Second day in smallest state in the continental U.S. of A.
I didn’t write last night thanks to the combined efforts of the Dutch and Irish brew masters at Heineken and Bushmills. That, and the fact that Al was convinced at check-in time yesterday, that my staying on, and filming his intravenous regimen, was undoubtedly a violation of his probation (Texas gun and drug trouble).
By tonight’s show however, a chemically made-over Alien Jourgensen, was once again his Cuban Viking self. Firing on all cylinders, with the nitrous boosting the octane to just shy of 300.
A bepimpled and bespectacled earnestly nerdish looking “hospitality helper” supplied by the venue tonight, came floating in just after the show, and inadvertently crossed swords with Al. The snickering kid (undoubtedly a Primus fan) was delivering a pack of Depends brand adult diapers, that should have been in the dressing room when the band arrived (I know that I’ve mentioned before – adult diapers are on Ministry’s tour rider).
Al snatches the bag from the seemingly defenseless boy servant and chides for all to hear: “My confidence, at last! Six hours late! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to shit your pants on cue, in tight leather pants, without the confidence only a diaper can bring? DO YOU?!
You either laugh at their jokes… Weep openly for the fictional/delusional troubles that surround the star… And “back-burner” any of your own agendas… Or be fired.
I thank the powers that be, that Al’s pranks/jokes/stories are all new to me, and mostly hilarious… So far…
Our greasy nosed diaper peddling boy servant turns out to not really understand the basic back-stage protocol of: Al’s the joke teller and you are the joke. Without intending to be, the kid is brave, shrugging off Al’s big-brotherly (and blood-smeared) arm, and before exiting the room he announces, in a post-stress-sydrome shriek: “If you need anything else… there’s a Walgreen’s on your way out of town.” And then he’s out the door.
Al moves quickly to shout down the corridor after him: “Out of town? Well isn’t that fine Rhode Island welcome! Come back. I’ve crapped! I need a change! Then Al’s back in the dressing room: “Did you fucking hear that? Get out of town, and he won’t change my fucking filthy diaper… Kids these days… No fucking ethics.”
Sphinctour dialogue of the day: With Al, back of the bus, both of us headed to Fitchburg Mass., cooking dope, and heading to oblivion. He, not me.
Me: With so many looking to blow you, do you have any tricks to keeping yourself humble?
Al: Sports… And some writers. They do shit I could never do… No actors though. They’re doing shit anybody could do, including me. I respect what you do… I think I have a very “camera” eye too. I’d like to make movies some day…Direct, shoot, cut, act… Be as Yentle as they’ll let me… But, of course, who’s goona give a poopy-pants junkie 50 million to explore his theories on reincarnation?
Me: You believe in reincarnation?
Al: Well not for everybody. Not for actors… That’s the end of the line… They’re done… Universal scrap heap… But I remember at least three other lives I’ve lived going back about a thousand years. Then again, I’ve lived three or four lifetimes of most people in this lifetime alone… So something out there’s kinda rushing me along toward something.
Me: Something like what?
Al: Don’t know… I just pray it’s not this shit-hole again. If you think I’m rude this time around, just wait ‘til I’m sent back here to do it all again… I’ll be the worst, most unredeemable ass-hole on the planet… Compared with that guy, the guy you see before you is angelic.
Al hit, and didn’t have to wait long for the nod. I’m in my bunk with a fair bit of vodka, and very little orange juice. Seems like, though I don’t get drunk, I drink a little all day now. Because I can in this society… And because the “gift” of wakefulness leaves me ungrateful. If there’s a God, I’m once again slapping her in the face daily.