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Jizzy Pearl Tour Diary – Part VII, 8/2/05



Entry #7

Jizzy Pearl is currently travelling all over the country on the Rock Never Stops tour, fronting Ratt as they tour with Quiet Riot, Firehouse, and headliners Cinderella. Whenver he feels compelled to do so, Jizzy will be sending us updates from the road.


Part 7…

I had three days off and I spent it in Manchester, NH. No band, no crew, no pets, didn’t smell no cigarettes. Lying out by the pool, taking in the sun. I have been watching a lot of VH-1 classic lately, that being the sole segment worth watching. Great classic Who, Sabbath, Cheap Trick and of course the obligatory Depeche Mode, Berlin, Men without Hats. It was a gay time for pop music back then, so-called “new wave”, Everybody Wang Chung tonight, Spandau Ballet, the Hair from Hell, the garish colored jackets. I swear giving keyboards to the British was like giving Whiskey to the Indians. For three days I sat in the jacuzzi, lounging. There was a pool attendant who made a point of adding more chlorine to the water everytime I got out to sun, she must have thought I was dirty. What I have chlorine can’t kill. I could have jacked off in the jacuzzi and made her some Egg Drop Soup, or turned up the air jets and made a frothy meringue…but I didn’t. The pool had a strange set of rules, other than the usual no diving or no yelling there was no gum, no nose blowing, no expectorating (expectorating? No vomiting in the pool? Does vomit float?) Rule #9 was the worst and I quote directly—

“Anyone with sore or inflamed eyes, nose mouth or ear discharge, anyone with communicable disease SHALL NOT enter pool”

“Shall not?” How freakishly Biblical it all sounded. And when was the last time you saw anyone with Ear Discharge? Earwax, ear hair, cauliflower ear certainly. No wonder the attendant was pouring on the chlorine, I must have seemed like Typhoid Mary covered in black tattoos and scabby pus-like sores. Blood coming from my nose and eyes like Ebola and psychedelic green fart gas bubbling up from my blowhole, what a sight. Anyway it was a shitty Radisson as far as Radisson’s go, a 2 1/2 star…

Hampton Beach

The last time I played here was RNS 2004 with Vince Neil and Slaughter. Vince didn’t make the show so we played in his place and it was not so hot. This time it was twice as packed, great crowd, great show. Hampton Beach is best described as the Pocono’s By the Sea, it’s Jersey with just a hint of Jerry Springer. Every imaginable good food is ground up into sausage and sold by the slice, fried bread dough, trinkets, beads, pinball machines from 1980 and a lot of blubber walking the Strand in too-tight thongs. Ghastly white cellulite hips struggling to catch a Frisbee. Everybody smokes on the East Coast, everybody, even the animals. Thousands and thousands of cigarette butts lined the sidewalks. I got drunk after the show yadda yadda , walked around yadda yadda. It’s week 7 and I care not for my poor liver, my poor struggling liver. I drink on the road the same way people put in contact lenses in the morning; it’s automatic, I don’t think about it. Fuck it.

Atlantic City

Atlantic City. Another oasis by the sea. More fried bread dough, sausage, the occasional funnel cake. I got up early to find the catering and marveled at all the early morning gambling fools. The Poker room was packed amidst a cloud of blue cigarette smoke, people were losing and smoking up a storm. Our bus driver won 20 grand on a $5 slot so he has begun acting like Rock Royalty. He barely cleans the bus anymore and is just waiting for someone to say “Boo” and he’ll leave us high and dry. The show was good, the other bands thought the crowd was a little quiet but I thought they were good. Except for stage left that is, six rows of stern/arms crossed/ looking like the Politburo people who refused to be rocked. I couldn’t rock them, apparently no one could, they stood still as Art, like a jury. Doug Alrich and Reb Beach from Whitesnake came by and we went out for drinks afterwards, then we went to the Hard Rock bar and had another bucket of drinks. We got caught going from the arena to the bar and posed for pictures, . some girl came up to me “Don’t you remember me?” she said, “ I blew you at Mulcahy’s!” Strangely enough after she told me that I did remember…

Reading, PA

Another arena in a bad neighborhood. Apparently Reading is the fourth most dangerous city in the US, after Hampton Beach and Atlantic City. I don’t get to go online as much as I’d like so I’m a little behind when it comes to drama. Apparently Pearcy is coming back again, to RATT I mean. I read it on the Internet so it must be true. He also didn’t motherfuck me which was nice, I have tried not to motherfuck him. I try not to bash people, although a few jibes slip in from time to time. You can all stop e-mailing me about Jack Frost, we have sorted things out. I invited him via our soundman Tony to come to the Cincinnati show so we can break bread together and smoke’um peace pipe. So, dear readers, is this the last Jizzy/RATT tour? What will happen to our humble narrator? Will he, as some of you have suggested, go back to ”Flipping Burgers?” I did that when I was 16, didn’t care for it much. Movie usher? Movie Mogul? Should I concentrate on my first love, Contortionism? Could I be the next Dirk Diggler? I always thought Nicholas Cage did it best in Leaving Las Vegas, it was pure and primal, no soulful letters, no eulogies, he just, simply, drank himself to Death. And got laid in the bargain, two mortal sins for the price of One. This band, this bus, this free food, is to be savored and not Shit On, it is and will always be a privilege to do what I do, every fucking day I do it. Let’s not flip burgers, I opt for the movie thing.


The huge turntable, the lazy Susan in the Round. I felt like one of the Wonders up there (pronounced O-Nee-ders) A little weird but the audience was great so it made up for the circular. The lovely S. showed up with her two friends and we hung out. I chatted with a six-foot banana which, after two glasses of wine was not so strange at all. 7 weeks and I’m here in Erie, PA on a day off doing laundry and getting stared at by the locals; it is always thus. Clean clothes and a dirty mind. Next week six shows in a row, lots of driving and wine and good food and good vibes from the Big Unconscious. Not a bad way to spend a summer, I could be at home right now at the Rainbow wishing I was out here. So remember that J. when you feel like shit from the night before, when your knee hurts, when you crack on a high note, things could be worse, you could be at the Rainbow lying with the Liars about your career, your bank account, your sexual prowess. Lies lies lies—everybody is not what they seem, your waiter is an actor, your garbageman is really a screenwriter, your lover is someone else’s girlfriend whose boyfriend is touring right now. We exist in a huge theatre of the Absurd where only the stubborn and the Pigheaded win, the ones who can shred the shit from the Stalk and keep the pen scribbling. Books become movies sometimes, songs become soundtracks, words become Spoken Word…it can happen, it really can. You’d be surprised.



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