Monday, December 6, 2010
i'm tossing around ideas for small travel, maybe going up to see my brother (17th, 19th?), and i wanted to know if there were possible dates for grizmas to work around. i'm also guessing there isn't a concrete plan yet....so, maybe this is a good point to get some votes in.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Drugs, sex, swearing, and loads of other eye-glazing material!
Because I'm narcissistic and drink a lot of coffee, it will be updated regularly.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Basically, I'm very interested in living outside of California because it'll be a crazy experience and adventure. Santa Clarita and San Luis Obispo are the only places I've ever lived! I am also very interested in hanging out with Jean again as soon as possible. I have a great time with everyone here and I love the job I was able to acquire, but I still feel confined by living with my folks and by Santa Clarita in general. I guess it was silly to decide to stick around until Spring to move to Vermont (this was my previous plan, if you didn't know). I'm not nearly patient enough to hold myself to a plan like that. Six months started to seem like a very long time to be somewhere temporarily.
I think it goes without saying, but I love you all a whole lot. I've said this before, but I consider this group of friends family so I don't stress about losing contact or diminishing relationships. I will also be sure to make a bigger effort of staying in touch since I won't be able to drive three hours to come visit every Pass It Around.
I am going to be spending some time (rent-free) with Jean, and our friend Ivy (who some of you might have met) in Wells, VT (population 1,086; population density 48/square mile).
But the three of us are already making plans to move to the big city of Brattleboro, VT (population 8,203; population density 860/square mile).
Just to let you know Santa Clarita has 169,174 people and 3,537/square mile; Los Angeles has 3,831,868 people and 8169/square mile. I guess I'm interested in a change of scenery.
Oh, and just for posterity, I'd like to ask a quick favor. I am going to need a ride to LAX on December 1st hella early in the morning, and I would love for any one of you who would be down to give me a ride.
I am interested in talking to you all about this decision I've made (whether you think it's a stupid idea, an awesome idea, or if you got some tips on dealing with a griz-gnarly Winter). I didn't post this so that I wouldn't have to talk to you in person about this; I just posted it to let everyone know what's up.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
i did some search and found this post on a blog about valencia's newest place for coffee.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
When William first asked me to go on tour with Pangea and Canada’s Tonka & Puma, two thoughts immediately came to mind--I’m going to get to play music with my friends in the best way possible and I’m going to see Her. Actually, a third thought occurred to me too: I will need to buy some vitamins.
Any successful tour is a spiritual/sordid mixture of drinking, bonding, and experiencing the cabala that is live music. The memories—and the messes--we make are indelible cigarette burns on the entwined arms of our camaraderie. I will leave out many and linger too long on others, but that is how stories are told.
We started off the tour in Echo Park with a home town advantage. The Canadians took over the place and left those unprepared babbling and stateless. Familiar faces gleefully bounced around with gleaming tall cans and sweaty brows, leeching the ambivalence from even the most austere hipsters. Everyone was aglow until the taco trucks sung their swan song. All good things get the shades pulled on them.
Our Canadian friend, Airick—A.K.A. Doldrums--came with us in the Pangea car up to the second show in Davis. We talked of urban myths and the schizophrenia of America. The 5 slowly unraveled itself below our tires and we were soon barbequing in the backyard of a California punk time capsule (To give you some idea of this, I was in a conversation with someone wearing a neon yellow backwards hat and bleached jean cut offs about the beer, Blatz, which—naturally--led to a discussion of Sewer Trout). The party was more fun than our set. Guinness and whiskey had a lot to do with this. When the show was over we traipsed through the infamous haunted house and sung songs in a gutted out bus in the middle of a field. We then all went to a swinging college party where a gentleman fed us Malibu rum and general debauchery took place. We danced, laughed, and fell over. The sun rose on smelly sleeping bags and a lost cowboy hat. Davis is a strange place.
The next morning we headed down to Santa Cruz with eager, albeit dirty faces. J-bird took us to the beach where, Daniel—of Toronto’s Tonka & Puma—read aloud from my copy of Far From the Madding Crowd. After walking around the touristy beach front and by the famous Lost Boys pier, we got Chinese food and laid down for a much needed nap. This is where the Black Wizards began to rule the party. A Black Wizard, for those of you unfamiliar with binge drinking, is a Steel Reserve 40oz mixed with coffee. Unable to obtain Steel Reserve, we settled on King Cobra--this unholy alchemy I named a Rusty Battery. When we arrived at the house we would be playing at I noticed that most of the crowd was considerably young. This, in combination with alcohol, meant that there was going to be unbridled enthusiasm for everyone who played. And James Rabbit confirmed this with rice crispy clarity. The show was hectic. I somehow managed to step on Erik’s glasses while climbing over him to go dance while we were playing. I paid my penance with a six pack of Blue Moon. After the show was over we were ushered out of the house politely, yet forcibly, into the warm Santa Cruz night. We wound up going to several random parties before the evening ended like they all do: We got weed delivered to us and proceeded to smoke it until the tempestuous Black Wizards in our bellies transformed into sleepy Care Bears.
Our zigzagging route had us in Oakland—a town I once called home for the better part of a year--the following day, where I was most happy to go. I must confess that Oakland will require two paragraphs, one for the events that transpired, and another for a brief/ill-advised self indulgence. The house we played at was incredibly cool. It was a combination of a raised main house, a few Tough Sheds, and an old motor home named The Land Yacht. As a bunch of forward thinking touring musicians we used the band fund to buy whiskey. I got as drunk as possible and was awkwardly reintroduced to a lot of people I knew a few years back. Before long it was time to play and I managed not to break anything this time. I did, however, unplug Danny’s bass every time I ran impulsively through the audience. Oakland was a great show for us all, the crowd was great, and the people who put on the show were more than accommodating. When our tummies started to growl we ventured out quixotically for a taco truck and actually ended up at a really good tacoria. The tacos were amazing and we were soon in a heated debate over Lady Gaga and the definition of Pornography. We slept at the house I used to live at and C.J. Parker rolled us all a spliff nightcap. I believe in miracles.
The main reason I was excited to be in Oakland was to see Her. There are some people in this life that make it all worthwhile. Without her permission I will reprint a letter from me to Her:
I’ve written several letters addressed to you since I left Oakland, but they tended to ramble a bit too heavily on the incoherent side. It appears that my heart and my tongue are attached by some sort of primitive pulley system—the one will only work by the suspension of the other. Regrettably, this means that our interaction is ruled by silence and smiles—perhaps this isn’t so regrettable—I’m still rather aglow from seeing you. Someone told me we were like magnets, which suggests that we can be pushed apart with the same force that we attract—a testament to this is the 386 miles that currently separates us—somebody should be there to record our reunion to prove that magnets can spark.
Love in letters,
In everything that happened on tour, the few hours I got to occupy the same space as Her were the most memorable. I asked you before, dear reader, to forgive me. Now would be the time. Sorry.
ANYWAY, the next morning we went to Whole Foods for their gratitude bowl—a dish of lentils, kale, rice, and delicious sauce for a small donation and statement about what you are grateful for. The car pulled out once again on the highway heading south towards San Luis Obispo and the most reckless show on tour. Willie and the people that put on the show had bought a keg of Natural Ice, which brought out either the best or the worst in everybody. Everyone was sitting in a lawn chair or leaning against a car drinking out of a mason jar as the sun set behind the browning hillside. William and I went to the liquor store and picked up a bottle of whiskey for the festivities. By the time we played I was deaf, dumb, and blind. Willie decided that we needed to have a lazy boy chair in the middle of the--already impossibly small--room as we played. Several people were bleeding by the end of the show, Danny’s pedal and my amp got broken, and everyone had a sloppy good time (when we got back home Airick’s cut became seriously infected and required medical attention which he could not afford—punk!). Willie also rubbed some dude’s face in his pee like you would a puppy. It was a crazy time. Things quieted down for a bit as we gathered around the fire singing songs and eating pizza. And then some disturbed gentleman who lived on the roof decided to lose his fucking mind. He started yelling at us and threatened to, “Ruin all of your nights,” and a whole range of wacky, unprovoked hostilities. Eventually he calmed down or passed out and left us to reflect on the events of the night and the tour. The Canadians would be heading up to Washington in the morning and we were going back south to Los Angeles. I made a lot of good friends on this tour and managed to lose a little bit of cynicism somewhere along the 5. I said goodnight and finished my last beer before making my place in the mass of sleeping bodies on the living room floor. I curled up in my sleeping bag with my headphones on, and fell asleep to an audio book of the Lord of the Rings. “The road goes ever on and on…”
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
I wonder why it wasn't tyler shouting in my dream?
Monday, May 24, 2010
It’s pretty common-place for men to feel clever on Halloween by donning a dress and an idiotic, ironic grin. It is as though by wearing a dress the man feels that he is doing something absurd. “A man in a dress?! Inconceivable!” But just like Inigo Montoya said to Vizzini, “I do not think it means what you think it means.”
It was the fall of 2005 the last time I decided to be clever on Halloween. Arlen, Aaron, and I went to go visit our friend Evan in San Francisco to make sure he was doing alright in his new city. The trip started routinely enough, with me and Arlen snuggled on my bed watching Willow. We departed at dawn to pick up Aaron and then made the eight hour journey to ‘Frisco* with bellies full of gas station coffee. The drive was uneventful and we were soon parked in front of Evan’s loft with excited, albeit sleepy, faces.
Evan showed the three of us around the ridiculously charming hipster-hole that he now called home. We ate vegan Chinese food and drank cheap champagne in an unusually well maintained park, then purchased revolutionist literature at an anarchist collective with our credit cards†. The day lingered on like a garlic rich meal until our collective spidey-sense began to tingle with the approaching possibilities of the night. Unexpectedly, there was already attrition, Aaron couldn’t stay awake and left the rest of us to whatever the evening would bring. It was sad to see him go, but we knew we had to keeping moving҂.
There were several options for the night’s entertainment and we decided to do them all. However, since it was Halloween weekend, we would need costumes. Evan directed us to the local Goodwill and we got lost in the racks of discarded identities and fashion faux pas. We made a group decision to all go in drag. Arlen found himself a schoolgirl outfit with an alarmingly short skirt and Evan draped his tender figure in an old lady dress and pearls. Your humble narrator went out in a lovely flowing black number with a form fitting floral top: We were all foxy and full of moxie.
Our --now granny clad-- friend Evan was a social firefly and already well established in San Francisco’s punk and hipster circles. This meant that we were going to ‘party hop.’ The first bash we went to housed two gentlemen costumed as Quail-Man (of Doug fame) and one lovely lady dressed as Carmen Sandiego. Arlen was all legs and chatting up the locals while Evan appeared to be in a heated debate with a six foot Ladybug. I was out back on the balcony doing my best Lester Bangs impersonation for an unamused Courtney Love and an amorous Cowpoke. After about ten bud lights, Evan ran in from the other room and yelled, “Let’s get out of here! There’s a cool party on the other side of town!”
There was a brief discussion as to who should drive, considering I was too drunk to effectively operate my vehicle. Arlen appeared to be sober, but I was a little dubious§. We all crawled in my Buick and motored into the foggy midnight of San Francisco.
It began to rain rather heavily as we tried to find the street we were looking for. My windshield wipers weren’t the best and it was becoming difficult to see. Evan was in the back seat on his cell phone trying to get an address as we blindly turned in the directions he was pointing us in. It was as we were making one of these blind turns that my car hit something solid and stalled out. We weren’t going fast so there obviously wasn’t damage, but we were a little shaken up nonetheless. It took us a moment to realize we had hopped a curb and were parked on the side walk. At that moment a cop’s spot light shot through the driver’s side windshield and illuminated the sign of the business whose sidewalk we had hopped. It read: San Francisco Police Department. We had crashed into the fucking police department.
A voice over the loudspeaker told us to keep our hands visible and on the steering wheel while another officer made his way towards the car. As Arlen rolled down the windshield the cop noticed we were all in dresses and shook his head.
“Have you boys been drinking tonight?” asked the cop, staring at me and Arlen’s creamy thighs.
“No,” we all responded in unison.
“Because it smells like alcohol in here,” continued the cop.
“Well, yea, I mean I’ve been drinking,” I stammered.
The severity of the situation hit Arlen at once and he put on his most collegiate voice and said, “Sir, we’re from out of town. The rain confused us momentarily and we hit the curb here. I apologize, Sir, my friends here have had a bit to drink and I’m trying to get them to where they need to go. --Officer, we’re just three guys in dresses trying to find our friend’s house.” The cop gave no response and said to keep still for a moment while he grabbed his partner. All I could think about was how inopportune it would be to get arrested in a dress. The other cop sauntered up to the car and had us roll down the window again. We were going to jail; there was no question about it.
“So, here’s what you’re going to do…” began the cop as he proceeded to give us directions to the next party**.
*The locals hate it when you call it that.
҂I mean drinking
§Everyone seems suspicious to me when I’m drunk
**Which was lame and featured the musical stylings of Interpol.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Basically, I got a job and will not be coming home for awhile... like until August at the earliest. This is strange for me cos I have always had the freedom to leave whenever I got homesick or when a cool show would be happening, but now I am fixed here for a bit. It's fine and a part of moving away BUT this message is to encourage my continual umbilical cord to the county that is LA. Please come visit! like everyone of you. I feel like people come up quite often, but not all of you have
In other news, Taking an easy major and dropping my minor has enabled me to take 2/3s of my classes as electives next year. SO my last college year will be quite silly. Come be silly here.
Blahh it's finals for the next few weeks and I want fun. I miss you all! (aside from the weirdo's)
Friday, May 14, 2010
when my roommate, who shared my opinion ("been there done that"), pointed me towards listening to Gaga sing acoustically, and i listened, i am ready to admit that my opinion has adjusted. just as many of us might not like Broadway musicals but can appreciate a good Mimi solo from Rent, i can confidently say that Lady Gaga has gained a little of my respect. Hype ruins a lot of things, both good and bad, and part of why i think a lot of us love her/ hate her/ love to hate her is the hype, and has little to do with the few chops she actually has.
i am posting this because i refuse to believe that Matt and Emmett think she isn't worth a shit. just have a listen: it's weird in the beginning, but this acoustic version of "Poker Face" is worth at least one take, ALL the way through.
- she who will return
Friday, April 23, 2010
reckless on the backyard grass
where did my pants go?
Paper towel roll
says "Shut the fuck up Donny!"
Paper Walter glares.
lounging in my chair
tell everyone "I don't care"
then cry when you stare
Jam out on those ukes!
I'll sit here and drink my beer
piss myself later.
Little, Little Gnome
Not quite a man, yet bearded
you make me nervous
Second guess the last flat swig
Fuck it. Drink it up.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Ever since the National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984, turning twenty-one is the single most important event in the life of an American youth. Though I was already intimate with the effects of the cocktail prior to turning twenty-one, the significance of the date as a societal rite of passage weighed heavy on me; I knew I had to enter the age of inebriation with confetti, streamers, and a big sweaty brass band. My first inclination was to get married in Vegas and paint the town proverbially red. However, after asking, drunkenly, several of my female friends for their hand and getting drinks thrown in my face in reply, I decided on the next best thing: I would fill my trunk up with a preposterous quantity of hooch and go camping with the guys in Henry Miller's Big Sur.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
If you aren't on myspace you should check it out if you don't know about it anyway. Spread the word and buy your tickets soon!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
What do you guys think? Is this a bad idea?
On another note, I found out that you can add yourself as a contributor if you don't want to log in as the gnarchives. handy dandy!