My remix of the Scanners song “Baby Blue”. More information about the Baby Blue Remix Ep at www.dimmak.com really excited to share this remix, I did it actually way back in June and it’s just now coming out. Really one of my favorites Ive ever done.
I first mentioned that I was working on a novel randomly on this Shockhound.com cooking show a few years ago. This is not that novel but after many delays I’m finally getting around to publishing some of my writing. ”The Mermaid and The Actor” is the first in what I hope to be a series of short stories published through Crystal City. Below is an excerpt of the first few pages, if you like it it’s available for $5 at http://crystalcityclothing.myshopify.com/products/the-mermaid-and-the-actor-minibook
When I found the miniature mermaid in my glass of diet mountain dew I was sitting in Higher Grounds, a 1960’s/hippie/general countercultural themed coffee shop waiting to be identified as Paul Reiser. I am not Paul Reiser, in fact I’m not even in my thirties. I work for Celebrity Encounters a company that pays out of work actors to appear at businesses and events to impersonate celebrities for the purpose of being spotted in public as to generate hype for said company and or party or event. I’m hanging out with this guy Donald, who’s thin black shoulder length hair has earned him the job of impersonating Andrew W. K.. We have been hired to hang out at Higher Grounds and get noticed as Paul Reiser and Andrew W.K. hanging out at Higher Grounds. How Paul Reiser and Andrew W.K. could ever be friends and if so why they would be hanging out at this dump is beyond my comprehension. Fortunately for Celebrity Encounters I don’t get paid to comprehend, I get paid to impersonate.
We are sitting at a table painted like a tie dyed shirt and Donald/Andrew W.K. is rambling on about something that is so boring it doesn’t register in a frequency that humans can hear. He’s going “blah blah blah blah something something we’re in a Finnish Metal magazine called Glork blah blah.” When Donald is not impersonating Andrew W K for minimum wage he plays in this metal band called “Boat Wizard” or “Whore Lizard” or something like that, I can’t ever remember. My whole life I’ve subscribed to the opinion that Metal is homo-erotic and retarded, so as you can imagine I delight in working with this guy.To make matters worse his band is starting to get really big in Eastern Europe so every time I work with him I’m subjected to this non-stop tirade of positivity.Ugh. I look around the coffee shop while Donald is blabbing and notice that there’s these crappy obnoxious paintings hung all over the walls of different animals and objects characterized as famous musicians; Paul Mcartney as a flea rocking his trademark violin bass with “Paul Mcart-flea” written underneath, an erudite sunglass toting sheep with an acoustic guitar and “Baaa-b Dylan” written underneath. I feel as though I am surrounded by thick, palpable stupidity.
“Hello Paul Reiser are you in there?” Donald says knocking on the tie dye table. We are instructed on penalty of unemployment while on the job only to refer to ourselves and other employees by our celebrity names.
“Oh what Gore Blizzard finally made it big in Finland. What do they pay you in fish? Ruples? Baked Potatoes?Who gives a shit.”
“First of all our band is called Boar Gizzard. Boar. Gizzard. How is that so hard to remember?
“Boar Gizzard, Pizza Blizzard, Ass Wizard what’s the damn difference? Your band is god awful no matter what it’s called.” I say without looking up.
““Man I can’t wait till our band moves to Budapest so I never have to see you again.”
This white kid with a scraggly goatee and dreadlocks comes up to the table and drops off my breakfast: oatmeal and glass of diet mountain dew. There are raisins in my oatmeal.
“Yes,” the kid says.
“If I’m not mistaken I asked for a regular oatmeal and specifically said no raisins you fucking moron.I don’t eat raisins and cannot conceive of any possible reason why anyone would subject themselves to a dried shriveled grape when there are normal, fresh grapes nearly everywhere. That’s like going to Foot Locker and buying and old crusty pair of shoes that a wino has been sweating and pissing in for 25 years instead of Air Jordans.” This is a bit I do based on some hearsay that was in the Gossip column of People magazine like 10 years ago about Paul Reiser going off on someone because he didn’t like raisins. I pull it out from time to time but as of yet no one has identified me as the 90’s sitcom star because of it.
“I like raisins,” the kid says.
“No you don’t, you tolerate them, like you tolerate the conversations of the owners of breast implants.”
My eye catches a painting to the left by the bathrooms, a cartoon rake with shaggy brown hair shreds out a passionate solo above the phrase “E-rake Clapton” I snicker. The kid sees me snicker at the painting. “You like that one?” he says.
“Like it? It makes me want to travel back in time to the dark ages and have experimental genital surgery. I’d rather these walls be covered in dried tapeworms and dog vomit, at least that would be interesting.
“Hey that’s my painting,” the kid half mutters.
“Oh. I mean they’re awesome!” I grin fake and huge showing off all 24 of my white shiny teeth, “whatever, just give me my stupid oatmeal, no raisins.” I turn back to Donald/Andrew and he gives me a look.
“No one gets that bit dude just give it up,” he says.
I scan the room to see if anyone heard me.“I’m Paul Reiser and I want my oatmeal without disgusting raisins!” I shout to no one in particular. Perhaps this is laying it on a little thick but it has been a long time since anyone has picked me out of a crowd as the star of 90’s sitcom, Mad About You.
“I’m pretty sure this is not what higher grounds wanted when they hired fake Paul Reiser to make an appearance at their coffee shop.”
“I’m pretty sure your breath smells like my Grandpa’s spittoon, and if you keep calling me fake Paul Reiser and you’re going to get us both fired.
Then it happens.I pick up my glass of Diet Mountain Dew and from inside the glass pressed up against the clear plastic the tiny face of a mermaid is staring back at me.