lit. I'm just not sure where...
But what has been going on, lately? The past month or so has seen quite a few interesting & fairly talented people kicking the bucket. Phil Rizzuto, Tom Snyder, Tony Wilson, Merv Griffin, Michelangelo Antonioni, Bill Walsh, Ingmar Bergman, Lee Hazlewood, etc, etc. But they were all old, for the most part. People are living far too long these days. There are too many mouths to feed on this planet & too many fat people. Everyone is poor in this country, yet no one stops buying worthless & meaningless shit. And the news...
The Nightly News just keeps getting more & more depressing. Bridges collapsing, mines exploding, unwinable wars going on & on, hurricanes wreaking havoc, NFL superstars drowning dogs (&, conversely, people more interested in the well being of dogs than humans), military suicide rates rising... drive-bys, hit-&-runs, kidnappings... the impending Democratic primary...
When will it all end? The only relief is the occasional clip of a waterskiing squirrel & a special report on how older women can conquer hot flashes. I'm sick of slick dick Talking Heads with diarrhea of the mouth, i'm sick of ratings, i'm sick of not getting any answers & i'm sick of going to bed angry. Damn you, Edward R. Murrow... this certainly is c.b.s.
-cpb 8/21 {link}

My baby said, "When the devil come, shoot him with a gun."
-from Laughing by Pere Ubu

I've got an identity crisis. My lunch smells. I filled a million halls with thunderous claps & loud bangs. Men much larger than mountains & fairly smarter than i can't say as much. I've brought the insolent to their knees once again. I am in control. I reap the rewards. I own such consequences. Kings & Queens step aside... the Joker is now the muddled dictator of this mound of shit.
-cpb 8/5 {link}

Well, i made it back. Then again, since no one reads this, i guess you didn't even know i was gone. Which, i guess, means that the proceeding sentence was basically me talking to myself. Does this mean that i'm beginning to answer myself? No. But that does. Creep, insanity... creep...

Here's an interesting tidbit for ya - Florida is hot. And muggy. And there are a lot of bugs. In case you didn't know.

Anyway, over the past few months i've noticed something fairly interesting... to me, at least. Some months back i started a new job & found myself, for the first time in many years, working with someone else all day long - all males and usually "out in public", so to speak. In this capacity i noticed that just about every guy i work with is infatuated with looking at chicks... be it while driving or any female that happens past down the street. This was brought to a whole new light after spending about 44 hours in a truck on the highway with one dude over the course of four days this past week. Now, this whole construction-worker-whistling-at-women-walking-by sentiment is not really that surprising, especially considering the subset i work with. The surprising part is how unbelievably uninterested i am in all of it. Don't get me wrong, i like to look at an attractive woman just as much as the next guy, but i never really feel compelled to stop what i'm doing & point it out as if a two-headed dog just walked by.
This bleeds into a conversation i had a few weeks back with this dumb Polack & dirty Spic tag-team. And i'm referring to "tag-team" in a sexual way, of course. Anyway... for whatever reason, we were discussing our respective sex lives... or, in two cases, lack thereof. Now, i like sex as much as the next guy (with whom, it seems, i have quite a bit in common), but the fact is that a good decade or so of depression, plus occasional drug use & way too much alcohol, have left me with the libido of an 80-year-old man. As much as i joke about sex with my friends, the truth is that it's never really been that important to me, except maybe when i'm with someone i care about.
All this has got me thinking recently. What is going on here? Is this normal for a guy in his twenties, as i have been for the past nine and a half years? Did i burn myself out on porn in my teens? Is this just a decade-long phase? Should i have stuck to the Happy Pills? Am i just a huge douchebag? That last one might be true, regardless of where my penis is. Selah. Luckily - or unluckily, i guess - none of this really matters lately. With the exception of an embarrassingly awkward situation about a year and a half ago, i honestly can't remember the last time a chick was even remotely interested in me. Or a dude, for that matter. At least not while sober. I guess this is mainly my own fault... although to be fair, some of it is genetic. There's nothing i can do about this beautiful face. Thanks, Dad! Oh, well... the beat goes on... if you'll pardon the pun.
-cpb 7/22 {link}

I've realized recently that i have not eaten bologna in a long time. I've also come to the realization recently that due mainly to the gross fluctuation of my weight in the past couple years, plus that fact that i'm consistently broke, that i have no nice clothes to wear. Neither of these things bothers me much, though. I've never been a HUGE fan of bologna... & i'm a fucking bum & rarely have any reason to look even remotely nice. As such & this is thus. The beat goes on...

I'm leaving for Florida tomorrow... for work at one of my jobs. I'm going to be gone for four or five days. Then again, i might not be coming back at all. I haven't really decided yet. I might just check out while i'm down South. As Chris Knight once said... "I can't help it, I'm depressed." If anyone knows what that's from, i applaud you, good Sir or Madam.

I recently received my last in a long line of rejections for The Book. I like to say that i've lost count... but in all actuality, i believe that makes 13. I've heard that it's a lucky number. I still don't believe it. I've said before that i need to give up on this turd. And, quite frankly, i would... but when i stop trying to get this piece of shit published, i promised my friend Jeff that i'd let him be the first person i know to read it... & i really don't want him reading it until he's out of the Seminary. The reasons for this are many & frank. And i really don't even know what that last sentence even means. These are the Conundrums i have to deal with on a daily basis. Life is hard sometimes... when you make it so...

The road is long... & the twists & turns make the ride hard at times. But do not fret, Young Turk. Life is a Big Wheel. We mark our territory now-a-days in a way that makes our children smile. In these times they build buildings much taller than the Churches... & there is a reason for that. We believe in Gods that eat fast food & buy wares in modern shopping malls. There is a reason for this, as well. Jesus is a commodity sold on the stock exchange. The Futures market may look weak, but we're at War in this country. Believe in that & believe in your Government because they tell you to. Eyes & ears should be covered & your mouth should only be opened for the Happy Pills. We love Christ today cos he makes us laugh. The same can be said for our President. There is a reason for all of this...
-cpb 7/15 {link}

Happy Birthday America! Or some such other nonsense. I have done nothing yet today to celebrate & plan on doing even less this evening. I've seen fireworks before... & as much as i love the burn, i don't really need to see any more for the rest of my life. Bogs is a bitter old man, apparently. So bitter, in fact, that he is referring to himself in the third person. Tastes crunchy, if ya ask me...
Actually, i'm not bitter at present. This is the third day i've had off of work in four days... which is also the third day i've had off in the past six weeks. I've been doing my best to relax, but it's hard. Sunday & Monday, however, i was in Port Clinton, Ohio - visiting the Bringman boys & their respective significant others. It's hard to worry about anything, big or small, while sitting on a boat, drinking beer & looking out across the waves rising & diving in & out of the Lake. There is a certain undeniable halcyon quality to Water that makes it damn near impossible to concern oneself with bills & work & the hundreds of other annoyances that can disturb the brain on a daily basis. Add to those tranquil environs the company of good friends & a little (or a lot of) alcohol... & that's about as good as it gets, my friend. If i may borrow a line from the good Mr. Townshend, "The spray flies as the speedboat glides and people forget." The Eminence, however, is left on the beach & there is no need for Fronts here. Bogs is now turning into a trite hack, apparently. Selah...
-cpb 7/4 {link}

I feel like me & the Sun are going to go. As in, "Go." As in, "We're gonna go." I mean fight. The sun is making me crazy. As in, insane. Like, i'm FUCKING LOSING MY MIND. It tastes like burning. TASUKETE! Last week my face melted off... but that doesn't even really matter. I think the harmful UV rays are eating away at my brain matter. Which is good, i guess, since i've not been drinking as much of late. I need to keep scalping the weak cells.
The craziness has been, for lack of a less redundant word, crazy. I've been seeing myself around town... duplicates, maybe. I think there may be some sort of Boys From Brazil scenario going on right here in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Then again, who would want to clone me? I am, if i may say so myself - & i'm going to, so deal with it - plenty enough to go around. In a manner of speaking, or two.

Anyway, i was going through some old notes a few days ago & came across something i had scribbled in an old notebook that caught my attention:

"So i rode off into the sunset. Cat was not amused."

For some reason i had underlined AND circled it. But why? What is the significance? It's a good line, none-the-less. But, then again, it was on the same page as the lyrics for a song called Whiskey Dick, so who knows...
-cpb 6/20 {link}

I got an e-mail yesterday from an old friend asking me if THE Experience had turned into some shitty horse racing rag. I told him no, of course. It just so happens that i've been busy as fuck lately juggling three jobs & have had nary the time or brain power to concern myself with the mindless drivel that usually appears on this site. And yes, my picks weren't "golden", so to speak, although i did pick the Show & Place correctly for the Belmont.
Anyway... with lack of anything else to post, i'm presenting an e-mail i recently sent to another old friend. Why? I really don't know. Mainly because i have nothing else. Partly because there is one line in this e-mail which, even though i wrote it myself, i absolutely love. And which one is that? You'll have to figure it out your goddamn self. Selah...

____________________

SPMcG,
New e-mail address. New McGee? Let us hope not. Or, maybe, let's hope so. I could go either way, but i'll follow your lead. I like things, many things, about the old McGee... but is it in a way that a fan loves a particular band? As in, the band is destroying themselves with drugs & making great music. Then they clean themselves up & put out some shitty comeback record & all the "adoring throngs" are suddenly pissed. Or something to that effect. Who gives a shit if Jimi snorts some more heroin... just get back together with Noel & Mitch & put out another Are You Experienced?. Who cares if Ian is a little depressed... Joy Division has an American tour coming up. Maybe the new McGee won't have that crazed outlook & insanely-edged sensibility that we all took for granted. But in the end, fuck what others think & do what's best for you. I know the Man... & he is a god of interest in any vein. Those who know won't mind... & those who don't know can find another wax sculpture to shine their light on.
Wow! What an amazingly pretentious paragraph. But the idea is something that hits home. I've had two major shifts in my personality in my life. And, although it may be a stretch to call them both "necessary", they were, in my mind, both necessary. The first happened when i was in high school & i realized that if i remained so image-conscious & worried about what people thought of me that i'd soon kill myself. The second happened when i got married & realized that the woman i married - & loved more than anything in the world - was, in a base sense, more interested in money than love... & would never accept me "as is", so to speak. The first worked beautifully... & by the time i got to college i was, as you found out a couple years later, practically a bum & a social retard. The second was a horrible disaster. Thinking back, it's odd to think that i truly believed i could pull off the white-picket-fence-suburban-household-nine-to-five-job shtick. But, as it turned out, i just happened to meet the one person that made me wish that i could turn into that person. And, as it turned out, i failed miserably. I guess that's why i see myself being alone for the rest of my life. I can't imagine someone accepting me "as is" & actually wanting to spend significant time in my presence.
Anyway, enough of that banality. In regards to your last missive - you know i don't like Frusciante. Fuck Frusciante. Plus, you know we both deal in generalities. Vagueness is our lifeblood. It's an interesting thought, though, that the two of us are vague with each other. We are probably both so vague with many of the people we encounter day-to-day that it spills over even into e-mails we send to someone that is on fairly the same length wave. It's a hard switch to turn off, i guess.
I'll leave you with this nugget. I'm not sure if i've sent you this before, but if so, i'm doing it again. Deal with it. I was going through some old notes & found it & thought it was great. Which it is, of course. As such:


I had an idea while playing Tetris the other day:

You know how we always curse the game when we fuck up. As if the "Game" is picking the pieces. We say, "Oh man, the Game is totally fucking me here." Or, if someone - like i always do (better players, of course, get the better pieces) - starts getting tons of good pieces - usually a slew of the long straight ones - the people watching are like, "Shit man, you always get the good pieces... this game cheats for you." Or we give them the obligatory, "What'd you do, sleep with the game last night?"
But, in actuality, what is really happening is this:
There's this little dude in there throwing the pieces out for you. And he's actually ON YOUR TEAM. He's trying to help you win... he actually has a stake in the outcome. Like, he gets a bonus if you win, or something. The only problem is, this little dude doesn't know shit about the game. He has absolutely zero understanding of the game of Tetris & has no idea what pieces will help you. So he basically just sits up there & picks out whatever piece he feels like & throws it out. Whatever catches his eye at the time. So when you get about eight of the crooked pieces in a row, it's just cos your little helper got fascinated with that particular piece for a second.
____________________

Poetry, probably not... but i've got nothing else right now...
-cpb 6/11 {link}

Again & again & again...
Belmont time. Well, tomorrow, at least. Eat it:

1. C P West
2. Curlin
3. Tiago
-cpb 6/8 {link}

I've found myself walking in through the Dog Door of late. It's hard to walk tall when you're on strike. I've heard the key is to walk backwards while you're walking in so it looks as though you're walking out. It's a Master/Slave relationship that i've never come to grips with. Ears bleed, but that's only when the fun starts. Eventually your back never straightens out. Lines are longer & people are strange, so to speak. It overtakes me sometimes... but we've got to keep the smile intact.
I've been searching for a come-down that i haven't been high enough to feel for quite a while. If i listen closely enough i can hear it... but those days seems so far gone & the future is never what we imagine. The Dope falls away & the Booze leans & sways. None of it matters & it never really did... except for once or twice or the million times in between. It's a stain but it's a Sign. Cicero was right. Bogs is dead... long live Bogs.
-cpb 5/21 {link}

It's been a couple weeks. Deal with it. To be honest though, it's not you. It's me. It's what i'm going through right now. I... i gotta be honest... i'm not sure this is gonna work out. Call me back...

Anyway, my Derby picks were horrible. Deal with that, also. It's Preakness time, although i'm not sure if i'll be able to catch the race. Never the less, the pick is on:

1. Street Sense
2. Circular Quay
3. Hard Spun
-cpb 5/19, 6:59 AM, EST {link}

As I said last year, i like to get in here on the first Saturday in May to tell all those Horse Racing fans out there who not to bet on in the Kentucky Derby. Last year's picks, in fact, were particularly bad. Selah.

This year, however, is a tad bittersweet. I had been hoping to make it down to Louisville & take in the festivities once again. I have not been to the race since 2000, when that asshole Fusaichi Pegasus made a pauper of me. They drug me out by my ankles that year, pelting me with eggs & rotten meat... & the entire time with the immortal words of Jody Galley ringing in my ear - "Never bet against Desormeaux, never bet against Desormeaux, never bet against Desormeaux..." I should have known better. Two years before that it was Desormeaux that rode Real Quiet, who got together with Victory Gallop in the greatest Exacta ever picked... by me, at least. That was the first time i had ever been to Churchill Downs & i left that year a rich man. Alright, maybe i wasn't rich, but i was only 20 years old at the time, so screw you.
The Bird had invited me down for this 133rd running. For three years, starting in 1998, B. Early & i did our best Thompson/Steadman impersonation... but i think we might have burned ourselves out. Besides, we could never quite agree on which of us was which. But this year it looked as though the stars were in proper alignment & that we might be able to once again indulge in the Decadence & Depravity. It was not to be, however. And why not, you ask? Well, mostly due to monetary concerns. As in... i don't have any. But, there is always next year. Or maybe there isn't... but why get all esoteric. I have no idea what i'm talking about anymore. It's late, let's get to it:

1. Any Given Saturday
2. Sam P.
3. Scat Daddy

But keep Storm In May in mind. He's the Sammy Davis, Jr. of the field. And no, that doesn't mean he's Jewish (does that thing look circumcised to you?). He's the horse with one eye...
-cpb 5/5, 1:49 AM, EST {link}