Tom Pitts

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Selective Memories …

Last week I went and saw The Replacements at the Masonic in San Francisco. While I was out there, alone in the crowd, being shoved and jostled by five thousand other Mats fans trying to recapture a bit of their youth, I was struck by a terrible thought. Well, actually, several terrible thoughts. A lot of folks take a time like that to enjoy some nostalgia, remember what made the good times good. Me? I’ve never had much of a memory, so dredging up the past can be a precarious business. I’m sure I’ve been accused in my life of having a selective memory (I can’t say for sure, ‘cause I can’t rightly remember), but it occurred to me in

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Throwing Knuckleballs

Okay. I’ll be honest. It’s been tougher than hell to crank out a blog during these past few weeks. Mostly because I didn’t want to weep onto the page. Life has been throwing me its own series of Knuckleballs as I prepared for the release of the book.  In fact it’s made me shy away from everything but pacing a well-worn patch in my living room floor. I know many of you experience this syndrome: You sit down and begin to type a pleasant social media status update and realize you’re only tapping bitterness onto the keys. You don’t want to sound like a whiny son-of-a-bitch, so you bite your lip, clench your fists, and hold off. And then, you

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Jesus Murphy!

Jesus Murphy, or Holy Crap, or the obligatory Oh My God! Has it really been a year since I’ve blogged? I guess that’s evidence of two things: 1) I’m a somewhat self-serving blogger–the last time I posted was when HUSTLE was released. And/or: 2) I’m not very opinionated. If I do have an opinion, it’s often quashed as I hear my mother’s voice, deep in my muddled conscience, saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say ….” Yeah, well, there’s that too. Thanks, Mom. It seems I’ve been able to extend my ultra-Canadian trait of not wanting to ruffle any feathers to the wild and woolly internet where opinions are fired off like Chinatown firecrackers on the 4th of July.

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It’s out!

No, this isn’t an April Fool’s joke. My new novel HUSTLE is finally out there. The coming media onslaught (yeah, I use that term loosely–and sarcastically) is probably going to annoy you a bit. I’ll be doing a fair amount of guest blogs, interviews, readings, and review soliciting. Sorry, man. It’s the way it is. Spam city. Snubnose Press allowed me plenty of control regarding the release date, the cover, the content, but with that comes a fair expectation of the author putting the book (and himself) out there. You know, like Hyman Roth says, “This is the business we’ve chosen.” O Oh, yes. The business. If any of y’all are interested, I’ve got several advance copies still here at HQ,

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The Bible is full of tropes!

The Bible is Full of Tropes. There. I said it. The other night I was wrangled into watching The Book of Eli  by my wife. She loves Denzel—hey, who doesn’t?—but she also loves this particular movie.  “I know you think  you’ll hate it, but you’ll like it, just give it a chance.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard this rationalization, I’d be having a lobster lunch right now instead of writing this. Okay, first off, can we all agree the post-apocalyptic wasteland thing has been done to death? Fuckin’ A right, it has. From the Road Warrior on down, we’ve been pummeled with more wasteland movies than the Walk of Fame has stars. Let’s get past

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How Love Hurts became Canada’s Stairway to Heaven.

I recently watched Rob Ford humiliate himself on Jimmy Kimmel. It was painful, sure. I cringed along with most other Canadians (ex-pats or not) as I watched the Toronto Mayor sweat and struggle through his answers as Jimmy pummeled him with barb after barb, then shamed him with incontrovertible video evidence. Kimmel smiled and pointed to a big, inescapable TV monitor while the Mayor offered only what could be described as a constipated grimace. Poor bastard, I thought. Would he be crucified like this on the CBC? Just for yucks? Sure, he was skewered by Canuck journalists, but to be turned into a shallow joke-of-the-moment like a forgettable internet kitten clip? That’s a trick that seemed purely American. Then it struck

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Eating up the Tenderloin

  It’s become a passive obsession of mine to watch the city I love whither and devolve from the place of self-discovery I once knew to a strange unwelcoming metropolis. Out here on the web there’s no shortage of bitching about the current fate of San Francisco. I won’t bore you with another round of rage against the techies (‘member when we used to call ’em yuppies?) or rants about the demolition of culture to build more condos. But I will say, last month I found a refuge from the storm of negativity about SF, it was in the Tenderloin–not the neighborhood, but the book by Court Haslett. Around the same time Rogue Reader contacted me and asked if I

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Dazed …

Okay, this isn’t exactly an op-ed piece, but I wanted to mention that this Monday (January 6th 7pm PST) I’ll be part of the Dazed Digital Radio Broadcast. Along with Nikki Palomino and Rob Pierce hosting, the guests are Punk Globe’s infamous Ginger Coyote, the Specials’ Roddy Byers and the Screamin’ Siren’s Rosie Flores. Quite a crew. (I know what you’re thinkin’: Why they letting Pitts in the room?) There’ll be a fiery round-table discussion of important cultural topics like: California Punk rock in the 80s, and isn’t it terrible that it’s still around? I mean really, 12-year-old kids with Black Flag shirts? The Misfits at Walmart? What the hell is goin’ on? Join for an in-depth look back at

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