Back to Lalaland. For some of us, at least

Ah, President's Day. There's really nothing like having a nine to five and getting paid to sleep on a Monday. It's like having your cake, eating it too, and having that cake give you some sort of superpowers; not unlike that radioactive bon-bon which gave the Incredible Hulk his crime fighting powers. But I digress.

Today finds both Dave & Pete down in Los Angeles*, back at the Castle, keeping Brad company whilst he mixes, mixes, and mixes some more. Of course, I don't think they've shown up yet, considered that we're still safe ensconced in the AM. Anyway, they're there for moral support, to try out a few small ideas that turned out impossible to explain over the phone or email, and to pick up Zach's itinerant cymbals, which, although rusty, ugly, and jangly, are the only cymbals we've got. They have that well-worn sort of sound. They're the percussion equivalent of that really comfy chair your roommates want you to throw out because it's hideous & sort of smells like hobo sweat, but it's just too soft to get rid of. They'll be flying home on Thursday.

Also, if you wouldn't mind, look over there to your right. Under the stupid joke about us being from Bangladesh. See that? Yep. We're on pre-sale, people. I promise to not harp on that, but, hey, I figure if you're reading this, maybe you'd like to buy a CD. I can promise nothing less than a dozen songs we're very, very proud of with absolutely no filler. We're not Aerosmith here people. We're not giving you a single, a joke-song, and 10 meandering rip offs of 40s blues ditties. No. We would never do such a thing. It's going to be like the EP, times roughly a million. Maybe two.

Oh. And for a moment, let me share my joy. I just did a bit of arithmetic and discovered I have eight, count 'em, eight work days left. And that's counting today. I just twitched with glee.

Which reminds me: we don't have a van. We don't have a van but we've got to leave shortly. We've got our peepers and hearts set on one that may involve Zach & I flying to Vegas (danger! danger!) to pick it up. But, hey, you never know. For now, we're still waiting for one of you readers to send us the genetically engineered sperm of that cheetah-man hybrid you told us all about. If we go down to Vegas, you can expect hilarity. No amount of poorness will dissuade me from the craps table. I'm a degenerate like that.

I have a feeling this will be an interesting week. Stay tuned. For now, enjoy your MonTuesday. I'm finishing a poster tonight too that I want to share with everyone. It has a brontosaurus (which don't and never did exist), a mustachioed man with a top hat, a walrus, and an eskimo. If that doesn't spell kick-ass, I'm not sure what does.



*How much does that link remind you of Ghostbusters 2? Oh. It's just me. Somebody put on the Jackie Wilson and get this sludge back to it's sewer home.