Damn Right.

This is me, forty years from now.

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays/statuses/5772660192

The Fading Traces of a Handstamp

So, as you may have noticed, I haven't really been writing a hell of a lot lately. There are a number of reasons for this, the main one of which is the simple fact that I am essentially never home. I pop in and out from time to time between band practices and all the other social obligations, but that's really about it. Of these varied "social obligations", the main one over the past few weeks has been going to shows. Certainly I'm not complaining, there's little in the world I'd rather be doing, especially on some random weeknight. So you know I'm not exaggerating, let me break it down for you:

Sunday November 1st - Built to Spill at the Fillmore
Monday, November 2nd - The Airborne Toxic Event at the Fillmore
Saturday, November 7th - Los Dryheavers and Get Dead at Annie's Social Club
Monday, November 9th - The Pixies at The Fox Theater
Thursday, November 12th - Headlights at Cafe Du Nord

Five shows in eleven days. It's been a wild ride. Toss in about five band practices in there, plus my regular full-time work schedule. But it makes me stop to think: what is it about seeing live music that gets me going so much. I mean, it's time, and I don't want to think about how much I've spent in that time span between tickets and drinks. But still, seeing good shows (and I can say that pretty much all of those were excellent shows in their own right) does two things to me: it makes me want to go out and see more good shows, and it makes me want to play more shows myself.

There's also just something about going out, seeing people do their thing onstage and having a great time, there's a certain amount of pride I feel in walking into work the next day, the remnants of a handstamp fading off my hand or wrist, knowing I probably had a better and more fun night than most of the people I walk past. Still, I'm kind of looking forward to a week or two that I don't have any shows on the calendar to go to. It might actually give me a little chance to take some of that inspiration of seeing all these bands and write some music again.

Come on barbie.

I've noticed a trend here and there from time to time, and even witnessed it firsthand the other day, and it was terrible. It's the bald-head-with sideburns look. Shaquille O'Neal did it for a while and it didn't quite work, I've seen a few other celebs try it and it's been worse. Naturally, as the title of this posting might indicate, the most famous violator of this look was that dude from the band Aqua, but his were even worse, as it was an over-the ear band of hair that connected into a semi-sideburn that was just chock full of douchiness. A more recent violator is Tim Nordwind of the band Ok Go. Paired with the fact that he always tends to be a bit more flamboyant in his clothing choices than the rest of his bandmates, he is further proof still of why you never want to be that guy with the bald head and the sideburns. Just let it go, man. Just let it go. I mean look at him, he looks like Powder (or Michael Stipe) with giant caterpillars crawling past his ears.


The other violator that is similar, which also seems to be making a comeback is the shaved head/full beard combo. Again, just because you can't grow hair on your head somewhere doesn't mean that you should try to compensate by growing it elsewhere. Imagine how bad that could get - some dude has a completely shaved head, yet compensates for it by growing an epic patch of back hair to make up for it. No facial hair but a massive carpet of chest hair peeking out from over his collar. (Tubes, I'm looking in your direction) I won't even go into the hair in "other parts" that might be grown to compensate, because that's gross.

There's only one person who can pull off the beard and bald look, and that's Kimbo Slice. I may or may not actually think that, but look at the guy. I'm really quite sure he could tear me from limb to limb, so in the sake of preserving my life, I will say "lookin' good there, big guy."

Some Rainy Weather Free Verse

From my co-worker:

Fuck
Left
Sunroof
A crack
Shit!
Bill
Theres
A puddle
Its a leak
Not the window
Fuck


Hang tight, PT.

Button it Up

Yes. I know I haven't written in over a week. I'm lame and terrible and am breaking the cardinal rule of blogging, that whole thing about how if you don't write frequently enough people will stop paying attention and reading and all that. Then again, that might be why my technorati rank is 1,603,173. Oh well.

So, a while back, I bought some new jeans. I heard that Gap was doing that big ol' campaign about their new jeans, and when they released them, they had all sorts of kick ass sales. I decided to take advantage (due in part to the fact that my jeans are getting sorrier by the week) and I finally got around to wearing one of the new pairs recently. I like the look, I like the style, and all that jazz. I feel like it was money well spent and all those other frugal platitudes.

But here's the thing. The damn jeans have a button fly.

I don't know who invented the button fly. Secretly I blame the Amish. But then again, I totally can. This is the internet. Lord knows the amish aren't online. I don't even know if they can, in accordance with their culture, read things that have been printed off the internet. Interesting question. If you have the answer, let me know.

But anyways, back to the fly. Button flies are awful. While they're buttoned, it's not all that bad. But gawddamn, god forbid I really have to pee. It's so awkward and difficult. Needlessly so. I swear, it's like having a corset for your junk - you're all bound in there and it takes a degree of skill, dexterity, and coordination in order to get out of there. I just don't get it. Well, I guess the bright side is that, after all that ordeal, I don't have to worry about walking out of the bathroom with my fly down. Well, I guess there was that time the other night where I skipped a button. That was... an interesting sensation.

All Doors Are Closing

I need not remind you all I'm not a morning person. If you ever, ever forget that fact, just call me before ten in the morning. I hate to sound redundant, but it's an important reminder from time to time, and it is a rather necessary preface to this little tale.

This morning I caught the bus at pretty much the same time as I always do. I tend to be pretty much within the same range all the time. Today's bus was a tad more crowded than usual, and I wound up with a pack of grade school girls standing across from me. This was fine. But to give you an idea of just how close they were to me; one of them leaned back and went headfirst into my book, which was already leaning up by my chest.

This invasion of personal space continued for much of the ride from various people at various angles, but I can absolutely accept that as a necessary evil of public transportation. These things happen. That is not my gripe. Just, at the end of the morning's ride, I was already in a somewhat aggravated, somewhat fragile mental state. So getting off the bus was a bit of an adventure, and I'll tell you why:

Because all the damn morons who clog the bus stops of my fair city can't understand the simple concept of allowing people to exit a bus before putting their head down and trying to force their way into the doorway as if the bus will drive away and never come back.

Today, at my stop, I had to trip and stumble my way to the door, contorting myself like an Eastern European acrobat so as not to brain the people sitting down or to dry hump the poor overweight septuagenarian who no one was willing to give up a seat for. I see daylight, make my move, just happy to keep my shoes on my feet, and the next thing I know I'm almost taken out by the kneecaps by two women with jogging strollers who are trying to press their way onto my streetcar. They seemed to be hoping that, despite the fact that my large frame scarcely escaped with all limbs intact and no bodily harm inflicted on my person or that of those around me, that they might fool the keepers of the doors into somehow creating space for them so that they may magically board and ride comfortably.

This, dear readers, is not how I want to start a Wednesday. I try to be mindful of those around me, and I don't like to play the role of linebacker around my unsuspecting fellow commuters, least of all those with small children in tow, but I'll be damned if I wasn't close today. So the next time you go to board a bus, give those exiting ample time to get out of the bus (and out of your way - funny how those things coincide). It's rule number one of riding MUNI. Literally.

Au Revoir Simone

So, you kids should hopefully be aware of the band Au Revoir Simone. True, you have to be somewhat in the know when it comes to modern indie music, but damn are they wonderful. It's three drop-dead gorgeous hipster girls from Brooklyn playing indie synth pop exactly how it should be played. While all their music is just gangbusters, there is one song in particular that especially sets my heart aflutter, and they just released a video for it:



Now, since my dear sweet Zooey D is married away to Mr. Death Cab, these ladies are now the cutest thing since bite-sized sliced bread.

So here's my plan: I own a MicroKorg, which is a pretty respectable keyboard in it's own right. I'm thinking that sooner or later I'm going to book a flight to Brooklyn, find these lovely ladies' rehearsal space, keyboard in tow. In due time, I'll convince them that what they really need is a fourth member. A male member. From San Francisco. (hurr hurr hurr, I said "member".... twice!)

Then, after a little time of learning all their songs, making myself a productive band member and trusted friend, we book a tour. Said tour will inevitably swing through Utah. Once we're in Utah, BAM! I marry all three of them on one fell swoop.

Then we start a family band and live happily ever after in music and looooove. And maybe kittens. Those girls have gotta love kittens.