Download Some More Rock For Yourself

Today I was horrified to discover that my bedroom indeed smells like cat piss. This is especially disturbing since I don’t have a cat. I will report back to you with more news on this later. In the meantime, here’s some more rock music for you courtesy of my unstoppable rock band Valley Lodge. The song is called “Hanging On” and is available for you to stream and/or download when I'm not looking here:

http://us.share.geocities.com/theblackmetaldialogues/Hangingon.mp3

Once again, I would have just put a link for you to click on instead of having to deal with all that copying and pasting bo-crap, but Geocities won’t let me do that for some reason that I don’t quite understand, mostly because I just woke up from a nap. Anyway, I hope you like it. It’s pretty incredible, so don’t go blaming me if you soil yourself while rocking out to it.

Dave Hill

Hot Sauce Update

That whole making-my-own-hot-sauce thing from yesterday turned out to be a pretty rough situation from start to finish and is still threatening to complicate my day as I type this. Things got ugly early on when I started grinding up the peppers in the little Cuisinart thing I found tucked away in my kitchen closet. As it turns out, when you grind up really hot peppers and then take the lid off the grinding device right away, the effect is not unlike blasting yourself in the face with pepper spray. At least that’s how it happened with me anyway. Still, I figured if my hot sauce was making me cough/choke/gag just from smelling it, I was probably onto something as far as making really awesome hot sauce goes.

My secret hot sauce recipe- which I pretty much just made up on the spot- involved throwing a bunch of hot peppers in the Cuisinart thing and then adding a bunch of garlic and a few splashes of vinegar along the way. At some point during the secret hot sauce making process, I decided to take a quick bathroom break. This was my second mistake. I didn’t realize it at the time, but apparently I had hot sauce and/or hot pepper juice on my hands when I went into the bathroom and, well- let’s just say it- that stuff got all over my goods. They say when you’ve eaten something really spicy, the best way to stop the heat is to drink milk or eat ice cream. I’ve never heard what you’re supposed to do when you’ve gotten hot sauce all over your penis though, so I ended up just sort of sitting there fighting off tears for a few minutes until the extreme burning sensation went away.

Despite all of the above, the hot sauce itself ended up being pretty tasty. I still have to figure out something to add to it so it’s more saucy and congealed and stuff instead of just being a bunch of really tiny bits of hot pepper and garlic with some vinegar running through it, but it definitely serves its intended purpose. I fried up a few eggs and covered them with my new secret hot sauce and couldn’t help but think it definitely tasted like eggs with hot sauce on them. Things went south a few minutes after eating the eggs with hot sauce, however, when I began to experience an all too familiar rumbling in my southern hemisphere. I believe the correct medical terminology for this is “assplosion.” It’s been pretty touch and go for the last 18 hours or so, but I’m hoping things settle down by the weekend. I will definitely keep you posted. Until next time- see you at the laundromat!

Dave Hill

Running Errands And Crap Like That

I’ve just returned from running a few exciting errands (laundromat, post office, bank, faxing place, etc.) around my scenic Brooklyn neighborhood. One of my stops was at the UPS store. The employees there don’t wear the awesome brown uniforms that the guys that drive the UPS trucks wear, but it’s still a pretty good store in terms of buying padded envelopes and stuff, which was what I was doing there today in case you really must know. A-hole (Oh, just kidding).

Anyway, while I was going about my business at the UPS store, the in-store sound system began letting loose with the familiar (to me anyway) strains of Andy Gibb’s “Shadow Dancing,” which immediately whisked me back to my early childhood, a time when I was a big fan of the younger, now-departed brother of the guys in the Bee Gees. Back then I owned two Andy Gibb solo albums, which naturally led most of the other boys on my block too assume that I was also a member of the Future Homosexuals of America Club. The fact that I wrote a letter to pop singer/TV star/Tiger Beat coverboy Shaun Cassidy around this time, a rough draft of which was unfortunately discovered and later paraded around the neighborhood by my “friend” Tommy for all my pick-up football buddies to see, didn’t seem to help matters.

As it turned out however, I wasn’t actually a homosexual-in-the-making (dude, you can totally ask, like, a million chicks about this), but a completely sad and shameless pop music fan in the making. Don’t get me wrong, I still totally rock and all that; it’s just that songs like OMC’s “How Bizarre” and White Town’s “Your Woman” still rank frighteningly high on my list of all-time favorite songs (Don’t worry, there’s plenty of Zeppelin and Husker Du and stuff on the list too, in case you are worried). I guess what I’m really trying to say is this: little kids can be total dicks sometimes, so watch your ass.

In other news, I’m currently neck and neck with my bank as to who has more pens with the bank’s logo on it in their possession. I won’t say the name of my bank as there is probably someone out there who can take that little bit of information and use it to rob me of the 17 or so bucks currently in my account. Giving a slight hint however, my bank calls itself “America’s Most Convenient Bank.” If by convenient they mean making sure I never have to buy another pen again, then- yes- they are definitely super convenient. Now if only they could hook me up with one of those happening navy blazers the employees there all get to wear.

Finally, I bought an assortment of hot peppers (habanero mostly) at the farmer’s market type thing they have in my neighborhood while I was out today. I’ve decided I want to whip up a batch of my own hot sauce, which- given the fact that I have been on television like a million times already- is probably something I should have taken care of a long time ago. I’m not planning on selling it or anything; it’s just gonna be for around the house and stuff. Imagine how much money I’ll save on hot sauce by making my own! It’s going to be pretty incredible. Anyway, my ass and I will let you know what happens on that front really, really soon.

Dave Hill

Still More Rocking

Okay, this entry has (almost) nothing to do with black metal. It’s just that, when in doubt, I prefer to post a sweet black metal photo at the beginning of an entry (This photo of the sweet band Immortal, who have sadly broken up for some reason or another. It seems to me like the crazy medieval weaponry would be enough of a reason to try to keep things together, but whatever, I guess sometimes you just have to call it a day no matter what kind of weapons you might have lying around). Anyway, in keeping with my neverending desire to rock you, rock you so much (and to also be shamelessly self-promotional pretty much whenever possible), I would like to encourage/beg you to check out another hit song from my unstoppable rock band Valley Lodge, which is pretty much the most incredible band I can possibly think of as I type this (besides Immortal that is). Anyway, the song is called "Every Little Thing” and you can stream/download-it-when-I’m-not-looking for a limited time only by going to this address: http://us.share.geocities.com/theblackmetaldialogues/Everylittlething.mp3 (I know it's kind of retarded that I just don't have it hyperlinked or whatever you call it when you just click on the link and it takes you there, but for some reason Geocities makes an error page show up when you do it that way. Or maybe I'm just retarded. Life is crazy sometimes). No pressure- I’m just, you know, putting it out there in case you feel like rocking or something. This particular song is really good to play at a reasonable volume or even really loud while driving, cleaning up around the house, and/or boning. You could probably do other stuff while listening to it too I would imagine. Hey- use your imagination! Anyway, I hope you dig it. And, of course, the offer still stands- if you are not completely satisfied with your Valley Lodge listening experience, you can totally hunt me down and kick me in the nuts. You have my word on it. Just promise me you’ll give me a heads up before the big wind up. And don’t blame me if you hurt your foot on my cold balls of steel.

Dave Hill

Exciting News From The Celebrity World!

Somebody has made me believe in love again and their names are Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher! Guess who is totally not planning to kill themselves today anymore? Me! That’s who!

Um, okay, I'm really sorry. I guess I just wanted to get in on the action for a second.

Dave Hill

The Importance Of Rocking

I found this cool animated GIF of Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell on the “net” the other day and thought I’d share it with you. As hinted at with that whole “R.I.P. Dimebag Darrell 1966-2004” thing in the photo, Dimebag Darrell died last year or- more accurately- was the victim of a brutal murder, having been shot by a crazed fan while playing a show with his other band, Damageplan, last December. You probably heard about it. It was a pretty huge bummer for any number of reasons.

Anyway, my intention with this entry is not to bum you out or anything. It’s just that Pantera has always been near the top (Some days, depending on my mood, they are in fact at the very top) of my short list of favorite metal bands and when I happened upon this animated GIF of Dimebag Darrell, I just got kind of excited. It made me want to rock. Maybe it will make you want to rock too. Life is short. It’s important to rock as much as humanly possible. You don’t even have to be able to play an instrument. More often than not, rocking is just a state of mind. You might be rocking right now and not even realize it. When you’re at a Thai restaurant and you order a dish of chicken basil or something just slightly spicier than you are normally comfortable with, you are rocking. When you have some unidentifiable crap on your hands and- rather than just washing them- you rub them in your hair instead, you are rocking (This admittedly can be kind of gross and even regretful at times, but hopefully you see my point). When you stroll around your house naked even though your blinds are totally open and somebody could easily look in and see your goods, you are rocking. You get the picture. So anyway, if you haven’t rocked out in some way or another already today, you totally should- if not for yourself, then for Dimebag. You could rock out for me too if you feel like it. In fact, I would be pretty happy about it if you did.

Dave Hill

Living In Taradise (And Totally Loving It!)

Today I watched the popular show “Taradise,” starring Hollywood’s own Tara Reid, for the very first time. As shows about a seemingly drunk girl with big fake boobs and a voice that sounds like she smokes nine cartons of cigarettes a day going around partying at various exciting and fun locations across the globe go, it is pretty incredible. However, if you’re going to have someone from the hit movie trilogy that is “American Pie” hosting a show about the magic of partying, Natasha Lyonne is the obvious choice if you ask me. Then again, she doesn’t have the awesome fake boobs and liposuction and stuff (that I know of) that Tara brings to the equation, so sorry, Natasha, I guess we’ll just have to find something else for you. Don’t wander too far from the phone.

Anyway, as hinted at in paragraph one of this entry, the popular show “Taradise” pretty much consists of Tara Reid running around partying and stuff for the entire show and I am certainly not complaining. On this particular episode she was in Croatia, which- as Tara explained to us, the viewers- is pretty much the hottest new party spot on the planet (Fuck you, Ibiza!). The natives seemed pretty excited to have her partying in their homeland too (Get used to it, Croatia! Remember- you are the new party hotspot! Visits from the likes of Tara Reid are just the beginning!). And as I watched Tara partying with her friends, her brother who was visiting from scenic Los Angeles and totally doesn’t have fake boobs, and the natives of the exciting new #1 party hotspot that is Croatia, I couldn’t help but think to myself “Wow! This seems like total paradise!” And then I totally caught myself and was all like “Ha, ha- of course it is, dummy! In fact, not only is it paradise, it is Taradise! Otherwise it would totally not be on the show!” And then I kept on watching the great show, which is something I plan to do pretty much from now on whenever they play it on the popular E! Channel. Nice work, everybody involved with this program! It is so great.

Dave Hill

Thom Pain and Late Night with David Rakoff

Last night my sister Miriam and I went to see the popular one-man, one-act play “Thom Pain (Based On Nothing),” which was originally produced by Soho Theatre Company in association with Chantal Arts + Theatre Ltd. and Naked Angels (NYC). I just copied that last bit from the program. Anyway, I had heard and read a lot of good things about it and was rather looking forward to seeing it, especially since my sister sprung for the tickets (Thanks again, Mir!). However, since I have the attention span of a puppy and I am also, well, kind of dumb when it really comes down to it, I’m not sure I quite understood the play. T. Ryder Smith, the actor and one man referred to in the first sentence, was very good and even broke down the proverbial fourth wall a few times during the show by speaking directly to the audience, walking through the aisles, and generally acknowledging that there were like 50 people in the room with him. This technique was especially effective when my sister’s cell phone went off about halfway throught the performance. I tried to evaporate when this happened, but in the end I only managed to strain a couple facial muscles from cringing so hard. Oh well, we got through it, didn’t we? Sorry about that, T. Ryder, the guy in front of us with the long gray ponytail and weird growth on top of his balding head, and anyone else who was all like “What the F?” when this happened. You think this sort of thing will never happen to you and then it does and then it’s like fuuu-uck. Well, if nothing else, the whole incident served to remind me and everyone else in the room that you should totally turn off your cell phone in theaters, proctologist offices, snakepits, and anywhere else where startling interruptions are unwelcome.

After seeing the exciting one-man, one-act play “Thom Pain (Based On Nothing,” I headed back to my apartment in scenic Brooklyn with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s coffee ice cream in tow (NOTE: As Ben and Jerry’s goes, this is pretty boring choice I know. It’s pretty much Coffee Heath Bar Crunch without the Heath Bar. It’s still pretty good but the whole time you’re eating it, you’re all like “God, I wish there was a Heath Bar smashed into this thing.” Life is crazy sometimes.).

Once I got home, I sat on the couch for a while, checking e-mail and slowly working my way throught the entire pint of ice cream (Here is something we can ALL relate to. Ha!), as I waited for the popular show “Late Night with Conan O’Brien” to come on because my close personal friend David Rakoff, author of the excellent new book “Don't Get Too Comfortable : The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never- Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems,” was appearing on the show. I was pretty excited about it. For some reason or another, I never tire of that magical feeling you get from being able to point at the TV screen and say “I totally know that guy. What’s up with his hair? He will no doubt be hearing from me about this and a bunch of other things at some point in the very near future!” Anyway, finally, at around 1:22 am, Conan introduced David and he came out and was very funny and just really, really great in general. If you don’t buy his book, I will track you down and kick you right in the privates. So there.

Okay, have a super weekend. You seem really nice.

Dave Hill

Gays In The Priesthood

I read an article in the New York Times today about a new rule in the Roman Catholic church that will bar gays from becoming new priests. Needless to say, I find this news rather disturbing (and not just because I’m worried about how all of this might affect Rob Halford). However, I can’t help but think that all the gay priests already in the church are even more bummed out about it than I am because now they are totally going to have a much harder time meeting new guys who share their interests. As if that whole celibacy thing weren’t bad enough. No matter how you slice it, the Catholic church is making it much harder for priests to get laid these days. Don’t even get me started on those tight white collars, which are pretty much a complete nightmare at least six months out of the year.

The question remains, however, over how the church will go about figuring out which potential new priests are total homos. Apparently they will be screening new candidates for “evidence of homosexuality.” There has also been talk of forcing all existing priests to wear tasteful yet much harder to accessorize pantsuits during official church services instead of those elaborate, flowing gowns we have all come to love so much by now. Prospective new priests are also discouraged from at any point complaining about how “poorly decorated” their seminary quarters might be.

Meanwhile, Catholic nuns are encouraged to dyke it up as much as humanly possible. No, just kidding. Everyone knows you can't win softball games dressed in those habits of theirs.

Dave Hill

Those Guys

Today I write to you (let’s assume there is someone actually reading this) from an adorable little coffee shop that opened recently in my scenic Brooklyn neighborhood. I had always promised myself I would never become one of “those guys,” the people who sit in coffee shops for hours at a time, typing away on their laptops and using the term “wi-fi” with both comfort and regularity. The other day though, I reluctantly decided to give it a shot, largely because I figured if I actually left my apartment to do some work, it might keep me from taking naps or setting my laptop down to go masturbate or have an extra bowl of cereal or something. So far it’s working. I’ve been coming to this coffee shop on most weekdays lately and have been seemingly more productive in this atmosphere. I am still adjusting to the constant stream of world music that plays in the backround, but I am getting better at tuning it out. I’m not really sure who enjoys this music. It seems to be more the kind of music that people wrongfully assume others enjoy and therefore decide to put it on in certain environments. For coffee shops, there is world music. For hair salons, there is techno (another style of music I try to avoid in my day-to-day life). In techno’s defense however, I suppose it does sound good if you are on drugs (or so I’m told). I’ll never really understand world music though. I have quite honestly never felt that festive. And if I did I would probably just put on some old Van Halen or something.

In other news, last night I went to see Inside Joke at the UCB Theatre in Manhattan. The show is a sort “Inside The Actor’s Studio” for comedians and instead of being hosted by the frightening James Lipton, it is hosted by the highly likable Carl Arnheiter. Last night’s guests were the comedians Al Franken and Tom Davis, two guys I have been big fans of since I was just a youngster, a “pup” if you will. It was a fun show and interesting to hear them speak about the early days of Saturday Night Live and how the show and comedy in general has changed since then, etc.

As I sat there listening to Franken and Davis speak, I remembered how when I was a kid they came to perform at John Carrol University, the college up the street from where I grew up in Cleveland. I wanted desperately to see them perform but figured there was no way a little kid like me was going to be able to sneak into a college auditorium unnoticed on a Friday night. I ended up standing outside of the auditorium as they performed, listening to all those big college kids laughing and clapping, and imagining all the hilarious stuff Franken and Davis must have been saying to them. As I think back to those days, I am struck by how old I have somehow become. Holy fucking shit. Things were supposed to be different. Shouldn’t I be at work right now or something?

After Inside Joke, I grabbed a quick drink with a friend at a seemingly French bar/restaurant (They were playing Serge Gainsbourg and had French beer on tap. That was enough for me to jump to conclusions.). Since I had eaten something called “The Mexican Burger” at the Half King on 23rd Street earlier in the evening however, I had to cut the evening short and get back to headquarters to address a few pressing issues.

Okay, I have to get back to this world music business. It is seriously fucking annoying. If they don’t turn it off soon there’s gonna be bodies to cart out of here.

Dave Hill

Continued Internet Domination

This is just a really super quick note to let you know that I have recently updated my futuristic website. Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, it is my friend Tim Parnin who did the updating. He knows all that technical stuff. But anyway, my point is that if you are looking for a mindblowing Internet experience, you could do a lot worse than to go check out my new and improved website. You might have to click around a bit to find where the new stuff is, but- trust me on this one- it’s there. And as long as you’re “surfing the net,” I would also encourage you to “check out” the website for my popular rock band Valley Lodge. I mean hey- why not? Am I right? Okay, well that about does it for now. I hope you have tons of fun on the information superhighway. Don’t be afraid to take a break every once in a while. You don’t want your pancreas to explode or anything. Could happen.

Dave Hill

Maladies and Mysteries

I have been holding off on making any official judgment on the situation for a few weeks now, but I have finally come to the decision that the hot dog guy on the corner of my block in scenic Brooklyn does in fact suffer from Tourette’s syndrome, the rare and exciting disease that causes people to involuntarily yell out random (and often profane) words and phrases at the best possible moments and also when you least expect it. They sometimes twitch a bit too, which only serves to add to the excitement, at least from where I’m standing anyway.

Fortunately, the hot dog guy’s Tourette’s syndrome doesn’t seem be to having any adverse effect on his business- people love hot dogs and they’re not going to let a little random shouting from the guy selling them get in the way of their enjoyment of the popular funtime snack. His condition has, however, been affecting my ability to distinguish when the hot dog guy is having an outburst from when he is trying to talk me into buying a hot dog or when he is simply trying to say hello to me from fifty yards away.

I buy a hot dog from the inadvertedly profane hot dog guy once every couple weeks on average (I would buy them more often, but for any number of reasons- the fact that most hot dog guys appear to never take bathroom breaks being just one of them- I try not to make a habit out of it. ), so we do have a bit of a rapport. He knows I live nearby and enjoy the occasional hot dog with sauerkraut and mustard. More often than not however, the interactions between me and the hot dog guy tend to be on the slightly awkward side. “Fuck you!,” he’ll yell at me from across the street. “Good! How are you?,” I’ll yell back. “Hello, my friend!,” he’ll say with a smile. “Sauerkraut and mustard,” I’ll reply. “How would you like it?,” he’ll ask. “Fuck you!,” I’ll respond. It pretty much goes something like that every day. Still, I love him for it. The hot dogs are pretty good too.

In other news, last week I saw a guy in a wheelchair walking a three-legged dog down West 23rd Street in Manhattan. It was kind of beautiful and sad at the same time. I couldn’t help but admire their “can-do” attitude. I also wondered if they had clever nicknames for each other. And for one teeny-tiny moment, I felt lucky to be a guy walking down the street with two healthy, if chicken-like legs. Then I went back to embracing a dark world view.

In still other news, yesterday I spotted a discarded (and completely full) catheter bag sitting on a ledge outside of a building on the corner of Clinton and Atlantic Streets in Brooklyn. For the uninitiated, what I am talking about is a large plastic bag of piss, about half a gallon to be exact. It was almost amber in color, suggesting the person it came from could stand to drink more fluids throughout the day. Then again, I guess when your piss empties into a bag, you probably avoid having that happen any more than absolutely necessary. Not drinking a lot of fluids is probably the way to go when it comes to that sort of thing.

Sitting on top of the big bag of urine was a Brooklyn sightseeing guide booklet. I’m guessing someone had had enough of both sightseeing in Brooklyn and carrying around a large bag of piss with them everywhere and decided to liberate themselves of both objects. A rash and slightly selfish decision perhaps, but I’m guessing when you have to pee into a bag all the time, you’re entitled to have a short fuse every once in a while. Maybe this is where the phrase “pissed off” comes from (Sorry- I couldn’t resist.) Still, I can’t help but think that the catheterized outer-borough sightseer could learn a thing or two from the guy in the wheelchair and his three-legged dog or even the hot dog guy with Tourette’s syndrome. Maybe we ALL could learn something from them, even if that something is just that you should always try to make the most of things in life and- whenever possible- don’t leave a big bag of piss out in the open like that. People might jump to conclusions.

This morning, I walked by the ledge where I spotted the big bag of piss and the sightseeing guidebook sitting yesterday and they were both gone. Now I’ve got all sorts of questions. Could someone be standing in front of a Brooklyn point of interest with a large bag of warm piss at their side at this very moment?

Here’s to never really finding out for sure.

Dave Hill

More Trailblazing

Here’s something new and exciting and generally pretty groundbreaking that I whipped up for my webpage. It should be up there pretty soon, but- in the interest of blowing minds and giving you a sneak peek and all, I figured I’d share it with you here first. Introducing the all-new DAVECAM™...



Dave Hill

The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking (That Much)

I'm currently reading "Blink", Malcolm Gladwell's best-selling follow-up to his best-selling first book "The Tipping Point." I really like Gladwell's writing and also his hair and highly recommend both books. "Blink" is about "the power of thinking without thinking," something I have been trying to get better at lately. Here is a quote from about halfway through the book that has- perhaps wrongfully- been making me feel better about myself and my place in this world:

"The problem is that buried among the things that we hate is a class of products that are in that category only because they are weird. They make us nervous. They are sufficiently different that it takes us some time to understand that we actually like them."

Then again, maybe I just really, really suck.

Dave Hill

Download this. Mofo. Please.

In the interest of both continuing the shameless self-promotion I have been up to lately and also (hopefully) sharing good music with people and whatnot, I would like to encourage you to download a song by my molten rock band Valley Lodge, which I realize I have been mentioning nonstop lately. Anyway, the song is called ”All Of My Loving” and you can either stream it or download it for free here. I also realize there are millions of bands offering free downloads on the Internet these days, but I promise you my band does not suck. Check it out and if you’re not completely satisfied, you can track me down and kick me in the nuts or something. If you do like it, please share it with others. Who knows- it might even get you laid. Now, wouldn't that be something?

Dave Hill

Rocking and Whatnot

It’s been an action-packed past few days and nights for me and my extensive wardrobe. The mayhem started last Thursday night when my rock band Valley Lodge and I all jumped into a cab and showed up at the Parkside Lounge on Manhattan’s scenic and historic Lower East Side to appear on an exciting new comedy/chat/variety show called the Parkside Radio Hour, which is hosted by my friends Tony Carnevale and Sean Taylor, two guys who- as it happens- also host an exciting and entertaining comedy night here in town called Variety Underground. The other guests on the Parkside Radio Hour were supposed to be Shandi Sullivan, whom I’m told is on the hit TV show “America’s Next Top Model,” and Cassis, a one-named German girl who composes music for films and works with the acclaimed white-haired director Jim Jarmusch on occasion (She also rides a motorcycle. This is something I learned during her interview). Unfortunately however, the Shandi Sullivan girl cancelled at the last minute, which was a bummer because I really wanted to find out what a contender for the title of “America’s Next Top Model” was really like in person. I also wanted to stand uncomfortably close to her, find out what she smells like, and see how she might feel about the idea of maybe grabbing brunch together some time soon (Next time, Shandi. Next time.).

Our appearance on the Parkside Radio Hour seemed to go pretty well as far as I can tell (We played our hits “Every Little Thing,” “All Of My Loving,” and “Hanging On”), though I must admit the talk show setting is not as conducive to choreography and other gyrations as the more familiar (to us anyway) rock show setting. Still, I’d like to think we touched a few hearts along the way.

On Friday night, I fired up the rock-n-roll asskicking machine once again, only this time it was with my friend (and Valley Lodge bass player) Phil’s band Heather, with whom I have recently begun playing guitar. We played at a super fun late night rock-n-roll party called Jelly, which was being thrown at Crash Mansion, a slightly too clean new rock club on the Bowery. Upstairs is another club called Blvd, where they were simultaneously throwing a hip-hop party of some sort. Unfortunately however, the hip-hop party was over capacity and, as a result, whoever owns both places decided that nobody else could enter either club after about 1am, which meant that people who showed up to see us at our 1:30ish set time weren’t allowed in. Dammit. Also, some band that played earlier in the evening, drank all the complimentary beer in our dressing room while we were setting up our equipment. That’s not nice, now is it? It’s not like I wanted to drink a ton of beer or anything, but it’s just the principal of thing. Go buy your own damn beer, band that shouldn’t have been in our dressing room in the first place even though the one girl in the band had really big boobs.

Despite the fact that a lot of people who came to see us play couldn’t get in and also some band with a girl with really big boobs in it drank all our beer, our set ended up being really fun and stuff. Afterwards, the famous hip-hop artist Lil’ John (whom I’m told really, really likes to have access to “krunk juice” at all times) cut throught the Crash Mansion club with his plus-sized bodyguards to conspicuously “sneak” through some secret entrance to the Blvd club upstairs, where- one can only assume- he drank “krunk juice” until well into the next afternoon or so. It is the nature of the beverage. People just can’t get enough of it. Especially that Lil’ John.

Backtracking a bit, I wanted to mention that earlier in the evening, after soundcheck, Phil and I went to a very authentic Chinese restaurant (as opposed to the places that serve more Americanized Chinese dishes like Kung Pao chicken and Moo Shu Pork and stuff) somewhere in Chinatown and- in the spirit of trying new things and potentially grossing ourselves out in the the process- ordered fried goose intestines with soy sauce and another dish that consisted mostly of large chunks of frog. We had both had frog before, so that was the safety pick of the two I suppose. In the end however, both dishes ended up being pretty tasty. The fried goose intestine had some texture issues that might keep it from being a popular favorite here in the states anytime soon, but was something I wouldn’t be opposed to ordering again some time soon as long as I could maybe get some lo mein or something to wash it down with. The frog was a bit too salty and had a lot of bones, but was also a winner as long as you avoid picturing an actual frog at any point while eating it. Then again I guess the same could be said for chicken.

On Saturday I went to see my friend Andy’s band Tuppy the Band, who put a smile on my face no matter how hard I try to stop that from happening. The show was at Parkside Lounge, located on Manhattan’s scenic and historic Lower East Side and also mentioned a few paragraphs ago. I’m sure they would probably kick me in the nuts for saying this, but Tuppy the Band kind of remind me of a garagey version of They Might Be Giants or something. They have funny lyrics and really great hair and I love them for it. Guys, please don’t kick me in the nuts if you are reading this. I wouldn’t do that to you. What the hell is you’re problem anyway?

Last night- Sunday, September 11 to be exact- I performed on my friend Josh Hanness’ comedy show, Friends and Family, which goes down pretty much every Sunday night from now on in the back room at the Beauty Bar on East 14th Street, right down the street from a place that sells reasonably priced porno DVDs. Being September 11 and also Josh’s first night back after a three-month hiatus and all, the crowd was small but good times were still had by all. The other comedians were Becky Donahue and Chris Jurek, who is from Minnesota. They were both very funny. I hope I was too, but I supposed that sort of thing isn’t really for me to say. Let the people decide. Am I right? What’s the deal with airplane food?

Anyway, now I sit here in my underwear at 1pm on a Monday afternoon, tired, undermoisturized, and not really sure what to do next. Showbiz is killing me. If only I had tested better, I could be performing surgery somewhere right now. Still, I’ll always have better pants than anyone in the medical community. So there’s that.

In other news, my friend Michael Cavadias has a new blog. You should totally check that shit out right here.

Dave Hill

Random Acts of Duff

I’m guessing I probably mentioned this at some point before, but in the interest of ongoing relentless self-promotion I would like to point out once again that I am currently appearing on a new TV show called “Random Acts of Duff,” starring the lovely Karen Duffy a/k/a Duff, whom you might remember from her days as a VJ on the popular MTV network and also from such hit films as “Dumb and Dumber” and some other ones besides that. If you have basic cable television (and the statistics would suggest that you do), you can watch this popular show on Friday nights on TLC a/k/a the Learning Channel. "Check your local listings" as they say. It would mean the world to me if you "tuned in" as they say. I love you so much it hurts.

Dave Hill

Sleepless In Brooklyn

I’ve been dealing with a bit of insomnia lately, so the past few nights I’ve ended up crawling out of bed in the middle of the night to watch TV for a little while, usually between the hours of three and six in the morning or so. A couple nights ago, I caught a movie called “Bikini Airways.” The description of the movie that pops up when you hit the info button on the remote control read “a woman resorts to sexual antics to save an airline.” It’s pretty much irresponsible not to watch something once it has been described that way, so I tried to put in as much time with it as possible. I had the sound down really low, so I couldn’t really hear any of the dialogue, but from where I was sitting it looked liked the woman’s airline rescuing efforts pretty much consisted of boning everyone that happened to be on the same flight as her. I’m not sure how this played into the saving of an entire airline, but I certainly admired her commitment. After a while, it seemed like some of the other ladies on the plane got the same idea and joined in on boning as many of their fellow travellers as possible. I’m not sure what airline this was, but I would sure like to find out. (I say this in an effort to suggest that I am not entirely opposed to the idea of having sex with total strangers on an airplane. Then again, I’m sure if the opportunity actually did arise, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d probably just get nervous and stick my head into one of those SkyMall magazines. Why am I always blowing the really great opportunities in life when they fall in my lap? For example, when they give out those free samples of hot pockets and stuff in the grocery store, I almost never take them. What am I afraid of?)

In one scene in the incredible “Bikini Airways” movie, one of the pilots stepped out of the cockpit (NOTE: I’m sure there were a lot clever uses of the word cockpit during this movie, but- again- I had the sound off, so I missed out on those.), to grab himself a donut and a cup of coffee. You would have thought one of the stewardesses would have just brought him a donut and coffee in the cockpit so he didn’t have to get up from flying the plane, but by that point in the movie all the stewardesses were busy boning everybody so they couldn’t be bothered with in-flight snacks and all the other stuff you can usually count on them for. After all, the future of the airline was at stake- get your own damn peanuts. Am I right? Anyway, as the pilot was making his way back to the cockpit after grabbing a donut and coffee, he happened to catch a glimpse of some of the hardcore boning that was going on in coach. He took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching him and then, with a sort of “Don’t mind if I do” look on his face, he stood there staring at all the hot action going on for a few minutes until his co-pilot was finally like “Dude, would you stop watching all the hardcore boning for a few minutes and get back in here to help me guide this vessel to safety?” At least that’s what I’m guessing he said. I couldn’t hear him. I would have turned the sound up, but I didn’t want to wake the neighbors with the sound of a really great movie about a woman who would stop at nothing- not even a threesome- to save an airline whose future was in jeopardy.

On another one of my sleepless nights of watching late-night television, I stumbled upon a stirring and provocative documentary about dwarves. It turned the sound up for this one as dwarves on their own with no sound is usually not enough to drive the plot along- unless of course there is hardcore boning involved. Then again, you have to remember my goal in the end was to get back to sleep. I doubt watching a movie in which dwarves get down to some hardcore boning would have helped with that, so I’m glad this was just a documentary about dwarves and their day-to-day life and pretty much made no reference to hardcore boning at any point in the documentary as far as I can remember.

I’m not positive, but I think the dwarf documentary was called “Dwarves: Not A Fairy Tale.” As the title suggests, the documentary tended to focus on how it’s not always good times all the time when you’re a dwarf or “little person” as those little bastards (just kidding to any dwarfs that might be reading this. You know I think you are super.) insisted on being called much of the time. Sure, if there’s a Renaissance Fair or community theatre production of the hit movie “Willow” or something, you can pretty much be guaranteed a lot of special treatment if you’re a dwarf, but the rest of the time it’s mostly people staring at you as you struggle to grab items from the high shelves at the grocery store and stuff.

Throughout the incredible dwarf documentary, there was a lot of sad piano music playing in the background that helped underscore the fact that being a dwarf is kind of sucks a lot of the time. In one scene, a dwarf was talking about how he once got dressed up in an elf costume to entertain one of his friend’s kids at Christmas and he started to get all teary-eyed. I guess it was a pretty fun time for everyone, but then the next day it was back to not being an elf and he was reminded of how it’s kind of a pain in the ass being a dwarf on totally regular days when you’re not dressed up in an awesome green costume or anything. As for me, the combination of the sad piano music and the crying dwarf pretty much freaked me out more than anything else. That kind of stuff is just too much for me at five in the morning. Where is a woman resorting to sexual antics to save an airline when you really, really need her?

Dave Hill

So Much Blackness That It's Actually Starting To Get Kind Of Ridiculous

In an effort to keep the blackness coming nonstop, I would like to offer you the blackest AOL Instant Messenger icon ever, absolutely free of charge (Hey, that’s just the kind of guy I am.). Download this Witch Taint AIM icon (below) now and spread the magic of the Taint wherever you go (as far as instant messaging goes, that is). Okay then, have a nice day. Wait, no, scratch that- have the blackest day possible.


Dave Hill

Valley Lodge. Dammit.

In case you are looking for even more Internet excitement (And really, why wouldn’t you be?), the website for my unstoppable rock band Valley Lodge is finally up and running. It’s really pretty and shiny and also really hot (this is a reference to temperature mostly), so don’t blame me if your computer explodes or something when you look at it. Anyway, go here and let the mayhem begin. You can stream our entire album and then when you’re all done you can even go buy the album for yourself or a loved one at CDBaby. You could also download the entire album (or just the songs you really, really love the most) at iTunes if you feel like getting all futuristic about it. Anyway, check out the site and listen to the music. If you are not completely satisfied with your Valley Lodge experience, you can track me down and kick me in the nuts. So there.

Dave Hill

Even More Extreme Blackness

You may have already seen this thing I did called the Black Metal Dialogues. Anyway, I can’t remember if I mentioned this already, but there is a story about the Black Metal Dialogues and an interview with my alter ego Lance at Aversion.com if you feel like checking it out. I mean, hey, why not? Right? Also, there is a story about the Black Metal Dialogues that appeared in the Philadelphia Weekly not long ago. Go here, scroll down a bit, and you can totally read it. Okay, so there is some more blackness for you. I’m glad I could help. You seem really nice.

Dave Hill

Buggered and Badgered

This past weekend- almost a week ago by now to be exact- I flew to scenic Madison, Wisconsin for the wedding of my lifelong pal (well, I was about 14 or so I guess when it all started) Greg Schneider, who- for all you music trivia buffs out there- is the namesake of the song “The Creeper” from the popular “Glodean” album by my first internationally-acclaimed rock band Sons of Elvis (The song is an instrumental. We wanted to channel the magic of Greg through sound alone, not words. I feel like it worked. There is even a dance interlude.) Anyway, getting back to Wisconsin, it was good times all around. And not just because Matt Schneider, the younger and better looking of the two Schneider brothers (who is so totally not gay that it's not even funny), was there.

I’ve spent a lot of time in Madison (which is either located on an isthmus or is in fact an isthmus itself, it is my understanding) over the years as my friend Doug lives there and we have recorded a lot of hits together at Smart Studios and Coney Island, two of the popular recording facilities located right there in town. It was nice to go to Madison with no work to do for a change though. I pretty much had to just eat and drink stuff and see people that I was really happy to see. I didn’t even check my e-mail that much. It was nice. Because I am mildly retarded though, I bought some stupid Internet plane ticket at the last minute that required me to wake up at odd hours and have layovers in like nine different cities between New York and Madison. In Tucson, they even made me load everyone’s luggage onto the plane (Ha- that is a joke, that last part).

The wedding itself was really fun. Things got off to a rough start however when- due to an unfortunate dry cleaning mishap- I was forced to shift my Friday night outfit into the Saturday night (the night of the wedding) pole position and- while the outfit was unstoppable- I felt slightly underdressed at the wedding itself. Most guys had on dark suits and ties and I was wearing a light gray suit with a delicate and adorable floral-patterned button-down shirt. Sure, there were a couple guys in golf shirts and khakis at the wedding, but no one ever knows who those guys are and they always stand outside the reception smoking the whole time anyway. Occasionally they’ll exchange a knowing glance with the guy who decided to wear flip-flops to the wedding, but they pretty much just keep to themselves and ditch the scene as soon as dinner is over. So as far as people who are actually “in the mix” at the wedding, the people whom the couple getting married can both address by first and last name without prompting and are totally expecting to get a nice gift from (Though, admittedly, it usually takes me five to ten years to finally send a gift. I just want it to be perfect.), I felt a little underdressed. I got through it though. A couple people threw me a bone and said I looked nice, so I thank them for that.

There was a little downtime between the wedding ceremony (Lutheran) and the reception, which was held at Club Majestic in the heart of downtown Madison, so I went with my friend Phil, whom I have seen naked a bunch of times, his sons Scott and Andy, and their women to get gyros, the popular Greek celebration of lamb meat and yogurt sauce in a pita. As is usually the case with gyros and other foods in which processed meat products are the primary ingredient, it seemed like a really good idea at the time, but afterwards I was left with an empty feeling inside. My pants however were not. Ha, I am joking again. Seriously though, I kind of regretted eating the gyro because an hour later I was at the reception and thinking to myself “Damn, I wish I hadn’t eaten that gyro so I could stuff my face on all these delicious foods on hand that together make for one magnificent buffet.” I instead ended up focusing on liquids mostly while waiting for that “no parking on the dancefloor” song to come on.

Other highlights of my trip to scenic and historic Madison, Wisconsin include eating a chocolate croissant at some fancy coffee shop that I can’t remember the name of (I do know that a restaurant named L’Etoile is somehow associated with it however) with my friends Doug and Sara (who were kind enough to let me stink up their home and even borrow a toothbrush while I was there), visiting the Farmer’s Market in the heart of downtown Madison, and using the bathroom at the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop, where I almost bought another adorable pants suit but for whatever reason did not.

There is so much I’m leaving out, but- really- hasn’t this entry gone on long enough already? Before I go however, I would like to apologize to the International Weightlifting Community for not really mentioning them in this entry. I still love you. Now go lift something before I come over there and kick your ass.

Dave Hill