Marc Spitz

reading patti smith always makes me materialistic.  i find myself cruising ebay for books or fetish objects.  photos of hank williams or black swans.  two dollar bills from 1976.  i already have as many weird objects that mean fuck all to anyone else all over my book case.  as many of them as there are books.  alligator heads,  see no evil, hear no evil monkeys, buddhas, insects in lucite, day of the dead skulls, sock monkeys, tiny ashtrays, incense burners, 70s style office supplies (old wooden rulers before they switched to depressing colored plastic).  i only mention it because it should make me spiritual shouldn’t it?  Just Kids was one of three books i read today.  i literally started it in a cafe on Charles Street and a guy came up to me and said, “What do you think of it?” and i couldn’t answer.  by the afternoon, a girl came up and said “What do you think of it?” and I could.  it’s really beautiful isn’t it?   i mean there’s almost nothing wrong with that flow.  i wonder how much a hand her editor had in it?  it’s perfectly paced, even the jump from 75 to 78.  the rock star years.   it made me feel really lucky that i had the presence of mind to keep a diary through the 90s.  experience in nyc is valuable.  i also read STP or Stones Touring Party by Robert Greenfield.  a fun, fast read about the 72 tour, which made the Rolling Stones “The Stones,” really.  made me want to watch Cocksucker Blues, which i soon will.  finally i read Flying without Fear, which Virgin puts out.  possibly the best and most important of all three.  i mean, that shit brings out my spiritual side for sure.   speaking of materialism, for some reason last night, i had to purchase every single one of weird al’s polka medleys.  you know, he includes one on most but not all of his studio albums.  much of the time they feature popular songs but there’s one that’s all stones tracks Al-ified.  it’s called, no joke, “The Hot Rocks Polka.”  it’s on the UHF soundtrack.   his version of “shattered” (which is, ironically, not on Hot Rocks) is the best of the lot. i have been trying (in vain) to place a feature on Weird Al in a major music magazine for years.  most of the time i don’t even get a no from my editors, my pitch is ignored.  maybe they feel they are being polite or assume i’m high but i’m dead serious.  the guy is a national treasure.  i told him so over the phone once during an interview back when i was at the Spin website.   the only person besides Howard Stern that i ever said that to directly.    last fall, i was sitting in a sports bar with jonathan marc sherman, the playwright and an old friend, who was in my play that was running at the time and we loudly agreed on this point re: Al.  i said that i wanted to write a book about him.  how he’s reflected or refracted our culture perfectly since the early 80s.  sherman volunteered his assistance immediately.  why won’t one of these fuckers take me up on it?  Marlon Brando, polka party and me.