It turns out I'm bad at interviews. This dawned on me yesterday when, post-practice, we scampered to do an interview for a local podcast and twenty minutes in, there I am, talking about how many own Dream Theatre albums I once owned while Peter shakes his head in righteous dismay. A couple months ago we did another interview where I spent the entire time talking about my plan to become a wizard at the age of sixty-five. I'm also fond of using wild arm motions, which translate oh so well on tape. It's sad, really. I think we're about three away from the other guys locking me in the car with a window cracked like some puppy who can't stop shitting on other people's couches.
And no: the rest of the Birdmonster really doesn't care. They're happy to indulge my idiotic rantings since, well, we're all prone to our own special brand of idiotic ranting. Speaking of which...
Wizards. See, I've got this plan; what happens is this: I'm about fifty years old, Birdmonster is well into that "you probably shouldn't be touring anymore" age-bracket (unless we get all Jimmy Buffett on you, which, I can assure you, we won't), and I've got nothing much to do. So, I stop shaving. And cutting my hair. Now, I do that for about fifteen years---and by "that," I mean, essentially, nothing but hygenic laziness---and by the time my AARP membership arrives, I'll have a chest-length beard and a white mane down to my ass, which I'll then take to Hollywood and try out for every movie with wizards being made for the next twenty years. How much competition could there really be? How many wizened old men will really try out for the next C-level fantasy movie? Can you think of anything wrong with this plan? No. Didn't think so.
(Added bonus: floppy pajama hats. And dunce caps with stars on them. Infintely better than your typical headwear.)
A couple things to mull over today: 1) Gasoline Hobo, whose comments in this space often make my afternoon, speculated and engaged his readers in a discussion of cross-marketed cereal marshmellows. It's worth your time. 2) Dark Side of the Cop, our erstwhile studiomates and all around fine human beings (who once loaned me an amp I couldn't make work properly) are releasing their full-length at the Hotel Utah tomorrow night. I'll be there. You should know that the band and the CD of the same name are losely based on the comedic epic Beverly Hills Cop, and, as the name alludes to, I think you can do a Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz thing while you listen & watch. Know that hallucinagens are not a necessity to do so. 3) It's Hojo's birthday. Happy Birthday Hojo.
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5 comments:
Oh, oh, hobo. Don't think I won't be hastling you come, say August 15th-ish, when we're in Southern California. Don't you dare. And that was one of the strangest interviews I've ever read. Makes me feel less crazy. Throughly less crazy.
The shout out was well deservededededed. You are one of my daily stops in my battle against working for money. Game. Set. Match: Not working for money.
Like what? Thumbtacks? Brads? Other small metal fasteners? Perhaps steak. I drank a steak once. Couldn't sit down for a week.
It's "marshmallows" not "marshmellows", though you could probably subit this to the famous Washington Post contest where you change one letter in a common word to create an alternate meaning. Let's see, a "marshmellow" might be defined as a contemplative stoner swamp dweller.
And this wizard shit...you're scaring me here.
DD: I knew that looked wrong. Good call on the Post thing. I just might do that...but, let's be honest. No I won't.
As for the wizard plan (hereby called The Wizard Plan, since it's that important): What's not to love? Ian McKellan was Gandolf, and he's knighted. Fine footsteps to follow in, I do say. Plus, real beards trump fake beards and, as we all know, acting is based on facial hair, not years of theatrical training.
Dokken is Rockin'. I don't know what else to add.
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