Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

The Cure DisintegrationAnd, as with all good things, we come to an end. My end with this particular column, at least. I’m hoping the future for Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying will unfold in an irregular but enthusiastic embracing by my fellow Jouptonians, and every now and again (or as often as anyone wants) a column pops up under this banner, no order to the choice of the four subjects necessary. As with everything on this site, write what moves you at the moment; if we see twelve drinking columns in a row, so be it! Nine crying posts? Good! For now though, let’s go into the final Cry.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

Jennifer CharlesHere’s to your f*&king Frank, to paraphrase a favorite film.

Loveage: Songs to Make Love To Your Old Lady By purports, in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek way, to be a sonic aphrodisiac. The entire tableaux around which this Dan the Automator-conceived and produced, trip-hop masterpiece is built is so thorough, so painstakingly thought out, that when I saw them live in early 2002, Nakamura (The Automator’s real name) and Mike Patton wore smoking jackets and Jennifer Charles wore a slip.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

Roadhouse Bar Brawl edit1999. Schlitz Family Robinson had died at least a year before, and Mr. Brown and I were trying to make it work with new people. I did a brief stint in Grez and Sonny’s follow-up project, The Harlem Circus (later The Harlem Circuit), but I wasn’t feeling it. I played one show with those guys and went back to recording odd 4-track music with Brown. Then an old friend, Jason Wayne Sneed, called me up out of the blue. He’d started a project with Mike Pearson of the Blue Meanies and a drummer named Dave. Pearson had left, and they needed a guitar player and a singer. Brown. Baker. Sneed. Dave. Universal Product was born.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

Steak KnifeTwo weeks ago I related the story of meeting Nichola, the sexy Irish blonde who, in the fall of 2001, was to be my first one night stand. Well, she didn’t actually end up being a one night stand – I was never very good at that sort of thing, as the subsequent tale I told of flying to Dublin to meet back up with her demonstrates. The second part of that tale is coming in two weeks, in the meantime however, I realized to give a better understanding of her character, I should go a bit further into the night we met.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

83208899Never having been that much of a fighter myself, one of the eventual problems with this column is, unless I go out and start picking new fights, I’m going to run out of events to relate here, at least in the “Fighting” column. I still have at least two really good stories from my own life that I want to include here, however one of those is rather involved, and the other requires me to scrape together audio from a cassette tape, convert it to digital, and then upload it to youtube. So, in the interim (and because I’m still working on a writing deadline and carrying the weight of my day job so, you know, time) I thought I’d devote a column to what is, in my opinion, possibly the best fight scene in a movie ever.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

whelans (1)In January 2002, Joup’s Joe Grez and I, along with Joe’s cousin Tony, went to Dublin. Both Grez and Tony were experienced travelers, but this was my first trip out of the US. The reason for our destination, and a rather urgent first foray into traveling for me, was several months prior I had fallen hard for a gorgeous blonde girl who, two nights after I met her, moved back to Drumcondra, Ireland. Ah, Nichola, such a fair lass… who almost proved to be the death of me in the short time I knew her. We hit it hard in those two days, no explicit pun intended, and when she left for home I stayed in contact with her via the internet – then a fledgling experience for me.

Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

a-clockwork-orangeThis is less overt, so bear with me.

In 1993, the Autumn as I transitioned into my Senior year in High School, I learned that a good friend of mine had killed a young girl in the forest preserves that surround the area where I grew up. This was insane, but what was more insane was the way this information came to me; out on bail for nearly a year, this friend had all of our group naively believing that he was innocent. I’ll spare you the whys and wherefores of our erroneous logic, and simply boil it down to the fact that we were young and trusting, and the deed had occurred after a party in the aforementioned forest preserves. A party where many of the shady A.F. people that hung around those woods were present. With all these variables, it seemed at the time that there was enough reasonable doubt for us to believe our friend had been framed.

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