The Higher The Hair…

Well hello there!

Hello?

Anybody…still…out…there?

How could I blame you? It’s been a while and I wasn’t even sure if I’d resume this blog after all of the unfathomable shit that went down over the past couple months. But, a few things have shifted and settled since we last met, and here’s an attempt at a concise bulleted rundown on the happs:

• The co-worker who was stalking me & making my life miserable for 2 yrs was fired
• It was a low-key affair that took place while I was away, at a dentist appmt and I’m not entirely convinced my bosses didn’t pick that particular time (when they knew I’d be out of the office) to do the deed because I think they finally realized there was potential for a COPS-style smackdown if they fired her and then put her in the same room with me. Luckily, no hair was pulled or guts sucker-punched because I was being flossed at the time.
• Work has improved somewhat…but I still need to keep that part of my life off the radar for the time being since Ex Stalker is apparently (so I’ve heard) now consumed with venomous revenge against us all. Felt sympathy at first (I know, I know, I can’t help it) but have now heard enough from others to be wary and cautious again.
• Flew to New Mexico last weekend with my mom for my belated birthday present…which is where we’ll pick this trail back up again..

The last time I saw Maiden was the late-ish ’90s when Bruce & Adrian were out of the band. The last time I journeyed further than an hour away to see a concert was 1987, when I was still in high school and had to drive to The Lakeland Civic Center to see a show (no Orlando downtown arena back then).

And the last time I felt a bass drum pedal tear through my inner core was…I can’t even remember when!

Bear with me as I type; I sprained my middle toe, right foot, yesterday (banged it on my guitar case which is surely a message from the gods to get off my ass and start playing again) and it’s turned black & blue & swollen and, although it doesn’t really “hurt,” it’s definitely wonky and I’m limping a little and finding it hard to sit at my desk without it going all numb.

If I tried to recount everything about Albuquerque, the desert, the mountains, the trippy air out there, the kindness of its people and the crazy-ass adventure/debacle of going to the Maiden show…I’d be here for days. So here’s another bullet list for now and I’ll sprinkle more memories throughout as I try to get back up on this horse and gallop on back to Metaltown:

• I’d move to New Mexico in a second
• All that stuff about “going to the desert to lose yourself” is true
• Turns out, hot is nice–without sticky humidity making you ooze like a tube of KY all day
• Met some fellow Maiden fans at a cool joint called Kelly’s pre-show & it felt like a family reunion; I could be more “me” with this group of 6 or so total strangers than I can w/anyone I’ve known in Sarasota for the last 2.5 years
• The band were better than I’ve ever seen them and for 2 solid hours I was on my feet, screaming the words to every song (give or take a few I’d forgotten over the years) along with 15,000 other people
• I’d still faint if Adrian Smith ever spoke to me
• Steve Harris is officially the coolest man on the planet
• Leaving New Mexico almost made me cry; not just because I knew I had to fly home to my boring, mundane life surrounded by people who don’t understand me or have anything in common with me–but because there was really something sort of magical about that place
• If you ever think a part of you has died and that you’ll never get it back and you’re banished to a life of grocery shopping, cable TV, dry cleaning, Excel spreadsheets and weekly time cards…get thee to a Maiden show. You’ll remember exactly who the fuck you are. And who you’ll always be, deep down, where you’re honest with yourself and feel a few tears trickle down your cheek when Adrian slams into the opening notes of “Wasted Years” and everything you hold dear flashes before you.

And, just like in the hairier ’80s, “The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner” was the barnstorming show-stopper.

Only this time, instead of the “what not to do if a bird shits on you” line, Bruce went into who Coleridge was.

As if he knew we were all older…and could take a smidgen of high-brow with our Bud Lite now.

Good to be back.

In my own skin. And my Maiden t-shirt.

I could do that every night of my life. Every single night.

I realized in Albuquerque that I’m not dead.

And I definitely don’t hate men.

Just most of the men I’ve met in Florida over the past 20 years (and one in Seattle).

I’d actually started to wonder if I DID hate men. If that part of me was closed-off forever, destined to wallow in regrets and denial. But I can now safely say no. I had enough moments in the desert that made it loud & clear that I just don’t meet my type here in Cadillac Driving Fake Tan Early Bird Special Land.

Sigh…

On that note, I think my toe just fell off.

So it’s time to go back (temporarily) to bill paying, grocery shopping, dry cleaning pick-up…but later I’ll be cruising the Iron Maiden Fan Club message boards for kindred spirits…

And listening to “Wasted Years” about 500 times…

kiki xxx

I’m gonna put this blog on hiatus again for a while.

I’m sick of it.

You’re sick of it.

I can’t ever write what I really fucking want to and I’m marginally depressed from that whole situation which causes me to pull topics out of my ass that seem “safe” should anyone unglued be tracking/stalking/blackmailing.

How many times can I write about Iron Maiden?

So, see ya around for the time being.

I’m pretty much sick of blogging in general at this point (due to constant literary straight jacket).

Sick of writing, that is.

Not reading.

So I will see ya around!

Sorry. I just can’t deal with the bullshit right now.

kiki xxx

Before I get into The Gathering Of The Follicles below, have you heard about The Beast From Birmingham????

Judas Priest release the double CD, Nostradamus, on Monday, June 16th in the UK/Europe and the following day (June 17th) in the US!!!

And…you can go here to download an exclusive free mp3 of the album’s title track!

And here to check out the pre-orders for limited edition versions of the CD (very cool stuff!)

I admit, the opening bit of the title song is vaguely reminiscent of “Stonehenge,” but that’s part of what makes metal so fabulous.

AND…they kick off a tour in The States in July TOURING WITH HEAVEN & HELL, TESTAMENT & MOTORHEAD!!!! One of you is coming with me to at least one of those shows!!!

I will officially be starving myself until July so as to look skinny by the time K.K. rolls into Florida.

And now, in other news:

The more I hear about Rocklahoma, the more I contemplate suddenly coming down with the bubonic plague to fly out there and witness this sweet, sweet hair extravaganza.

Just take a look at the line-up (I’ve highlighted the bands I most wish I could see):

Thursday July 10th
Bret Michaels
Sebastian Bach
Dokken
LA Guns (* only if Tracii Guns is there)
Enuf Znuff
Vain
House of Lords
Jet Boy (*only if Sam Yaffa’s there)

Friday July 11th
Triumph (why not?)
Extreme
Lita Ford (YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Night Ranger (Jack Blades…sigh…)
Living Colour
Kingdome Come (can’t help it)
Armored Saint (Can You Deliver?)
XYZ
Saturday July 12th
Cinderella (the best pair of lips in the universe)
Warrant
KIX (yo, jb hi-fi)
Lynch Mob (Who can resist Mr. Scary?)
Trixter
Black N Blue (Hold On To 18/ I’ll Be There For You!!!!)
Tora Tora (Puttin’ on my Walkin’ Shoes!)
Every Mothers Nightmare
Pretty Boy Floyd
Sunday July 13th
Queensryche
Tesla
TBA
UFO (WHOO HOO!!! Only You Can Rock Me, Rock Me!!!)
Zebra (Who’s Behind The Doooooooooor?)
Beautful Creatures
AXE

Now I ask you…Anybody wanna take Thurs-Fri off and hop a cheap Southwest flight with me?????

Ahhh…if only…

kiki xxx

Tym tipped me off to this:

http://www.myspace.com/nmemagazine

Apparently, around midnight East Coast time, as I slipped off to sleep with my faithful narcoleptic catalyst, The Weather Channel, reminding me every 20 minutes that there might be rain in Sheboygan, Jane’s Addiction reunited (again) to end an NME awards show live on MySpace.

To be perfectly totally brutally honest, I lost my Jane’s Addiction thing a long time ago. I think hearing Perry Farrell speak one too many times was the culprit. Dude, he’s like soooo L.A.

And then Dave Navarro married that glorified hooker. And I always hated “Been Caught Stealing.” Loved “The Mountain Song” and everything from that first album–but was ambivalent towards all subsequent Jane.

Still, I believe if you have the patience to sit through the first 15 or so min. of this NME streamcast (no fast forward), you too can witness the resurrection in all of Perry’s creepy Willem Dafoe-on-Pilates & Botox glory.

I apologize in advance to all Jane fans I may have just offended.

I also blame that early ’90s Jane’s DVD in which Dave smashed his pet eel against the glass tank/table repeatedly as a joke. I never forgave him for that. Eels have feelings, too.

Just ask Perry.

I know I’ll eventually feel angst over bashing J.A. and publicly declaring my lack of indie cool.

However, as Alexander Gudunov said in the most brilliant supporting role of all time in The Money Pit:

I will get over it because I am shallow and self-centered. But you, you wont, because you are “complex”. You will feel terrible anguish for the rest of your life. This is turning out to be a pretty good day.

Want to hear a song that still makes the hair on my arms stand up every time I listen to it?

From a band I believe in 100%?

from www.youtube.com posted with vodpod

kiki xxx

At least he’s jamming with Bonzo and Marc Bolan.

Can you imagine that band?

I miss you, Stephen Maynard.

kiki xxx

Gotta run to work so more later, but I’m back.

And what an adventure it was!!!

I’d do it again, but only for the perspective.

On another note…has anyone heard Dig, Lazarus, Dig? yet?

Trip pics to follow…

kiki xxx

Hotel coffee is a-brewin’ and after I post this and get dressed, I’ll be checking out.

I’m a little (read: a lot) nervous about driving back to the rental car dropoff at the airport because the on-ramps and highway off-ramps here criss-cross all crazy-like and one wrong turn and POOF- you’re in Portland!

BTW, I apologize for not commenting on comments. It’s the one part of remote blogging I’ve yet to decipher.

As this journey comes to a close, because I promised Tym to go easy I’ll say it thusly: this town is not for me.

It has a lot of great things, but I could never live here. Too bright. Too sunny. Too densely packed. Too “bike shorts and sunglasses.”.

I need wrought iron gateways and 200 yr-old rose gardens and brick streets and Thomas Jefferson.

But I need that stuff with an east coast edge. That blue collar “fuggedaboudit” Tony Soprano, Denis Leary, Joe Perry edge.

So, as much as I’d like to look good in bike shorts and retire to rolling green hills and rocky ocean cliffs, I’m afraid I belong in a ripped vinyl booth in an old pub, wearing a wool coat and scarf, hoisting down a Guinness, and making FUN of the fanny-pack bike shorts folk.

I’m sorry my dear Tym, but I’ve never been mellow.

As Carrie once said to Miranda:

Miranda: “I’m thinking of moving to California. New York is so hostile. I’d like to move here and let go of all my anger!”

Carrie: “Yeah, but what would you do with all your free time?”

Off to airport but p.s.: Had a dream last night I met Jake E. Lee!!! He was nice and funny and smart and we talked about the first time we ever heard Van Halen!

Where is Jake?

I miss him, don’t you?

Until I land…

Kiki xxx

If you ever come to California and you have a paralyzing phobia of heights, don’t drive to Santa Cruz along the high-speed twisting turning mountain roads of the 280.

It seemed like the tame alternative to Route 1 which is famous for its snaky cliffs. So we tried it. And when I found myself careening at 45 mph with peripheral vision of steep, sudden dropoffs just beyond a flimsy metal railing…I did what any well-adjusted, mature jet setting metal chick would do: I freaked the fuck out and had a major anxiety attack.

Anxiety attacks are a lot of fun. For me, they include my arms and legs going numb, my heart racing, my vision blurring, and the overwhelming sensation that I’m going to pass out. In this case, at the wheel while driving off a mountain.

Obviously, unless my personal afterlife is a room at The Sheraton for all eternity (which doesn’t sound half bad)- we made it and Santa Cruz was everything I’d hoped for.

As my mom puts it: “The Pacific is a REAL ocean.”

The rocky cliffs and soft beige sand between my toes. The waves rolling and crashing. The old-time boardwalk with roller coasters and a ferris wheel (think Lost Boys). A lone red and white lighthouse in the distance and even a junk food stand that sold fried cheesecake (painfully hard to refuse).

It was heaven. I hiked up my khakis, kicked off my shoes and splashed through the surf with a ladybug catching a ride on my arm.

Then we got lost. Twice. On the way back, ended up on an even scarier mountain road and Tym witnessed an even MORE fabulous panic attack!

So I need to do very little today. I’m still shaky.

I need a chauffer.

Tomorrow I’m taking a bus tour to Monterey and Carmel. I will not be driving. Anywhere. Ever again.

And it pisses me off because it’s beautiful here but the driving fear ruins the experience for me. And Tym doesn’t drive. Maybe this is an existential test? If so. I’ve failed gloriously.

I hate being a freak.

Kiki xxx

How can everyone here be so damn nice? And what the hell is Lukas Haas doing in a movie with the Duff Sisters on Showtime?

This city is packed. With houses that are all one of four colors:Greek white, pale gold, pink, and periwinkle. Built into staggered hills. It’s like a weird sunny planet.

I clearly see now that all of the fake, pretentious people who can’t handle the uniform contentment and general zest for life move to Seattle.

Chinatown was smaller and less exotic than I pictured.But I bought some cool t-shirts. Walked up streets so steep, I was trying not to skin my nose but got to see panoramic vistas of hills, houses, and The Bay.

Rode the BART all by myself which, for a girl from Florida was tantamount to riding a scooter through Compton.

Thinking I need to hop in the rented G6 and drive to the ocean soon. It’s good to see the sea lions at Fisherman’s Wharf, in fact they were the best part so far, but they reminded me that I’m not a big city gal. As much as I want to think I am.Or could someday be.

I need shady suburbs and coastal getaways.

Luckily, both are coming up!

Kiki xxx

I write to you nestled underneath a puffy luxurious white comforter, in my bed at The Sheraton Burlingame.

Thinking jet lag only affected the famous and filthy rich, I was knocked for a loop yesterday when-at 5pm I was ready to collapse. But I’d been up since 4am so…

However, jet lag strikes again and I woke up at 6 today only to have my body say “Oh HELL No!” So I’m gonna stay in bed a while, looking at the peaceful blue-grey water outside my window.

On the flight over, the polite, well-groomed, metrosexual-or-other but I couldn’t tell and it doesn’t matter because we’re all just people popped out his portable DVD player to watch Pan’s Labyrinth.

Not Mr. Woodcock. Not Meet The Spartans. Pan’s Labyrinth.

It’s not my imagination.

It is all Florida’s fault

Off to sightsee and explore with the lovely,talented, and unfathomably patient Tym. All week!

More reports to follow!

So far…I feel like the real me again

Kiki xxx
P.s. I can’t attach pics from the BB because I don’t have the necessary software but I’ll post a bunch when I can! Maybe including my mug if I feel so bold.