AH one.. ah two and a.. Wait wait wait I got a booger. Hold on, boys.

On Saturday we played at one pm at a pool party in one of those fancy-assed gated apartment communities. It was hot as homemade sin outside, so I played at least one song lying down in the grass next to the pool. After that, I dashed home, showered, typed up the entry about the old man previous to this, and dashed off to the Variety Playhouse.

Francisco was invited to open for the Dave Matthews Cover Band on their last show ever at the Variety. It was neat to get to go do that, especially since my girlfriend and I are going to see the Tragically Hip there next month. It’s neat to get to play on a big stage with a nice sound system and all that.

When Sam and I walked in, a girl asked us what we wanted in our dressing room. Sam and I looked at each other, having never heard that question before. Usually we’re the band over by the landfill next to the dodge and the mangy dog. We finally told her we just wanted water and she ran off to get it.

Sam Thacker, man of… stuff. Also: things.

We waited through the DMCB’s sound check, had ours, and then it was up to our dressing room. It was quite nice in there, really. At left is young Sam relaxing in said dressing room.

We chatted with several members of the DMCB, who were very cool. It was sort of a wierd dynamic, though, since they’re a cover/tribute band. I didn’t know whether they wanted to talk about Dave Matthews or if they were sick to death of him and his music. They seemed a little weary of the whole thing, but conversations tended to drift his way nonetheless. Go figure.

We played our tunes and joked around with the crowd a bit, then we left to go to our late gig at the Bench.

And that’s what happened on Saturday!

This isn’t the guy, it’s a crazy-looking old man from Google image search. It gives you the idea, though.

Last night I was on drums with the Sam Thacker Band at the Park Bench Emory. It was late in the night, and the crowd had died down considerably. Someone yelled for Free Bird, and my current policy on punishing Free Bird idiots is to actually play it. As such, I launched into it, but was singing Free Turd. Yes, I am quite clever.

Turd, you see…. Sounds like Bird. Forget it.

Anyway, this really enraged an old vietnam vet guy at the bar. He started screaming “FUCK YOU” at us as loud as he could. I thought he was joking around, so I told him that wasn’t very nice and went about my business.

A few songs later, he appeared at the back of the room yelling “FUCK YOU” some more and making extremely exaggerated masturbation motions. Seeing an old guy do this was quite funny, so I laughed my stupid ass off. I still figured he was kidding, so we kept playing. He kept at it, though.

“You fuckin Yankee bastards!” He yelled.

“Hey man, I’m from Texas,” Sam said, reasoning with him.

“Fuck you!” He returned.

“How about you just shut the fuck up, old man.” Sam finally said, a suggestion which I found particularly sound. This so enraged the old guy that he began lumbering toward the stage. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but he was actually charging the stage, presumably to knock Sam out. Sam stood there in disbelief.

I jumped up from behind the drum kit and headed him off with the assistance of the bouncer.

“Fuck you guys!” He screamed. “Don’t you dare say free turd to me, you turd bags! I’ll break that guitar over your head!”

We finished the gig after calming the old buzzard down, and loaded out shit out. As I was packing my crap into my car, a volvo drove by slowly outside and a guy leaned out the window.

“Fag.” he said, driving slowly away and looking at me.

The really wierd thing is that my life is pretty much always this random.

Number one in the hood, G

One thing I will say in favor of the current climate of censorship and over-cautiousness is that it makes it easy to be irreverent. You aren’t allowed to say bad words on TV, and so even bleeped-out bad words are funny.

Bleeps are almost funnier than the words themselves, oddly. I point to Aqua Teen Hunger Force as an example of a show which brilliantly uses the bleep. All it takes is one short shot of Dr. Wierd screaming “BULL SHIT” with the SHIT bleeped out and I laugh like a drug-addled mental patient.

Here’s a movie script I am working on. It’s called “Piss Tits”

MOM: Hi son!

SON: BULL SHIT!

(fin)

Put it on the air, baby!

Speaking of which, I would like to publicly congratulate Williams St., Adult Swim, Cartoon Network and Turner Broadcasting for producing some shows which are actually interesting and funny and not a waste of my motha-fuckin time. The previous “motha-fuckin time” is to be spoken in a good Al Pacino impersonation. See the movie Heat for inspiration.

I said a good impersonation, butter head!

On to other news. I want to learn how to weld, and I’m thinking of trying to build a couch. These two points are neither mutually inclusive or exclusive.

Some people say I get distracted easily. I call it horse shit.

I love photos like this.

The other night I couldn’t sleep because I made the mistake of falling asleep at around seven PM and sleeping until eleven. It pisses me off when I do that, because it fucks my sleep schedule into a cocked hat. You know what I’m saying.

As I was lying there at 2am trying to go back to sleep, I heard some rumbling noises downstairs and realized that my friend Mellie was moving out, and that I forgot I was supposed to be helping. So I sprang out of bed, in so much as an incredibly lazy and lethargic person can spring, and I went down to have a peep.

We got to work and got all her crap moved onto the truck and then drove it to her new apartment complex, hiding the keys behind an air conditioner for her roommate to find the next day.

It’s sad that my friends are moving out of the house, but then I am moving out too as soon as we find a place. It’s like graduating from high school, moving out of here. It’s time to go, but it’s still kinda sad.

I think about what the house represented to me and how fun it was when I moved in, and what it represents to me now, and it’s one of those things that makes you pine for yesteryear.

Maybe I’m just nuts.

Here I am! ROCK you like a… oh forget it.

My girlfriend, whom I am referring to today by her just-made-up nickname “Slipstream”, and I went to Savannah this week for no reason whatsoever except to check it out and get out of Atlanta. I chose Savannah as the destination for our 24 hour out-of-town romp because it’s on the Atlantic more or less, and it’s reasonably close.

I did not realize, however, that there is a dimensional time rift between Macon and Savannah which causes the trip to take 4 hours longer than it should and causes anyone driving through to lose their mind just after soiling their underthings. In other words, the strip of Interstate between Macon and Savannah (I-16) is the most boring road it has ever been my displeasure to travel, and I would like it to please go fuck itself.

I’m sure there’s some desert highway out there somewhere that is 150 miles of unerring straightness through featureless desert and whatnot, and that’s all fine and well. Back east, we usually build some shit near our roads so that we have something to look at, with the glaring exception of Interstate 16, that is.

We arrived in Savannah at 1am and immediately drove into downtown, where there are about seventeen parks in a mile square area. They’re all kind of like roundabouts, only square. We were tired after the time rift, so we found a place to stay on Bay St and went to bed.

FLAGPOLE! PUT ON MY CHAPS? WHA? OH it’s you.

We got up the next day at 10:30am and checked out, then walked around Savannah for most of the day. It’s a pretty neat town. We took some stairs down from Bay St to the River area where we encountered one of the worst smells I have ever smelled. Namely, the riverside dumpster.

Cobblestone streets aside, the dumpster we smelled on River St actually killed us both, and it’s lucky that we were simultaneously struck by lightning or we’d still be dead. As a result of the experience, I can now read minds.

Which brings me to my point, which is, uh… something.

Oh yeah! Savannah was fun!