Hey, woah! I almost forgot all about you guys today. I was just sitting here trying to figure out what to do on the internet in the brief time before my baby wakes up and the cleaning lady arrives and we have to leave, not even considering that it was already creeping on high noon and I hadn’t put my favorite mustard colored letters on my favorite turd flavored background yet. I’m getting old. Soft, weak and old.
Yesterday I interviewed a few potential interns, then last night, my band practiced. I didn’t get home until one in the morning. Today, I started out exhausted, but a bike ride and a healthy breakfast (grilled dog dicks on a 7 grain cibatta roll) seems to have gotten the lead out nicely. Today, I think we’re gonna hit the zoo. It’s chilly, but it may be our last chance to check those beasts out for a while. Right now, my kid calls every single animal “izzy” after his dog (the Business Monkey). By next spring, he’s gonna be saying ‘monkey’ and ‘cow’ and shit like that, and well…let’s be frank, the excitement of him figuring stuff out, while cool, may not match the awesome hilarity that is him calling a tiger ‘Izzy.’ I dunno. Maybe you have to be there. Trust me, though. It’s funny. Bobby Collins funny. That’s right. Google him if you don’t know. He’s the future of comedy, and by future I mean crappy past.
Tonight is a party at the L and L tavern. I’ve got my parents watching my kid and I’m gonna go down there and I may even play some acoustic songs, although I don’t know how well that’s gonna work out for a few reasons.
1. I haven’t had time to practice or prepare at all, so it’s gonna be one of those situations where I just kind of wing it and it’s either gonna be awesome or terrible.
2. I don’t think they’re getting a PA or anything, and if it’s just me with a guitar in the corner, it’s gonna be pretty hard not to wind up looking like that dildo at the party who pulls out the guitar and bums everyone out until some fat poet chick mercifully takes him off and blows him just to get him out of there.
I hate that guy. Guitar guy at the party, take note: You are the worst guy there. There is NO worse thing to do while people are hanging out than force them to listen to your music while you stare at them and awkwardly attempt to prove yourself. It sucks. Ass. Period. If your friends really want to hear you play guitar, believe me, they’ll ask you. If they don’t ask, they don’t want to hear it. Promise. I remember that my friend Pete (Pete! Pete!) did this amazing version of ‘the band played waltzing matilda’ by the Pogues and when we got drunk, we’d all go, “pete, will you please play that song? Please!?!?!?” and every once in a while he would. See. That’s the other thing. You can’t just drop everything and start playing every time. Make it an event, because, to go back to my earlier example with Pete, if he was ALWAYS playing that shit every time anyone cracked a few beers, we’d all eventually get sick of it, and he’d become that guy. BUT, he didn’t and as such, he’s one of the only people who I get excited to see pick up a guitar in a casual setting. You can only sit there and watch a drunk Matt Skiba slur his way through “Ball and Chain” so many times, you know?
That’s a good topic, innit? The worst people at the party. We’ve already got guitar dude. He sucks. Um, who else sucks?
Coke Party Bathroom Hoarders- Uh, hey, we all know what you guys are doing in there, but I’ve gotta piss and I’m pretty sure this chick is about to barf, so how bout we admit the emperor wears no clothes and you guys just get out of the bathroom and do your coke in the garage or something so I don’t have to pee in this plant, kay?
The Guy Who Pulls Out His Dick- I actually like this guy. That shit is funny almost all the time.
The Chick Who Gets Totally Bummed Out At ‘Guy Who Pulls Out His Dick’- Come on, lady. Lighten up. Haven’t you ever been to a party before? That guy’s always here. Ride the wind a little.
Passed Out Girl- There she is, on the couch. Bummer. Someone should call her boyfriend or her roommate. Stand there. Watch closely, because Passed Out Girl is like a truth serum, or the glasses in “They Live” or something, because she will expose who the pervs and creeps in your circle of friends are. I mean, when’s the last time Steve offered to give any of us a ride home? Now suddenly he’s all chivalrous? Pretty gross, Steve. Even for you.
Loud Politics Man/Loud Politics Woman- Hey! This is a fucking party. If I wanted to talk about the sexist hegemony and the myth of blackness I’d be somewhere boring hanging out with your bad smelling friends eating dumpstered hummus. You’re blocking my path to the keg. Thank you. Also, keep it down. So you disagree with something. You don’t sound like a confident master of forensics, you sound like a drunk loudmouth who doesn’t know when to stuff it up his/her ass.
Mischievous Guy- Yes, brah! Way to stick it to the man…wait, that’s not quite right. There’s no arbitrary and oppressive authority here, just someone who was nice enough to have a party in their house and dumb enough to invite you. You shit in the oven? What the fuck is wrong with you? Oh, it impresses your homies? Cool. Here’s a little piece of advice, if your friends think that kind of shit is funny, they’re complete mongaloids, and if you’re doing that kind of shit for their approval, well, you’re kowtowing to a bunch of monagloids, making you what? I don’t even know if there’s a word for that level of retardation.
Okay, well, my baby is awake and I think the cleaning lady’s getting close, so I’m gonna leave this at that. Have a good day. I probably won’t be writing the next couple of days due to some other big engagements, so try, try, try to keep on keeping on, man.
Oh, yeah. And as for the fighting in the sock drawer. I was wrong. It’s lame. Just make lots of comments. Stop the fussin and the feudin, cool? Cool. You guys are so bad at fighting it’s embarrassing everyone. Not your fault. You’re dorks. Actually, that Jbody guy had some good jabs. Still dorky, but hey, whatever. Okay, I’m out.