Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Sorry about the Blog Hiatus

As depicted below, please note that I'm away on a business trip and am extremely busy doing important lobbyist things. Never fear, I'll be back this weekend with more posty posts.

Friday, May 12, 2006

wine tastings and existentialist bandmates

Last night I joined my bandmates Lonnie Bruner and Isaac Washington and their significant others at the residence of Bruner and wife. Bruner had some new gin to check out, Isaac Washington brought over 5 wines from his new restaurant to taste, and his honey, Crystal, brought over a selection of the finest cheeses. Our banter was like something out of the party scenes in Metropolitan. We indulged in the old college throwback discussions of discrediting science versus discrediting god, the scientific method as art form, the characteristics of a fine distilled spirit, existentialist and post-modernist thought, the suburbs, blogs as dangerous weapons, and whether or not a cocktail should be supersized. (Answer: don't supersize me!)

Do any other bands talk about this stuff? Seriously. We're a bunch of pseudo-intellectual fools up in here. But everybody was so terribly urbane!

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Nick Lachey vs. The Pogues vs. My Roommates (Past and Present) vs. Falco

If you have an i-pod, then you know that when you update, (unless you're some clever genius who has learned to circumvent the apple music store's aggressive automatic sales pitch) you're exposed to a barrage of new release advertisements on the i-tunes screen below your music library. Right-o. So last Tuesday, I noticed that one of these such adverts was for a sneak-preview of the new Nick Lachey single, "What's left of me."

We're all friends here, so there's no need to lie to you. I downloaded this like it was my business.

What can I say? I was curious. You see, I had some minor surgery earlier this year and was laid up for a whole week. It's not my fault that well-intentioned friends took to dropping off copies of US Weekly and Page 6 during my recovery. (I disparaged you to your faces for giving me such trash and promptly read it cover to cover as soon as you left. Bhahahahaha).

So anyway, I know all about Nick. His love. His loss. The estrangement. The strippers. The brave face and the false front. The tomfoolery. The cuckholdery!!! Johnny Knoxville. Bam Marghera for crap's sake! (And by crap, I mean crap. These dudes have made their fortunes off sticking objects up their bung). How can one NOT have a modicum of sympathy?

By the time I was recovered from my surgery, (roughly five whole days later), I'd developed an unholy bloodthirst for gossip magazines. I fed my filthy habit with ease at the GentrifiSafeway checkout aisles. (You'd think the tabloids would wise-up and start charging by the minute at checkout counters).

What I'm saying is, it's really not possible to go about one's daily business without encountering Nick's cheerful hangdog visage and without reading some sad-sack story about his love and his tragic loss. And that was why, when I later encountered his song winking at me on i-tunes, like the lone stoplight blinking tragically in a Southern, baptist town, I said "Sweet merciful crap, yes!"

It wasn't enough to torture myself with it once. I listened to it at least four times. It was like looking at a car crash. You know, traffic is backed up so you're already thinking, don't be that guy, don't rubber-neck - and then you also think, don't look, don't look, because there's no way anyone survived that mangled bit of car - and you feel horrid and say a quick prayer that no one was hurt and then you look again just in case there's a chance you'll see a leg lying on the side of the road or something.

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I played it twice for myself and then I've played it for 2 or 3 of my friends. My most recent victim was my roommate, the Czech Czich. I caught her humming it a few hours later and I had to put on the Pogues to knock it out of her for goodness sakes.

- sidenote - the Pogues cannot be stopped once they are in your head. Just think about the songs "Sunny Side of the Street" or "Sick Bed of Chuchulain" in your head and you're already effed. - end sidenote -

Anyway, all I can say is that I feel bad for that guy although I suppose I shouldn't, because if you believe what I read in US Weekly, he's got no shortage of little Hollywood hoes hoping to dry his tears and he has half of Jessica's cash cache, to boot, given their lack of a pre-nup. So I'm curious about his fate. And I guess somewhere deep down I was hoping that he'd produce something with some merit.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard i hold the song upside down and shake it by its ankles, nothing meritorious falls out of its underpants. But what fell out of my underpants (OK, my wallet) was a cool $1.09 - cuz that's what it costs to download the song off of i-tunes. I'm not sure how much of that goes to Nick, but I was just thinking, for every sucker like me there must be hundreds more willing to pay one dollar and a fistfull of pennies to hear Nick's latest solo work. So perhaps Jessica will be the one taking HIM to the cleaners when it comes time to divvy up the marriage spoils?

Speaking of Nick, and roommates.

My poor old roommate bears such an uncanny resemblance to the former boybandit that I took to calling the roommate 98 degrees. In fact sometimes I would leave him little notes around the house (such as this instance, where I suggested that he leave my beer supply intact) making exactly this reference. I mean no harm. This person is my good friend and is a great musician and if he sees this he's probably going to kill me twice (the first killing would be for borrowing his 4-track for almost a year now). But for your enjoyment, my 6 li'l readers, I will take that risk.

Here's a pic of Nick Lachey.

Here's a pic of a note I left my former roommate.

And here's my former roommate, who if you are reading this I promise I will be doing a wickedly butt-kissing blog the next time you have a show on how you're a fantastic singer-songwriter and also how nobody does Dylan like you do Dylan. (Not even Dylan).


UPDATE: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! My roommate (present not past) just exacted a malicious revenge upon me by blasting "Amadeus" followed by a montage of catchy romance songs in the German Language. Oh my god Baltimora! Tarzan Boy. She is relentless.

I'm turning to the Pogues. I'm turning to the pogues! Shane don't let me down!!!

UPDATE 2: I just hit her with Europe: The Final Countdown.

It's on. I have to go now.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Window Dancing

This weekend I had custody of the Better Half here in Washington. Sadly, our practice space was unavailable so we did no actual practicing, unless you count a late-morning kumbayah session in my kitchen where I tried to force Jenny and Kat to sing along with my substandard guitar and morning-voiced accompaniment to some old stand-bys.

On Friday we went out to a Mexican restaurant, to celebrate cinco de Mayo. Or should we say, given the late hour, Seis de Mayo? After being roofied by the wait-staff, Jenny spaceship was fairly tired out, but we still made it to the Velvet Lounge to see my friends' - Tom and Fernando - band play.

The highlight of the weekend was probably Saturday, when the weather grew too suddenly cold for the plans we'd already made and we hosted an impromptu wine tasting at my house, courtesy of Isaac Washington.

We were tasked with tasting 6 different varietals from the same vintner. Perhaps because we chose not to expectorate, the verdict was this: