Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sorry...
It is totally lame to write in my blog about how I'm not writing in my blog, but I need to inform y'all of the photo series that I'm putting up here in a couple of days....can you say bathroom art?
Monday, December 3, 2007
So Fresh and So Clean Clean
Tide, Clorox, Snuggle
washer, dryer, hangers, fold
waiting, sitting, hum
I love doing my laundry. I take great pride in the the separation process, the wash cycle, and the folding system. You know the feeling you get when you walk in to Rockin' Rudy's on a busy Saturday, that is what it is like inside my head. Just like my friends, family, coworkers, and neighbors, even I need a break from me. I value the 2 hours of laundry that I do nothing but stare at the clear window of drying shirts and jeans. I enjoy the time to sit on a running washer and kick my legs back and forth. I just want to relax and kick back with the hum of the machines.
excuse me, sorry?
are those your dryer sheets?
can I use your soap?
So, you're sitting at home thinking about all that laundry you have to do. You put it all in the baskets and bags, and put it into the back seat of the car. You've got quarters and your new book. You are about to start your car. Wait! Do me a god-damned favor and stop. Stop and think. What else do you need? What are you missing? Soap, Detergent, El Washero Fluido. Grab it from your house or pick some up on the way, because if you ask me for some, I will snap. I know you don't want to buy the single serving of soap out of the vending machine for 12 bucks, but neither do I, that is why I brought soap with me. Luckily, some of the laundry mats in town now offer free soap. The last time someone asked me for soap, before I could start the rant, the woman with 11 loads said, "Ugh!, I hate that kind of soap!"
sneak, tug, roll away
is this one yours? just a sec!
five to one baskets
There are 20 people using 40 washers and dryers, taking up 13 tables. All the while, watching ONE TV and "sharing" FOUR rolling baskets. There is no better social experiment then watching 20 people watch something on TV they all hate, at the risk that someone else is enjoying the program. Listen ma'am, nobody likes the 700 Club, but you. So, if you manage to tear yourself away from Fox News to move your laundry from the washer to the dryer, now you will have to find a basket with wheels. No one wants to use their own flimsy plastic basket for this job, it sits on the floor for god's sake! You've had that thing since freshmen year, it is for getting the clothes to and from the laundry mat and for moving your kitchen shit from apartment to apartment, only. Now, if you find a basket that is not holding (or being held by) someone's coat, purse, and laundry stuff, you grab that thing and don't look back. Throw your clothes in it, ride it around, put a bike lock on it. Every once in a while we make mistakes. I asked a woman if she was using a "free" basket, she said "Not right this second, if you need it for a minute, I don't need it for 10 minutes." She let me "borrow" the basket, only for her to follow me to my washer and dryer and watch as if suddenly I was going to "David Copperfield" the basket out from under her and she would be left to fend for herself. After the last trip, "Are you done?" She then took the basket back to her spot in front of "Family Feud" and the latest Mary Higgins Clark trash, where it sat unused for 20 minutes.
fold the t-shirts, hang
the pants, ball the socks, buttons
zippers, pockets, pink!
The next time I do my laundry I'm turning the TV to the local access channel and using 2 baskets for myself.
washer, dryer, hangers, fold
waiting, sitting, hum
I love doing my laundry. I take great pride in the the separation process, the wash cycle, and the folding system. You know the feeling you get when you walk in to Rockin' Rudy's on a busy Saturday, that is what it is like inside my head. Just like my friends, family, coworkers, and neighbors, even I need a break from me. I value the 2 hours of laundry that I do nothing but stare at the clear window of drying shirts and jeans. I enjoy the time to sit on a running washer and kick my legs back and forth. I just want to relax and kick back with the hum of the machines.
excuse me, sorry?
are those your dryer sheets?
can I use your soap?
So, you're sitting at home thinking about all that laundry you have to do. You put it all in the baskets and bags, and put it into the back seat of the car. You've got quarters and your new book. You are about to start your car. Wait! Do me a god-damned favor and stop. Stop and think. What else do you need? What are you missing? Soap, Detergent, El Washero Fluido. Grab it from your house or pick some up on the way, because if you ask me for some, I will snap. I know you don't want to buy the single serving of soap out of the vending machine for 12 bucks, but neither do I, that is why I brought soap with me. Luckily, some of the laundry mats in town now offer free soap. The last time someone asked me for soap, before I could start the rant, the woman with 11 loads said, "Ugh!, I hate that kind of soap!"
sneak, tug, roll away
is this one yours? just a sec!
five to one baskets
There are 20 people using 40 washers and dryers, taking up 13 tables. All the while, watching ONE TV and "sharing" FOUR rolling baskets. There is no better social experiment then watching 20 people watch something on TV they all hate, at the risk that someone else is enjoying the program. Listen ma'am, nobody likes the 700 Club, but you. So, if you manage to tear yourself away from Fox News to move your laundry from the washer to the dryer, now you will have to find a basket with wheels. No one wants to use their own flimsy plastic basket for this job, it sits on the floor for god's sake! You've had that thing since freshmen year, it is for getting the clothes to and from the laundry mat and for moving your kitchen shit from apartment to apartment, only. Now, if you find a basket that is not holding (or being held by) someone's coat, purse, and laundry stuff, you grab that thing and don't look back. Throw your clothes in it, ride it around, put a bike lock on it. Every once in a while we make mistakes. I asked a woman if she was using a "free" basket, she said "Not right this second, if you need it for a minute, I don't need it for 10 minutes." She let me "borrow" the basket, only for her to follow me to my washer and dryer and watch as if suddenly I was going to "David Copperfield" the basket out from under her and she would be left to fend for herself. After the last trip, "Are you done?" She then took the basket back to her spot in front of "Family Feud" and the latest Mary Higgins Clark trash, where it sat unused for 20 minutes.
fold the t-shirts, hang
the pants, ball the socks, buttons
zippers, pockets, pink!
The next time I do my laundry I'm turning the TV to the local access channel and using 2 baskets for myself.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Trivial Pursuit of the History of Violence of Bourbon
I'm not hip. I'm not really that up to date. That's 'cause I'm Old School. I like getting the boys together. I enjoy a cigar and a little bourbon. I enjoy the batting cages. I actually even enjoy some games...
I don't like playing cards. Games of luck and "skill" are not what makes a bulge in my shorts. I prefer any game that turns me into a pompus, irrational prick, mainly, Trivial Pursuit. Monopoly is OK, Poker is boring, I have never played chess, Risk takes a minimum of 2 years, Life is for little girls, Cranium is for newlyweds and their newlywed friends, Uno is for church camp, Yahtzee is what you play while writing a suicide note, and Pictionary is an acceptable reason for divorce. I like Scrabble and Scatagories...but...
...Trivial Pursuit.
Ooohh, Trivial Pursuit. (insert orgasm here) I'm not good at most things and my lifestyle is unacceptable to most, but I dominate at Trivial Pursuit. I'm loud, obnoxious, and violent when I play the game. Don't be surprised if when I come over to your house and you want to play, that I grab the back of your grandmother's head, kick you in the face, and break your sisters arm with my aggressive dominance. After years of small talk, Wikipedia, the History Channel, and just out-right-nerdery, I will have complete reign over your living room coffee table. I usually prefer some room for me to jump up suddenly, do a Tiger Woods celebration move and try to do a back flip off of your antique end table. I also like to keep my hands occupied with striking implements for hitting people's exposed thighs and your cat, if I haven't scared it away with my shrieks of joy and screams of pain. You want the big show? Add some bourbon to the situation. Even better? A bottle of Champagne to shake up and spray at you like I've just been drafted by the Calgary Stampeders. Heaven forbid we play the version that has a DVD, I might just "Elvis" your TV. Don't get me wrong, I might answer 20 straight questions right, then blow 30. Who knows? I just hope your neighbors are cool with having a emotionally driven trivia master prone to violence and tantrums rocking the shit out of you at 3 in the morning. Or getting rocked and sobbing uncontrollably. Wait! I can smoke my Cigar in your house?! Get the fire exstinguisher ready or cover your uncovered skin. I will set your house on fire, then hold you down, burning your face, just because I knew the difference between immigrant and emmigrant.
Make sure to invite me to your next game night.
I don't like playing cards. Games of luck and "skill" are not what makes a bulge in my shorts. I prefer any game that turns me into a pompus, irrational prick, mainly, Trivial Pursuit. Monopoly is OK, Poker is boring, I have never played chess, Risk takes a minimum of 2 years, Life is for little girls, Cranium is for newlyweds and their newlywed friends, Uno is for church camp, Yahtzee is what you play while writing a suicide note, and Pictionary is an acceptable reason for divorce. I like Scrabble and Scatagories...but...
...Trivial Pursuit.
Ooohh, Trivial Pursuit. (insert orgasm here) I'm not good at most things and my lifestyle is unacceptable to most, but I dominate at Trivial Pursuit. I'm loud, obnoxious, and violent when I play the game. Don't be surprised if when I come over to your house and you want to play, that I grab the back of your grandmother's head, kick you in the face, and break your sisters arm with my aggressive dominance. After years of small talk, Wikipedia, the History Channel, and just out-right-nerdery, I will have complete reign over your living room coffee table. I usually prefer some room for me to jump up suddenly, do a Tiger Woods celebration move and try to do a back flip off of your antique end table. I also like to keep my hands occupied with striking implements for hitting people's exposed thighs and your cat, if I haven't scared it away with my shrieks of joy and screams of pain. You want the big show? Add some bourbon to the situation. Even better? A bottle of Champagne to shake up and spray at you like I've just been drafted by the Calgary Stampeders. Heaven forbid we play the version that has a DVD, I might just "Elvis" your TV. Don't get me wrong, I might answer 20 straight questions right, then blow 30. Who knows? I just hope your neighbors are cool with having a emotionally driven trivia master prone to violence and tantrums rocking the shit out of you at 3 in the morning. Or getting rocked and sobbing uncontrollably. Wait! I can smoke my Cigar in your house?! Get the fire exstinguisher ready or cover your uncovered skin. I will set your house on fire, then hold you down, burning your face, just because I knew the difference between immigrant and emmigrant.
Make sure to invite me to your next game night.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Bus Trip/Absinthe
Because I wanted to go see a cute girl in Bozeman and I'm running out of Blog material...I took a Greyhound Bus Trip!
With the current gas prices, I found out that it is actually cheaper for me to take the Greyhound then it is to take the "Millennium Turtle". So I got online and bought myself a round trip ticket to Bozeman from Missoula. I've been on the bus plenty and I know what to expect.
1. Bored, loud children
2. Someone will freak out or make a scene
3. Someone will want to talk to me
I wasn't on the bus 15 minutes before a 20 something girl with bruises sat down next to me and asked, "Do you like Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy?" Believe it or not...I'm not an asshole right away. I got 5 or so hours to be trapped in this aluminum, tinted window hell and I don't need someone trying to stab me while I sleep with my head pinned between the window and the seat. I reply, "Sure, it's not really my thing, but it's kinda funny." According to the clock on my phone, she recited bits and pieces of "redneck" humor for over half an hour. From Bearmouth to Drummond. To move her away from the subject of the "Blue Collar Comedy Tour" I asked her where she is headed. In one breath, rehearsed from saying it to 100 people over the last 1000 miles....
"I'm on Parole and I'm heading back to Wichita to pick up my kids from my Mom's house, where they lived for the last 2 years 'cause I was in jail for stabbin' my ex-husband with a big ol' knife."
"No shit?" I even asked her to repeat it so I could write it down.
"Can I use your iPod?"
**********************************************************
Next. Absinthe has been made legal in the US for the first time since 1915. Now, I'm not a drug person. I drink too much and then I steal a drag off of someone's cigarette, but that is it. During the years of 2004 and 2005 I smoked pot 12 times and I hated it 11 times. Nothing else. There is way to much crazy shit going on in my head to add a reaction from a drug. I already have issues with reality.
but...
Absinthe.
The "green fairy" and I get along nicely.
Remember, End of the Year Giftgiving is right around the corner...
With the current gas prices, I found out that it is actually cheaper for me to take the Greyhound then it is to take the "Millennium Turtle". So I got online and bought myself a round trip ticket to Bozeman from Missoula. I've been on the bus plenty and I know what to expect.
1. Bored, loud children
2. Someone will freak out or make a scene
3. Someone will want to talk to me
I wasn't on the bus 15 minutes before a 20 something girl with bruises sat down next to me and asked, "Do you like Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy?" Believe it or not...I'm not an asshole right away. I got 5 or so hours to be trapped in this aluminum, tinted window hell and I don't need someone trying to stab me while I sleep with my head pinned between the window and the seat. I reply, "Sure, it's not really my thing, but it's kinda funny." According to the clock on my phone, she recited bits and pieces of "redneck" humor for over half an hour. From Bearmouth to Drummond. To move her away from the subject of the "Blue Collar Comedy Tour" I asked her where she is headed. In one breath, rehearsed from saying it to 100 people over the last 1000 miles....
"I'm on Parole and I'm heading back to Wichita to pick up my kids from my Mom's house, where they lived for the last 2 years 'cause I was in jail for stabbin' my ex-husband with a big ol' knife."
"No shit?" I even asked her to repeat it so I could write it down.
"Can I use your iPod?"
**********************************************************
Next. Absinthe has been made legal in the US for the first time since 1915. Now, I'm not a drug person. I drink too much and then I steal a drag off of someone's cigarette, but that is it. During the years of 2004 and 2005 I smoked pot 12 times and I hated it 11 times. Nothing else. There is way to much crazy shit going on in my head to add a reaction from a drug. I already have issues with reality.
but...
Absinthe.
The "green fairy" and I get along nicely.
Remember, End of the Year Giftgiving is right around the corner...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I'm a Silly Lazy Bitch
If you would've asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up when I was 7 years old, I would have answered, barber/drummer/pizza delivery guy. 15 years old, forest ranger/drummer/bartender. 18 years old, music teacher/drummer/writer. 23, drummer/radio DJ/barista. Now that I'm almost 26 I can tell you what I really want to be...Drummer/Housewife.
I make a great living with this whole bar musician thing and wish it would be much more and I'm very thankful for the career, but it is the service industry/food and beverage thing I want to stop. I have dated plenty of girls that are lost in the hopeless search for a career and have settled on the idea of a "man" to "handle" the "financial burden". That is 500 years of the "man of the house" bullshit that I'm up against. Recently I've discovered females that are more then willing to accept a 50/50 "dutch" way of living. That's great. That is fine. But, fuck that noise. I want a smart, balls to the wall, career minded woman that is willing to let me do the dishes, wash the laundry, cook the dinners, scrub the toilet, and play lots of gigs. (notice how I stuck that last bit in there? let me explain...) Think of a "man" with a job(s) and goals. He wants his new wife to stay at home and handle the "womanly" type things, while he throws money at her hobbies to make sure she feels some fulfillment in her little "extra bedroom of a life". THAT'S WHAT I WANT! Plus, you never know, the music thing might pay off and then we'll have even more money! As my life stands right now, I have only one real plan...win the lottery. Call it a 401K or a salary, but that is it, and most of the time I forget to even buy the ticket. I have zero money in savings and I only work in the service industry just enough to cover what playing music doesn't.
Keep in mind, I'm not looking for a "stay at home dad" title. NO kids. "Stay at home drummer." I would be so proud of my little home with the picket fence and mowed lawn. I'm already obsessed with a clean house (read my blog about cleaning) I could continue my Netflix obsession and play tons of shows and not worry about pesky little things like "Rent", "Debt", or "Doctors".
Put me in an apron and call me Suzy...I'm ready.
I make a great living with this whole bar musician thing and wish it would be much more and I'm very thankful for the career, but it is the service industry/food and beverage thing I want to stop. I have dated plenty of girls that are lost in the hopeless search for a career and have settled on the idea of a "man" to "handle" the "financial burden". That is 500 years of the "man of the house" bullshit that I'm up against. Recently I've discovered females that are more then willing to accept a 50/50 "dutch" way of living. That's great. That is fine. But, fuck that noise. I want a smart, balls to the wall, career minded woman that is willing to let me do the dishes, wash the laundry, cook the dinners, scrub the toilet, and play lots of gigs. (notice how I stuck that last bit in there? let me explain...) Think of a "man" with a job(s) and goals. He wants his new wife to stay at home and handle the "womanly" type things, while he throws money at her hobbies to make sure she feels some fulfillment in her little "extra bedroom of a life". THAT'S WHAT I WANT! Plus, you never know, the music thing might pay off and then we'll have even more money! As my life stands right now, I have only one real plan...win the lottery. Call it a 401K or a salary, but that is it, and most of the time I forget to even buy the ticket. I have zero money in savings and I only work in the service industry just enough to cover what playing music doesn't.
Keep in mind, I'm not looking for a "stay at home dad" title. NO kids. "Stay at home drummer." I would be so proud of my little home with the picket fence and mowed lawn. I'm already obsessed with a clean house (read my blog about cleaning) I could continue my Netflix obsession and play tons of shows and not worry about pesky little things like "Rent", "Debt", or "Doctors".
Put me in an apron and call me Suzy...I'm ready.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Eating in the Car
Picture yourself on a road trip with some friends or family....after hours in the car and a stop at a road side gas station, you jump back into the car...
Passenger #1: "So Passenger #2, what did you get to eat?"
Passenger #2: "Just some Snickers and a donut, what did you get?"
Passenger #1: "Red Rope licorice and some Gatorade. What about you, Passenger #3?"
Passenger #3: "Some plain chips, Lifesavers, and a bottled water."
Passenger #1: "Hey Trav, did you get anything?"
Travis: "Yes! 2 corndogs, Funyuns, Ranch CornNuts, Gardettos with Rye Chips, a taquito, and a gallon of Coca-cola with a straw!"
I try not to be that guy. You know, crunchy loudly on whatever garlic and ass flavored gem I can find in a plastic bag at TownPump. Anything labeled "Italian Style" or "New Bold Flavor" are likely to make your trip with friends, stressful. So there I am, in the back looking at the hot dogs, polish sausages, and bratwurst, like a dog next to the family barbeque. "Wow! They even have little packets of Onions!" I have also never been afraid to try the corndogs, burritos, chicken tenders, or onion rings they have simmering for weeks next to the cash register. I've even tried the "Hamburger Link". Which, by the way, is a hotdog shaped hamburger they have turning in the machine with the other hotdog shaped hotdogs. I put that shit-shaped-delicacy on a bun and made noises like a prison rape in the back of the van. Before I go any farther, we need to address the Beef Jerky situation. Whether it is in a bag, in a self serve container (with or with out tongs), in a "puck", or in a six-foot-whip, I'm buying it. One of my greatest Montana-pit-stop finds, was the "4-foot-long-one-inch-thick-peppered-teryaki-He-Man-Monster-meat-stick". Thank you TownPump of Rocker, Montana. I actually had to hang it out the window to keep the driver from losing his jalapeno-chili-southwestern-style-corndog all over the dash. Now comes the time when I need to wash this all down. I will usually pick up the largest bottled water and whatever behemoth size of Coke they offer. The 96 ounce cup is the biggest I've seen, so far. Depending on the time of day, I will also pick from the selection of 24 ounce beers.
Grab a couple of straws and no napkins and I'm ready for the next stop.
Passenger #1: "So Passenger #2, what did you get to eat?"
Passenger #2: "Just some Snickers and a donut, what did you get?"
Passenger #1: "Red Rope licorice and some Gatorade. What about you, Passenger #3?"
Passenger #3: "Some plain chips, Lifesavers, and a bottled water."
Passenger #1: "Hey Trav, did you get anything?"
Travis: "Yes! 2 corndogs, Funyuns, Ranch CornNuts, Gardettos with Rye Chips, a taquito, and a gallon of Coca-cola with a straw!"
I try not to be that guy. You know, crunchy loudly on whatever garlic and ass flavored gem I can find in a plastic bag at TownPump. Anything labeled "Italian Style" or "New Bold Flavor" are likely to make your trip with friends, stressful. So there I am, in the back looking at the hot dogs, polish sausages, and bratwurst, like a dog next to the family barbeque. "Wow! They even have little packets of Onions!" I have also never been afraid to try the corndogs, burritos, chicken tenders, or onion rings they have simmering for weeks next to the cash register. I've even tried the "Hamburger Link". Which, by the way, is a hotdog shaped hamburger they have turning in the machine with the other hotdog shaped hotdogs. I put that shit-shaped-delicacy on a bun and made noises like a prison rape in the back of the van. Before I go any farther, we need to address the Beef Jerky situation. Whether it is in a bag, in a self serve container (with or with out tongs), in a "puck", or in a six-foot-whip, I'm buying it. One of my greatest Montana-pit-stop finds, was the "4-foot-long-one-inch-thick-peppered-teryaki-He-Man-Monster-meat-stick". Thank you TownPump of Rocker, Montana. I actually had to hang it out the window to keep the driver from losing his jalapeno-chili-southwestern-style-corndog all over the dash. Now comes the time when I need to wash this all down. I will usually pick up the largest bottled water and whatever behemoth size of Coke they offer. The 96 ounce cup is the biggest I've seen, so far. Depending on the time of day, I will also pick from the selection of 24 ounce beers.
Grab a couple of straws and no napkins and I'm ready for the next stop.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
I Love Camping! (part 2)
First of all, I'm still alive. She didn't kill me, she didn't run screaming, she didn't leave in the middle of the night, in fact, she enjoyed herself.No shit. No lie. 
She sat in the passenger seat and listened while I listed off 8000 boring topics about you know who and my theories on every subject from America to the National Park system to my family to dildo preference. She sat by the fire and listened to my out of tune guitar and my whiny little singing voice. She sat and watched me drink too much beer and try to howl at the moon. Lucky for us, it only reached 20 degrees.If anyone could play the part of a girl willing to explore the pre-winter camping experience with a neurotic/crazy/worthless guy like me, she did it well. It is hard for me to make jokes out of an experience that was really really fun and went off without a hitch. 
Kelsey, thank you for a great trip and I can't wait for the next one.
She sat in the passenger seat and listened while I listed off 8000 boring topics about you know who and my theories on every subject from America to the National Park system to my family to dildo preference. She sat by the fire and listened to my out of tune guitar and my whiny little singing voice. She sat and watched me drink too much beer and try to howl at the moon. Lucky for us, it only reached 20 degrees.If anyone could play the part of a girl willing to explore the pre-winter camping experience with a neurotic/crazy/worthless guy like me, she did it well. It is hard for me to make jokes out of an experience that was really really fun and went off without a hitch. Kelsey, thank you for a great trip and I can't wait for the next one.Friday, November 2, 2007
I Love Camping!
I'm going to Yellowstone on Sunday to go camping. There is only one of the many campgrounds still open and I will be there. Since it hasn't really gotten cold and snowy yet, I'm going to command the Gods to drop all of their worst weather on my little trip this weekend. I'm dropping the dog off at my parents (National Parks are not always the most dog friendly) and on my way through Bozeman, I'm picking up a passenger. A guest, if you will. Someone to share this experience with. You know, a Girl.
Normally I would have hung up the camping hat and nestled in until I get excited about summer in the middle of March, then get all pissed in the middle of some mud puddle campground that it isn't summer yet. Normally the Vanagon and sleeping bags would be used only for passing out in front of the Old Post and sleeping one off (Merry Christmas!). Normally I would never be able to talk someone into this little adventure, but she suggested this. (attention is gained, ears are perked in her direction) She said she would love to go camping this time of year. (heart beat is gaining speed) She says it would be "so much fun" to camp out in the Vanagon. (reaching terminal velocity, critical mass) WITH ME. (Not only did I just shit my pants, but I shit other people's pants. Somewhere "Joey" from "Blossom" went "Whoa!") What can I say, other then marriage there is nowhere else to go then camping when it's cold out.
One problem. She tends to think that it is cold out when myself (normal people) think it is OK out. The Solution. The Vanagon, or "The Turtle", has 2 Germanic strength heaters and I have packed 4 sleeping bags. One for me and three for her. Also the camp stove for hot liquids, hot meals, and setting her on fire when nothing else works.
I spent the first 18 years of my life with my parents and older siblings in the back of a Vanagon seeking out family adventure from coast to coast, Florida to Alaska, all over the Rockies, and every National Park we could care to visit. I watched my parents debate divorce and become very pro-choice after 1000's and 1000's of miles and 100's and 100's of campsites. I swore up and down that I would figure out a better way. Here I am, a multiple VW owner and taking this girl down the beginning of a really long road trip, with a very possible, very violent ending, many years from now. When I told my parents I needed them to doggy-sit, they ask why, I explained, they responded...
Dad: "That is going to be so much fun!"
Mom: "What the fuck is with you and your father?! Why can't you just take a normal trip?! Why do you and your father have to put us through this shit?! Why are you trying to push her over the edge?! I hope she doesn't try to kill you! Gaaawwhhddd!"
I am so excited!
Normally I would have hung up the camping hat and nestled in until I get excited about summer in the middle of March, then get all pissed in the middle of some mud puddle campground that it isn't summer yet. Normally the Vanagon and sleeping bags would be used only for passing out in front of the Old Post and sleeping one off (Merry Christmas!). Normally I would never be able to talk someone into this little adventure, but she suggested this. (attention is gained, ears are perked in her direction) She said she would love to go camping this time of year. (heart beat is gaining speed) She says it would be "so much fun" to camp out in the Vanagon. (reaching terminal velocity, critical mass) WITH ME. (Not only did I just shit my pants, but I shit other people's pants. Somewhere "Joey" from "Blossom" went "Whoa!") What can I say, other then marriage there is nowhere else to go then camping when it's cold out.
One problem. She tends to think that it is cold out when myself (normal people) think it is OK out. The Solution. The Vanagon, or "The Turtle", has 2 Germanic strength heaters and I have packed 4 sleeping bags. One for me and three for her. Also the camp stove for hot liquids, hot meals, and setting her on fire when nothing else works.
I spent the first 18 years of my life with my parents and older siblings in the back of a Vanagon seeking out family adventure from coast to coast, Florida to Alaska, all over the Rockies, and every National Park we could care to visit. I watched my parents debate divorce and become very pro-choice after 1000's and 1000's of miles and 100's and 100's of campsites. I swore up and down that I would figure out a better way. Here I am, a multiple VW owner and taking this girl down the beginning of a really long road trip, with a very possible, very violent ending, many years from now. When I told my parents I needed them to doggy-sit, they ask why, I explained, they responded...
Dad: "That is going to be so much fun!"
Mom: "What the fuck is with you and your father?! Why can't you just take a normal trip?! Why do you and your father have to put us through this shit?! Why are you trying to push her over the edge?! I hope she doesn't try to kill you! Gaaawwhhddd!"
I am so excited!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Travis Goes to the Movies
I love movies.
Because of my Netflix membership I watch over 50 movies a month. (still single, ladies) Sometimes I decide to get up out of the hole my ass has made in the recliner, and head out into the light of the world and the dark of the cineplex. I love the Wilma: great atmosphere, popcorn, and beer.
I stopped in Monday to check out the new Wes Anderson (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums) flick, Darjeeling Unlimited. I'm not a big fan of reviews before I see the movie, so all I will say is: "Great movie, darker then previous attempts".
I have rules. Movie watching etiquette, if you will. I expect the world to understand this and respect my simple requests. Most of these requests are ignored.
I choose a seat in the middle of the Wilma, 10 rows from the back, perfect. I have my huge-ass sized popcorn, gallon of Coke, and 2 Kokanees. I turn my cell phone off as I'm enjoying the previews. I'm now 1 of 6 people in the entire place. As the opening credits roll, in walks a man and woman arguing over the best place to sit. Wouldn't you know it, they chose the middle of the Wilma, 11 rows from the back, perfect. There is now 8 people in the theatre and they are sitting directly in front of me. They even say "Hi" and "Sorry" as they invade my little bubble. Not "Sorry, we will move anywhere else." or "Sorry we ruined your week." but, "Sorry, these are the only seats left." They have missed the first 13 minutes of the movie and she is already doing the "laugh at every joke and repeat the punchline" thing. I decide that I'm going to move. With Rage Against the Machine's "Know Your Enemy" playing in my head, I pack up my pile of movie-shit. Instead of going to the aisle like a civilized human, I take the B-line to the middle of the Wilma 13 rows from the back like the poo-flinging-ape that I am. Balancing on the backs of the chairs, I "cirque du soleil" my way around them and plop down one row ahead of them, barely able to contain my own laughter/hatred. Amazingly enough, they seem to have no problem with this and she continues to laugh as if she is watching the latest Wayons-Brothers-dick-n-fart-joke-piece-o-shit. I'm not known for shushing during movies, I'm not that guy, but you wouldn't know that by what came out of my face in the next 30 seconds. This wasn't a shush. It wasn't a shhhhh. It was a 3 syllable SHHHHHH-SHISH-SHAAWWW! I felt like Al Pacino in "Heat", Mel Gibson in "Mad Max 2", all wrapped up in a cock the size of James Woods' swollen member(Google that shit).
I tried to catch up with them on the sidewalk to say I was sorry, but they were busy having near-sex in the doorway of the futon shop.
Because of my Netflix membership I watch over 50 movies a month. (still single, ladies) Sometimes I decide to get up out of the hole my ass has made in the recliner, and head out into the light of the world and the dark of the cineplex. I love the Wilma: great atmosphere, popcorn, and beer.
I stopped in Monday to check out the new Wes Anderson (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums) flick, Darjeeling Unlimited. I'm not a big fan of reviews before I see the movie, so all I will say is: "Great movie, darker then previous attempts".
I have rules. Movie watching etiquette, if you will. I expect the world to understand this and respect my simple requests. Most of these requests are ignored.
I choose a seat in the middle of the Wilma, 10 rows from the back, perfect. I have my huge-ass sized popcorn, gallon of Coke, and 2 Kokanees. I turn my cell phone off as I'm enjoying the previews. I'm now 1 of 6 people in the entire place. As the opening credits roll, in walks a man and woman arguing over the best place to sit. Wouldn't you know it, they chose the middle of the Wilma, 11 rows from the back, perfect. There is now 8 people in the theatre and they are sitting directly in front of me. They even say "Hi" and "Sorry" as they invade my little bubble. Not "Sorry, we will move anywhere else." or "Sorry we ruined your week." but, "Sorry, these are the only seats left." They have missed the first 13 minutes of the movie and she is already doing the "laugh at every joke and repeat the punchline" thing. I decide that I'm going to move. With Rage Against the Machine's "Know Your Enemy" playing in my head, I pack up my pile of movie-shit. Instead of going to the aisle like a civilized human, I take the B-line to the middle of the Wilma 13 rows from the back like the poo-flinging-ape that I am. Balancing on the backs of the chairs, I "cirque du soleil" my way around them and plop down one row ahead of them, barely able to contain my own laughter/hatred. Amazingly enough, they seem to have no problem with this and she continues to laugh as if she is watching the latest Wayons-Brothers-dick-n-fart-joke-piece-o-shit. I'm not known for shushing during movies, I'm not that guy, but you wouldn't know that by what came out of my face in the next 30 seconds. This wasn't a shush. It wasn't a shhhhh. It was a 3 syllable SHHHHHH-SHISH-SHAAWWW! I felt like Al Pacino in "Heat", Mel Gibson in "Mad Max 2", all wrapped up in a cock the size of James Woods' swollen member(Google that shit).
I tried to catch up with them on the sidewalk to say I was sorry, but they were busy having near-sex in the doorway of the futon shop.
Monday, October 29, 2007
A Tale of Travis and Two Sisters
Just joking! That is just to get your attention.
I had a good weekend. Not the normal get drunk, play a couple of shows, watch netflix, wake up at 2, kind of weekend, but all of that and MORE! Someday kiddos, I'll tell you how Mommy and Daddy first met, but for now, just know that we love you and would NEVER leave you alone in a car during the summer, while Mommy and Daddy try our luck at some electronic games of chance! Get Daddy a beer...
On that note, do you know how hard it is to be 25 and get a Vasectomy? Not only is you family going to shit their pants, but everyone of your "friends", neighbors, and your friend's neighbors will explain how they would rather kick you in the "cash and prizes" then let you get "fixed". There are 3 people that are OK with your plan: Your true friends (ie Buddies), people that hate you, and your favorite bartender. Your buddies are your buddies and they will more then likely back your play. Your bartender thinks it's badass and you will be so much happier without all that "worry". People you hate feel that they have a responsibility to save the earth from any offspring that has a chance of being anything like you. Jealous?
I had a good weekend. Not the normal get drunk, play a couple of shows, watch netflix, wake up at 2, kind of weekend, but all of that and MORE! Someday kiddos, I'll tell you how Mommy and Daddy first met, but for now, just know that we love you and would NEVER leave you alone in a car during the summer, while Mommy and Daddy try our luck at some electronic games of chance! Get Daddy a beer...
On that note, do you know how hard it is to be 25 and get a Vasectomy? Not only is you family going to shit their pants, but everyone of your "friends", neighbors, and your friend's neighbors will explain how they would rather kick you in the "cash and prizes" then let you get "fixed". There are 3 people that are OK with your plan: Your true friends (ie Buddies), people that hate you, and your favorite bartender. Your buddies are your buddies and they will more then likely back your play. Your bartender thinks it's badass and you will be so much happier without all that "worry". People you hate feel that they have a responsibility to save the earth from any offspring that has a chance of being anything like you. Jealous?
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Coffee Shop Livin' Haikus
coffee, cream, sugar
I would rather be at home
coffee shop wifi
I can't afford 50-70 bucks a month to get fast Internet at home. My neighbor turns his WiFi signal off when he is not using it. Which means I have the option of Internet at 6-8 in the morning or 6-7 in the evening. Who can survive on 3 hours of Internet a day?!?! What is this, 5 years ago? So I come here...The Coffee Shop, Anywhereville, Northwest, USA.
sea of computers
laptops, ipods, cell phones: dead
where is an outlet
Like a $1000 clothesline accident, everyone's computer is plugged into a power outlet. Everyone is wearing headphones that are plugged into an MP3 player, which is plugged into the computer. Right hand on the mouse pad, left hand holding the cell phone up to the face. One wrong move and I yank someone's computer off the table jerking his face into his coffee, sending his phone out the window into the street, to be retrieved by the cute dog right in front of the pickup truck, with the driver that is putting a street address into his GPS while downloading the a Toby Keith song with his cell phone to the hard drive in the car stereo. Huge explosion. Slow motion shot of Bruce Willis emerging from the wreckage to claim his vengeance on whatever terrorist "John McClane" is unlucky enough to be dealing with.
really busy day
not enough tables for me
can I sit here?...................yes.
Sometimes it is inevitable. You have to sit at a big table by yourself. So, you spread all your shit around to make it look like you need the space, then kick your feet up on a chair. Somebody walks into shop and everyone looks up to see where this "person" is going to sit. It could be a completely harmless person, but no one, no one, wants to share a table. "Can I sit here?" First you look up like you weren't staring at them the whole time. Take your headphones of and look at them as if they have a harmless question about anything else.
"What did you say?"
"Can I sit here?"
"Oh Yeah, Sure!"
Then you proceed to move everything closer to you. Your bag, papers, electronic melange of shit, and your drink. You continue to clutch the drink as if the new guest is going to flip out and round house kick your drink directly onto the keyboard of your computer. Then he (it is never a she) finally sits down. Let the circus of awkwardness begin. Minutes ago your were casually looking around making eye contact with random people and doing little yoga moves in your chair. Now you are hunched over the keyboard staring only at the screen. When your phone vibrates, you move it below the table to check who it is, answering only to say, "I can't talk right now."
Anyway, hours have passed and I'm still here writing this blog, making the "thinking of the next to write" face at strangers. I'm pretty sure some asshole just unplugged my computer to plug his in.
I would rather be at home
coffee shop wifi
I can't afford 50-70 bucks a month to get fast Internet at home. My neighbor turns his WiFi signal off when he is not using it. Which means I have the option of Internet at 6-8 in the morning or 6-7 in the evening. Who can survive on 3 hours of Internet a day?!?! What is this, 5 years ago? So I come here...The Coffee Shop, Anywhereville, Northwest, USA.
sea of computers
laptops, ipods, cell phones: dead
where is an outlet
Like a $1000 clothesline accident, everyone's computer is plugged into a power outlet. Everyone is wearing headphones that are plugged into an MP3 player, which is plugged into the computer. Right hand on the mouse pad, left hand holding the cell phone up to the face. One wrong move and I yank someone's computer off the table jerking his face into his coffee, sending his phone out the window into the street, to be retrieved by the cute dog right in front of the pickup truck, with the driver that is putting a street address into his GPS while downloading the a Toby Keith song with his cell phone to the hard drive in the car stereo. Huge explosion. Slow motion shot of Bruce Willis emerging from the wreckage to claim his vengeance on whatever terrorist "John McClane" is unlucky enough to be dealing with.
really busy day
not enough tables for me
can I sit here?...................yes.
Sometimes it is inevitable. You have to sit at a big table by yourself. So, you spread all your shit around to make it look like you need the space, then kick your feet up on a chair. Somebody walks into shop and everyone looks up to see where this "person" is going to sit. It could be a completely harmless person, but no one, no one, wants to share a table. "Can I sit here?" First you look up like you weren't staring at them the whole time. Take your headphones of and look at them as if they have a harmless question about anything else.
"What did you say?"
"Can I sit here?"
"Oh Yeah, Sure!"
Then you proceed to move everything closer to you. Your bag, papers, electronic melange of shit, and your drink. You continue to clutch the drink as if the new guest is going to flip out and round house kick your drink directly onto the keyboard of your computer. Then he (it is never a she) finally sits down. Let the circus of awkwardness begin. Minutes ago your were casually looking around making eye contact with random people and doing little yoga moves in your chair. Now you are hunched over the keyboard staring only at the screen. When your phone vibrates, you move it below the table to check who it is, answering only to say, "I can't talk right now."
Anyway, hours have passed and I'm still here writing this blog, making the "thinking of the next to write" face at strangers. I'm pretty sure some asshole just unplugged my computer to plug his in.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
House Cleaning/Late Night with Walmart
I'm kindof a neat freak. I don't really like people to touch my stuff. It doesn't even need to be my stuff. If I organize or clean it, you are not allowed to touch it, unless I have given specific notice that it has been deemed unclean or unorganized. Hence, I'm single and live alone.
I love my dog. He is cute. He is my bestest little buddy. He sheds like a prom dress. I own a HEPA filter vacuum. I use it. 3 times a week. Problem solved. All the other problems can be solved with my good friends Windex, Dawn, Clorox, and Febreze. The dresser drawers of shirts are organized not only by color, but by frequency of wear. The jeans are hung in the closet with care. "Careful!" "Don't put that with the hooded sweatshirts!" "That is a zippered hooded sweatshirt!" "No, no, no, I'll do the dishes!" "Can't you shower at your place?" "Can't you see that fork is a little bigger then this fork?" "Don't you vacuum your bed?" Single.
So...
During my late night cleaning of the castle, I made a midnight run into the Wal. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hate big-corporate-rape-the-little-guy-business, but, there is something great about Walmart in the middle of the night. There is only a couple other people in the store. Two 19 year old college roommates in PJs, one guy with an elastic waisted leather jacket and a comb-over searching through the wall of batteries, the dude with the giant floor cleaner/waxer, a cashier staring at the "you know you want this useless shit" section of shit they put next to the till, and me....buying $26.67 of household cleaning supplies.
Picture this. Some dogshit Nickleback song is playing on the hanging TV sets, while the lighting is reminiscent of 2001 Space Odyssey. If Kubrick were filming me pushing the cart down an aisle, the frame would include the 60 different kinds of dish soap and the 60 year old man stocking happy-faced cans of Mountain Dew. "HAL?" "HAL?, Where are the air freshener sprays, HAL?" "Why are you trying to leave, Travis?, HAL wants you to look at the DVDs..." Then the hero shot of me having a nervous break down, the camera on a crane, panning out to discover me trapped in the middle of the paper-towel-toilet-paper-Kleenex-Brawny-Hitchcockesque-Hell...fade to a spinning smiley face, The End?, Roll Credits.
Now I'm done cleaning, until tomorrow. I'm now going to light a smokeless-clean-burning-macadamia-nut-watermelon candle, sit in my Resolve-fresh-Laz-y-Boy recliner, petting my recently Dirt-Devil-bagless-vacuumed dog, basking in the glory of the FiestaWear drying in the stainless steel lexan Ikea dish drying rack, while watching a 2-disc-special-edition-bonus-feature-multi-angled-widescreen-high-definition-uncut DVD of "The Royal Tenenbaums", with the director's commentary on.
Did I mentioned that I vacuum my dog?
I love my dog. He is cute. He is my bestest little buddy. He sheds like a prom dress. I own a HEPA filter vacuum. I use it. 3 times a week. Problem solved. All the other problems can be solved with my good friends Windex, Dawn, Clorox, and Febreze. The dresser drawers of shirts are organized not only by color, but by frequency of wear. The jeans are hung in the closet with care. "Careful!" "Don't put that with the hooded sweatshirts!" "That is a zippered hooded sweatshirt!" "No, no, no, I'll do the dishes!" "Can't you shower at your place?" "Can't you see that fork is a little bigger then this fork?" "Don't you vacuum your bed?" Single.
So...
During my late night cleaning of the castle, I made a midnight run into the Wal. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hate big-corporate-rape-the-little-guy-business, but, there is something great about Walmart in the middle of the night. There is only a couple other people in the store. Two 19 year old college roommates in PJs, one guy with an elastic waisted leather jacket and a comb-over searching through the wall of batteries, the dude with the giant floor cleaner/waxer, a cashier staring at the "you know you want this useless shit" section of shit they put next to the till, and me....buying $26.67 of household cleaning supplies.
Picture this. Some dogshit Nickleback song is playing on the hanging TV sets, while the lighting is reminiscent of 2001 Space Odyssey. If Kubrick were filming me pushing the cart down an aisle, the frame would include the 60 different kinds of dish soap and the 60 year old man stocking happy-faced cans of Mountain Dew. "HAL?" "HAL?, Where are the air freshener sprays, HAL?" "Why are you trying to leave, Travis?, HAL wants you to look at the DVDs..." Then the hero shot of me having a nervous break down, the camera on a crane, panning out to discover me trapped in the middle of the paper-towel-toilet-paper-Kleenex-Brawny-Hitchcockesque-Hell...fade to a spinning smiley face, The End?, Roll Credits.
Now I'm done cleaning, until tomorrow. I'm now going to light a smokeless-clean-burning-macadamia-nut-watermelon candle, sit in my Resolve-fresh-Laz-y-Boy recliner, petting my recently Dirt-Devil-bagless-vacuumed dog, basking in the glory of the FiestaWear drying in the stainless steel lexan Ikea dish drying rack, while watching a 2-disc-special-edition-bonus-feature-multi-angled-widescreen-high-definition-uncut DVD of "The Royal Tenenbaums", with the director's commentary on.
Did I mentioned that I vacuum my dog?
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Friends, Dating, and Netflix
I have friends. Believe it or not, I have people in my life that hold me when I cry, call me to congratulate me, pick me up at the airport, pretend that they don't see the huge porn collection, help me find my car...
How do I know they are my friends?
-They defend me when I say "drunk" things to "not-drunk" people, with a courtesy laugh
-They don't call me before noon
-They don't keep score of who paid last
-They know I hate fishing
@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Went on a lunch date with a girl that I met at an Old Post show.
Meeting girls at the bar shows sucks. You have 2 twenty minute breaks to meet all the girls you have been trying to make eye contact with for the duration of the first set, then keep her attention from the 8 dudes that are actually talking to her. Then try to get a number and a date for that week during the 2nd break. Then you sit and hope that you don't have to watch them leave with some dude before the end of the night...
So, we meet during her work day at the Old Post. I woke up 30 minutes before the date and lied to her about getting up early, just to have something to talk about. I lied again and said that I hardly ever have a beer for lunch. The only reason I got caught was I asked for the "usual" from the waitress, which resulted in a PBR, a cup of coffee that smelled like St. Patties Day, and fish tacos. She told me stories of Greek life, Law School, and her hair color. I'm so un-erect by this that I'm interrupting her with anecdotes about playing music in bars, dropping out of school, and my facial hair "design".
I'm on fire. I'm saying some of the funniest things I have ever heard. People at the next table are high fiving me. No shit. I'm killing. She is looking at me like I took away Christmas. That is making me nervous, which makes me try even harder. At the end of the date she actually asked me, "You think you're funny, don't you?"
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
I love Netflix! I'm a 7 at-a-timer. I watch 40-50 DVDs a month. I have never been so happy.
How do I know they are my friends?
-They defend me when I say "drunk" things to "not-drunk" people, with a courtesy laugh
-They don't call me before noon
-They don't keep score of who paid last
-They know I hate fishing
@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Went on a lunch date with a girl that I met at an Old Post show.
Meeting girls at the bar shows sucks. You have 2 twenty minute breaks to meet all the girls you have been trying to make eye contact with for the duration of the first set, then keep her attention from the 8 dudes that are actually talking to her. Then try to get a number and a date for that week during the 2nd break. Then you sit and hope that you don't have to watch them leave with some dude before the end of the night...
So, we meet during her work day at the Old Post. I woke up 30 minutes before the date and lied to her about getting up early, just to have something to talk about. I lied again and said that I hardly ever have a beer for lunch. The only reason I got caught was I asked for the "usual" from the waitress, which resulted in a PBR, a cup of coffee that smelled like St. Patties Day, and fish tacos. She told me stories of Greek life, Law School, and her hair color. I'm so un-erect by this that I'm interrupting her with anecdotes about playing music in bars, dropping out of school, and my facial hair "design".
I'm on fire. I'm saying some of the funniest things I have ever heard. People at the next table are high fiving me. No shit. I'm killing. She is looking at me like I took away Christmas. That is making me nervous, which makes me try even harder. At the end of the date she actually asked me, "You think you're funny, don't you?"
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
I love Netflix! I'm a 7 at-a-timer. I watch 40-50 DVDs a month. I have never been so happy.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Neighbor Update!
Holy Shit...If you haven't read the "I'm an Asshole" blog yet, please read that first.
So I'm outside taking a piss with my dog. (it's good for our relationship) My "Artist" Neighbor (see earlier blog) is laying on his back in the middle of the alley. As I try to sneak off, his head pops up and sputters, "Dude! Come talk to me!" (I'm literally wearing some underwear, a down vest, and my "shoe socks", the wool socks with the leather bottoms) "Uh...what do you need?" I reply with a disappointed tone.
"I want you to see my new shit."
"Dude, it 3:30, I need to go back to bed." (I was also in the middle of dreaming about some chick at Taco Del Sol)
"Dude, I really want to show you this shit."
"OK."
As we enter the garage, I notice 5 things:
-the multiple colors of paint that have been THROWN everywhere
-the twin mattress that is nailed to the wall
-the upside down American flag with "POO HEAD" written on it
-a box of 100 or so clothes hangers, neatly arranged by color
-a laptop computer playing an episode of "Friends" (the box set is laying near)
He stops in front of a large piece of plywood that is covered in dripping blue spray paint, duct tape, and what appears to be hair. Without prompting, he explains how he digs through dumpsters behind some of the hair salons downtown to find the hair.
My mind is racing. I can't tell if I'm living next to Pollack or Dahmer.
He shows me some pictures of a show he had last year in Santa Cruz. Then, as he is shouting about how his studio is finally feeling comfortable, he sweeps 2 empty bottles of wine onto the cement floor. Glass is everywhere.
"I gotta go."
"Wait!" He hands me 7 dollars and some change. "I need beer."
"I'll be right back." I take the 5 dollar bill and bring him 5 PBRs.
If I'm lying, let me die right here.
He is now using a broom dipped in green house paint to "sweep" up the glass. He notices that he is also "sweeping/painting" his feet and is starting up his legs.
"I gotta go."
He wants a hug.
"I gotta go."
So I'm outside taking a piss with my dog. (it's good for our relationship) My "Artist" Neighbor (see earlier blog) is laying on his back in the middle of the alley. As I try to sneak off, his head pops up and sputters, "Dude! Come talk to me!" (I'm literally wearing some underwear, a down vest, and my "shoe socks", the wool socks with the leather bottoms) "Uh...what do you need?" I reply with a disappointed tone.
"I want you to see my new shit."
"Dude, it 3:30, I need to go back to bed." (I was also in the middle of dreaming about some chick at Taco Del Sol)
"Dude, I really want to show you this shit."
"OK."
As we enter the garage, I notice 5 things:
-the multiple colors of paint that have been THROWN everywhere
-the twin mattress that is nailed to the wall
-the upside down American flag with "POO HEAD" written on it
-a box of 100 or so clothes hangers, neatly arranged by color
-a laptop computer playing an episode of "Friends" (the box set is laying near)
He stops in front of a large piece of plywood that is covered in dripping blue spray paint, duct tape, and what appears to be hair. Without prompting, he explains how he digs through dumpsters behind some of the hair salons downtown to find the hair.
My mind is racing. I can't tell if I'm living next to Pollack or Dahmer.
He shows me some pictures of a show he had last year in Santa Cruz. Then, as he is shouting about how his studio is finally feeling comfortable, he sweeps 2 empty bottles of wine onto the cement floor. Glass is everywhere.
"I gotta go."
"Wait!" He hands me 7 dollars and some change. "I need beer."
"I'll be right back." I take the 5 dollar bill and bring him 5 PBRs.
If I'm lying, let me die right here.
He is now using a broom dipped in green house paint to "sweep" up the glass. He notices that he is also "sweeping/painting" his feet and is starting up his legs.
"I gotta go."
He wants a hug.
"I gotta go."
Monday, October 8, 2007
Working for the Weekend
I played 2 shows this weekend. The Sublime to the Surreal.
Friday:
Helena, my home town, had an enthusiastic crowd with a packed bar and lots of dancing. They loved it!
Yet, no one claps. For a entertainment starved community, it was weird to have no one show the band a little appreciation. People complain that no bands come to Helena. No no no no, they do, but they don't COME BACK. OK, that is enough of the whiny lil' musician bitch talk for now.
Saturday:
I was invited by David Boone to play a couple songs at his CD release party at the WILMA! I walked into the Wilma during soundcheck and realized just how big the room is! I was scared to death for Dave and when the line backed up around the corner I couldn't believe I ever doubted the idea. Playing in front of 1000 people is amazing, enough said.
Friday:
Helena, my home town, had an enthusiastic crowd with a packed bar and lots of dancing. They loved it!
Yet, no one claps. For a entertainment starved community, it was weird to have no one show the band a little appreciation. People complain that no bands come to Helena. No no no no, they do, but they don't COME BACK. OK, that is enough of the whiny lil' musician bitch talk for now.
Saturday:
I was invited by David Boone to play a couple songs at his CD release party at the WILMA! I walked into the Wilma during soundcheck and realized just how big the room is! I was scared to death for Dave and when the line backed up around the corner I couldn't believe I ever doubted the idea. Playing in front of 1000 people is amazing, enough said.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Best Friends Forever
I was just reminded of a story from my past that I enjoy alot. It is one of the only really mean things I have ever done.
On the first day of high school, freshman year, my friend Dave Budt walked up to me in the hallway and we were yelling about how awesome it was to be in high school. He put this hands in the air and motioned for a "high ten". I responded by missing the hand slap on purpose and hitting him in the face.
I totally high fived his face. I'm not sure why I did it and he was pissed, but it was worth it.
I'm an asshole
(Be warned...)
Apparently, sometimes I come across as a huge asshole. The funny part is....sometimes I really am a huge asshole.
My landlord is renting out her garage as an artist studio. That is really cool, I love that people provide a space away from home for artists to work. I have rented such spaces and it had a huge impact on my music and photography.
Here's where I become the lame "square" asshole. The dude that is renting the space is an "artist". He uses his space as a place for his buddies and him to get drunk. A place for his downtown sidewalk buddies to crash. A place for he and his buddies to listen to some sweet tunes. Then in his free time he works on his "art".
So the first week he is in the studio he introduces himself, "Hey! I'm Joe Artist, and I hear you're a drummer, I bet you got alot of nice shit in your house!" I'm not lying or exaggerating. My insides instantly turn black and red.
Next week: I have someone over to my house and I'm playing some music and 2 of his buddies knock on my door and ask me for: Beer, Cigarettes, and an extension cord. My insides turn into a mix of Patton and Sherman.
Next Day: "Dude, thanks for the beers last night, can you sell us a bottle of wine?
3 minutes later: "Corkscrew? Wine Glasses?" When I offered some paper cups, the friend responded, "I thought I saw some wine glasses in here last night." My insides turn into a campfire being pissed on, while burning a skunk, in a prison cell, where I'm trying to sleep off a hangover, after waking up next to a fat chick.
I would talk to my landlord. She would be really cool about it. I would be very adamant that I hate to be "that guy" and I don't want him to know that I'm "that guy". But, sometimes being an asshole also means you are kind of a pussy.
7 this morning: While outside. 28 degrees. Sweatpants, no shirt. Watching my dog take a shit. "Dude, I need some water."
"Huh?"
"Water."
"Huh? Wha?"
"Dude! Waaaaateeerr!"
I request something to put the water in, he hands me a lidless Gatorade bottle and an empty Steel Reserve can.
"Dude, my name's Joe Artist, do you live around here?"
"Dude, we have met, I'm Travis, I'm your neighbor..."
Jupiter slams in to Saturn while fingering Neptune.
"If you would just leave your door unlocked, I could just get the water myself."
Holy. Shit. My insides turn to dust and from the dust rises a geyser of menstrual blood and ejaculate that I'm riding on top of like Yogi Bear in Jellystone.
(I figure I'm the asshole here, because I would rather tell a shit load of random people about this than take care of the problem like an adult)
Apparently, sometimes I come across as a huge asshole. The funny part is....sometimes I really am a huge asshole.
My landlord is renting out her garage as an artist studio. That is really cool, I love that people provide a space away from home for artists to work. I have rented such spaces and it had a huge impact on my music and photography.
Here's where I become the lame "square" asshole. The dude that is renting the space is an "artist". He uses his space as a place for his buddies and him to get drunk. A place for his downtown sidewalk buddies to crash. A place for he and his buddies to listen to some sweet tunes. Then in his free time he works on his "art".
So the first week he is in the studio he introduces himself, "Hey! I'm Joe Artist, and I hear you're a drummer, I bet you got alot of nice shit in your house!" I'm not lying or exaggerating. My insides instantly turn black and red.
Next week: I have someone over to my house and I'm playing some music and 2 of his buddies knock on my door and ask me for: Beer, Cigarettes, and an extension cord. My insides turn into a mix of Patton and Sherman.
Next Day: "Dude, thanks for the beers last night, can you sell us a bottle of wine?
3 minutes later: "Corkscrew? Wine Glasses?" When I offered some paper cups, the friend responded, "I thought I saw some wine glasses in here last night." My insides turn into a campfire being pissed on, while burning a skunk, in a prison cell, where I'm trying to sleep off a hangover, after waking up next to a fat chick.
I would talk to my landlord. She would be really cool about it. I would be very adamant that I hate to be "that guy" and I don't want him to know that I'm "that guy". But, sometimes being an asshole also means you are kind of a pussy.
7 this morning: While outside. 28 degrees. Sweatpants, no shirt. Watching my dog take a shit. "Dude, I need some water."
"Huh?"
"Water."
"Huh? Wha?"
"Dude! Waaaaateeerr!"
I request something to put the water in, he hands me a lidless Gatorade bottle and an empty Steel Reserve can.
"Dude, my name's Joe Artist, do you live around here?"
"Dude, we have met, I'm Travis, I'm your neighbor..."
Jupiter slams in to Saturn while fingering Neptune.
"If you would just leave your door unlocked, I could just get the water myself."
Holy. Shit. My insides turn to dust and from the dust rises a geyser of menstrual blood and ejaculate that I'm riding on top of like Yogi Bear in Jellystone.
(I figure I'm the asshole here, because I would rather tell a shit load of random people about this than take care of the problem like an adult)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Weird Dreams
I've been having this reacurring dream everyother night or so for the last month.
I'm working as a valet parking attendent in the parking garage downtown Missoula and I can't focus on my job because I'm busy talking on the phone with Rosanne Cash. Somehow or another we have become friends and I call her for advice. My sub conscience is actually giving me advice through Rosanne Cash. I literally wake up with the song "Seven Year Ache" in my head...
What the fuck?
I'm working as a valet parking attendent in the parking garage downtown Missoula and I can't focus on my job because I'm busy talking on the phone with Rosanne Cash. Somehow or another we have become friends and I call her for advice. My sub conscience is actually giving me advice through Rosanne Cash. I literally wake up with the song "Seven Year Ache" in my head...
What the fuck?
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Nevermind
This making music thing is stressful. It is the best job in the world. I've never been happier or more satisfied with my life. Enough said.
I'm starting a juice fast this week. Monday. I just ate a salad from the GFS and I'm feeling quite good. I'm getting over a sinus infection and recouping from this weekends shows. I got a juicer today and I'm so excited to get to use it. I love gadgets. I'm continuing to lose weight. I weighed myself in January and then weighed myself in the vet's office 3 weeks ago....40 lbs gone. 25 to go till I'm what I weighed when I first got a drivers licence (When I was 16 I thought I was fat at 200, ha!) I just bought a new pair of jeans that don't fall off of my ass.
I love girls. Most who know me, know this. What else can I say, a girlfriend is actually starting to sound like a great idea these days.
I just finished the first 2 seasons of "Deadwood" and I'm in love.
Mom and Dad have been helping me out with the band work. Mom has been doing the Merch table and Dad helping with Drum Tech stuff. Thanks to Rocky for running the table at the Union Club. I'm also doing my open mics with my voice and my guitar lately. I'm also going to have R. Drake help me with his voice and guitar at some of those soon.
"How did you become some insightful"- audience member
"Insight is overrated"- Jeff Tweedy of Wilco
"That is very insightful"- audience member
I'm starting a juice fast this week. Monday. I just ate a salad from the GFS and I'm feeling quite good. I'm getting over a sinus infection and recouping from this weekends shows. I got a juicer today and I'm so excited to get to use it. I love gadgets. I'm continuing to lose weight. I weighed myself in January and then weighed myself in the vet's office 3 weeks ago....40 lbs gone. 25 to go till I'm what I weighed when I first got a drivers licence (When I was 16 I thought I was fat at 200, ha!) I just bought a new pair of jeans that don't fall off of my ass.
I love girls. Most who know me, know this. What else can I say, a girlfriend is actually starting to sound like a great idea these days.
I just finished the first 2 seasons of "Deadwood" and I'm in love.
Mom and Dad have been helping me out with the band work. Mom has been doing the Merch table and Dad helping with Drum Tech stuff. Thanks to Rocky for running the table at the Union Club. I'm also doing my open mics with my voice and my guitar lately. I'm also going to have R. Drake help me with his voice and guitar at some of those soon.
"How did you become some insightful"- audience member
"Insight is overrated"- Jeff Tweedy of Wilco
"That is very insightful"- audience member
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Slow down
Alright, alot has happened in the last couple of days. Tom Catmull and the Clerics got best band in Missoula and Tom got Best Musician. I just started running. I'm doing alot of hiking in the Bitterroots. I've taken a couple of short trips in the van. Barley is doing great. I'm going to write a blog for each of these events.
Monday, July 2, 2007
I was wrong.
I've lived on Front Street twice since moving here and I thought I was a "Front Street Guy". I was wrong. I'm now living on Cooper Street and it is awesome. Front St is all students and your neighbors change 3 times during the year. It is a constant Animal House style party all the time. Cooper has people that OWN the home they are in and the trailer park across the street is one the the nicest I have ever seen. During my run this morning I spotted 6 Vanagons on Cooper Street. It's like a convention that I should be going to.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Passion of the Travis
Let me tell you a little story about the time I went and saw “The Passion of the Christ”. This is a true story....promise.
My Girlfriend at the time had (and still has) a ridiculously fanatical religious family. (This story already has a lot of momentum) Her parents sat in line at the theatre ALL day to buy tickets to see the movie for everyone in their “church”, and for some reason they bought one for me. Normally they would pretend that they forgot about me and that they were sorry…”next time, though!” Whatever, they decided to give me more experience with their nutty-ass-fundamentalist-bullshit and told me that God said, “It is time to include Travis.” They said that God said…don’t make me repeat that. Well great, I’m glad that when they hear voices they do the same thing I do…act on it. For them, the voice is God, and a good thing. For me the voice is not God and makes me take a piss on my clothes. “Hey Trav, look, the clothes hamper has a lid just like the toilet” (true story for another day) Picture this: It is day after the movie premiered world wide. I’m going with 30 or so tongue-speaking-god-channeling-right-path-seeking Christians. I am still me.
I’m sitting in a movie theatre filled to the brim. Packed. Loaded. The normal jovial experience of seeing a movie shared by everyone. Difference is? It’s an after school youth group and a middle aged bible study circle combined with a third element that is normally not there…fun.
Everyone is so excited.
My insides are screaming with laughter and hatred.
As the movie starts, everyone is shushing and reminding their neighbors to turnoff their cell phones. Then begins the “drudgery”. I won’t make the same jokes about him falling down a lot, but jeepers creepers he falls down a lot and it is in a super slow motion that is making you make faces of intense anticipation. Mouth hung open. Cat ‘o’ nine tails, crown of thorns, blood, all that shit. What is happening on the screen is only half of what is going on. With every blow to Jesus from the Roman guards, people are wincing as if they are a horse in the Kentucky Derby. I hear a man wearing a short sleeved shirt with a tie and pocket protector (no shit), whisper, “That must have hurt.” My Girlfriend is clutching a dripping Kleenex, crying, and reaching for my hand to hold. When she can’t find my hand, she looks at me in the bright light of some sunlit desert scene, only to find that I’m contorting my face with my fingertips and pressing one nostril closed at a time while spreading my eyelids really wide. I’m caught, so I turn to her and in my best Bruce Willis, I say “poor bastard”.
I’m now being shushed by her mother and getting the hairy eyeball from her dad. I’m wiggling uncomfortably in my chair from boredom caused by the shitty movie and my back is sore from pushing my Van home the night before to avoid a DUI. (true story for another time) Then in front of my eyes, a few of the nut balls are now raising their hands toward the silver screen, crying and moaning. They are trying to touch Jesus. It is a fucking movie! What the fuck!? I’m sitting in the middle of “Circus-Ridiculous-Obnoxious” and I’m in the middle of pretending this whole scene is happening in the 20’s with gangster mob voices. “See hear?, I’m Jesus, ya hear? Don’t make trouble see? Or I’ll fashion you some cement galoshes. See?”
Then it happened. It was bound to happen. Unavoidable. No way it wasn’t going to occur.
Bee boo boo bee bee, bee boo boo bee bee. A Nokia cell phone wants to answered.
Somewhere a 16 year old girl is wondering if her best friend is still sitting in that God-fucking-forsakin’ movie. Maybe I’ll call her. Speed dial number 1. Calling. Ring. Ring.
The best friend dives for her pocket, heads turn, mouths open, fingers are beginning to point, but before anyone can say a word, from the back of the theatre you hear a body builder wrapped in a bear, riding a bulldozer, fucking a fat chick, yell these words…
“Turn that fucking shit off!”
This has just become the best movie I have ever seen.
My Girlfriend at the time had (and still has) a ridiculously fanatical religious family. (This story already has a lot of momentum) Her parents sat in line at the theatre ALL day to buy tickets to see the movie for everyone in their “church”, and for some reason they bought one for me. Normally they would pretend that they forgot about me and that they were sorry…”next time, though!” Whatever, they decided to give me more experience with their nutty-ass-fundamentalist-bullshit and told me that God said, “It is time to include Travis.” They said that God said…don’t make me repeat that. Well great, I’m glad that when they hear voices they do the same thing I do…act on it. For them, the voice is God, and a good thing. For me the voice is not God and makes me take a piss on my clothes. “Hey Trav, look, the clothes hamper has a lid just like the toilet” (true story for another day) Picture this: It is day after the movie premiered world wide. I’m going with 30 or so tongue-speaking-god-channeling-right-path-seeking Christians. I am still me.
I’m sitting in a movie theatre filled to the brim. Packed. Loaded. The normal jovial experience of seeing a movie shared by everyone. Difference is? It’s an after school youth group and a middle aged bible study circle combined with a third element that is normally not there…fun.
Everyone is so excited.
My insides are screaming with laughter and hatred.
As the movie starts, everyone is shushing and reminding their neighbors to turnoff their cell phones. Then begins the “drudgery”. I won’t make the same jokes about him falling down a lot, but jeepers creepers he falls down a lot and it is in a super slow motion that is making you make faces of intense anticipation. Mouth hung open. Cat ‘o’ nine tails, crown of thorns, blood, all that shit. What is happening on the screen is only half of what is going on. With every blow to Jesus from the Roman guards, people are wincing as if they are a horse in the Kentucky Derby. I hear a man wearing a short sleeved shirt with a tie and pocket protector (no shit), whisper, “That must have hurt.” My Girlfriend is clutching a dripping Kleenex, crying, and reaching for my hand to hold. When she can’t find my hand, she looks at me in the bright light of some sunlit desert scene, only to find that I’m contorting my face with my fingertips and pressing one nostril closed at a time while spreading my eyelids really wide. I’m caught, so I turn to her and in my best Bruce Willis, I say “poor bastard”.
I’m now being shushed by her mother and getting the hairy eyeball from her dad. I’m wiggling uncomfortably in my chair from boredom caused by the shitty movie and my back is sore from pushing my Van home the night before to avoid a DUI. (true story for another time) Then in front of my eyes, a few of the nut balls are now raising their hands toward the silver screen, crying and moaning. They are trying to touch Jesus. It is a fucking movie! What the fuck!? I’m sitting in the middle of “Circus-Ridiculous-Obnoxious” and I’m in the middle of pretending this whole scene is happening in the 20’s with gangster mob voices. “See hear?, I’m Jesus, ya hear? Don’t make trouble see? Or I’ll fashion you some cement galoshes. See?”
Then it happened. It was bound to happen. Unavoidable. No way it wasn’t going to occur.
Bee boo boo bee bee, bee boo boo bee bee. A Nokia cell phone wants to answered.
Somewhere a 16 year old girl is wondering if her best friend is still sitting in that God-fucking-forsakin’ movie. Maybe I’ll call her. Speed dial number 1. Calling. Ring. Ring.
The best friend dives for her pocket, heads turn, mouths open, fingers are beginning to point, but before anyone can say a word, from the back of the theatre you hear a body builder wrapped in a bear, riding a bulldozer, fucking a fat chick, yell these words…
“Turn that fucking shit off!”
This has just become the best movie I have ever seen.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Tip o' the day.
If you have met me, I was either playing the drums, walking my dog, on my computer at the Break, or drunk. Sorry.
The new secret to life is a responsible diet of Red Bull and Jagermiester. You will say alot of things that you shouldn't (although honest) and your apartment will have never been cleaner and organized.
On a more serious note. Go to www.pandora.com and set up your own radio station. You get to put in your favorite artists and it picks out songs from those artists, plus new and old music that is similar. You can rate music as it goes by and customize the station to your tastes. It is badass.
The new secret to life is a responsible diet of Red Bull and Jagermiester. You will say alot of things that you shouldn't (although honest) and your apartment will have never been cleaner and organized.
On a more serious note. Go to www.pandora.com and set up your own radio station. You get to put in your favorite artists and it picks out songs from those artists, plus new and old music that is similar. You can rate music as it goes by and customize the station to your tastes. It is badass.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Search and Rescue
The band visited Red Lodge and played at the Bull 'n' Bear Saloon. People Rejoiced!
The turn out was a little slim, but the room was awesome, the people were awesome, the event was awesome, and the John Sporman is awesome. John rocked through the entire gig with his upright bass and I have never seen him smile so much. We drank a ton of Red Lodge Ales(Thanks Sam!) and played for a great cause (Thanks John Trapp). CD's were sold and we left wearing our Carbon Co. Search and Rescue hats proudly!
The turn out was a little slim, but the room was awesome, the people were awesome, the event was awesome, and the John Sporman is awesome. John rocked through the entire gig with his upright bass and I have never seen him smile so much. We drank a ton of Red Lodge Ales(Thanks Sam!) and played for a great cause (Thanks John Trapp). CD's were sold and we left wearing our Carbon Co. Search and Rescue hats proudly!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
New discoveries!
I talk too much. Last night I tried to talk to everyone I knew at the Pig Roast. I was stalking the Old Post like a Oil Industry Lobbyist. Last nights show sponsors were Red Bull and Jager...
Heaven.
It took me hours to fall asleep. I couldn't believe how pumped I was. I'm still a little jacked and it is 1:00 the next day. I also came up with a new hand gesture last night and I'm hoping that it will be the next craze.
Heaven.
It took me hours to fall asleep. I couldn't believe how pumped I was. I'm still a little jacked and it is 1:00 the next day. I also came up with a new hand gesture last night and I'm hoping that it will be the next craze.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Moving your life
Since the year 2000 I have moved 7 times.
205 Aber
601 Brooks
329 E Front St #B9
11170 Napton, Lolo
909 E Beckwith #2
2023 34th
502 E Front
Now I'm moving to Cooper! It is going to be my first roommate-less experience. I have had the best roommate that anyone could ask for, but I'm so happy to have this little house all to my self. When I say little, I mean little. But that is ok, I only need a couple of things to survive and I will have a nice organized and compact space for Barley and I.
The one thing that I have learned in the last 7 years, is that you have to buy yourself some good Rubbermaid Totes. You don't want to have to find a shit load of boxes the week before you move. You also don't want the cheap totes like "Steralite", they are brittle and won't match for stacking with your other Rubbermaid Totes. Do yourself a favor.
I can proudly say that I'm good at moving, anything you practice regularly, you will probably get good at. I can now move my entire life in one day. As most of you know, I'm a little high-strung and I stress out a little when I have to move. It pays off though, when I get to sit in my chair with Barley and relax in my over organized, scrutanized, and blueprint-i-nized home.
205 Aber
601 Brooks
329 E Front St #B9
11170 Napton, Lolo
909 E Beckwith #2
2023 34th
502 E Front
Now I'm moving to Cooper! It is going to be my first roommate-less experience. I have had the best roommate that anyone could ask for, but I'm so happy to have this little house all to my self. When I say little, I mean little. But that is ok, I only need a couple of things to survive and I will have a nice organized and compact space for Barley and I.
The one thing that I have learned in the last 7 years, is that you have to buy yourself some good Rubbermaid Totes. You don't want to have to find a shit load of boxes the week before you move. You also don't want the cheap totes like "Steralite", they are brittle and won't match for stacking with your other Rubbermaid Totes. Do yourself a favor.
I can proudly say that I'm good at moving, anything you practice regularly, you will probably get good at. I can now move my entire life in one day. As most of you know, I'm a little high-strung and I stress out a little when I have to move. It pays off though, when I get to sit in my chair with Barley and relax in my over organized, scrutanized, and blueprint-i-nized home.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Life is hard on the road/Friends are missed
The band played a festival in Salmon Idaho on friday night and a private function in Chico Hot Springs on Saturday. We had a little rain on friday night before the show and the crowd was a little sparse, but they loved it. I feel very lucky to do what I do!
Friends are leaving. More specifically, a friend that left long ago, is leaving again, this time for Africa! Kjessie and I opened the coffee shop every monday through friday morning for months and months. She survived and I feel lucky to have spent the time with her. Thank you for the advice that I didn't take and drinking to much with me!
Friends are leaving. More specifically, a friend that left long ago, is leaving again, this time for Africa! Kjessie and I opened the coffee shop every monday through friday morning for months and months. She survived and I feel lucky to have spent the time with her. Thank you for the advice that I didn't take and drinking to much with me!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Holy Shit!, I talk to much!
I talk a lot. I love to have conversations with everyone! I love talking to people I don't know, and people I've known for years. I love talking about myself and I love finding out about others.
but...
Then I start drinking...
I will talk for long periods of time about nothing. Random stories, anecdotes, similarities to movies, favorite songs, and god forbid you ask me about the inner workings of a band or playing the drums or past relationships, I will not shut up! I have to remind myself constantly that I want to know about the other person, then try to figure out how to tie together like 40 minutes of rambling. The word tangent isn't even close to describing the hours of off-the-wall shit I will talk about.
also...
I think I'm funny...
I think I'm hilarious. Most people can't finish their first sentence of the night without me inserting a punchline. My voice is actually horse from talking non-stop all night and laughing loudly at my own jokes. I won't even mention the swearing, or the topics that would make even my best friends feel bad for whoever decided to sit at my table. I leave thinking I just "killed" at the Apollo Theatre, but wake the next morning with a feeling that my sense of humor threw up all over someone's conversation, and my talking trampled there points and stories to bits.
but...
At least, I always have a blast.
but...
Then I start drinking...
I will talk for long periods of time about nothing. Random stories, anecdotes, similarities to movies, favorite songs, and god forbid you ask me about the inner workings of a band or playing the drums or past relationships, I will not shut up! I have to remind myself constantly that I want to know about the other person, then try to figure out how to tie together like 40 minutes of rambling. The word tangent isn't even close to describing the hours of off-the-wall shit I will talk about.
also...
I think I'm funny...
I think I'm hilarious. Most people can't finish their first sentence of the night without me inserting a punchline. My voice is actually horse from talking non-stop all night and laughing loudly at my own jokes. I won't even mention the swearing, or the topics that would make even my best friends feel bad for whoever decided to sit at my table. I leave thinking I just "killed" at the Apollo Theatre, but wake the next morning with a feeling that my sense of humor threw up all over someone's conversation, and my talking trampled there points and stories to bits.
but...
At least, I always have a blast.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
The show must go on....yes, please!
Nothing compares to the experience that has been with the Clerics. This is one fo the first gigs that I've have that I'm allowed to do whatever I want, with in the style of music, whatever you call it. I've never been so worn out and drained after a show, then the big show with Tom. Every lick, fill, stick flip, and technique is used, while still remaining quite simple. Throwing my body around, leaving the seat, splitting knuckles, and screaming. No one has more fun then I do. I've watched Tom go from being scared to death of being to loud and rockin', to seeing four guys on stage making folk music, swing and pop, cool for everyone. The crowd grows with you as you ease into the first songs, till your sweating and pumping the audience with good straight ahead music with lots of energy. You spend the whole night just trying to make everyone like it as much as you do.
Then you're done, leaving only crushed PBR and Red Bull Cans, broken drumsticks, and hopefully one more person that says things like, "Wow, you guys rock!, I thought it was going to be like John Denver or some shit, but then you guys kicked ass!" (I wonder what John Denver would've sounded like with The Clerics)
Then you're done, leaving only crushed PBR and Red Bull Cans, broken drumsticks, and hopefully one more person that says things like, "Wow, you guys rock!, I thought it was going to be like John Denver or some shit, but then you guys kicked ass!" (I wonder what John Denver would've sounded like with The Clerics)
Monday, May 28, 2007
I live my life "between showers"
I love taking a shower! I take at least one a day, but usually 2. It is the most relaxing part of the day. Let me describe...
I start by turning the hot water on and letting it run till it is as hot as it is going to get, I then adjust the cold to compensate. I like it hot enough to turn my skin to a light "lobster" red. The first thing I wash is my hair. I really work in the shampoo and rinse. I then soap up the body working neck to toe. I rinse and I usually just lean against the shower wall for 4-5 minutes letting the water run over me. I run the hot water over my face, then with "face soap", I lather up my nose, then cheeks, then neck, then temples, then forehead. I rinse my face with cold water and turn off the water. Sometimes I brush my teeth in the shower just to extend my shower time.
I start by turning the hot water on and letting it run till it is as hot as it is going to get, I then adjust the cold to compensate. I like it hot enough to turn my skin to a light "lobster" red. The first thing I wash is my hair. I really work in the shampoo and rinse. I then soap up the body working neck to toe. I rinse and I usually just lean against the shower wall for 4-5 minutes letting the water run over me. I run the hot water over my face, then with "face soap", I lather up my nose, then cheeks, then neck, then temples, then forehead. I rinse my face with cold water and turn off the water. Sometimes I brush my teeth in the shower just to extend my shower time.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Keeping up with myself
I can't believe the life that I'm currently living!
(no particular order, kinda)
-I have a dog, his name is Barley, he is GREAT!
-I'm a drummer in a band. We play a shitload of gigs and we make pretty good money.
-I work at the Red Bird Wine Bar 2-3 nights a week and make pretty good money.
-I'm selling most of my collection of vintage music gear on ebay and making pretty good money.
-I have Netflix and I watch almost 40 movies a month.
-I have free time during the day to sleep and write blogs.
-I own a '87 Volkswagen Vanagon GL.
-I have tattoos.
-I have a couple of the best friends you could ever have.
-I've been taking some of the best pictures I ever have.
-I'm moving into my own place, just me and Barley.
-I get to travel alot.
I'm 25 and Single. I have no idea what is in store for the opposite sex if they become involved with me. I have developed a very selfish lifestyle and as much as I would like to share it, I'm not sure if a girl exsists that wants to or will participate. But for now, I'm better off without.
(no particular order, kinda)
-I have a dog, his name is Barley, he is GREAT!
-I'm a drummer in a band. We play a shitload of gigs and we make pretty good money.
-I work at the Red Bird Wine Bar 2-3 nights a week and make pretty good money.
-I'm selling most of my collection of vintage music gear on ebay and making pretty good money.
-I have Netflix and I watch almost 40 movies a month.
-I have free time during the day to sleep and write blogs.
-I own a '87 Volkswagen Vanagon GL.
-I have tattoos.
-I have a couple of the best friends you could ever have.
-I've been taking some of the best pictures I ever have.
-I'm moving into my own place, just me and Barley.
-I get to travel alot.
I'm 25 and Single. I have no idea what is in store for the opposite sex if they become involved with me. I have developed a very selfish lifestyle and as much as I would like to share it, I'm not sure if a girl exsists that wants to or will participate. But for now, I'm better off without.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
New Blog
I started blogging on Myspace and on other websites, but I decided to complete my nerdery and get a blogspot account. If you were a reader of my alter-ego's blog, sorry I deleted it. My hypocrisy knows no bounds. I'm going to try to share my favorite stories of my past and keep my internet life up to date. If you are still reading this, you are either Rocky or Lance or really bored...
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