The White Paint Chronicles (#0001)

“I’m a stop singing this song because I’m high (raise the ceiling baby)...

I’m singing this whole thing wrong, because I’m high (bring it back)...

And if I don’t sell one copy, I’ll know why (Why man? Yeah)...

Cause I’m high, cause I’m high, cause I’m high.”


"Because I Got High"
Music and Lyrics by Joseph A. Foreman
(aka "Afroman")

“Because a writer writes.”

I wrote that in the liner of a leather-bound journal, that I gave as a gift once. A birthday gift, to a guy I worked with, who called himself a writer. He used to make me read his stuff. Written long-hand, in a two inch, three-ring notebook on wide-ruled, 8 ½ by 11 paper. It sucked. At the time, I didn’t know if what I wrote in that journal was for his encouragement, or just a thinly veiled attempt at harsh sarcasm. It’s been years now, and I still don’t know which it was, and that isn’t even the point. The point I’m making is that this fuzzy, gray-white cloud of a memory most likely only popped into my head right now because of what I, a writer, just did for a fucking paycheck.

Yeah, it’s funny what a few well-mixed, federally regulated, industrial chemicals can do to rip a dead memory from the hard ground of a guy’s head like a cosmic backhoe, under the paint-stained bandanna, just the other side of the blood-brain barrier.

I started working semi-permanent, part-time jobs so I could spend the bulk of my thoughts (at least that’s what I told myself at the time) on what I told anyone who would listen was my next career… “Writer”. Now, when I’m honest (or drunk), I tell the world (or those in it who would listen) that I’m “a guy who works two part-time jobs… and blogs”.

Sort of.

And like the song clue at the top tells you (if this was a movie, it would have been playing in the background on a car radio), last week’s Libertarian drug flashback went and turned itself into its own bullshit crisis of conscience, artistic epiphany… all in the hour it took to paint a mildew stained, six-by-thirty, cinder block and drywall storage unit, deep inside an unventilated apartment garage.

God, how toxic primer can make you think, while it kills the handful of brain cells you have left.

In the week since what I now refer to as the Afroman Epiphany forced me to re-evaluate the choices I’ve made for becoming a handsomely-paid writer, it wasn’t till Day 6 that it came to me. Nobody who wants to get paid for thinking up cool new ways to use the same old words already used (but better) by other (dead) writers, should ever have to work in a Huffer’s Paradise of well-mixed, federally regulated, industrial chemicals… no matter how pretty they make a cinder block and drywall storage unit… not even if your name is Charles Fucking Bukowski.

And no amount of white paint on a dirty old bandanna can cover up whatever other repressed memories of why I really write.


Also available for reading on Expats Post (where writers Write to Live)
http://expatspost.com/columns/the-white-paint-chronicles-0001-2/

Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday

GILLEAN SMITH: The BrooWaha Interview

Gillean Smith with Helen Thomas (2010)



Broowaha.com writer and owner of GS Consulting, Gillean Smith shares her thoughts on life lived in the shadows of fame, and what it means to live in and out of the light. 

A Bill Friday interview.

BILL FRIDAY: Just to let you know, I’ve spent quite a few days going over your decidedly intimidating family history.

GILLEAN SMITH: Funny. In school, no one knew of my family and who they were. I was just another student.

Gillean’s famous relatives include her late father, Albert Merriman Smith, known to most as “Smitty,” who was Dean of the White House Press Corp, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist for his written account of the death of President John F. Kennedy and the man who ended every press conference with, “Thank you, Mr. President.” Her step-brother also happens to be General Stanley A. McChrystal (ret.), the former Commander of U.S. forces in Afghanistan, until he was relieved of his command by President Barack Obama in July of this year.

FRIDAY: Before we go any further, is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?

GILLEAN: First you should know that I am directionally, technologically and mathematically challenged. I don't like needles. I don't do well at the sight of blood...

FRIDAY: Growing up, did anybody know about your family background?

To Broo: a haiku

broowaha.com cover January 28, 2008

In honor of Broowaha writer
Lynne DeSilva-Johnson,
and her “30 Days of Haiku”
project.
An offering, on the return of
Broowaha.com.


"Then in measured breaths...

I would read you everyday...

My heart beating, wild."





Copyright © 2010 Bill Friday

Pulp Poetry (1)

     Because sometimes, words look
     better in PULP.

     I hate you
     I don't love you
     I tolerate you (because)
     I'm too lazy
     and too afraid
     to do what is right.

     I am pathetic.



Copyright © 2010 Bill Friday

Shari Alyse: America's Next Talk Show Host

Meet Shari Alyse, Broowaha writer and contestant in the Oprah Winfrey Network's "America's Next Talk Show Host".   A Bill Friday interview.

Shari, on a professional level, how would you describe yourself?

I’m an aspiring actress and TV talk show host and a writer for Broowaha.com.

So, if you had to make a choice?

Through the years, as I have gotten older and have been learning more about myself, I have come to find that I make a lot better "me" than I do playing someone else. That is why I have put forth a lot more effort in the recent years to pursue the hosting route. I find that we all have something to teach one another, and I want to be a part of being able to do something positive with my life.

Why a talk show host?