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Live for Today

I just found a piece of old writing of mine in which the final lines were:

"Panties down. Live for today."

That saying is now posted in large letters on my wall for maximum daily reflection.


Dryers help protect the environment. They save trees from being used for paper towels. They eliminate paper towel waste. They are more sanitary to use than paper and help maintain cleaner facilities.


Lead singer with 'The Evangenitals'

Wow. Just found this awesome photograph of ME on Flickr... taken during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. It's so incredible to get to see myself being MYSELF... :-)

Calling All Idealists!

I love this organization! Please join and let's *@!* up the world in a good way. :-)

Launching This Week: A Global Network of Idealists - at Idealist.org

It’s time to build a global network that will serve and support all those people who want to make the world a better place, online and in person.

This is the idea that has always grounded and fueled our work. We believe that all over the world people and communities face three common challenges:

* There is often a big gap between our good intentions and our actions.
* Our problems are connected, but we are not.
* The world is full of good ideas that don't spread quickly enough.

What we need, then, is a network, a movement, an ecosystem that will:

* Make it easier for people and organizations to move from intentions to action.
* Connect people, organizations, and resources in every possible way.
* Find good ideas wherever they are, and distribute them as widely as possible.

If we can do this, and do it well, most of our local and global challenges will be easier to deal with.

At http://ping.fm/0IzIs you can read the vision behind this in more detail; follow along on our Imagine, Connect, Act blog; and sign up to help us get started.

Will you join us?


New Video: So Sweet, Indeed

Check it out!!!

Director DJ Mendel from New York just made us a video for our tune "So Sweet" off the new Evangenitals EP (now availalble on iTunes, CDBaby, etc)


We met DJ in Scotland while at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. He directed Cynthia Hopkins' "Accidental Nostalgia" (featuring the band Gloria Deluxe) and the cast and crew of that show made appearances at several Evangenitals gigs. In fact, their fiddle player Philippa Thompson even sat in with us on violin and harmonies at our last show! Glorious deluxe, indeed!!!

It was a love fest, indeed, and the lovin' continues with this cyber-collaborative video.

Please take a look and leave a comment!!! Post, share, etc. Spread the love! :-)


Love, love, love
Juli & the Evangenitals

TONIGHT at the TRIP in Santa Monica

On Thursday November 5th the Evangenitals are taking a pilgrimage to the West Side for a family affair funk & junk shaking evening with our good friends Cousin Junebug at THE TRIP in Santa Monica.

This is a cool club with a really nice promoter who is trying to create something lovely over in Santa Monica, so please come out and sing, dance, and support the great night of music!

Opening the night is CHARLIE CHENEY -- Pirate Superhero Citizen Adventurer -- on a wild Amtrak tour Michigan and he's stopping in to play for YOU. Rumor hasn't it that Juli Crockett of the Evangenitals is gonna duet with him too. Oooooh! Let's duet!

Then the Evangenitals will make love to your ear holes, and then Cousin Junebug wil funk you up. And then the Catch and Waves will funk, fusion, freestyle you into oblivion.

All for just $5.

Can I get a HELL YEAH?!?!!

The TRiP (http://ping.fm/I2Bc5)
2101 Lincoln Blvd
Santa Monica, CA 90405

8pm Charlie Cheney (http://ping.fm/VKLl5)
9pm Evangenitals (http://ping.fm/0Gt6l)
10pm Cousin Junebug (http://ping.fm/urhnf)
11pm The Catch and Waves (http://ping.fm/MvTQu)

See you there!
Dad was hit by two cars in the same day and had a staple shot into his head. He wrote a book on the history of Alabama, became a history professor, and had affairs with his students. He won 2nd place on Jeopardy but was unable to claim his prize because he hadn't paid child support since the divorce. Dad had an awful temper and would often be sent to his room, by Mom. Mom would make us put ice in his pants to calm him down. He once made scrambled eggs with sugar in them and threw them against the wall. He hid the household bills in shoeboxes that he kept in the closet and recorded porn movies at the end of our cartoon tapes. He tried to make me eat orange peels and hot dogs with peanut butter and cheese because "it all went to the same place anyway." Dad got born-again and wrote a 3000 page novel on the sex life of Jesus Christ. He married a Norweigian woman he met on a cruise ship and moved to Puyallup, Washington where they ran a tuxedo rental business. They would not loan my brother a tuxedo for prom. The new wife fell off a horse, hit her head and went insane. Dad heard Jesus telling him what numbers to play in Vegas. He developed cancer of the lymph nodes and died, right around Christmas time.

The Pangs

The Pangs. The Fucking Pangs.

There is a whole Opus Pistorum to be written on The Pangs.

The feeling: a sort of reverse-nostalgia.

A bittersweet, memory-like longing for something that hasn't yet happened. The girl you never knew that broke your heart comes to the party in the skin of a woman you've never met... will she ever understand that you already love her? Deeply, truly, thoroughly. Is this love any less valid because it exists in another dimension and has nothing to do with anything real* (*i.e. having any connection to that which actually happened in this lifetime)?

The relationships of the mind, whilst listening to songs, whilst watching the sun go down, whilst watching movies, sitting in the tub, are so full, so beautiful, so sad and perfectly imperfect. Inside of these images of imaginary love affairs, cinematically painful, slowly and quietly intense and dramatic, we always look beautiful when we're crying. Our faces are never red and puffy and pathetic, and if they are, they are adorably so, intensely so, sweetly so.

Pain is a pang, a slide-guitar gut sensation, a minor note felt in the aorta, a heart choke. Eyes blink in the soft light, tears roll down the cheeks, always in slow motion, with a sound track, slow, with ringing harmonics which die away, open tuning, the sound of the metal rattling on the fret. Imperfectly perfect, and slow.

Behind, above, surrounding it all, there is the glowing specter of a heart, full to bursting with love, that grows and grows and grows.

The people-in-general, the hoi polloi, the vox populi go on about their business. Another day, another nickel. Back to work. Me too. Here I am. Senor Cog: Welcome to the Urban Junkyard! Your Civic Duties await you! Please report to the office and place your Cog in the Machine. Although the System runs quite smoothly without You (it is, in and of itself, a self-propagating, self-copulating, self-emulating machine) We sure do like having You around. All is Better Back in Line, waiting for your side-order of fries. Here we Go.

Need to get simple and monosyllabic for a minute. Yes, no, good, yes, ugh.... simple simple. Even simple has two-syllables. Too Many! Need the Ones: Plain. Good. Girl. Boy. Beach. Sky. Sea. Camp. Walk. Sleep. Read. Light. Dark. Beef. Fish. Eat. Love. Joy. God.

It is time to cry. Really cry. Not just weep that bittersweet lovesick weep that's burning in the throat 24/7, but fucking WAIL. Wail to the heavens in a combination of a "thank you!" and "why? fucking why?" A question and an exclamation. Why is she so beautiful? Why can't it last forever? Why would I want it to? Why do I deserve such light? Such feelings? Such a friend?

I love those days when one knows, beyond a doubt, that happiness is right here. Nothing more is needed. I could live in a dirt shack chicken coop, and so long as the face turns toward the sun now and then, happy is here.

And yet, simultaneously, that thought horrifies me.... this is it? this is all you want? this is happiness? no no not enough never never never enough.... I am the bitch of ambition! I am the slave of the self talking mind! I am the hog-tied POW of "not enough" "less than" and "falling short", and am a shit sandwich with a side order of failure and a self pity shake.

Those are The Pangs, mang.

The Lee Shore

"In landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!"

(Moby Dick, Chapter 23)

Mahatma Gandhi

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him...

(Oh, man, this is so bad, it's good)

....... A super-calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

(credit: Eddie Bieble's blog: http://ping.fm/UDupi)


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