As Peter so aptly put it yesterday, we've entered the "slutty phase." For the next, oh, three or four weeks, we'll be whoring our music out to anyone who will give us the time of day. We'll be like the sonic version of those Scientology assholes on Market Street who never, ever, ever, leave you alone, even if your hands are full of umbrellas and newspapers and you're using your earphones...no...we won't be that bad. I've had the near unquenchable desire to headbutt those people, but I'm not a violent man. I consider it punishment enough that their spiritual leader wrote Battlefield Earth. I'm more into cosmic justice than bruising my forehead.
The slutty phase has so far been, well, more promiscuous than slutty. We haven't descended to a Jerry Springer-esque level yet, so, my dignity is still mostly intact. But let it be said: that time could come.
So, why are we doing this? Well, because we're in business for ourselves and our debtors have goons. Big, stupid goons with blunt objects in the backseats of their goonmobiles. But, let me tell you something: it's a nice feeling. I'm used to being in business for someone else, which has involved haggling with ticket brokers, summarizing asbestos depositions, selling kid's clothes, and driving around Shamu's sperm---and you think I'm kidding. Peddling something we made, we funded, and we own: that's fun. Driving around orca spunk? Less fun.
And that's what I'm up to. Phone calls, poster hanging, blog scribbling---wheee. I'm splurged on a bagel this morning, which just about blew my budget for the whole weekend, but I was ravenous and lazy, which is a lethal combination. All us birdmonsters did make it to a show last night though, with our erstwhile cohorts tapes n' tapes, who sounded phenomenal, looked exhausted, got goaded into an encore, and are currently on the road to Portland. Best of luck with that, gents. I think you guys should try & find a middle school somewhere & play Oregon Trail, just for the sheer awesomeness of that. Man, good memories with that game. The grandpa never made it past Colorado in my experience. Which reminds me of Number Munchers, also a highlight of my salad days. I hope children are still getting valuable education with Ms. PacMan rip-offs. If not, I demand all my taxes & lost lottery tickets back. Now.
Anyway, here's what's up for the next couple weeks: We play a few songs before Clap Your Hands at the Metreon this weekend, as well as traveling to San Jose for the first time. Next week: a few song acoustic set at a BAGeL radio shindig at the Thee Parkside followed by a Noisepop show with Film School, who, I've heard, found their van, so not all is lost. That story depressed me a few weeks back, so I bought their album, which un-depressed me. Then, another weird acoustic thing on Live 105 on April 9th, right before our album comes out, which sounds like fun, unless my banjo gets more broken. Between all that: more whoring. I just had a blood test though, and I'm clean. So don't worry if you come in contact with me. I may be destitute, but I'm free of disease.
Oh: and to David, my old, old friend and noodling guitar player: happy birthday tomorrow. Yakmallah.
Friday, March 24, 2006
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5 comments:
Wesley Willis would have gone in for the headbutt. He would have out Scientologied the Scientologists with his own glorious brand of obliviousness. Not something one likes to think about having (or even trying) to live up to.
old timers have no buisness blazing a trail, that was always my philosphy. (John Wesley Powell excluded of course.)
Wesley Willis!? Ag! How could I have failed to include him in anything I said about headbutts? He remains the only man I've ever seen with a headbutt CALLOUS. And, while I'm at it, is that how you spell callous, when you're talking about that hard over-used skin thing, not being a cold, unfeeling asshole?
Derek: I agree. But we must add John Muir also, and the old guy from the Beverley Hill Billies
And Katie: Say hello to Spain for me. Your brother rules, ruled, and will rule again in the near future. I'm honored you posted a comment while you should be out, eating tapas, getting faded on cheap wine, or at least siesta-ing. Thanks.
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