GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #522: METALLICA VS MEGADETH

 To all three of you who read the Zimventures, you know all about D-Dolla', who is based on a real person. He is one of those people who believes, with all his heart, that you can only like either Metallica or Megadeth. This is, of course, a stupid belief. It is familiar, though, as a lot of people seem to think that way. I am of the firm opinion that you can like both bands, that there is no need to pick sides. D-Dolla' loves Metallica and hates Megadeth. We used to work together at a place called Conference Plus, which sadly no longer exists. I decided to feed into his bullshit just to fuck with him, so I would always take Megadeth's side.

It was an easy POV to argue from because for the longest time, and I apologize to Metallica because I really do like them, but they sucked for quite a bit. I started seeing them pull out of it a bit with Death Magnetic, but at the time it just wasn't good enough to top Megadeth's albums. Megadeth put out more albums and they were all better than anything Metallica did after And Justice for All and before their latest.

D-Dolla' is no longer a friend (or even an acquaintance). He cut me and just about everyone else he knew at Conference Plus out of his life. It's a shame because when Metallica released Hardwired . . .  To Self-Destruct, it was actually better than Megadeth's Dystopia. D-Dolla' only ever once got the best of me in nearly ten years of knowing him, and I'm sure he would have found pleasure in getting one over on me again. I would have fully admitted that Dystopia just couldn't beat Hardwired . . . if only he hadn't excommunicated me from his life.

Ah well. Megadeth, in proper Megadeth form, put out yet another new album, and it kicks ass. I'd say it's about equal with Hardwired. My favorite song is probably "Mission to Mars." Maybe it's a little nerdy for a metal song, but I dig it, even the groan-inducing part where they reference "Rust in Peace." If you're looking for something that sounds a bit closer to classic Megadeth, I'd advise you to listen to "Dogs of Chernobyl," which is a lot of fun. For something a bit more lively, I really enjoyed "Life in Hell." 

So there you go. Happy listening!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #521: 60 DAYS AND COUNTING

 Today is my 60th day without alcohol. That's two months, more or less. Also, that's crazy. I'm kind of surprised I've lasted that long, and I'm even more surprised that this has been super easy. I rarely think about drinking, and on the occasions that I do, it's easy to just stop thinking about it.

I kind of marveled at the idea of getting through Printers Row without having a single drink. Every year I show up hungover, and every year I drink at least a six pack of Alpha King each day while selling books. More often than not I'm also nipping away at a flask of cheap whiskey. By the time we get to the usual live reading (which we didn't do this year, sadly) I'm pretty drunk. This year the only time I thought about drinking was discussing detox with my friends. The only urge I had to drink was very brief. I went into 7-Eleven to get something to eat. I'd forgotten that in the city it is common for them to sell whiskey behind the counter. I saw Jim Beam and Jameson, and I thought for a second that buying some booze would be a good idea, but the urge died pretty quickly.

The only time I truly felt like I might give up and drink came the weekend before last. I'd gotten dinner with a friend, and we were going to see a movie, but we were in the dead zone where all the movies had just started, and the next round would start in a couple of hours. Usually we stop at a bar to drink that time away, and I very seriously thought about doing just that. I think my friend might have seen those gears turning in my head and said that we could call it a night instead, which is what we did. But that was the closest I've come so far to drinking again.

It's weird because I had every intention of drinking on my 44th birthday. That would have been a few days out of detox. Even when I was still at RCA I knew to a moral certainty that I would get a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and drink my birthday away. I also told myself that I wouldn't drink again after that for a long time. Which I meant, but who knows how that would have worked out?

But I didn't drink on my birthday. Earlier that day I'd reminded myself to stop off at the liquor store for that bottle, but it just slipped my mind. When I realized I'd forgotten, it didn't bother me all that much.

Living without booze is pretty crazy for me. Then again, I've made friend with lunacy many, many times, so . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #520: FLOODING ELMHURST AND GETTING RAINED OUT AT PRINTERS ROW

 The way it works in Elmhurst, where I live, is that if there is a torrential rainfall, all the sewer drains lead to the massive quarry in town. It's to prevent flooding, but there is a catch. If memory serves correctly there is a switch that has to be flipped to make sure this happens.

If that is, indeed, the case someone forgot to flip it yesterday. I knew the rain would be bad for Printers Row, but I didn't know quite how bad it would be. I got soaked to the skin just going from my house to the car. And then I started driving. I saw a puddle that looked fine, but about midway through I discovered that I was up to the halfway mark on my car door in the middle of this puddle. The only way I got through it was because I had momentum.

Along the way I saw other extraordinarily deep puddles. Even by the 7-Eleven I usually go to, a giant pond had formed on York making it damn near impossible to get through.

What I should have done was say fuck it and stay home. That's not what I did, though. Instead I found a way to the Eisenhower that didn't involve getting stuck in a flood. I still nearly hydroplaned at the bottom of the onramp. Getting through the horrible rains was not fun at all. It stopped raining long enough for me to pay for my parking and get to our table, but then it rained so hard that I saw the street in front of me fill up with a small creek of running water.

I knew there was no way we were going to sell anything. But I was there, so I figured I'd stick it out. Besides, getting home would probably be a complete and utter bitch. I felt certain that my one way out of town would have flooded after I'd gotten through.

We called it quits, and I managed to get home just fine. However, on the way back I saw the inbound side of the Eisenhower had been blocked off, and there was a detour. Cars were backed up for miles. This was around the Des Plaines River, so I figured the water must have overflowed onto the expressway. I'm just glad it didn't spill over to the outbound side.

Still, yesterday was not much fun at all. I remember a time when both days of Printers Row were *not* rainy. Now it looks like we're going to have to suffer through rain at least one day of the weekend. That's been the case for the last few years. It sucks because that's my favorite show of the year.

The rain also killed my wining streak. I haven't gone home with any of my own books in years. Ah well. To quote a great man, "So it goes."

POST PRINTERS ROW BOOK SALE

 Since we got rained out on the second day of Printers Row, I still have stock of my own books. Here is what I have and what each one costs. And I'll tell you what, I'll give you a deal. Buy any three books? That's $30 in total, shipping included.

-THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HIERONYMUS ALOYSIS ZIEGE: 23 copies. $12 each. If you buy this book, you will also get a copy of SHIT POEMS NUMBER 2 for free! Limited to 30 copies! First come, first serve.

-TALES OF UNSPEAKABLE TASTE: 3 copies. $14 each.

-BLOOD: 5 copies. $12 each.

-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 2 copies. $10 each.

-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 2 copies. $12.

-STRIP: 1 copy. $15.

-GONZO RISING: 1 copy. $12.

And what the hell? I have a bunch of copies of issues 1 and 3 of TABARD INN. I'll throw those in for free for any purchase. I'd put issue 2 in there, too, but I'm pretty sure I'm out of those.

RIP PETER STRAUB

 

By now you've heard the news that Peter Straub, author of Ghost Story, Shadowland, Koko and many others has passed. He was a hell of a talent, and I will always wonder what the third part of the Talisman trilogy he was writing with Stephen King might have been like.

I wrote a poem about him once. It's probably not very reverent to post on the date of his death, but what the hell. This is from the first volume of Shit Poems, which is out of print.

PISSING WITH CREATORS: PETER STRAUB 

By John Bruni 

The first time I got a press pass 

was for the first C2E2—So I wore a suit. 

I attended a panel for Vertigo. 

Surprise! 

Peter Straub was a guest! 

I wanted to win stuff, but every time I raised my hand 

I was skipped. 

Karen Berger told me it was because of the suit. 

She thought I worked for C2E2. 

 

We all rushed out. 

I had to piss. 

There was the bathroom—two urinals free. 

I took one. 

And Peter Straub pissed next to me. 

I wondered if I could ask for an interview. 

(I was working for the Napalm Assault) 

But I chickened out. 

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #519: WEEK OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

 As most of you know, on occasion, I do a Week of Shameless Self-Promotion for my work. I set a week aside and post a whole bunch of links to my stuff, and some of it is free, and then I shut up about being a writer until the next WoSS-P starts. More or less.

It is with deep regret that I am bringing this age to an end. The last two times I did it, I noticed a drop in interest and sales. I'm guessing that the plague and inflation (*ahem* corporate greed) have something to do with it. So I'm retiring that plan for now. Instead I'm going to take the time, once a day, to pimp something I've done. Most of it will be stuff you can buy, but there will also be free stuff, too. And not to worry, I will still ramble about stuff and quote movies and shows and post ridiculous memes, etc. It will just be in addition to pimping something once and only once a day.

I may pimp more than once a day if I have something new that just came out, just so you're aware. And I'll post reminders about my website maybe once a week. We'll see how things go.

Also, Monday is Labor Day. I've decided to take a week off from this column. It will resume the week after that. In the meantime don't take any wooden nickels, and . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #518: BEHOLD! MY STUFF!

 

A while back, while I still had nine toes and my grandmother was still alive and I wasn't going to be homeless in a matter of months, I considered starting a series here, maybe not for GF, but for my blog about the cool stuff I have. Then life took a hard nosedive, and now I'm scrambling to get said stuff packed away before the final knock on my door comes. I anticipate that it will come sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving.

I thought maybe I'd start doing the series while I packed, but I have so many things and such little time that if I did, I might not get everything squared away in time. Perhaps someday I'll do this series, possibly when I'm unpacking things in wherever I get to live. I doubt I'll be getting into low income housing, as there is a wait of at least a year at each place I applied. They said that a lot of people get taken off the list when a new apartment becomes available due to them finding other living arrangements in that time, so it might not be as impossible as it sounds, but the odds are against me on this one.

I do have a few things that are worth money, but almost all of those things are very dear to me, and I don't want to part with them. If I start thinking about cannibalism as a legitimate way of feeding myself, perhaps I'll reevaluate those items. We shall see.

Until then I just need to get everything packed as quickly as I can.