Moving is such a pain in the ass. And I know you know this already, but still…can I say it again?

Moving sucks balls. Big ol’ donkey balls.

It doesn’t just end when you drop the last box in to wherever it is you’re moving into. I know you know this already, too.

I’ve been in my new digs now almost 3 months, and I’m still unpacking shit.

And where the fuck did I get it all?

For me, it’s mostly books and records…mostly. A lot of unopened mail, too. So much unopened mail I know there’s something wrong with me.

Well, there’s lots wrong with me, and not wanting to open mail cracks the Top 10 List of What’s Wrong with Billy Watson; hence, I have a box full of unopened mail that’s probably 6 months old. It’s got those dust bunnies floating all around inside, and I bet this unopened letter from the IRS is something I should have opened when I got it back in March.

Oh, and do I really need 3 copies of Don DeLillo’s Underworld?

And 2 copies of Issac Hayes Live At The Sahara Tahoe?

What good is a full run of McSweeney’s…many in duplicate? Perhaps someday I will eBay them.

I’ve grown somewhat embarrassed of my “Black Americana” stuff. Well, let’s be honest. I’m really embarrassed of it. Sure, having a 1/2 full tube of original Darkie Toothpaste or an Aunt Jemima steel bank might have been cool at one point, but I’m over it.

I think I’m gonna sell everything I don’t really need anymore. Or else pull out all the stuff I have more than one of and haul it into Amoeba, or a good used book store…or fuck it. Maybe I’ll just pack some boxes and drop them off at Goodwill. It’s right down the street, and I’m sure someone will really appreciate a VHS copy of the Go-Go’s, backstage in, like, 1984, doing naughty things. Or were they talking about doing naughty things? I really don’t know, cause I haven’t watched this stoopid thing since 1992, when I got it, and even then I watched it once and tossed it into a closet.

The Go-Go’s!

I’m banging this blog out when there’s a knock at the door. Since no one knows where I live, it’s certainly a mystery as to why anyone’s knocking at my door at 10.30 on a Saturday morning…but it’s the post man! And he’s got a package for me!

There’s nothing better than real mail….even if it’s more stuff to deal with!

That’s right — just as I’m bitching and moaning about all my stupid stuff, here’s the mailman…handing me more stupid stuff. This time it’s a record I found off the internet by a super obscure 70’s glam rock band called Milk n’ Cookies.

Here’s a band no one’s ever heard of that was in the middle of the whole CBGB’s punk rock scene circa ’75, and, from sitting back to listen to side 1 before banging out this paragraph, I’d say it makes sense no one’s ever heard of them. It’s not that they suck in as much as there’s nothing really special at all. In fact, the record kinda sounds like something The Bay City Rollers would have made if they were hanging out at CBGB’s with The Ramones and Television instead of living in Edinburgh, cutting their pants short and getting all kooky with the tartan.

Writing about Milk n’ Cookies makes me wanna go out to Amoeba and spend more money on records. Matthew Sweet’s got a new record out that’s supposed to be as good as “Girlfriend”, and a friend in Portland is texting me to check out a band called “Battles”.

And, while I’m at it, I still really haven’t explored the used bookstores in Los Angeles.

Oh yea…there’s also a great flea market at Fairfax High.

More books.

More records.

More stuff…cause, eventually, I’ll figure out a place to put it all.