Tuesday, September 12, 2006
I am a failure at MySpace and other assorted stuff...
Julie Slick/Eric Slick have no problem navigating MySpace - those are their respective profile pics which are obviously from the summer Adrian Belew tour -- but even they agree it's a cheesy site.
So thanks to all sixty-three of you who have asked me to be your MySpace friends. But oh god, I'm really sorry to have to tell you this -- I give up. I cannot negotiate that site. I accept you as my friend, then I click on "home" to thank you for the add, instead I end up on my own My Space page, which has about ten comments on it and a blog which hasn't been updated since June 8.
Basically, I find MySpace a big pain in the ass, a huge time drain, and well, way lame.
Another problem I'm having is that all of the people I love are into it so now I have yet another thing to feel guilty about and trust me, I have enough of that on my plate. Therefore, after weeks of frustration, I have no choice but to admit defeat. So please do not feel offended when I ignore you at MySpace after accepting your kind invitation to be my friend; simply understand it's because I don't know where the hell to go after accepting you nor do I understand the basic principles of the site.
And I guess I should also add that I learned that Rupert Murdoch owns MySpace and you're talking to a woman who won't even shop for cheap light bulbs at Wal-Mart, that's how much I hate corporations and Republicans so that also plays a big part in my decision to defect.
Okay, enough of that.
My star continues to shine at Fictionwise, where Another Bite of the Apple is now #12 on the best seller list, remains highest rated in erotica, and Three Days in New York City and Buenos Noches, Justine, which was just released there yesterday, continue to climb the charts as well and are getting great reviews which is very cool and ironic considering these are most likely the last I'll be writing in that genre.
Yes, I know. That's what I always say. But "Daddy Left Me Alone With God" is mainstream and while I'm not going to deny the existence of sexual situations in the book, there's nothing graphic...i.e., nothing I had to drink a bottle of wine to write and which still causes me to blush and want to hide when I read it over two years later (in the case of Three Days in New York City, that is -- Another Bite and Justine are way, way tamer)
Speaking of writing, I had a wonderful brunch with fellow Zoetrope writers Ellen Meister and Randall Brown at Carmen's Country Kitchen -- you know, the woman who put the "cunt" back into country if one is to believe her business cards -- where everything is a penis, even the salt shakers, only the table where we sat didn't have any. They were all displayed on shelves facing us, though. None of us brought cameras, which is a good thing, because you really don't want to be taking penis photos at a hip, trendy restaurant like Carmen's where I had pancakes topped with chocolate chocolate chip marscapone cream and honey rosemary roasted figs and Ellen, her husband, and Randall had challah french toast stuffed with fresh fruit marinated in sweet wine...and there was something about a carmelized crust, I think, but I was too busy lost in thought over my chocolate chocolate chip marscapone cream.
Ellen autographed my copy of her book for me and what she wrote made me cry:
By the way, here's what Ellen's book looks like displayed at our local Barnes and Noble:
Ha ha, the security guard frowned at me when he saw me snapping photos but I was all prepared to say I was Ellen and even sign a book for him if he bugged me. (Even though Ellen's beautiful color photo is on the inside flap, but hey, I maybe could have gotten away with it because everyone knows white Jewish blonde princesses all look alike)
The one I really felt bad for was Randall. Ellen and her husband got lost and poor Randall got stuck with me for over an hour. The sad truth is I didn't shut up and probably handed him enough short story material for the next ten years.
Or, made him never want to write again. Oh god, I hope not. He's brilliant. Bad Robin. When will you learn to be quiet? Sigh...probably not any time soon. Which reminds me. My essay about the night I met Neil Gaiman and didn't stop blabbering will be published this Friday. I'll post a link if I can...it will probably be my last official on-line act before taking off for two weeks of vacation. Oh, and I'll probably post this again, too: Eric, Chris Harford, and members of Ween are giving a free concert at Grand Central Station in NYC at noon on September 27 and then the next night, September 28, they're playing the last show ever at CBGBs which will close its doors forever and (inexplicably to me) relocate to Las Vegas.
Bleh. Las Vegas is my least favorite city in the civilized universe.
There's going to be some heavy hitters at that CBGB closing concert -- I think I probably wrote about this before but it's rumored everyone from the Talking Heads to Lou Reed will be up on stage before the night is done.
In other Eric news, he's joining slide guitar genius Sarah Zimmermann along with Julie Slick on bass for a new project called SZ3 -- they've got a gig at Asbury Lanes October 22 and this should be really, really interesting. Since they just decided on a band name last night, it's not on the schedule yet but yeah, yeah, I'll post this blurb again once it's there and probably ad nauseam throughout October.
And to wrap up the music stuff, Krimson-News has Adrian's west coast tour schedule listed and some kind words for Julie and Eric so that definitely made me smile.
That's all for now.