Walt Mink the Movie

When I Googled myself recently, I found my name listed on the blog for the Walt Mink documentary. If you don’t know the band Walt Mink, this won’t be so interesting, but it was strange and good to be transported to the past. I dropped out of college after my freshman year spent in Portland, OR at Lewis and Clark College (Monica Lewinsky’s alma mater, though I think she arrived the year after I left.) A friend of mine was going to college at Macalaster and playing music in Minneapolis, MN so I thought I’d try it there.

He was my brother’s friend really, and he went on to be one of the best drummers in the known universe, playing for Beck, REM, and other records you’ve probably heard. His name’s Joey Waronker and I went to his wedding with my then girlfriend and I actually got to share a cab with Beck! After that, my star-struck girlfriend called it the "Beck wedding." Sounds like I’m name dropping, and maybe I am, but these celebrity moments are few and far between.

So I moved in Minneapolis and lived a slacker’s dream. 100 dollar rent, cheap used music stores, many other slackers. If it wasn’t for the snow it would be one of the best cities to live. When I lived there, there was a blizzard on Halloween and it didn’t stop until May.

I lived in a house with a bunch of other musicians. I played bass in a band of my own. All told I think this was one of the best times of my life. 1991, the year punk broke. I remember "Nevermind" coming out. I got to see them at a 1000 seat venue for the "Nevermind" tour. Chris Novaselic did all the talking. I actually saw them for the "Bleach" tour as well.

Walt Mink were the band in the house that were destined to be rock stars. It seems in my life that I have been close to bands that were destined to be the next big thing. Walt Mink sounded like the Smashing Pumpkins before they existed. Beatle-esque with big guitars, incredible amazing guitar riffs. I remember being with John Kimbrough, the lead guitarist/singer/songwriter, when he listened to the Smashing Pumpkins for the first time, and him saying, "He beat me to it." That was probably one of the most depressing moments of his life. Billy Corgan was asked what songs should go on Walt Mink’s CD. He told the record company to leave off the two best songs. I guess he was threatened, which means I don’t trust Billy Corgan. He basically sabotaged his rival.

But this was JK’s fault as well. He let the record company decide what songs should be on the record, what the record cover should be--he was so eager to be a rock star. Maybe people could read this. He also had this chipmunk-like voice--like the chorus of "Ziggy Stardust" except more so, a lot more so. It didn’t sound like it came from his macho gut like Eddie Veder or Chris Cornell. "Walt Mink" isn’t the greatest band name either.

The band I was in, The Delores Haze (Lolita’s real name), had the same problem. The lead songwriter, Eve, was so eager to be successful when she started a band in NYC that she turned the distortion way up because it was radio-friendly. It ran totally counter to her songwriting. She’s another person who’s immensely talented who never made it. Finally, I was in a band called Montag led by a songwriter who really should be the next Lou Reed and Elvis Costello. I’m not just saying that. I’m serious. Again, our band never got a break. There was also an issue with drugs and fear-of-success which wasn’t so helpful. Perhaps there are thousands of stories like this.

Just getting down this moment from my life. Walt Mink are a good story for a documentary: the band that should have been rock stars. My second novel, "Dishwasher," is about washing dishes at a cheap Italian restaurant and living in that house.

When I Google myself I also find gravestones and some guy who loves fireworks.

Iraq Election

Just watched some news coverage about the Iraq elections. Stupidly, I watched the late local Fox news. I was watching a "Simpsons" episode and the news came on and I thought I’d see how they were covering it. Depressing, of course. It sounds like generic paranoia but it really does watch like propaganda. Everything was only about people’s joy, cut with an American saying, "That’s just the price of freedom." I’m sure you could find an Iraqi family who would say it’s not fucking worth it, especially those families who have lost children. The entire spin was positive--a brief mention of the 40 people who were killed. This is why I have vowed to not watch the news for the next four years--we are not getting even half the story. Is there anybody on earth more disingenuous than local newscasters--those people who are supposed to be telling us the true story about the world. They report every story with the same indifferent smile.

While I’m happy for those joyful Iraqi’s and hope for stability, this story is far from over. But America is wishing for a Hollywood happy ending, an instant fix. My main fear about this election is that it is like another election for George Bush. He does not need more power, in his own head or anybody else’s. It struck me like a second inauguration. I don’t know what the hell my opinion matters about this major situation but I needed to write something.

Post Secret

In the absence of real blogging, here’s an amusing link. I successfully murdered fifteen minutes with it. Maybe it’s one of those things that’s going around a lot, but here’s another place where you can find it.

Postcard Confessions

Everybody’s got something to hide except heroin addicts. Uh, that’s a John Lennon reference--"Everybody’s got something to hide except me and my monkey" which is an ode to dope. Monkeys, horses and dragons are all dope slang for some good reason.

Leave your confessions in the comments. I'll start: I am J.D. Salinger.

(via Blog of the Day)

Epilogue

The epilogue to the Sew post:

Olivia Frances

...

My favorite picture of my daughter, from her second birthday. I know I’m just asking for comments like, "Oh, she’s so cute!" but really, isn’t she the most hauntingly beautiful human child you have ever seen?

She’s off from daycare this week--something called Winter Vacation--so I won’t be able to do much blogging. A warning to those addicts, such as myself. It will be good to take a step back, as I’ve been getting very entwined in this site--checking referrers, hits, comments. I feel a little spark when I see someone has stopped by and then I want to feel that spark again. I never thought I had an addictive personality, but I was wrong. Time to be a good father and take my daughter to the park.

The Opportunist

I want to talk about something that was hinted at in a recent comment--how I should be happy to have a published novel and not lament so much that I don’t have a career. That’s not what the comment said at all, but that’s what it got me thinking about. I’ve probably talked about this before. I get the feeling that I repeat myself sometimes, I mean whole sentences, verbatim--but what can I do, these thoughts are core to my every day. My answer is: no, having a published novel is not entirely enough.

I wrote the novel that’s been published when I was twenty years old. I wrote the first draft--200 pages--in an insane month in a dirty room in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn. My agent at the time, who was trying to sell an earlier novel about being a slacker in Minneapolis, MN, didn’t know what to make of it. She sent it out reluctantly. "I do not see a market for a book that is slight and lacking in any meaningful message," said one editor. Three years later I added forty pages to it and decided to try and get it published myself. Soft Skull Press decided to take it on. At that time they were publishing books at Kinko’s. Mine was their first full-color, professionally bound book.

It was a great experience getting it published--vindicating, made me feel like a writer, which is a great feeling. I went on a book tour, there was a book release party, I had a girlfriend, I felt good. Soft Skull didn’t have any distribution at that time so the book kind of stayed in place. It was great to have a book to hand out to people, and it was an impetus for writing another book, but it’s not like it launched me anywhere other than my own mind. I broke up with that girlfriend--actually she broke up with me, not because we didn’t like each other, but for other sort-of-dramatic reasons. So I was a single, self-loathing 24-year-old. I started writing another novel in this atmosphere which would last me three years.

All in all, it was a very fucked up experience writing the next book: it owned me. I thought that was proof that I was writing something profound, important, but maybe it was a learning experience--never write like that again. Never drown yourself in a book. I tried to find an agent for the book, got rejected, found one who would take it on, and then the book was rejected by many publishers, even small independent publishers. I can hear you thinking, Maybe it sucks. It doesn’t suck. It needs some help, but it doesn’t suck. Not getting that book published nearly drained me of my will to write. What’s the fucking point to suffer like that and have nothing come of it? Rejection letters aren’t just about vanity. I know there is much worse suffering, but these problems are real to me. I need to keep writing, keep submitting, same old story.

In the past, editors would take on writers who showed promise. They took on careers. Not today. If you’re not an instant success, or can’t promise it, you’re nothing. All right, moving on. Cut to: Wilmington, NC. I start another novel while my wife is pregnant. I try to write something that has more chance of selling. I can’t write something completely mainstream because nothing will come out of me, but this book is less of a long character piece. It’s called "North of Sunset," and it’s about Hollywood--vanity plates are a big part of it, but I don’t want to get into the plot. It’s sort of like Tom Wolfe except more fucked-up and less uptight. I think this license plate should be the cover. Everybody who reads the book loves it, they say it’s a page-turner. Except for the people who work in publishing. Agents say it’s hard to sell a Hollywood novel. I say, Hollywood is the capital of America, and America is the capital of the world, so this shouldn’t be an issue. The novel’s about more than the movie business. But agents reject it. I go with my original agent who says he’ll try to sell it aggressively.

The book gets rejected twenty or so places. Then it’s done. Keep in mind that I am a new father, an unemployed new father. I have worked very hard on the novels I have written and I have little to show for it. I have had little morsels that have kept me afloat until the next piece of good news. Of course, some people are dying to get an agent, etc. but I am past that. I’ve got a kid to support, I have written five novels, I am working on my sixth, I am a writer who writes. I am sorry to bore you with my self-pitying and un-unique tale, if you've made it this far. Given the subject of the last post, it may seem like I’m whoring out my depression. Really I just have to vent this shit every once in a while.

So, to conclude…this blog has been enormously important to me. To have smart people actually respond positively to what I’ve written, in real time, is a great experience. Thank you. It’s progress.

Inauguration Day

I’ve gone and done it. I put a Paypal button on this page. I am tired of poverty and there’s always the chance that a philanthropic millionaire might stop by this site and feel generous. Exceedingly, absurdly doubtful but a small chance is better than nothing. I need some help with my habit for living.

Why.

The date arrives. Some fucker is doing something today. It won’t be very hard to not turn on the TV.

Old Neighborhood

Thanks to Ebway, City Rag, and Amy Langfield, who all linked to the Sew story. Glad that Sew is getting her online due. I wrote to Ebway.org about the Sew story--I was curious if anyone remembered her. I didn’t think that they would link to it. I have learned from Ebway that the Seward Park neighborhood is teeming with new Wi-Fi coffee houses and old staples are being torn down. Strange, but it also makes me feel like I am missing out on the city, which is something I haven’t felt for a while. When I moved to the Seward Park neighborhood, my building was filled almost entirely with Chinese families. It used to be a Jewish neighborhood, and then Chinatown started moving eastward. Before I moved into my apartment, the rent was $100 a month, rent controlled for fifty years. I actually took my crooked Polish landladies to court because they were charging me $800 and refused to give me a lease--if they registered the apt. it would have been shown to be a rent stabilized apartment. I won and the rent went down to $525, phenomenal for NYC.

Here’s a story: one day I got home and the chain was locked on the door. A stranger took the chain off and let me into my apartment. A man and a woman who I’d never seen before were sitting there. They had moved a bed into the living room, a TV, dresser, pots and pans in the kitchen, and even food into the refrigerator. This was the landlady’s son and his wife. Their claim was that my girlfriend and I had been subletting the apartment alongside the husband and wife, so we had no claim on the apartment. My girlfriend called the cops, who promptly kicked the man and the woman out--the cops were smiling, saying to the couple, "What the hell are you doing?" An incredibly stupid scheme. To be racist: those landladies made me believe in Polish jokes.

Soon, the Chinese families moved out one by one and the hipsters started moving in, as well as new bars. I always knew that it was going to become the next East Village. It’s a great little, self-contained community with its own park--the last undiscovered area of lower Manhattan. I’d like to go back and see what’s come of the old neighborhood.

Mystic

Here are some links with which to fake being mystical:

Ask: I Ching Connection
Psychedelic Paint Program: Rainbox
Fractal Generator: XAOS

Actually that’s being too cynical. The fractal generator is mind blowing. The paint program is also like being on drugs without being on drugs. And I admit that I’ve gotten comfort from the I Ching program, especially when it tells me that there will be progress and success (if I cross the Great Stream.) They’re Macintosh programs but you can find the equivalent on these sites.

Also Tarot.com has good free tarot readings, if you believe in that sort of thing, which I do, if it’s not abused. Making a website out of the Tarot seems like a form of abuse, but the readings are well done. I am not overly credulous about these things--I just don’t believe anything is arbitrary. Like most people, I grab onto what’s accurate and discard what’s inaccurate, or stretch an insight so it pertains to my life. You have to take it seriously for it to work, and probably shouldn’t do it over and over again. I like the Tarot and I Ching because it’s more personal than astrology, especially newspaper astrology, which is not to say I don’t check my horoscope. I go to Tarot.com when I’m feeling shitty and I need some small hope, even if it’s a false hope. Usually I keep these things private, but as most of my thoughts are made public on this site, I thought I’d dive in again--it’s validating to feel like it’s not a seedy, little secret.

By the way, I’m a Cancer--which seems appropriate, a disease with the sign of a crab.