Music To My Ears

I listen to a lot of music. A LOT of music. A lot a lot a lot. I do most of my music listening on the back of my bike. I do this for 2 reasons; 1 I’m left the hell alone so I can enjoy it and 2 because the road can get fucking boring with nothing but wind and traffic noise in your ears.

As such I have a few recommendations for you all.

Cradle Of Filth - Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa

This album absolutely rocks; it is Cradle back to the power and musicality of “Midian”. High speed extreme metal played by the best the world has to offer.

Favorite Tracks - Lilith Immaculate, Forgive Me Father (I Have Sinned), Beyond Eleventh Hour

Dead Kennedys - Give Me Convenience Or Give Me Death

Yea it’s a best of, who gives a shit, Dead Kennedys kick ass. Live tracks + re-mastered studio tracks = a big bucket of punk win! Lots of air guitar and rocking out.

Favorite Tracks – Pull My Strings, Holiday in Cambodia, California Uber Alles, Too Drunk To Fuck

Eagles of Death Metal - Death By Sexy

Canned Heat meets Queens Of The Stone Age. Sexy rock with a lot of thrust and grunt. Rock you can fuck to.

Favorite Tracks – Cherry Cola, I Want You So Hard, Eagles Goth, Bag O Miracles

Mars Volta - De-loused in the Comatorium

The first thought after listening to this album in one sitting is “Holy SHIT that was good.” Guitars with more effects than I can name, insanely good drumming, lyrics that tell a story like a series of oil paintings on Acid. On their own the tracks are good but play it from start to finish and the album is awesome.

 

Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More

UK Folk for a new generation. This is one of those rare albums you can pick any track from and it’s an instant favorite. Every song has an incredible peak and deep meaning and the instrumentation is perfect on every song.

Favorite Tracks – Tracks 1 – 12

There is a hell of a lot more that I listen to when I’m on the road but I usually gravitate to the above. However I have to mention or recommend the following:

• ·         Any Queens Of The Stone Age Album. I mean ANY, from Queens Of The Stone Age to Era Vulgaris.
• ·         The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy BBC Radio Series
• ·         George Carlin – Last Words Audio Book
• ·         Nile – Ithyphallic
• ·         Captain Dan And The Scurvy Crew. Pirate Hip-Hop for the WIN.

A lot more falls under the “When I feel like it” category but I highly recommend the above and hope you can check out a few of the above.

Enjoy

Vic The Country Gentleman

This Christmas I had the pleasure of going to see my wife’s grandparents. And getting the chance to sit and talk to a real country gentleman.

Vic grew up during World War 2 and the hardships and struggles of the time help to shape his sense of honor, fairness, loyalty and honestly.

Vic is not only gentleman but a man’s man. He liked a drink and a dirty joke as much as the next man but only in the company of other men. No swearing, dirty jokes or loutish behavior in front of a woman. Ever.

Vic, Graeme (my father in law) and I were out the back smoking and drinking, well Graeme and I were drinking and smoking, and telling our jokes and stories, whispering our dirtiest jokes, including my favorite about the musical octopus, so the women would not overhear and be offended.

That was the main factor that I found most fascinating about him. It didn’t matter what we were doing or talking about, the man always had a sense of nobility and honor that isn’t even a shadow of what passes for honor today.

Vic was always a hard working man, worked hard and played hard too. He maintained a no bullshit attitude; he offered none and accepted none. During our few conversations he always spoke slowly and in measured way. The slow speech was not an indication or old age or stupidity, it was an indication of Vic taking his time to think about the words he wanted to say and to make sure his message was clear.

That was the real pleasure of sitting and talking to such a true, no nonsense gentleman. There is no pretence, no false modesty, no trying to impress me or give a false impression of himself or his impressions of me. You could talk about anything from cars to hooking up a water tank in the back yard and he made you pay real attention. Not thru bullshit or intimidation but thru his delivery and honest speech.

It is incredibly sad that the Country Gentleman is a dying breed of man. Now a days the words honesty, fidelity, honor, nobility and a way to behave in front of young people, older people and women have had their meanings crippled.

Due to our excess that has filled our cultural vacuum; things like trashy celebrity magazines, the stunning decline of actual journalism, reality TV and novelty ring tones, the image of what makes a real man or indeed real woman (but that’s a WHOLE ‘nother story) has been so distorted that it is completely unrecognizable.

Now the best you can look forward to is being ignored when you walk down the street. The complete opposite of the glory that once was and is now called “the old days” where people would say hello and mean it.

So raise your glasses to Vic and all his kin. There are not many like him left.

Tribute to George Carlin

"I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond!

I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial!

I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers.

I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail.

But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant.

I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity.

I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!"

Bikers, One Percenters and Motorcycle Clubs

There is a difference between the 3 groups listed above. In my view a Biker is a guy like me who loves to ride and loves his bike. I’m not affiliated with any kind of club, I just love riding, either with mates or by myself or in a group.

A Motorcycle Club is a group of like minded riders who love to get together and have a ride or have a beer or a feed and have a good time. Not involved in any illegal activities or any shit like that, just a group of people who like to hang out and have something in common. Like the Harley or Kawasaki Owners Groups or the Ulysses Motorcycle Club.

A One Percenter (also known as an Outlaw Motorcycle Club) is a group who may or may not be involved in illegal activities.

I have met a couple of guys in Outlaw clubs, one in the Banditos and one from the Gypsy Jokers. We had a chat while smoking at a rest stop and I can say – these dudes rocked. Not only friendly as all hell but honest and funny guys.

Everyone in the media has these guys painted in the worst kind of light. The image portrayed is that of a group of homicidal rapists who are so wired on Crystal Meth they have no idea what year it is.

This is simply not true.

Granted I am not a member of any club and granted I haven’t met every member of these gangs but I know enough to know how to behave. Treat them with respect and you get it back.

This poor paint job has covered the rest of us too, the bikers and the clubs. I ride a Suzuki GS500F, a road bike, nothing like a Harley or a cruiser and yet I have seen and heard people as I walk past in all my gear.

“Don’t look at him honey” a mother will often say to her small child. I heard this shit in a doctor’s waiting room for fuck sake. What do these people expect me to do in a god damn waiting room? Rape their kid in front of them?   

In the same night I pulled into Dominos Pizza to get dinner on my way home. As I got of my bike and took my helmet off, I saw some guy looking at me. He stared at me as I walked in and waited for my order. This wasn’t a ‘he’s hot’ kind of stare it was a ‘oh my god I’m in danger’ stare.

I went outside and lit up a cigarette and this asshole was still staring at me, same look in his eyes. I looked over and said “what do you want?” he jumped and scampered away like a frightened dog.

I’m not the most imposing or threatening kind of guy. I’m of a normal, standard height and an abnormal weight. I feel tank in all my gear but I really don’t look it. I often say I look like a bowling pin. So the only thing I could pin this look of terror on was because I was a biker.

Well I got pissed god damn it...   

Wankers. Wankers Everywhere...

Every time you are on the road or even walking, you will see no less than 10 Wankers out there. As sure as damn it is to Dom it, they are out there. Everywhere. EVERYWHERE!

The line between Wanker and Cock Sucker is very thin. A Wanker is someone who is going 10KPH under the limit. A Cock Sucker is someone going 10KPH under the limit, when you overtake them; they are talking on a Mobile Phone. As you can see it doesn’t take much to become a Cock Sucker.

On the way home from work today I almost ran afoul of an Amour Guard Van driven by a Wanker. I was on Parramatta Road again, which in its self is a very dangerous place, when I saw this van on the left, stopped at an intersection, wanting to turn left onto the same side of the road as me. I knew as I saw the van this would be a Wanker at the wheel.

He was stopped at the intersection with the armored bonnet well over the stop line and sticking out into the left lane. As I got in front of the nose of the van, he started out into my lane. Now I was already in front of the van and had right of way and this Wanker pulled out on me.

I opened the taps on the bike and swerved close to the center lines and dodged the Wanker. This shit happens every day. Some Wanker will pull out without looking. Some Wanker will change lines without indicating. Some Wanker will be going 10 – 20KPH under the limit. Every. Fucking. Day!

I may not be the best rider out there, in fact I know I’m not, I have done some stupid shit that could have made me come-a-cropper. Usually these things are related to entering turns and round-a-bouts to fast and needing to break hard but in saying all that I always indicate and I do my best to do the limit while keeping myself safe from the Wankers in front of me.

People believe me IT IS NOT HARD TO USE YOUR MIRRORS. Please for the love of almighty Bob, look where the fuck you are going.

Fear and Loathing in Parramatta

I got used to riding around on my own and didn’t like depending on my wife 2 carry my fat ass around. I felt like I was putting her out. I knew she didn’t mind and even though it was a hassle, she was happy to help me but still, it was an imposition.

4 long months later, on the 15^th of December 2009, 4 months after the accident and 9 months after my birthday, my bike was ready to be picked up. During that time I had not ridden once. I was paralytic with fear. I was terrified. I was fucking scared.

Not only had I not ridden in 4 months but my skills were almost forgotten. My belief was that like most things requiring skill, if you don’t practice your forget. Kate (My wife and part time partner in crime) and I stood in the gravel car park of Action Motorcycles in Parramatta. Trembling as I geared up and the engine warmed.

Action is in a shit of a location. Not only located a stone’s throw from the crash site but at the intersection of 2 main roads. Lot of traffic, lot of noise and a prick to get in and out of. Once you leave the car park there’s only 1 way to go and I didn’t want to go that way.

Once I set off I nervously made the mistake of getting in the wrong god damn lane and couldn’t get over to the right. I missed 3 right turns because I didn’t have the ‘Grumba’ to move over. Finally I found a break in the traffic and turned right. I entered the turn a little hotter than I should have. As I swung into the turn the bike got a good lean to it and as I gassed my way out, it all came back to me.

I yelled into my helmet “ITS ABOUT FUCKING TIME!!!!” I was back in a big bad way. I took as many left and rights as I could before I realized I had no idea where the fuck I ended up. I only stalled the thing twice.

Back tracking I found the main road I was looking for. Peak hour… What a fucking nightmare. Not only was it busy as hell on the roads but it was also 35 degrees out and about 400 fucking degrees in all my gear. I was roasting in my own juices out there.

The ride home was delightfully uneventful. I pulled in with a sense of relief and accomplishment… it was after all my first time out since my accident. The only thing that kept me from riding the rest of the day away is that I could not handle the heat anymore and I was starting to show symptoms of dehydration.

Meeting a Cock Sucker

Granted all drivers do not fall into the 3 categories of Faggots, Cock Suckers and Wankers. But most do and that’s the problem. One night in late 2009 I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting one of these Cock Suckers. Rear on.

It was a shit day at work and I had a bad run in with my father. My father is one of the best people to grace this planet but has an unfortunate number of demons following and clawing at his back.

This particular run in was after a weekend spent fighting with both my parents and by the time the day was done, so was my 

tolerance for the world.

I was travelling down Parramatta road and was close to home, ready to vent my anger and frustrations out on the Covenant and save the universe. Feeling Emo is always best resolved by shooting strange aliens and tea bagging their corpses.

Coming up to the Woodville Road turn off I stopped and waited patiently for my turn to merge and speed towards home. While waiting for the traffic to thin out so I could move, I was slammed into from behind and catapulted over the handle bars.

I hit the blacktop like a sack of shit and rolled 2 meters away from my bike. I remember seeing my arms and legs flail about in the air before I landed on my ass. When I stopped rolling I couldn’t move and I thought I was paralyzed. The first words out of my mouth; What the FUCK!

I remember seeing traffic streaming past and my bike standing vertical, buried in the Cock Suckers radiator. Another 2 or so meters would have put me into traffic and would have transformed me from a rational, angry, careful, angry, responsible and angry driver to a Road Crayon.

A Road Crayon is reddish brown smear on the tarmac to be washed away with a fire hose. The combined blood, bone and organ material, ground to a paste and smeared by the rubber of passing cars. Thankfully Almighty Bob was smiling on me and the additional padding in my ass fat, slowed my kinetic energy and stopped my rolls after twisting a couple of joints.

Once the shock of the thing had worn off I gleefully discovered I could move my toes. The ambulance arrived in less than 5 minutes and put me in a neck brace and gave me a shot of sweet lady Morphine.

HOLY FUCK! MORPHINE!! That is the good shit! Within 2 seconds of the delicious intravenous 5ML was injected into my right arm, a warm, buttery glow started building in my stomach and rapidly shot though my body. I think it would be like being trapped in a freshly baked Croissant. Jesus Christ that felt good. 8 seconds later I was officially off my tree.

If I was ever to become an addict, Opiates would be my choice. Granted my pain was about a 7 (Hurts like a bitch but I can probably manage) but that shit is seductive. I was bent for about 3 – 5 hours and my god, it was good.

The pain of the impact had faded, the pain from my neck brace had faded and hugs felt amazingly good. When I came back to my senses I hurt in a big bad way. Mostly from the hard plastic neck brace digging into the back of my skull.

At about 10 or 11PM, the police arrived at the hospital to take my statement. I told them that I was stationary, with my lights on, waiting for my turn to merge. They told me I was hit at about 30KPH and the driver would be fined at a minimum.

As expected, the police took a sample of blood to make sure I wasn’t drunk or drug fucked at the time of the accident. Thankfully I wasn’t. The driver was fined and lost a few points.

8 Hours, 7 X-rays and a CAT scan later I was discharged with only a mild concussion and some very sore muscles and joints. The doctors on duty were worried I did serious damage to my neck. 

When they first pulled the brace off me I could not move my neck without wincing. After the CAT scan they confirmed there was no skeletal or nerve damage. The pain came from not being able to move my neck for 8 hours.

I will state here, for the record, THANK GOD FOR SAFETY GEAR. At the time of my accident I was wearing the following:

• ·          1 Australian Standards approved helmet

• ·         1 Nylon motorcycle jacket with armor plating and padding

• ·         1 Pair of black jeans

• ·         1 Pair of Rossi motorcycle boots

The helmet protected my nut from cracking and spilling my brains onto the blacktop. The jacket saved my back and elbows from cracking and shattering during the rolls and the boots kept my ankles from separating. With all the gear I had on, not only did I not break anything but I was able to walk. THANK YOU, MOTORCYCLE GODS.

I was sore for a few days and had time to think about things. Granted I was fucking pissed at the guy for not paying attention but on the whole, I just wanted him to do the right thing. And that right thing cost him almost 9 grand.

At the time I was furious but looking back now, I know it was just an accident. Just the universe playing silly buggers by sitting in an office chair and spinning until it felt sick and throwing up at whoever it looked at. In this case, it was me.

It took almost 4 months to get parts and to have my bike back on the road. I was a miserable cunt. There’s no other way to describe it. I was bored, depressed, constantly frustrated and jumpy. It was strange how badly it affected me.

At the time of my accident I was riding to work every day and going out for trips on weekends, if I could have slept on my bike I would have. It’s not like I spent every waking minute on the thing but I really enjoyed the rides, even with traffic, Faggots, Cock Suckers and Wankers, I honestly enjoyed it.