Archive for the ‘ I Hate Me ’ Category

I Hate Me, Part. 131,908

Sony tape recorder

Sony tape recorder

It was 1984 and I was in the process of being expelled from Rutgers, Newark. My 0.1 GPA wasn’t cutting any ice with the powers that be and I pretty much stopped giving a shit. I was hanging out at the school radio station a lot. Well radio station is kind of a misnomer, the music we played was pumped into the study halls and rumor had it that it was on cable. I had a radio show “Better Living through Noise” punk fuckin’ rock, two hundred songs in two hours. Through the station and the school newspaper I got tickets to see Black Flag, The Meatpuppets, and Nig-Heist at the Reggae Lounge. The only catch was that I had to interview Henry Rollins. I had nothing against Rollins, even though I was a Dez Cadena man myself. I just wanted to go to the show and get drunk and not worry about anything else, but free tickets were free tickets. My only problem was that I didn’t have a tape recorder, my parents had one that was a proto-boombox and was about the size of a suitcase. I thought I’d just write it down on a pad of paper like a real reporter would. A friend pointed out the shear idiocy of that move so I went to plan C. My friend Joe had a tape recorder, it was an old Sony, flat and about the size of a shoebox with a plug-in mike. Joe’s musical tastes ran to ZZ Top and Styx but he was up for it. I had suggested that Joe wear just t-shirt and jeans, he opted for cords, a satin shirt and a Members Only jacket. We got there late and missed Nig-Heist and The Meatpuppets. Black Flag was real good. After the show we made our way back to the dressing room, we got in and everybody (12-15 band members and friends) just stopped and stared at us. Hours passed. Rollins came up to us and was very cool, “Hey man, we got two shows tonight. One here and one in Connecticut, so I really can’t talk too much.” I stammered a few standard dumbass questions, “How’s the tour?”, “How’s touring with the Meatpuppets?” All the while Joe is sticking the microphone into our faces to get every word. After a few minutes Rollins looked at the tape recorder, “Hey man, that thing ain’t on, I gotta go.” The drive home was silent and I made up a short interview making sure I didn’t sound like a jackass.


I think this happened in ’93, Monster Magnet was playing in Seattle at the Rock Candy. It was about two hours before showtime and Jon Kleiman and I were hanging outside. Ben Shepherd the bassist from Soundgarden pulled up in an old ford and Jon and I went over to talk to him. Jon knew him from a tour they did a couple of years before, I met him a few times and he was cool. He said we should get in the car because he wanted to show us something. Being idiots, we did and he drove off really fast. I’m fucking kidnapping you guys and taking you back to Bainbridge Island, it’ll be cool Dave (Wyndorf) will shit himself.” I had a horrible vision of Jon and I missing the show and me being fired, Jon thought the same and we were both a little nervous. Yeah Ben, it’s sounds funny and all but uh…we’re gonna get in a lot of trouble if we miss the show.” He’s now about ten blocks from the club and I see my future as a lighting guy vanishing by the second. “No, it’ll be fuckin’ funny, really.” “Look man, I’m gonna get fuckin’ fired, Dave ain’t gonna think this is funny.” He stopped short in the middle of the road turned to us and hissed “Get the fuck outta my car you pussies.” We walked the twelve or so blocks back to the club and I haven’t seen Ben since.

I Hate Me, Part 231,091


a dwarve, Mr. Cannotbenamed

The Dwarves record “Toolin’ For a Warm Teabag” (1988?) was kind of a big deal for me and some of my friends. It was noisy, fucked up, and mean spirited. Looking back, I’m sure Dwarves were playing it for a laugh but that was pre-internet and there was no info about them, just vague rumors of debauchery and great live shows. So I was pretty psyched when I found out they were playing CBGB’s. A few of us went up to see the show and we were anticipating an insane, no-holds barred punk rock spectacle. About ten minutes before they were supposed to play I went to the bathroom. I didn’t go to the one in CB’s which besides being legendarily disgusting was usually under half an inch of fetid water. I went next door to the CBGB Gallery which was a lot cleaner, took a piss and went back. I couldn’t have been more than five minutes. When I got back my friend Jim gave me a Whatthefuck?! look and told me I missed the greatest show he’d ever seen. Seconds after I walked out the front door the Dwarves got on stage and started playing. Halfway through the first song, Blag Dahlia the singer launched himself into the drum kit completely decimating it. The pissed off drummer started throwing his drums at Blag, the drums missed him but wound up in the crowd. There was some punches thrown, a bunch of shoving and everyone left the stage. Total show time, three minutes. I thought Jim was fucking with me until I saw various Dwarves picking up drum parts from where the audience was. That show took on somewhat mythical proportions, and I was reminded of it often, “Well you missed that fucking Dwarves show. That was the best show ever, by anybody. I can’t believe you fucking missed it to take a piss, you asshole.” I saw the Dwarves a few years later and they played about 20-25 minutes, which was way to long. Maybe three minutes was the right set length for them.



tennis court bubble

In the early 90’s I lost my regular job because I was touring, so I ended up working for a day labor place.
I was part of a crew that had to take down an outdoor tennis court bubble. It wasn’t the usual crew I worked with, these guys looked like they were gathered up in some kind of bum sweep. They were mostly in their mid to late forties and most of them seemed like they had fallen on hard times. The boss of the job lined us up and started to explain the job. It was simple but back breaking work, mainly a lot of scrubbing to clean the bubble before putting it back in storage. As he was explaining a guy in the back started yelling curses, “I’ll split you guys into three teams of” “FUCK! FUCKFUCK!” “three teams of eight and then you’ll” “SHITFUCKCUNTSHIT!” “Alright, what the hell is goin’ on!” The cursing guy looked like a hobo version of Yosemite Sam from Bugs Bunny, only without the hat and guns. A guy who was next to the curser ran up to the boss and started to plead his case, “Look man, that’s my brother, he’s got tourette’s, he didn’t mean nothin’.” Of course the boss was dubious, who wouldn’t be. This guy knew it was shitty, low paying work and he didn’t exactly have the best and the brightest on the job. It was kind of like the Tourette’s guy was speaking for all of us, this job deserved a steady stream of expletives. We finally got to work and Tourette’s guy was still cursing but mostly at a low level, “(mumbling)..motherfuckerfuckassshitshitcuntfuckercockfuckshitshitassfuck…” The work was just as wretched as described and the other workers were piss poor. It was like getting mental patients to weave baskets only more strenuous, actually most of the others did seem medicated so maybe I wasn’t so far off base with the mental patient thing. It got really hot in the afternoon and a few of the guys took off their shirts including Tourette’s guy and, Holy Shit! It looked like his ass went halfway up his back. He had a horrible deep scar that ran in a direct line from the top of his ass to the middle of his back. When I was a kid, one of our stupid homemade insults was to say that somebody was such a big asshole that he had to take off his shirt to shit. Here I was actually witnessing what looked like a giant ass. If my ass went halfway up my back I’d be cursing to. I didn’t have to go back the next day and I found out that everyone else was from a halfway house making considerably less than my princely $5.50 an hour.

I Hate Me, Part 301,891

I was driving around by the ocean with Carrie and we had just hit Dunkin’ Donuts. Some slow moving asspearl was in front of us doing zero miles an hour, forcing me to pass them. I was holding my coffee and I went to put it in the drink holder between the seats and POW! Carries cup is in the holder I use. I slammed my cup down hard enough that I drove my thumb through the side of the foam cup. Not only spilling coffee from the hole in the cup but spraying it around the car as my thumb was still stuck in it. So I’m passing this jerk with my thumb stuck in a leaking cup of coffee. It was a goddamn mess, coffee everywhere. I was pretty pissed off and knowing that I couldn’t blame anyone but myself, I tried anyway. “You know it’s …protocol that the driver …has the front coffee holder…It’s established…common knowledge…ask anyone…they’ll tell you.” Carrie wasn’t buying my bullshit but was as cool as someone covered in coffee could be, which made me feel like a bigger douche. Which is the way these stories usually end.

I Hate Me, part 367,042

Yeah, I know it’s trite and really obvious and everybody and their brother has beaten it like a dead horse. I hate people who use their cell-phones on line…near me. It annoys the hell out of me. I’m on line for coffee this morning and this assbag in front of me is yappin’ full volume into his phone. The line is slow and I’m wishin’ I could beat him with tree branches until he pissed blood. He finally gets off the phone when mine rings and instinctively like the king of all hypocritical assholes, I answer it. It’s my wife and I realize what a douche-nozzle I am and I’m wishing that I could beat myself with tree branches until I pissed blood. So I talk real low, barely above a whisper and she can’t hear a goddamn word I’m saying. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.” “(mumbling) I can’t speak up I’m on line and it’s rude” “What? I can’t hear you, speak up.” “I CAN”T SPEAK UP.” “Well don’t yell, just call me back.” I hate me.

Apples (honorary I Hate Me)

George "the Animal" Steele

George "the Animal" Steele

Curly Joe Derita

Curly Joe Derita

There’s a farm market called Delicious Orchards near where I live. They have good produce but it’s expensive and shopping there is annoying. Every now and again I’ll go and pick up a bunch of good fruit and vegetables, more than we would normally eat. It’s a weird theory based on osmosis that through the very act of buying the good food I’ll get the benefits of it, even if I don’t eat it.
I got there in the afternoon and it was rotten with people. I was picking out some apples when this big goon who looked like a cross between George “the animal” Steele and Curly Joe Derita (the last Curly) pushed my cart out of the way and spit out a pit or a core of whatever piece of fruit he just stole and ate. I gave him my best “Whatthefuck” look and he stared at me like a retarded child and stumbled off. A minute later I saw him at the free sample apple cider table and he filled up the tiny paper cup about 10 times and drank like a man at an oasis. I picked out the rest of my food and navigated through doddering oldsters and annoying children with parents. I got to a register that looked like it had the shortest line. Well, the line was short but the annoyance was long. The only customer in front of me was checking each item for accuracy, “Did you get that, they’re Gala apples, a dollar forty nine a pound.” She was a hippie-ish earth mother type with an older woman who had a wheel chair but preferred to stand and they were arguing over pretty much everything, “Where are the pears? I don’t see the pears.” “We have pears at home.” “Those pears are mealy and not fit to eat.” Add to this a toddler who was going through the already packed groceries, throwing them around and a teenage girl who was useless in controlling the baby “…stop,…stop…don’t go through the bag…stop…”. As I was waiting and trying not to lose my mind I saw this guy standing at the front of the store. A tall slack jawed type, the kind of guy who would always need a shave. He was staring off into space chewing on a toothpick and he had a bright red shirt that had two pictures. The first said “scratch” and was a picture of a monkey scratching his ass, the second said “sniff” and had the monkey smelling his finger. Then I noticed he was smelling his finger. I finally got out of there and as I was heading back to my car I almost got hit by a speeding car going the wrong way through the parking lot. As I was cursing the old people in the car I noticed they were serene and oblivious like the car knew where they were going and they were just along for the ride.