“Hanging out on second avenue eating chicken vindaloo”
Having inner turmoil more than ever lately. For example I went to sleep at 1PM today, as in, instead of going to bed at 6 or 7 am as I usually do, it's now getting to be noon or later. Then I have to sleep until 7 or 8pm to make any sense. It's not a deep sleep either, I can hear myself thinking of things I have to do, emails I have yet to answer, calls I still need to return.
I am pleased my massage team is getting more and more popular amongst touring bands- today we helped out Cold War Kids in Amsterdam, Elbow in Amsterdam and one of the Flogging Molly entourage, also in Amsterdam, as well as Dozens of other touring bands, I am literally drowning in work, but very often, one of my Dot Bots will report back and say she only made 45 euros backstage (1 euro per minute of massage) or some, sadly even say, they went there, set up, and the bands bus broke down and didn't arrive in time to get massages. One cheeky band even had Dot Bot come backstage, do the standard "one free back rub for management at each gig" then left a note on her table when she was washing hands that "no one else will have time for a massage, but you are more than welcome to watch show and hang out and party after". Pffft!!!!!
Then I have yet another ex Dot Bot (fired for being a traitor) busy trying to build a competitive massage team, naturally using my methods, contacts, even rules (she mistakenly tried to hire some of my current Dot Bots that aren't online yet and naturally they all sent me her emails which had MY contract with her heading on them) my rules, my instructions, everything. This bitch has been so busy recently turning her female production manager friends against me, and when they meet a Dot Bot on tour, like at a recent Danzig show, rips my Dot Bots face off, all out of fear of competition. What a backstabbing business this is. I started massaging rock stars back in 1982, I am pretty sure I am the first one to do so. Naturally, competition is expected, but being lied to and stabbed in the back from what I thought were loyal people, is sickening. UGH!!
If I dare leave the house for a while to go eat, work out, jog or god forbid, have some fun at karaoke once a month, I only come home to be punished by the now 800+ emails waiting for me to answer. Emails from people from all over the world wanting to join my massage/chiropractic team, emails from people asking love/sex/relationship advice, emails from the small amount of real friends I still have, emails from band managers, musicians themselves, relatives, omg, it never ends. I used to have hours to blog, write for my books, watch the occasional movie, but not anymore. I wanted to go to Thailand over Christmas, but I doubt that will ever happen. I got so far behind just from being in Boston for those two weeks- I STILL haven't even wrote my Boston blog (or even the full Rock am Ring blog from the summer). This isn't because I am sitting around on the sofa watching TV. It's because I am so swamped, so overwhelmed I don't even have time to wank anymore. I guess I am a work-o-holic. Better than being into drugs or alcohol, for sure, but it still affects the people around me (when I DO see other people). I keep hoping for the day that my massage team is in place, solid, and stays that way, but it changes every day. Some get pregnant, move to a place that would have no chance for massage work, quit because their man is too jealous of their contact with rock stars, get fierd for being a traitor or just find any old reason to quit ("job at the spa is too much now, I can't take anymore work") so then the task of finding an AMAZING replacement begins; auditions, interviews, loads of emails back and forth, etc. omg.
Ok, now I am done venting for now, the headache one gets for not receiving their daily green tee at the same time every day is pounding away so I have to get this last bit out before I sign off.
Thursday night I had dinner with Jasmine on 2nd ave, lower east side, where I have eaten Indian food for years, even as far back as when I was dating Joey Ramone (1983, 84, 85). I am pretty sure it is the same place Joey sings about in the song way below. Anyways, I had tried to invite Arturo to come eat with us, but he never answered his phone (found out later he is in Mexico for a couple weeks).
Arturo and I a few years ago ^ at the Niagra bar
Notice Arty left Marky's name out of the symbol ^
Anyways, Jasmine and I decided to go eat alone anyways, without Arturo. Sitting there starving, I was shocked/happy/surprised to see Marky Ramone and a friend walk in. I said "MARKY! Long time no see!" and he was like "Dr. Dot! What the hell!? ha ha". Anyways, I don't know why, I guess because of the commotion I said "funny you are here now, as I had been trying to reach Arty all night to ask him to come here too" and he snapped "NOT on good terms with Arty right now Dot!" he went on to explain all the gory details, the typical arguing that goes on when certain band members die and they other surviving members and associates feel the need to fight over what belongs to whom, etc. The same exact SHIT is going on with the Zappa family. So fucking sad how everyone can't just get along. sigh.
Taken Thursday night over Indian Food ^ "on the avenue"
Thing is, Arturo invented the Ramones logo years ago, he is their art director, friend, lighting director, etc, since the very beginning, and by the way, Marky is not even their original drummer, Tommy is. Sigh, I just try to stay neutral, I am extremely close to Arturo, he is like family to Jasmine and I, so naturally I felt uncomfy hearing his rants. I just grinned and bared it and changed the subject. The food, as always, was amazing and I felt Joey's presence that night. Not only was it strange I was wearing a Ramones shirt (just randomly threw it on) but Mark comes in and joins us, then Jasmine and I strolled Greenwich Village together and stopped to read RAMONES in cement, that someone obviously spent a lot of time on when it was wet. It was like every hour the Ramones were in our face, on our tongues, it was eery/fun/sad/strange. I was like, "HI JOEY!!! I can feel you! Miss you!"
"Hanging out on Second Avenue Eating chicken vindaloo
I just want to be with you I just want to have something to do
Tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight
Wait-Now Wait-Now
Hanging out all by myself Cause I don't want to be with anybody else
I just want to be with you I just want to have something to do Tonight"
The Ramones
One last imagine, totally unrelated, but I had to share it:
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Hertha BSC Berlin vs. Liverpool FC: Soccer in Germany
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| ^ Video I made at the match | Oh hells yeah |
My mate Julie and I bought tickets to go see Liverpool play Hertha here in Berlin at the Olympia Stadium. Last time I was there was a couple summers ago to see the Stones. I actually saw Liverpool FC play there before, think it was August 1993. So fun to watch them play. They are amazing. AND The Beatles come from Liverpool, so naturally I am going to support them. Their color is RED, so my gal pal and I wore red.
Tickets were only 25 euros ($35?), which is pretty fair. This was just a "friendly" match, nothing big at risk. Everyone was super relaxed (read:drunk) and having a great time.
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| Olympia Stadium, Berlin (not taken day of game fyi) |
Our seats weren't that great, or even next to each other, but we managed to find an easy going security guard who went against the strict German rules and let us in a section that wasn't *gasp* the one on our ticket. We wanted to sit with Liverpool supporters (where the most red shirts were). As I said in my video, above, we soon found out, that just because they were wearing red and supporting Liverpool, doesn't mean they are FROM Liverpool, or even the UK. There were all East Germans, yes, I know, there is no more "East or West" officially, but mentally, it's still here. The "Ossi's hate the Wessi's" etc.. Anyways, the East Germans HATE Hertha (Berlin's Football club) so much because they are "West" that they would rather support the "Inselaffen" as they call the Brits (the Island Apes, because the UK is an island, blah blah).
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Lots of players falling down and lots of "ecken" (corners?) wtf does that mean? I admit, I don't know all the football lingo and all, but it's even worse trying to figure out the football lingo in another language. I can speak and read (and write) German, but these sport terms had me confused.
We did the wave a few times. I love that. We all sang the football songs, and Julie told me as I walked up to have a slash (piss) the guys were singing "Get your tits out" but I didn't even notice because I thought it was just another football chant and blocked it out. ha ha.
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These lads sat two rows in front of us and asked us to pose for pictures like 10 times. They are from East Germany too. |
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Julies perky tits are a bit hidden here… I guess I squashed them. Sorry Julie. Word: Underwire Bra.
A sporty sausage fest.
Julie and I were asked by at least 50 guys to pose with them for a picture. So, why not ask them to take one of us? Julie was like "wot the FUCK Dot? Why are all these people asking us for pictures??". A couple of the German guys asked me if I was 'Dr. Dot' and one said he saw me on TV, one on Big Brother (I was in the BIg Brother container for one whole day a few years ago massaging all the peeps. You can see pics at www.puredrdot.com click on LINKS and see Big Brother banner). It was actually getting embarrassing as people were trying to watch the game and there was this massive hoopla around us, omfg. I am UNDER exaggerating. Seriously. Wish Julie would put her two cents it. She is a writer too, so perhaps she will blog too. The girls seated a few rows up from us were shooting daggers at us with there eyes. Hey, get yourself a red dress. Red is THE color apparently.
Julie and I took a taxi to the game to save time, but decided to take the S-Bahn (over ground train) towards home. It was so fucking packed outside the Olympia Stadium anyways, that no taxi would ever get through. So we plowed along with the hordes of football fans (some hooligans too) and squeezed onto the train. I usually never take public transport here (used to years ago) because you can basically walk anywhere in Berlin (keeps legs slim), rollerblade or walk. PLUS, Germans fucking STARE. I mean they REALLY do not know the difference between an innocent glance and an outright 5 minute long stare. No one has ever taught them that it's kinda rude. lol. I remember dating a massive brick layer from London named Kevin years ago, like hmmm, 1993, here in Berlin. He was a weight lifter and built like a brick shit house (normally not my type, but he loved Elvis, so that won him brownie points). Anyways, I remember my fling with Kevin didn't last long because every time we went somewhere in public, like a pub or the underground train, Germans would stare at us (I was doing Madonna dopple-gaenger shows (impersonations) for money because I could not speak German yet and so I had a short white wavy bob (like her Blonde Ambition tour cut) and super thin eyebrows and he looked like a fucking wrestler. Anyways, they would stare and he was so aggressive (he told me he took steroids to get bigger muscles ) he would SCREAM at all the Germans who looked at us, which of course, brought more attention to us, and then more aggression from him towards them. Omfg. Nightmare. Anyways, Germans stare and I was dressed in red, as you can see, and had the cleavage on at full force (hey, we only live once, let them breath. Someday they will shrivel up and rot, so for now, they are out).
The guys on the train heard Julie and I talking in English (we can both speak fluent German) so the lads didn't know we could understand them at all. The train was PACKED and they were making LOUD, obnoxious comments about her skirt, her tits, my tits, my dress, etc. We just smile to each other and kept on talking. After a few stops, some seats became available and she and I sat across from one another and the hooligans sat next to us (there were loads of them). The train got a bit quiet when they sat down next to us and they kept on talking about how they would LOVE to do this and that to us. They suddenly I turned to the loudest one and in perfect German, loud enough for everyone to hear, I asked "So what was that you said awhile ago about my tits?". His jaw hit the floor. They all turned bright red (guessing they were around 20 years old). The whole train, apart from them, was laughing their asses off. Snap.
I wasn't offended or pissed, I mean, if you dress that way, you have to expect some flack (got it every day in High School when I was dating Joey Ramone, but instead of Red, I was wearing PINK every day (hate pink now, would never wear it again). Most of the time, I wear sporty clothes, but sometimes I like to vamp it up. SO bring it on, I have a massive sense of humor and a sharp tongue. What was that one of my friends called me the other night "Tornado Tongue." hmmmm. heh heh.
Well, neither Julie nor I are BVG (Berliner public transportation) savvy, so we got off at the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) and were both so famished we would have eating the South end of a North bound skunk at that point. We scarfed down some amazing German bread (Germans make the BEST fucking bread I have ever had) and then headed over to Murry's Irish Pub (used to be the Emerald Isle). My mate Steve is the cook there (he is from Dublin and is engaged to a German lady). A lot of the English speaking community of Berlin hangs here at Murry's. Hey, if you feel like just speaking English, you hang out with fellow English speakers. So we do.
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| Great BOWIE shirt, no? | Sid and Nancy in Berlin? ^ |
This is "Beano" and he is from Ireland and reminds me of Sid Vicious . He sings with a punk band too. The blond girl (Anne) is his German pal. All of us English mother tongue folk all see each other about town, drink at the same places and basically all know each other. Most of us all get along.
Two English regulars (guy at far left if Graham) and Steve (did his hair blond recently) and Julie. Dam I wish I could remember everyone's names. Why can't people wear name tags? heh.
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Steve and I ^ My neck looks like one of the Olsen twins in this pic. sigh. |
Another blog, another morning that I am STILL up at 9am. Seriously thinking of going to Thailand for Christmas and New Years. Just a random thought. I need something new; always going to the same places. Just a tad afraid of the mosquitos(sp?), American haters (will I get kid naped and decapitated live on TV? Will a hurricane wash me away? What a pussy I am turning into lately.). If you have been to Thailand, tpell me, where did you go? Where is the best place to go? Not into lady boys and shopping. Clean beaches, good hotels and mostly, where one can feel safe. Yawn, off to bed.
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Dr. Dot