Lou Reed Reading last night in NYC and this is what I have to say....

Lou, please leave the poetry to gutter punk luddites and Hallmark. Seriously, I don't want to go as far as saying you are presently maladapted for the prose.....okay, I'm saying it!!!! Stay off the verse. You've done it, those who have brains paid attention and are passing on their records to the young ones. I was way to old and cynical to be there. Last night I endured what was my first and probably last poetry reading I will ever attend for the rest of my days. Lou Reed read from his new exhaustive book, weighing in at 1.1 lbs, full of every lyric the man has written. He read a bit, answered questions such as "what is cool?" and "what's your favorite modern R&B?", sighed, then read a bit more. Some bullshit hipster in the audience with his "Alice's Restaurant" hat and comic irony mustache (A.E., thx) felt the need to make Lou regret asking the audience to answer a question. This dipshit took this moment to yell out his thoughts to ol' Lou, bypassing query at hand and ignoring all the folks who followed the rules by writing their thought down on paper and placing it in a fish bowl to be approved by the moderator. I wanted to truly kick this kid in the teeth. Anxiety set in and I knew, if I moved towards the exit, everyone standing behind me would curse my rested tush and lust for the wooden chair I abandoned. It was standing room only and I was in the thirdish row to the right of the stage. The man is a legend, I am well aware of his historical significance. He is one to respect, and, one to stop listening to after you turn 18-20 years old. Please, do not put his record on unless you are alone, it has some serious personal significance you want to attempt to share, or if you are writing some research paper. For seriousness. He looked banging, very healthy. He oozes cool. Perpetual ooze, a pool of insatiably cool ooze from his pores no band aid can hold back. That description kinda made me nauseous. I felt honored to see with mine own eyes someone who lived through the factory years, Warhol, heavy drug use, and not be a vegetable. It's a feat, no doubt. Now I knew I could actually push that ol' envelope a little harder and deeper. If Lou is breathing, my heart will stay beating. jokes. The two Dudes sitting in front of me, definitely two dudes from the same dude cloth, felt badass just being there. You could tell if you paid attention or have a lack thereof such as myself. One had an incredibly distinct balding hairline and the other wore a tattered red bandana to probably cover his Daddy Warbucks crown. Lou delivered a line about having a "one night fuck" and, of course, the Dudes nodded in accordance that a passing screw by the Hudson in the wee hours of the morning would rock their world, or, 'they've been there'. I honestly doubt they've been there. Unless they paid for it. Even then and if, they missed the whole point of what the words were about. One of the Duderstein's got up and helped himself to an Old Hollywood Celebrity photography book for sale during the reading!! This guy needs to remove himself from my view. Take Arlo Guthrie with you, douchebag. I'm not saying I dawdled my time away. One can learn something from anything, and, as anyone knows, I am up for ANYTHING! I'll try anything twice. maybe. So, I did. So what if I wanted to disappear when Mr. Reed began his rewritten version of The Raven by Poe. I cannot help it. Made me wonder if his next choice would be a Macbeth or Bukowski rework. I must be an awful person. The closing words did come and chairs were moved out of the way. My body began to move, not to the exit, but, to the front. Did I want to meet him? My body did. He still made me feel okay, like he did when I was a young Candace. He still let me know that things were gonna be alright, and, I sincerely wanted to thank him. The line of people waiting for an autograph was entirely too long. I did not need to tangibly know that I was there. I would not forget being there. If I did, I could read this ridiculousness I'm writing now.

Gotta go, laundry day.

What I want for christmas.....

Please, somebody get me this!

New York Times review.....

Another artist in the confessional tradition is David Heatley, whose first book, “My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down,” seems to encompass every uncomfortable thought he’s ever had about sexuality, race and his family.

The section “Sex History” is just what it says it is: Heatley’s nearly complete sexual history, from childhood games onward, documented in more than 700 tiny, doodly, wobbly-lined panels (although he draws a discreet veil over his relationship with his wife). It’s riveting for prurient reasons, of course, but also for its apparently comprehensive honesty: he’s perfectly willing to come off as a callow jerk.

“Black History,” a much longer application of the same technique to his relationships with every black person he’s ever known, is a little more coy — he tries to make his internalized racism shrivel up by exposing it to harsh sunlight, but he’s also trying to reassure us that he’s down. (Padding the story with hand written commentary on his favorite hip-hop records was probably a bad idea.)

But the final third of the book, devoted to his family tree, centers on a beautifully unsettling mosaic of comic-strip jokes that seem to be at his parents’ expense but inevitably end up ridiculing his own dealings with them. The book culminates in a lengthy piece about the birth of his children in the context of the generations before theirs: Heatley isn’t the only one, he knows, who’s ever heard a woman gasping and a newborn crying.

I made it.

Thank you, Memphis. I'm out to the bright lights of New York city.

I've been here for a little over three weeks. The cats are adapting just fine. What the hell am I going to get into here, other than trouble? Not sure. Future foggy. This is a quick post. I come with the promise to write more often, draw more comics and get myself involved in my surroundings. I'm destined for super stardom.

I've recorded several new SHM tracks. Give a listen if you have a few minutes to waste.

www.myspace.com/superhatemotel

new comic

Two Lane Blacktop

does drop his tough guy persona a few times. Dennis Wilson is his sidekick on the ride and The Mechanic. A chill and laid back dude with his eyes on the road race at all times. Did I say that James Taylor was bbbeeaauuttiiffuull in this flick? I would have totally jumped in the car with them. The driving scenes were sensual enough for me. He shifts gears like nobody's business. There is nothing sexier than a man driving the shit out of a car. I am so serious. Maybe it's my inclination to fall head over heels for complicated, confident men. Real men. Thankfully we don't see him fall for the only chick around. The Girl, Laurie Bird, is 18 in this film, a youngin' who fucked the Mechanic then made a poor attempt to woo the Badass. He kissed her on his time, not hers. Hot. A section of the film happened in Memphis at an old racetrack my dad enjoyed as a young man. He told me where it was, so, I immediately jumped in the car. I found what was left, a bit of blacktop battered by neglect, riddled with abandoned keg party crap. Kids starting fires and drinking beer. I had to walk pretty far into nowhere with no end in sight. Yikes. It was an eerie scene, battered old sofas scattered in the woods. I thought someone was sleeping on one under a blanket at one point. Fortuitously, only trash and no scary dude. I have a bunch of pictures. You can also go to www.lakelandraceway.com if you are a total geek like myself. Pics will be on blog. Later days....

I am on local tv being a smartass

http://www.myfoxmemphis.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;jsessionid=1AC4B9CECAF94D1F5A8B25A03C68D8A7?contentId=7100551&version=2&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1

glad they didn't use the other expounding vomit I gave them. it was funny. Mojitos will get me on tv. At least my hair looks pretty fly.

OA reply!

dear Miss Mills

Thank you for the very thoughtful message.

The good thing to come out of our mess is that it galvanized us and, we think, has made us stronger. Luckily, we have been given a second chance and we intend this time to be more alert--and effective.

I look forward to listening to Andrew's record which I read about somewhere.

One of the OA issues you missed--on the subject of "Home"--turned out to be one of our best (I say this as somebody who at first would've voted against this theme and as somebody who didn't like the other issue you missed, on "Sports," all that much). You should track the Home Issue down. The upcoming Best of the South III issue may top it though. INcludes a DVD that features a number of Memphis-based films including the debut of a Big Star "video," edited (expertly by our DVD editor) from footage shot by the band during the making of their first album.

Thanks again for the understanding and good words.

Good luck to you too.


Marc Smirnoff

p.s. I never saw the Tweedy connection...but those OA girls sure did.