Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Caffeine, you Magnificent Bastard
I am addicted to coffee. I drink and smoke too, but somehow those things are more controllable. The urges come and go in waves. But I am a ravenous pitbull, and coffee is a giant snausage. It's not like I've been hooked all my life or anything. In fact, I didn't start drinking it until graduate school. But since then, it's all been downhill. Or uphill. Whichever means we've had a complicated relationship. I don't think more than two consecutive, coffee-less days have gone by in the past four years. Lately I've even been drinking more than usual because I'm doing marathon stretches of writing.

Last night I stayed up until 2 at the computer, and when Kevin and Bean woke me up at 8:10 this morning, my first thought was, "dude, I definitely need a cup before I leave". This was just my jump start. My pre work-coffee coffee. When I got to work, I saw that someone brought in coffee and donuts for everyone, which was perfect. Now I could drink more for free! (As a rule, I don't drink what we brew at work. I'll drink gas station coffee, but the shit we get tastes like Elvis's colon).*

Cut to three cups and two donuts later. It took every fiber of might to keep my head from exploding. I indexed files at record speeds. I answered phones, wrote involved emails, read blogs, sent faxes, and researched cheap hotels in Europe at the same time. Even cracked a case or two. Everyone who approached me was greeted with a mix of cold sarcasm and friendly chipperness. Later I ate half a glazed to come down gently.

Maybe soda would be better for me. Do they still make Jolt?

*I'm talking of course about the Elvis who died with 20 pounds of impacted feces, not the dreamy, regular Elvis

Monday, April 25, 2005

A Little Generosity
Generally, bars and clubs in L.A. don't pay struggling bands much, if at all. In fact, The Whiskey, Los Angeles's most famous, most douchtastic club, makes bands pay them. I guess this is their way of weeding out the poor bands, so only the richest nu-metal cheesedicks get the spotlight.

I'm not complaining. I actually take some pride in the struggle. Of course, if I didn't have a day job, I'd be sleeping with every A&R rep I could roofie.

Saturday night we were paid in free food and an unlimited bar tab (they said $50, but after all the beers and rounds of shots, I think we surpassed). This was the best treatment we've had from an establishment, I think. Maybe even better than when the born-again security guard at Skate El Paso threw us $20 for gas, just because. Or rather, just because of Jesus.

Don't get me wrong. I'd prefer being able to cover our recording and gear costs, to living in a van down by the river. A little personal generosity goes a long way, is all I'm saying.

Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't report on the the fakest, roundest boobs ever at the show. The girl also had a sideways trucker hat and tried to have a conversation with us while we were playing. Long Beach's resemblance to the frat zone at SDSU is uncanny. (Did I get that right? The Frat Zone? Chachi, help me out).

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

My Dudeical Plan
While admiring my comment on the last entry, I remembered an agenda of mine. I want to (re)introduce certain slang to our cultural vocabulary. Here are a few words and phrases I think we'd all be better off knowing. Some, you'll see, are due for a comeback.

-Tits ("that's so tits!", "that's the tits!", etc.)
a.) Floatin' on a cloud of titties
-Out The Box (this is Ken's version of "Off the Hook")

Dudeical will take persistence. You won't walk out of a great movie with your friends, and get away with, "Yeah, I liked it. It was really dudeical", without the conversation stopping. At first. But if you keep at it with confidence, especially around strangers who might be too shy to call you on it, who's to say you won't start a cultural phenomenon? I mean if "show me the money" can sweep the nation, why can't dudeical?

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Hipster Fight
Josh went to a party last weekend in a loft downtown. He hesitated going because he'd been to a party there before, and felt distanced by the force field in the room: "check out how cool I am but DONT FUCKIN CHECK ME OUT!". It was that kind of party -- celebrities of small circles. A gathering of the cream of the hipster crop from the East side, occasionally mixed with a band that's blown up some, but are still cooler-than-thou douches (think the Yeah Yeah Yeahs). But Saturday there was a band worth seeing, so he stomached it.

It was more of the same. I don't even think he saw the band on account that they weren't going on until 2am. The only reason it's worth mentioning at all is this. Apparently, the singer with the super ginormous ego from The Brian Jonestown Massacre, picked a fight with another hipster for looking at him. But when I say "fight", really I mean one-handed pushing. They kept the other hands steady for their beers. Seems they were scared of looking un-posed. If they'd ditched the drinks, well that would've been like an actual fight, and fighting will NOT put you in the pages of "Vice". If nothing else, I admire that kind of dedication to drinking.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Musty Old Man
Lately I've found myself next to older/elderly men in lines, elevators, hallways. They all smelled like they'd been digging around 50 year-old boxes in a dusty basement somewhere. I can't remember if this is what my grandfather smelled like, but it makes me wonder if I'll dispense this scent in 45 years, or for that matter, if I'll have taken up box-diving in my retirement. Can't say it sounds too appealing now, but then again, five years ago I thought guacamole was gross. Time changes a man, is all I'm sayin.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Sunday marks the kick off of Wedding Fever '05. It's the first of three ceremonies I'll be attending over the next few months. I actually had to turn down two other weddings that fell on the same day as the lovely Taryn's -- FEVER!!

My friends Kevin and Jennifer are hitchin' it up on Sunday, which means tomorrow I brave a Saturday crowd at The Grove (the Disneyland of malls) to find wedding-appropriate attire. Haven't bought anything that nice since 1997, when I classed myself up for the sweet job at Rob-May.... which turned out to be in the stock room. I just couldn't bring myself to accept a sales position. I commend people who can do that without jabbing a fork in their, or anyone else's, eye. I thought I had it bad enough when I had to walk out onto "the floor" every morning. My job was to turn on the TVs in the Juniors department so Blues Traveler videos could pump throughout the store.

So weddings. Congrats Kevin, Taryn, and Lisa. You're all buy-nice-clothes-at-the-last-minute worthy. I just want you to know.

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