David Jacobs Episode 2

David Jacobs Episode 2

I’m trekking down the slightly bumpy path with my new exercise bicycle. I’m not allowed to do Soul Cycle or whatever anymore on the account that I came in hungover last week and barfed all over the yoga mats left over from the former class. I guess I can’t shoot vodka like I used to. So anyway, I have a new somewhat agent named Massie. The last agent I had I had to punch him in the face for saying the tracks on my new album were “weak.” I said his hair plugs were weak and then I just went off. I’m really not a mad person. I just know what I want.

People were giving me odd looks. I refuse to look like a fucking traffic fluorescent cone when working out. It ain’t my style. I see nothing wrong with my red sweatpants with the elastic on the bottom, bright red, by the way. I don’t need a shirt on, but the sun is blazing, so I need my Gucci sunglasses, my knitted blue hat and knitted blue scarf. What? My neck get’s cold easily. No, actually I’m hiding my hickies. Shut up. People do that, you know.

After my little ride on the bike, I jumped in the car to meet Massie again. I don’t get her. First of all, I can’t tell if she’s old, but looks young, or is young, but looks old. She’s cute in that “I’m not really that hot, but I am” kind of way. I think if she wore tighter leggings and showed more cleavage, didn’t wear her ponytail, put on some of that smokey eyeshadow, she’d be bomb as hell.

I walked back into the same shitty Starbucks with the rude barista who wouldn’t serve me a unicorn frappuccino. I actually peaked a glance and saw the same bitch again today. She quickly diverted her eyes. Good. I don’t want to have to be arrested today. Twat.

Little Massie was already sitting down at a table. She was scribbling some nonsense in a generic drugstore looking notebook, probably already plotting my demise. When she heard the door open, she looked up for a second then looked back down at her notebook. When she realized I was right in front of her, she stopped scribbling.

“Hey, David! It’s good you made it!” She clicked her pen. Annoying. She was wearing a blue fitted blazer, black leggings (of course), black flats with bows on each toe, and some I guess shirt underneath the blazer. I couldn’t really tell the color because I was still half high.

“I want you to sit down! We need to go over the rules, some set-ups, and what shows you’ll be doing!” I raised my lip at her and stared at her blankly. She is way too damn happy so early in the morning. Swinging ponytail and light brown eyeshadow and all.

“I know what to do, Matilda. I’ve got all my shows set-up with my new band. I heard it all before.” I pulled out my vape. God, I know when I go home I’m going to have to smoke a cigarette.

“David, stop vaping. This is important. Now, I’m laying everything out for you. Here, take these papers. Look over what I wrote, and then later tonight I’ll drop by your place to see how practice is going with the other guys.” Damn, she was professional and forward. I clutched the papers.

“Six o’clock, sharp, Madeline. Okay?” I headed towards the door. “The boys and I are practicing some banging songs.”

“Um, okay. Text me directions, and David, it’s not Madeline. It’s Macy.” I had already walked out the door before she finished her last sentence. Sucker.

* * *
I was having a mini jam session with the guys in our recording studio. I just happened to be plucking some random chords on my guitar. I was totally in the zone, almost sleeping, but not really. Duh. I’m not Johnny Thunders, but people really paid to see him perform like that.

There I was totally in the zone when I hear a loud bang on the glass plated door of our studio. I jolt awake. It’s Madison. She starts knocking and waving at me.

She’s so juvenile. I roll my eyes at her. I barely wave at that.

“GET IN YOU CRAZY SHIT! THE DOOR IS RIGHT THERE!” I don’t mean to shout, but Mabel is, like, so dumb.

“Hey, David! I’m just going to sit in and listen to your jam session. I’m going to take some notes.” Now, she was wearing some loose fitting tank and skinny jeans with those damn bow flats. Ugh, at least she was showing some skin. Her arms looked decent. Not that skinny skinny, but kind of toned when she flexed, but not manly. Ew. Her ass looked fantastic in those tight jeans. Like I wanted to grip it fantastic, but she’s so dorky and fucking bland, so that’s a huge turnoff. I watch her pull out that crappy notebook. Ugh, is she always writing or does she do anything fun?

“Go ahead, David. I want to hear you! I used to listen to old Goldlamp cds, so I bet your new music is just as good.” She clicks her pen. Stop. Also, “old?” I grab my towel and wrap it around my neck. I was now wearing gray sweat pants and a white tank top, kept the knitted hat. I changed after getting done with my bike ride and my meeting with Her Highness. Actually, I was high, but Mason’s too “go getter.”

“Listen, Maybelline. My music isn’t old. It’s classic. Okay? Second of all, the new shit sounds nothing like Goldlamp. I’m not going to sound like the 16 year old grunge kiddie everyone expects me to still be.” She just stares up at me like I told her her family died in a tragic car accident that caught everything on fire, including the car.

“Um…Okay? Sorry, I won’t call it old again. Go ahead.” I tell Mike to tune his guitar. Rex is behind his drum set. Arthur is on keys, and I got my bass, but I don’t need it right now. They begin to play. I’m singing. No shit.

“I got that sensual feeling, woman, when you…touch me. I get hot…just like you…when you’re feeling me.” I turn to look at McCoy. She has this look on her face as if someone told her she’s stepped in dog shit. Excuse you? Like you can write better lyrics, Junie B. Jones? I continue on.

“I just want to grab you…and fuck you…when you’re feeling me.” Now, I look over and she’s giving me this dead stare. I start pushing up my tank and feeling up my torso. If she doesn’t like that, she’s a total zombie lesbian.

“Aww, baby, it’s just a…sexual feeling, a fantasy of you and I…In a bed, on the beach, in an ocean…I want to feel you.” I continue on in the zone while side eyeing Miss Judgmental. She just has this scrunched up face. Squirrel looking ass bitch. I finish. Both vocally and in my pants. Yes, I can make myself cum just singing this song and sound good. It then get’s up.

“Wow, David. That was…Um?” I unwrap the towel from my neck and glare at Missy.

“Thank you!” I say before she can say anything else. I walk out the door and take off my shirt. I know she’s staring at the sweat dripping off my back.

She wants me, too bad.

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My (Over Analysis) of Richard Hell’s “Blank Generation” Lyrics

richard hell 5

I’m currently in the works of beginning a band with a man I know named Tom. He’s the bass player and I’m the singer. We’re currently searching for a drummer and a guitar player. Anyway, one of the songs we like to cover is “Blank Generation” by Richard Hell and the Voidoids. The song grew on me over time. I always thought it was catchy in the chorus, but I never could understand what the heck Hell was trying to say in the verses.

A short history on Hell, he’s one of the fore runners of the CBGB New York American punk scene. He was in the band Television, the Heartbreakers (with the awesome Johnny Thunders), and later the Voidoids. He’s originally from Kentucky, but moved to New York to become a poet. Richard Hell has been published before and has written a few books, namely “I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp, a memoir. I read “I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp” back during spring, and it’s one hell of a read, no pun intended, or maybe intended. You decide.

I was sayin’ let me out of here before I was
Even born, it’s such a gamble when you get a face
It’s fascinatin’ to observe what the mirror does
But when I dine it’s for the wall that I set a place

The first line could mean many things. Hell was born in 1949, so this was a little bit before the Pill (as Chrissie Hynde calls it in her biography I’m reading right now). It’s almost as if Hell is claiming that he was an unwanted child, or a mistake, or an accident, or a beautiful disaster. He was probably all three. “It’s such a gamble when you get a face,” could refer to how no one really knows what their life is like until they’re actually born, but there’s always defining factors that make us who we are. Our families, our gender, our race, even the area where we grow up defines us. This could go deeper as to when a baby is really a baby, or just a clump of cells. Are we not considered alive until we get a face? The gamble could be whether the baby is wanted or not, as in abortion, or is lost due to miscarriage or illness or accident.

“It’s fascinatin’ to observe what the mirror does,” could be about how we feel about ourselves. Some people are insecure, and don’t like their looks, physically of what they see in the mirror. Everyone maybe wishes they were thinner, fitter, had a smaller nose, fuller lips, etc. Then again, the mirror could distort our perception into believing we look better or seem better than we really are. In all reality, the mirror is just a plate of glass, not a crystal ball. No one knows what the future really holds, so our reality of the present is distorting our future for various reasons. This causes people to further doubt themselves into achieving what they want to achieve.

“But when I dine it’s for the wall that I set a place,” refers to the lack of interaction people have with one another. This could feel like someone is being anti-social. They lack the real feelings of people interaction because they are self-absorbed, and they don’t want to share or express their feelings with anyone else, whether this is a form of insecurity or selfishness, I’m not too sure. It could refer to both.

Triangles were fallin’ at the window as the doctor cursed
He was a cartoon long forsaken by the public eye
The nurse adjusted her garters as I breathed my first
The doctor grabbed my throat and yelled, “God’s consolation prize!”

The first line of the second verse sounds a little tricky because Hell mentions triangles. I read somewhere that he uses a lot of triangle imagery in his songs, but I’m not quite sure why they are his favorite shape. I think the triangle is metaphorical for the Holy Trinity, which includes the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The doctor cursing could refer to him not being a very “Godly” man in the sense that he’s swearing, but also in the sense that he doesn’t want to “see anything religious,” like the triangles literally falling outside the window. It could mean that he just doesn’t like seeing anything visually religious, or he’s a non-believer, maybe an Atheist, or someone who’s just apathetic about life because he feels he has been wronged by life and by various people.

The second line gives way to the doctor not being accepted by the public. He was viewed as a quake, or a phony who wasn’t really appreciated or revered for his skills. The nurse adjusts her garters probably in a nervous or paranoid way because the weird, little creature is actually breathing, which she and the doctor didn’t believe was possible. A consolation prize is something that is given to a “loser” or someone who came in last place. They’re like a participation award. Hell is the consolation prize meaning the doctor and society have already denounced him a creepy, little loser who does not fit in with the rest of the world.

To hold the T.V. to my lips, the air so packed with cash
Then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot
To lose my train of thought and fall into your arms’ tracks
And watch beneath the eyelids every passing dot

The first line about the T.V. and air being packed with cash could refer to how televisions cost money, but also how ads such as commercials cost a lot of money, too. The viewers feel obligated to buy something just because the pretty person in the commercial is telling them to buy that particular product. Hell could be referring to throwing out actual money since he’s breaking his television set. In a literal sense, the T.V. The third line gives way to an unlikely passerby who catches the T.V. They become the unfournate soul who is addicted to advertisements and what the media tells them to like.

Something I find interesting about the first two verses compared to the third verse is that the first two involve Hell as a baby whereas the third verse involves Hell as an adult. I understand that he speaks as if he’s older when he goes out to “dine” in the first verse, but it’s fairly obvious the last verse involves Hell as an adult who realizes he’s different and doesn’t want to fit in with the mainstream. I think this is very telling for a lot of people who feel they don’t fit the mold. They don’t really think of the American Dream in terms of a white picket fence, with a spouse, and two and a half kids. Hell as well as many of the punk regulars at CBGB’s felt this way. Was it rebellion, a lack of direction, a lack of parenting, or the questioning of authority? Probably all of the above.

The beginning of American punk had bands who wanted to be more intellectual and artistic whereas the English punks were more angsty and violent. Yes, they were angsty from both sides of the world. The American punks wanted more free expression, the English punks were angry about their socio-economic status. The American Dream is middle class and a chance of upper mobility, something that England doesn’t really believe in.

Maybe Hell’s “Blank Generation” is more of a commentary on the lost idea of the American Dream? That’s for another analysis.

Image from Google

“It” the 2017 Movie Remake

it pic

I was able to see “It” last month. Needless to say, I thought it was a good and well-made movie. Before I saw the remake, I only saw bits and pieces of the original mini-series with Tim Curry back when I was fourteen.

What I enjoyed most about the movie was the setting. I liked how the remake was set in the late eighties, but there was a feel of the fifties with the town being so antiquated and a bit dilapidated. The mood was of that of a small town that doesn’t want to be progressive and deal with much change, yet there’s an omnipresent feel of some kind of danger.

One thing that struck me was how great the young actors were. They’re all about 12, but were professional and believable in their roles. Even my mother commented that they were all great. My favorite character was Richie because of his dirty mouth. Ha!

I don’t need to go too deep into detail about the story itself because I’m sure mostly everyone has watched this, or the original, or at least read the book. I feel like anyone could watch the movie and get the general feel of it without having to read that fossil of a book. The movie didn’t scare me, and I feel that if the blood and cursing was kept to a minimum, it would’ve been PG-13 instead of rated R. My favorite scene was when Bill, Eddie, and Richie were in the abandoned house, it looked like a scary funhouse.

In all, this was a decent horror movie. I think most Stephen King fans would appreciate this version of “It.” I would recommend it to any movie goer.

Image from Google

David Jacobs Episode 1

David Jacobs Episode 1

I was just another 28 year old female trying to work my way up in the corporate world. The job market was looking pretty bleak. I was working as a nanny after school for a few kids for ten dollars an hour. As much as I loved the kids I was caring for, I wanted to make money, doing marketing, agency stuff, whatever. When my father busted out the charts showing me how he expected my life to go versus how it really was, I knew it was time to step up. He wanted his only daughter to be as professional as him: a truly awesome computer engineer manager. Luckily for me, I did score an actual job through a temp agency, as a part time talent agent. I was assigned David Jacobs as my “talent.” He was the sexy Australian singer of the group Goldlamp. He had an incredible voice, great body, handsome face, oh, and did I mention, he had a great body?

I emailed him to meet me at my local Starbucks. As cliche and basic as Starbucks sounded (I’m a Dunkin’ Donuts) type of girl, I figured meeting for coffee was a simple way to get to know David. I had ordered myself some Cold Brew. I was messing around on Facebook liking random posts when I heard the door swoosh open. An older gentleman in a checkered shirt reading his paper jumped a little in his seat. A mom with her preschool aged daughter and toddler son stopped spoon feeding her son to flash a quizzical look in the loud patron’s direction. I turned and saw a guy wearing a black beanie with a gray hoodie. He was wearing these black type of sweatpants that bagged down in the middle. On his feet, he had on brown Timberland type of hiking boots. I got up from my seat and stood behind the guy. The pretty blonde highschooler behind the counter anxiously pressed some buttons on the cash register.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but we don’t serve the Unicorn Frappucino, anymore.” The guy leaned into the counter.

“What? Why not? I saw that you guys had it just a month ago.” The girl twirled a strand of her loose blonde hair around her finger. She looked to her left and sighed.

“Would you like to try another Frappucino? That was a limited edition kind. We now offer–” The man put up his hand to shush the barista.

“No, I want the Unicorn Frapp, and I heard you guys were the only Starbs that has it. I don’t want to drink anything else. Hear me?” I could detect a slight Australian accent.

“Oh, my God! David Jacobs! Hey! It’s me Macy! I’m here to talk about me being your new agent! Sorry, don’t worry about it, hon. I’ll buy him something later to drink.” The barista shook her head and rolled her eyes nervously.

“I’m not done with you!” David bellowed before I guided him back to my seat.
David plopped down in the chair across from me. He had on some black eyeliner that was smudged a little under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His facial hair suited him, but it was obvious he was in need of some rest, real food, and a little caffeine. I smiled and tried not to stutter or look anxious. I shuffled around some papers and opened up my notebook.

“So, David. Hello, I’m you’re new agent! I’m going to help you book some gigs and maybe help in the recording process, stuff like that.” My hands shook as I tried to write with my pen. David messed with his beanie pushing it up and down. He draped off his gray zip up hoodie revealing a white ribbed tank top underneath. On his left bicep, he had a tattoo that said “Life” in Gothic letters, and on his left wrist he had some bizarre black symbol that looked like an ace. On his right lower forearm, he had another tattoo that was a little hard to determine what it was. The veins were noticeable in his upper biceps.

“Good to know. My last one left.”

“What happened to him?” I put the tip of the pen to my mouth and scruched my eyebrows. David reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a vape. He took a long deep drag, leaned back, and blew out the “smoke.” I looked behind me. The mother who was sitting with her preschooler and her toddler had left, but now two older women were sitting in the same spot. They gave me a dirty look.

“David, I don’t think you’re allowed to vape in public places.”

“Whatever. There’s no real smoke in here. It’s vapor,” he rolled his eyes. I began to furiously write in my notebook. I had a few rules for David to follow. I tore the sheet out of my notebook without pulling off the popcorn. I passed the sheet to David. He grabbed it and looked down at the sheet. He scratched his hair patch on his chin looking confused. I noticed that he had painted his nails black on his left hand only.

“Rules? Psh! I don’t need them. Plus, I do eat and I don’t drugs.” I narrowed my eyes at David.

“Weed counts, too, David.” He got up from his seat and threw his hoodie back on.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you want to drop by my place? I got some interesting new tracks I could show you. It’ll be completely straight edge,” he was shaking now and looked like he was going to blow up like a smashed red tomato.

“First, tomorrow here again at 11:30. Then, we could listen to what you’re working on!” David got up and opened the door.

“I’ll text you! Bye, Maddie!” I didn’t even try to correct him.

You don’t correct or cross David Jacobs. Believe me, ask the other members of Goldlamp or the other members of society.

*Okay, Macy’s perspective was super boring, so for the next episodes, they’ll all be from David’s point of view.

Finding her strength

Sorry that I haven’t wrote much on this blog site of mine. I’ve been busy with work and life in general, but I just wanted to post a few recent things. I was published for the first time in the Journal Gazette, my local newspaper. I was so blessed to speak with a little girl with a big heart. This was posted on August 29, 2017:

http://www.journalgazette.net/features/20170829/finding-her-strength

What’s Wrong With Being Confident?

Has anyone ever heard of that song by Demi Lovato? I think it’s a decent song, but it got me thinking today. Is there ever such a thing as being overly confident?

I was always the kind of girl who doubted myself. I was always super critical about anything I did because I had always been so misjudged in the past by my classmates, my teachers, and even people who I thought were my friends.

Now, I’ve gained a newfound confident; especially when it comes to my singing and my music, but I’ve been saying things I’ve never said before:

“Oh, we could do that better than them!”

I remember one time I was watching Steve Harvey’s talk show, and a guy came on the speak about self-esteem. I forget his name, but he said, “Arrogance is thinking you’re better than everyone else. Confidence is knowing no one is better than you.”

Think about that quote. There is a difference. A big one at that.