here in dublin, 8:45 a.m, sitting in my hotel getting ready to go to sleep.
something happened tonight that made me question my rock-star status…
we went out to dinner, and after dinner we went to a trendy, models and rock-stars sort of bar/club, as one does when one is compelled by the biological prerogative to increase one’s serotonin levels and relieve one’s self of one’s genetic material. but rather than stay at the aforementioned trendy bar/club i opted to go back to my hotel room to read my book and watch a movie about the clarence thomas/anita hill embroglio, and, of course, play with my computer.
so what sort of self-respecting travelling musician am i when i choose to be a geek in my hotel room rather than sit in a trendy bar watching models flirt with musicians? i think i need to go to rock-star school to learn how to successfully be a card carrying ‘rock star’.
there are so many things that ‘rock stars’ are supposed to do, or at least know how to do. for example, i’ve never ingested cocaine, and every self-respecting rock-star is supposed to be either a cocaine enthusiast or a recovering cocaine addict, right?
and i’ve never worn sunglasses at night or during an interview. and, again, every self-respecting rock-star is supposed to wear sunglasses whenever the opportunity presents itself, right?
and so many other things…i’ve never dated a super-model, i’ve never been a tax-exile, i’ve never had sex in a limousine, i’ve never worn leather trousers, i’ve never beaten up a photographer (ha, ha, the image of me trying to beat up anyone is kind of comical, apart from the fact that i’m a pacifist, most of the time anyway, just so long as someone doesn’t try to steal the coupons from my sunday newspaper, then it’s goodbye pacifist moby, hello kick ass van damme), in fact, and this is the hardest thing to admit, i’ve never had sex with a groupie.
yes. i know. i should be ashamed of myself. in 50 years (if i’m still alive, which i hope to be) people will ask me questions like ‘tell us about all of the crazy things that you did when you were a rockstar!’ or ‘can we see your deviated septum? you must have a deviated septum?’ and i’ll have to answer ‘well, i had a little bit of fun back in the early 2000’s, but i guess i missed out on a lot of the sex and drugs and fun that’s supposed to come with even a modicum of public figuredom’. and then the people who’ve asked me to tell them anecdotes of degeneracy will look at me with long, sad faces and shuffle off disconsolately.
i feel guilty already.
and can you tell that it’s 9 a.m and i’ve been up all night reading and i’m not sleepy and i have a lot of free time to sit here and write annoying, swiftian updates?
(‘swiftian’ is a good, literary adjective. if you use it in english class you will impress your teacher. or you’ll irritate your teacher for being a pretentious smart-ass like me.)
if i were to tell you what book i’m reading you would be convinced that i’m a complete failure of a ‘rock-star’. ok, here’s the truth, instead of spending my evening cavorting with models and real rock-stars, i came back to the hotel to read ‘dune: house harkonnen’, which is the new ‘dune’ book written by frank herberts son and a friend of his. and i read ‘dune: house atreides’ and i loved it. so, of course, i have to read ‘dune: house harkonnen’, right?
and tonight at dinner a friend of mine was complaining that musicians don’t have any mystique anymore (not ‘mustique’, that’s a crazy island in the carribean where real rock stars used to hang out and have houses. and i bet that in all of the rock star houses on ‘mustique’ you wouldn’t find people reading ‘dune’, fuck, i’m pathetic). so, my friend was complaining that musicians don’t have mystique anymore. and i guess you could point to an update like this one and rightfully say ‘q.e.d’. by the way, ‘q.e.d’ is a good latin abbreviation that you can use to convince people that you’re annoying and pretentious, too. ‘quid errat demonstrat