Dweeb

Quick update

I postponed the doctor stuff, and copies of Corner of the World are now available at CDBaby. The digital download deal through iTunes and other outlets like Rhapsody and Napster is still being set up. Landystuff like stickers, shirts, hats, and housewares are available at CafePress.

posted by Dweeb at 7:53 AM |

Well, dammit

Here I am all ready to do all sorts of things down here and I run into a roadblock.

Well, sorta.

I've got this doctor stuff going on at the moment, and lemme tellya, it's a pain in the ass.

Ya see, I had this, oh, how shall I say ... symptom ... yeah. So I go to the emergency room for this symptom. They even put me near the front of the line so my visit there on Monday was only six hours. It wasn't too bad tho, there's a TV in each curtain room.

I was seen by the cutest l'il doctor you'd ever wanna see, with her little white coat 'n everything. But she was marvey, and had me drop my drawers for her and then I got to have some pictures made of my chest and tummy. Whee!

So the cute l'il doctor tells me I'm not gonna die right at the moment and says I need to see a general practitioner to refer me to a gastrologist. Righteo, I hiked up my pants and went home.

Went to see the general practitioner and she was real nice and I dropped my drawers for her, too. (All the girls dig me here.) She said yep, I gotta go see the gastrologist so she made the appointment for me and told me not to worry. So I hiked up my pants and went home.

So today I got to see the gastrologist, a cute little Jewish guy who talked very very very fast. He asked me a lot of questions about my diet, smiled a lot, seemed on the verge of laughing for no apparent reason, and seemed quite impressed that I was able to use the word "abate" properly in a sentence, as in "The symptoms seem to have abated." Maybe he has to talk to rednecks all day, I dunno.

So the gut doc continued grinning at me as he very quickly explained that I'm gonna hafta drink fiber drinks for two weeks in preparation for this test. He said that since both my parents died of colon cancer I should come to see him every five years. I asked if he wanted to examine me and he said no, I'd been examined quite enough for one week, and besides, someday he was going to be in my position and he hoped someone would give him a break, too.

He told me not to worry, to let him do the worrying for me. That was okay by me.

Out of habit, I hitched up my pants and went home.

posted by Dweeb at 3:22 AM |

It's been fun, but ...

Well I think this particular blog may have run its course, having set a new low with my post about a conversation with a man's ass.

I'm considering changes around here. I'm not going to delete the blog altogether I don't think, but let me explain.

I've taken some baby steps toward playing again, you see. I've gone by Poe's Pub a couple of times and sorta enjoyed performing. It's still physically challenging, hard to stand for three or four songs, and I really need to practice because the timing on my patter is slow and I'm forgetting the words to my songs!

In any event, I'm considering redesigning my website yet again, and I like having the blog for news. However, this blog is too personal for marketing purposes.

These decisions were prompted by the fact that I've signed up for digital distribution of my songs through CDBaby.com. In a week or two I'll have a list of places where people can download and buy single songs including the iPod site. I'm pretty excited. I'm told by a friend that there's more than 20 bucks to be made doing this, even if one is not an actively touring songwriter. He's getting downloads from Japan and Scandanavia from folks who are just curious. Eventually, this curiosity adds up and pays off.

So I'm looking at a new way to promote and profit from my music without having to hang around in bars all of the time.

For those of you who don't know about my music, you can visit my real web site, landymore.com.

You'll still be able to order CDs from my CDBaby page with this digital distribution deal, and if you're interested in ordering from there give it a little time because they're out of stock and I have to mail copies to them this weekend.

So the upshot is, this blog will remain here where you've bookmarked it. If you're accessing the blog through landymore.com, you'll want to bookmark it now. I'll be replacing this blog link with a different one on the web site in a week or two.

posted by Dweeb at 7:50 AM |

Maybe it's not them ...

Maybe it's me, maybe it's not them.

My FB is in town tonight, and prior to that I had a disappointing date that went just as badly as one of my usual visits with my FB. (FB being fuck buddy, of course).

The FB and I go through periods of professing only physical desire for each other and none of this lovey dovey shit, or at least not until we're face to face.

I have a prob with the FB, cuz he is a huge fan of anal sex and all sorts of anal play, which as far as I'm concerned is fine and normal in most adults if it weren't for the fact that the man can't shut up about it for five minutes. Add to that the fact that he feels it's quite normal to feel the need to drink a half a fifth of vodka before sex in order to feel more amorous. This, of course, is a self-defeating cocktail for a man with hypertension who suffers from chronic erectile dysfunction.

Can you see me leading up to frustration here?

So I'm in bed with the FB, and he's asking me to do various and sundry things that I've told him before I don't want to do, either to have done to me or to do unto him.

In what we'll call an hour long session I, shall I say, gave it my all with the amazing talent he's assured me I posses, in return for 15 minutes of manual reciprocation during which time I was invited to french kiss a part of him I rarely even think about.

This has happened many, many times and I was beginning to think, "hey, I'm a grownup, grownups do kinky things I need to loosen up," but my mouth was saying "you know what, I told you what my boundaries are many times and I'm really tired of you degrading me like this."

At which point my brain, acting in lightening fast speed despite the beer involved that it took to get me into this contorted position replied "uh, maybe you really DON'T like men."

As quicky as my brain had leapt to this conclusion, my mouth blabbed this info into his startled ass.

And he's sleeping, a bit perturbed, and I'm typing in my blog. On a Tuesday night.

posted by Dweeb at 3:22 AM |

Reading comprehension

I've come to the conclusion that despite the fact that millions are online every day, few men are actually comprehending what they read. I know this because I have placed dating ads online.

I can advertise that I'm a smoker and a chubster, yet I still receive responses from men who bike, hike, canoe, and play tennis and want to know if I'd like to get together for calisthenics.

I can list the things I'm interested in and the shows I watch on tv, and receive a response from someone who wants to have coffee and discuss how I prefer to have sex.

By way of explanation, having briefly given up on the "find me a woman" state of mind, I've resigned myself, once again, to casting about for a man. I know some of my readers may be confused, thinking "I thought she said she was a dyke."

Alas, I'm bisexual and butch, a combination that most find confounding at the very least. Men think all bisexual women are either into group sex or will drop everything for an afternoon of casual sex. Lesbians don't trust bi women because somewhere along the line they dated one who left them for a man. To them, bi women are interlopers in their world and not to be trusted. I'm not sure how that logic works, though, because surely they've all been dumped at one time or another for another woman, so why are other lesbians, then, not to be trusted as well?

So here I am trying to explain myself to strangers hoping that at least one will "get it," but I'm still receiving invitations from folks whose sole purpose in life is to fill every free moment with exercise.

Doesn't anyone relax anymore?

posted by Dweeb at 12:47 PM |

Awakening?

I have to tell you something. Come over here.

Something is happening to me, something quite exciting. I'm not sure what it is yet. But it's happening.

It happens to me two days a week when I wake at 6 to shower for work. I put on my work clothes; a polo shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, black jeans, black belt, and black shoes that to some degree look like they were designed by R. Crumb. I brush my teeth, comb my short, recalcitrant hair, and spray on my cologne. It is men's cologne, Aspen, and I like it.

I grab my ID badge and keys and go out to the car, tossing my lunch sack and the morning paper, unopened, on top of the other morning papers, unopened, on the passenger seat. It's a modest car, but it's mine.

I start the car, roll down the windows and turn on the radio. I am moving, surrounded by green trees and grass, when the sun is at that "just right" morning angle.

I am sliding down the street, waving at elderly neighbors or other downtown bound workers and rounders and students and mothers. I drive smoothly through quiet suburban streets for just moments before finding myself in the heart of downtown Richmond in all its faded glory.

I walk into the marble foyer at my job, literally singing "good morning, good morning," to the security guard who sings back in answer. I get in the elevator, joking with whomever may be along for the ride to my floor. We float briefly in a sea of our combined morning smells of cologne, coffee, fresh shampoo and tuna sandwiches before the doors open and we spill out of the elevator and to our little corners of this office maze.

I arrive at my desk, leave briefly to fetch a cup of coffee of my own, and set about work. Every two weeks someone brings me an envelope with a check in it. A modest check, but it's mine.

My co-workers are pleasant, sweet people who do a good job of doing their job while not being terribly annoying at the same time. They have fine taste in snack foods, which are all shared.

The day rolls on, all typing and munching and smiling, and it's time to go. I shut down my computer, turn off the light in my little cubicle, and make sure I don't forget my reading glasses. It's the kind of job one doesn't need to take home. There's nothing to fret about, no politics, no reports, nothing to do until the next day, when you do it all again the same way.

I drive back home just as easily and smoothly as I had left, through the same streets in different light. I arrive home. I sometimes see that I have mail, but I always see a cat waiting for me in the window. It' a modest home, but it's mine. As is the cat.

Tonight was a special night, though. I was sitting in my living room after my neighbor had come by and then left and I idly turned on the television. In order to reset the clock on the television, I tuned into a public television station and they were running a show about the life and career of Frank Lloyd Wright.

I will be the last to compare myself to Frank Lloyd Wright, of course, but I won't be the first to be inspired by a great man who lived a great life. He is certainly not the only great man who can inspire me, many have. Ralph Waldo Emerson. W.C. Fields.

During that time I was watching the show, something was bothering me. It was a voice come calling, and I could ignore it no longer.

I picked up the guitar and idly strumbled on the guitar while staring blankly at the screen with equal distraction. A song had arrived to write itself and I was left to wrench my hands around its bidding, words tiptoeing around my consciousness, eventually taking their seats in different stanzas.

It has been five years since this has happened, this little scene of me sitting on the couch writing a song. It is, of yet, unfinished, but it will continue to contort itself as I settle into in my dreams. When I rise tomorrow, it, too, shall awaken and stretch, now whole, and will sit quietly humming itself in my head all day until it can come out and play itself some more.

I write a song when my soul says to me "I have to tell you something. Come over here." I follow the voice down the stairs to where I sit inside myself, learning the song as I go until the song has finished itself.

I have had a career and recorded and performed on stage, but now I want things to be the way they used to be, when I was a lightening rod, a radio tower, pulling in all the signals and passion in the night sky and singing them back to drunks who were amazed at the message I'd found. When I was young. When I used to write.

Things may not return to how they were in the beginning, and they may not return to how they were when my "career" appeared promising. But I am writing a song, and that's what matters. Though it may well turn out to be a modest song, it's mine, and I like that.

posted by Dweeb at 10:01 PM |

Still lovin' it

Still lovin' my job. The weather has taken a nice turn here, turning fallish and cooler. Not cool, mind you, just not 90 degrees with 90% humidity. It's still warm in the day, 70s and 80s. It's been quite sunny lately which is nice but we sure need some rain.

Made an ass of myself the other day, something I reccommend to all. I asked out a guy at work, but alas, he's seeing someone. I felt a bit foolish but I have a new prime directive these days to go for the gusto and not tie myself in knots wishing someone else would make the first move.

Having been very politely blown off, I posted an ad locally and got a couple of responses. What the hell, it's just coffee.

Sorta lonely, but keeping my eye on that. Need to stay on my meds and stay in the sun as much as possible before the gloom of winter sets in.

posted by Dweeb at 11:26 PM |