There's some weird graffiti scrawled across the men's room at the Abbey Lounge that says "SCAMPER: The Thighs of March Are Upon Us." I'm not really sure exactly what it means, but today means sadly that the thighs of March are officially over, along with the Scamper residency. I know it's sad, but it's time to make way for the wings of April and (God willing) the breasts of May.

Last night was a terrific, racuous rock show with a wonderful, loving crowd. The perfect send-off for a month of hard work. Even when we're exhausted, punchy and/or sick to death of looking across the stage to see Nate sprawled across the floor, you guys always pick us up. Playing for you is an honor and a pleasure and I'll miss doing it every week.

Thanks to all the bands who joined us this month - too many to single out. It's amazing that you can play 5 nights of music with a total 14 other bands and like them ALL. I'm not just being a bullshit kiss-ass artist either - every band we played with was great. Cheers to them all.

As for me, I'm taking a few days to fly to Chicago for Gordon's (of Fooled By April fame) wedding, so I'll be sure to give you reports on my drunken dancing and romantic failures. Have a great weekend, everyone and I hope you all aren't too jealous of Cherylyn for winning the toaster oven.

Oh, and Opening Day on Sunday. Sox-Yankees. What the fuck?

I'm sure it's really boring to hear about other people's dreams, but I officially have my first recurring dream: I find out that I missed something in high school and have to go back and complete it.

I know, I know - that's pretty boring and run-of-the-mill, but there were a few weird little side trips my mind took while trying to find my way back to school:

- Vinny Shit on the Face and I were in a 7-11, where he was trying to convince the clerk to repair his toaster oven. When the clerk refused, he threw a hissy fit and said, "Fine! You can have it, then!" He was really proud of the fact that he just tossed the toaster oven in the clerk's face. Then, when we went back into the 7-11 later, he threw another George Costanza-esque fit when the 7-11 wasn't even using the toaster oven that he gave them to heat up their chocolate chip cookies. How dare they!

- Apparently, I got to school in a van, which someone promptly stole. As they were driving away, I read the following on the van's driver-side door: "Warning: The driver of this van is NOT a quiet eater." Weird.

Any amateur Freuds out there want to analyze? You can dare try commenting on the ever-worsening blogger or fill me in tonight at the Abbey. It's the last week of our residency, don't you know.

For those about to rock, we salute you.

Tomorrow night is the fifth and final week of the Scamper residency at the Abbey Lounge. We're fixing to go out with a bizzidy bang, as Raymond and Max Heinegg & The Nervous will be joining us for a blistering night of rock music and ancient Polish folk dancing.

For me, it's going to be a little sad to see the residency end, as those wonderful nights at the Abbey have been the stuff of which lifetime memories are made. Who could forget...

... week one, in which Jason Halogen jumped up on stage with us during "Wait Wait," leading to an impromptu 20-minute UFC-style shoot fight between he and Mike Mirabella? I'm sad to say that despite Mike's power advantage, Jason took the judge's cards by a score of 85-81. Robbery!

... week two, in which Keith actually mathematically solved the Brett Rosenberg Problem? It turned out that the answer was simply "pi r to the third power with a side order of creamed corn." That Keith - he's a mathematical genius. And you all laughed at him for bringing his protractor on stage with him every week.

... week three, in which Nate fought off the pangs of starvation by eating 2 and a half members of the Nonfamous?

... week four, in which Fooled By April and Orange Park finally succumbed to the passion that dare not speak its name and had a massive 8-way guy-on-guy tickle fight?

Memories... light the corner of my mind...

So does anyone else have any recollections from the residency? Sharing: it's not just for losers anymore.

Happy Monday, all. I hope that those of you who aren't going to hell had a wonderful Easter and all that baby Jesus ham that you devoured isn't repeating on you. Personally, I had my baby Jesus with a side order of Easter bunny on a spit.

But really, this was a weekend of larfs. The Walsh Brothers show at the Jimmy Tingle Off Broadway theater in Davis Square was so freaking nice that I had to see it twice. The boys really brought it. It's tough to describe what it is exactly that they do, but as a general rule - if you're into child molestation humor, these are your guys. Even though their Davis Square shows are over, you can still catch the fellas every Thursday at ImprovBoston in Inman Square and most Fridays at the Comedy Studio in Harvard Square. It's true - there are other shows to see in Boston besides Scamper.

The only downside of the Davis Square shows was Jimmy Tingle himself. Apparently, his brief stint playing the "Andy Rooney but not actually funny" role on 60 Minutes 2 for 6 weeks really got into the guy's head. He's obnoxious as fuck. He stood at the box office, asking everyone to get on the email list. Incessantly. I tried to strike up a conversation about future shows, the documentary he was in, but he was like a robot: "Uh huh. Did you sign the email list?" So I signed the fucking email list. Jesus. Don't you hate when someone's opening a theater in your neighborhood and you want to root for his success, but he makes it really really hard by being a dick? Yeah, me too.

Speaking of funny - I caught this show on MTV last night called Wonder Showzen. It's staged as a children's show, featuring animation, puppets and all child actors. But it's really sick and demented. It's the only show I've ever seen with a disclaimer at the front saying "If you let your child watch this show, you are a bad parent or guardian." Very good stuff. My favorite bit was a ten-year old kid dressed as Lincoln, perfectly delivering the line "I didn't plan on shaving my beard and freeing the slaves. I did, however, plan on shaving the slaves and freeing my beard," followed by a little dance. Again, tough to describe why that's funny, but trust me - it was.

Anything else funny out there that I'm missing?

Quick hits for a lazy Friday:

- Hey look... I'm finally photographically displayed on the main page of this website. It's almost as if I'm, you know, in the band. Seriously, if you like the way we look, all thanks go to Johnny Anguish and his lovely and talented wife Nicole. If you're in a band and want some shots done, give them a shout. They'll treat you right, show you Johnny's ridiculous record collection and own one friendly cat and another one that's not so friendly.

- Not to brag or anything, but I was surprised to find that when I jumped on the bathroom scale last night that I'm already down 12 pounds in 2 months. Admit it - you all want to do me in the pay-pay hole. Don't deny your feelings - they're natural.

- Remember when stand-up comedy used to suck? Those days are o-v-a-h ovah. Actually, most stand-up does kind of suck, which is why I was so happy to discover the Walsh Brothers. They're original, talented and just plain hilarious. I've seen them maybe four times and I literally hurt myself laughing. I end up in these spastic coughing fits. It's kind of gross, actually. They have a big show tonight and tomorrow night at Jimmy Tingle's Off Broadway in Davis Square, Somerville. Seriously - catch these guys before they're huge, because it's going to happen.

That's all. Have a good Easter and enjoy your honey-glazed baby Jesus with a side of sweet potatoes.

Friends, I know it's become a little bit of a tradition that I do the recaps of the March residency shows in some sort of gimmick voice. Week one, I wrote it as a teenage girl's diary. Week two was a Penthouse letter and of course, week three had the cleanest dirty limericks you've ever read in your life.

This week, I've got nothing. I just spent about 20 minutes internally debating between a not-that-amusing Shakespearean sonnet and an ill-conceived conservative talk radio parody, so I decided to cut my losses and just tell you about the night in my own voice. But if you're in the mood for a little bit of meta, today's theme is that there is no theme. Oooooooo...

- The evening started out with a startling discovery: a new flavor of vitamin water - Scamper's favorite drink. It's called Formula 50 and it tastes like grape and it's gooooooood. From what I could ascertain, the 50 represents the 50% of your recommended daily dose of something. I'm not sure exactly what, though. 50% of your daily dose of grapes? That was lucky, as I had two of them - thus fulfilling all my grape requirements for the day in just under an hour. I felt comforted knowing I could go about the rest of my evening, safe from those all-too-common grape urges.

- Back in the Abbey, Orange Park hit the stage around a half hour late, like the true rock stars that they are. If they weren't so good, everyone else would have been extremely pissed. But luckily, they rocked the audience's ass off and the only one who was pissed was disgruntled Scamper drummer Mike Mirabella, because we had to cut out the 20-minute jazz improv drum solo we had planned.

- Around 45 minutes behind schedule, Fooled By April started setting up. I asked them to shorten their set a bit to make sure that the last band didn't get screwed out of time. They were cool with this, but Pete said to me, "Hey Brendo, remember the days when you were sort of our unofficial roadie and used to help us set up and get us water? Now you're in your own band and you're up here telling us to cut songs and hurry up - funny, huh?" I slapped him across the face and responded, "Shut the fuck up, Pete. Time is money."

- Fooled By April more than made up the time - they blazed through their set, topping off with an absolutely Ramones-esque frenetic version of "Monsters of Rock." It was, in a word, awesometastic. Joe may bitch about us cutting their set short over in his journal, but a) Scamper cut out just as much, b) those guys are commercial-selling rich bastards who don't deserve any of your sympathy and c) fuck him. (By the way, that's a little sneak preview of the toast I have in store when I'm Joe's best man in June. It will most certainly end with the words "fuck him.").

- Scamper played the 4th set in as many weeks. Not much new to say. Nate still on his knees. Me still torturing Keith. Mike still sexy.

- Finishing off the show were our practice space buddies Harris. Up to this point, the only thing I really knew about them is that they liked to leave beer cans on the floor. Now, I know that they're also a super-talented up-and-coming band. You should all check them out if you missed last night's show.

One more show to go, soldiers. Next week, we'll be giving out perfect attendance awards.

First, let me apologize for the nasty weather that is supposed to be coming down on our brains late tonight. When it was so beautiful yesterday (I actually wore shorts outside on my way to the gym) that I thought to myself "Hey - maybe the hellish winter is actually over and there will be no snow!" As you all know, the Holy Ghost hates my ever-living guts and is punishing the entire New England area with another pantload of the white stuff. And for this, I apologize. Like the when original Van Halen line-up broke up, I blame myself.

But there is some good news:

- The snow won't be starting until after midnight, meaning that your travel to and from the Abbey Lounge for tonight's Week 4 of the residency will be unimpeded.

- The South Shore is predicted to get almost ten inches of snow, meaning my 70-year old father will be out there shoveling. Hello, inheritance!

- Orange Park, Harris and Fooled By April will be joining us at the show.

- Mike has promised that if we get more than half an inch of snow before the end of the last band, he'll run around outside with no pants. Bring your sunglasses as not to be blinded by the stark whiteness that is Mirabella's balls.

See you tonight, bitches!

After much delay and ballyhoo, it's time for the long-awaited debut of Brendo's Piss-Poor Advice Column. All of these are actual letters from actual people (no bullshit). Keep in mind - none of this advice should actually be followed by anyone at any time, for fear of broken relationships, wrongful arrest and/or chlamydia:

Brendan,

I know this girl at work likes me, but she's totally annoying and gross. She's always sick and wears the same clothes for days at a time. I think she sleeps in the parking garage. Should I go for it?

- In Demand
Cambridge, MA

Well, that depends, ID - how hard up are you? I'm guessing by the fact that you're even considering it, it's been a rough winter. But hey - there are times during the average day in which your average male considers putting his wee willy winky in a jalopie exhaust pipe as long as it's vibrating a little. You shouldn't be ashamed of this - it's how Jebus made you.

You should, however, accurately assess the gravitas of your loinal situation. One way to determine how low you're actually willing to sink is a simple game of "Would I Rather?" For example, would you rather make the sweet stinky with garage girl or...

- watch a 12-hour marathon of the womens' reality show Starting Over?
- gently cradle a homeless man's balls on your forehead?
- hear your mom use the words "erection" and "panties" in a sentence?
- fuck Paris Hilton (I'm sorry - that must be like poking a back of spare rips floating in a 90 lb. leather Gucci bag)?
- eat a meal at Olive Garden?
- make out with this moustachio'd man?

Depending on how she scores against this criteria - have at it, hoss.

Dear Brendo,

I have really great friends that are usually there for me when I need them. I just still feel very alone and bothersome. I also fear making new friends, not for any other reason than the fact that I don't really know how to act around them. People compliment me and I don't have any problem with who I am, I just don't know how to start those new friendships off on the right foot without being a jerk.

- Socially Awkward Girl

What's wrong with being a jerk, SAG? America loves a jerk - Archie Bunker, Oscar the Grouch, OJ Simpson. Just think of how much fun it'd be to hang out with Axl Rose or Sean Penn.

But seriously, most people want to, on some level, feel needed by their friends. It's a good feeling to know that your friends count on you when the chips are down. But let's face it - the chips aren't down all that often. Most people don't want to feel needed all the time. Neediness is a big turn-off. Most friends just want to hang out, have a few beers, watch The Surreal Life and complain about that cunty bitchface the next cubicle over who always talks about her fucking useless teenage kids and their parole officers, like I give a fuck. Really, you should actively avoid people who do want to feel needed all the time - they're either co-dependents, religious freaks, alcoholics or amateur advice columnists.

As in most instances, this situation calls for the wisdom of an expert: Kevin Costner as Crash Davis in the movie Bull Durham. "Hold the ball like an egg," he tells Tim Robbins as the brash young hotshot pitcher "Nuke" LaRouche. Friendships need to be held like an egg. If you squeeze an egg too tightly, what happens? That's right - you go on to make mawkish, intelligence-insulting crap like The Shawshank Redemption.

Brendan,

My girlfriend always wants to do something fun in the evenings, but there's never anything to do! We end up watching TV and going to bed early. What can I do to make her happier and more entertained?

- Bored Benny in Boston

I'm glad you asked that, BBiB. In fact, we might just have the thing for you. Tomorrow night at the Abbey Lounge with Harris, Fooled By April and Orange Park. Just keep your girlfriend away from Scamper's drummer. He will seduce her with the jungle rhythms in his eyes.

That's it for our debut version of Brendan's Crap-Ass Advice Column. There's more to come - I'm just scratching the surface of the letters I've received. If you'd like me to answer your letter, hit me at brendan@scamper.net. Everything is anonymous and once again, don't send anything about hurting yourself or others, not even as a joke. Seriously - don't be a dick.

This weekend, Scamper a.k.a. "The Band You Love to Hate Because Mike Mirabella Touched Your Inner Thigh Inappropriately" (Boston Phoenix, October 2004) had another round of press photos done. The other guys in the band were tired of the old photos in which the vision of beauty that is Marc Roderick made them look so hideous in comparison, so it was time to do a few shots with yours truly. Some highlights:

- We started on Saturday morning at 10am, also known as "Brendan hates the world o'clock." When he saw the grumpy pile of laundry that was me arriving at his door, Keith said to Nate, "I don't get it. He's grumpy late at night and he's grumpy in the morning? It can't be possible that he's neither a morning person nor a night person, can it?" Turns out that I'm just not an "awake person."

- As we arrived at our photographer Johnny's and his wife Nicole's place, we missed the house and had to use a neighbor's driveway to turn around. As we pulled out of her driveway, the lady who lived there came out and started yelling at us. She was really pissed. We were in her driveway for literally 2 seconds. What sort of moral high ground did she think she had? I begged Keith to pull over so I could debate this woman, but he refused. He knew I'd cut her to shreds with my rapier-like logic skills and wanted to spare her the humiliation. Either that or I'd call her a smelly haggard old cunt that smells like moldy diaper shit and looks like an elderly elephant's craphole. I'm pretty sure that's the line that Lincoln used to defeat Douglas.

- We arrived at Johnny's and Nicole's house, with a box of munchkins in tow. Keith, who has to be very careful what he eats because he's a lactose intolerant freakshow, was downing munchkins like they were tiny glaze-covered mother's milk. "These are so good," he cooed.

Concerned, I asked, "Are you allowed to eat those?"

"I don't think so," he mumbled and stuffed a few more into his face.

- As we took some indoor casual shots, Mike tried to convince us that the new rage in rock photography is having the drummer front and center in every shot. Luckily, we didn't oblige, as that would be too much sexy for you all to handle.

- For some reason, Nicole got it stuck in her head that we should re-enact a Monkees album cover. I don't know which album it is - the one where they're all hugging like a bunch of gaybos. I don't think the shot came out all that well, but I did get to be Mike Nesmith and wear the wool hat. He was my favorite.

We should see the photos soon - you guys will be the first to check me out in my splendiferous sexiness.

I know I promised the debut of Brendo's advice column this week, but that shit is going to have to wait. Instead, I'd like to address a few of the rumors that have been floating around the internet about this band. Just this week, I read the following things about Scamper:

"Keith's baby is actually a laboratory-created genetic mix of all four members of Scamper. When he grows up, don't be surprised if little Jason displays Brendan's love of crossword puzzles, Nate's ability to reproduce Bach fugues on the mouth organ and Mike's penchant for buggery."

"Brendan has a hit Broadway play based on his life, but he won't tell anyone which one it is."

"For his entire life, Mike only had one arm. Three years ago, he went on vacation to Fiji and came back with two arms. He still has never offered a satisfactory explanation for this."

"Nate once told the Dalai Lama that he thinks all monks are 'fruity' and then beat him in a freestyle old school breakdancing competition by a score of 12 to 8."

"The song 'Sophie' was originally titled 'Kofi' and was a tale of unrequited love for Secretary General of the United Nations Kofi Annan. It was later renamed Sophie... after Sophie Annan."

"Keith is 1/8th water marmot."

Now, I don't even want to dignify most of these rumors with a response. But damn it - my love for crossword puzzles has been grossly overstated. It's a hobby at the most. I can't believe people would be so vicious.

Has anyone else heard anything? Don't be afraid.

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I will recap last night's Week 3 residency at the Abbey Lounge in the truest art form that my culture has bestowed upon the world, the dirty limerick:

There once was a show at the Abbey,
The line-up wasn't too shabby.
People had a great time,
Watching bands in their prime.
Do these jeans make my ass look too flabby?

First was a young man named Luke,
Whose success is never a fluke.
He fronts the Good North,
And the songs he put forth,
Were so good that I wanted to puke.

Then came a band from NJ,
These guys really know how to play.
Spiraling was their name.
They're certain for fame,
My pubic hair has started to go gray.

Following that was us, Scamper.
We pulled some old songs from the hamper.
From back in the day,
When Nate wasn't gay,
And Keith wasn't up to his eyeballs in Pampers.

The Nonfamous closed out the night,
With hard rocking power and might.
But the bass player Court,
Was just so damn short.
I tell you, that's shit's just not right.

Okay, so they weren't all that dirty. And I know - most of them didn't really make any sense. But let's see YOU write limericks about a rock show, bitches.

Are you peeps ready for Scamper to rock your ass old school tonight at the Abbey? The boys and I have been warming up a few Scamper classics (or Sclassics TM) for your nostalgic pleasure tonight. This is a rare opportunity to hear some of your favorites from the bygone era that Keith, Nate and Mike like to refer to as "The Good Old Days Before That Worthless Prick On Bass Joined The Band And Ruined It." Those crazy guys - always joking.

It's a throwback night all around in many ways. First, Luke O'Neil - my buddy from the halcyon days of college - will open the night with some songs from his band The Good North. After that, Spiraling from New Jersey (State motto: "Please forgive us Joe Piscopo") will be throwing back a few brews before busting your asses with keyboard driven rock. Then, the Nonfamous will be on. Um... we'll be picking up Courtney and throwing her into the back room. She's very little - easy to throw. I don't know - this "throwback" theme ran out of gas real quick, didn't it?

But in keeping with the theme, I thought I'd open up the floor to you long time Scamper folks and ask you a question: what was your favorite moment from days of Scamper past? Have at it.

More about my wild trophy-ridden weekend:

The show with the Captain Miles Band was surprisingly well-received, despite the lack of rehearsal time. The audience didn't even seem to mind when we sailed into an impromptu version of Guns 'N Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine" without the middle "where did we go now" part. We didn't know that part, so we just didn't play it. The crowd was very enthusiastic and more than a little forgiving.

The coolest part of the evening happened during our break between sets when our drummer Wyc was watching the very exciting double-overtime Celtics game on the bar's TV. Now, this wouldn't be all that interesting of a story except one small detail: Wyc owns the Celtics.

When the boys in green pulled out the win, Wyc bought a round of drinks for everyone in the bar. I've never seen that done in real life - only in the movies. It was a very cool moment.

So when you all come to the Abbey Lounge tomorrow night for Week 3 of the Scamper residency (featuring Luke O'Neil from the Good North, Spiraling and the Nonfamous), you can feel free to buy a round of drinks for the entire bar. You're not going to let the owner of the Celtics show you up, are you?

This past Friday started off as any other would, as Joe and I showed up at his godfather's son's house to find the 2004 Red Sox World Championship trophy:




It was amazingly cool to be that close to history. Before I touched it, I asked the security guy if Kevin Millar did anything weird to the trophy. He said he didn't know, but I decided to risk it and take a few tasteful photos. Joe, on the other hand, got a little more intimate with the trophy:



After a few hours, they took it away. Was it all just a wonderful dream?

Before blogger decides to explode and eat my testes, I'll fire off a few quick updates for your Friday:

- Joe and I are sitting in with the Captain Miles Band tonight at the Sit 'N Bull Pub in Maynard tonight. For those of you in the western suburbs and in the mood for an evening of sloppy classic rock covers and fun fun fun, stop on by. I rehearsed with the band for the first time last night and let's just say... this evening could go one of two ways. Hope to see you there.

- Before the gig, there's supposed to be a party for some little leaguers whose dads are in the band. Apparently, there might be a certain world championship trophy there from a certain other local baseball squadron of the big league variety. We shall see - I'll let you know on Monday what it's like to actually make love to a trophy.

- Today's date is bugging me. Is it someone's birthday I'm forgetting? Speak up.

- I'll be debuting the advice column portion of my journal at some point next week. I have a few letters already in, but it's not too late to participate. If you want your buddy Brendo's advice on matters of rock, work, love or antique mason jar collecting, shoot me an email at brendan@scamper.net.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

Dear Penthouse Forum,

I always thought the wild and sexy stories in your pages were madeup... until I attended the second week of the Scamper residency at theAbbey Lounge. Everything I'm about to tell you is completely true. Itwas a sexxxy exxxxtravaganza with four extra x's (besides the ones I just wrote there, making a total of 13 x's. That's a whole lot ofsexy.).

First, I walked into the Abbey bathroom to find the plumber -- Jason Liebman from New York City -- working on the pipes, if you catch my drift. We just talked a little baseball, so I didn't think anything was going to happen. But then, out of nowhere, Jason whipped out his big, long instrument and started rocking me hard. I couldn't believe that this was really happening. It was just like in the movies... the dirrrty movies! Just when I thought he was about to finish up, his friends -- the Uprising -- showed up and joined in the fun. They took turns rocking my ass off. I felt like such a dirty, filthy whore...but in a good way. Does that make any sense? Do I seem like a bad person to you? And does my ass look fat in these jeans?

I was still a little worn out from all that rocking when the Dents came by to clean the pool. I didn't think anything was going to happen-- they seemed really sweet and nice young ladies. But looks can be deceiving -- those chicks punished my ass like seasoned pros and treated me like the bad wittle boy that I am. Usually, I don't go for he rough stuff, but the Dents gave it to me brutally hard and fast for over 45 solid minutes without letting up. I couldn't even cry out for help -- I was in too much ecstasy to make a peep. Well, that and the ball gag.

Then, the hosts of the evening Scamper came in to fix the copy machine. To be honest, they were a little limp. It was all over way too quickly. I assured them -- don't worry, it happens to a lot of guys and size doesn't matter and all that shit that we know isn't true. They seemed to buy it. Chumps.

Just when I thought that I was never going to experience pleasure again, there was a ring at the doorbell. It was the Brett Rosenberg Problem, delivering a pizza. I didn't think anything was going to happen. But that little fella spanked my grundle with his sweet and tasty licks late into the night. Crippling wave after crippling wave of classic rock-influenced pleasure racked my body. It was amazing.

By the time it was over, I was physically, emotionally and fluidly spent, left with nothing but a warmly satisfied feeling in my loins and a burning sensation in my taint. I think I'll go back next week,but I don't know if I can handle that much pleasure again. You know,sometimes it's tough being a cock-hungry slut like me, but somehow I get by.

Signed,

Awesome Night, Abbey Lounge

Today is my parents' 32nd wedding anniversary. 32 years. Jesus. The funny thing is - if you look at the match-up on paper, their love looks pretty fucking improbable. Their ages are separated by thirteen years. They come from different countries. He used to be a Catholic priest, for Christ's sake. It just shouldn't work. But every day for the last thirty-two years, they've been glad to wake up next to each other. And every day still, they make each other laugh. It's pretty fucking amazing.

I'm probably the last person that should be giving advice on love and relationships, but man - 32 years. I guess I sort of take a little bit of hope from that.

Kids, I know it can be tough out there - meeting someone that doesn't drive you nuts, loving someone who doesn't love you, being lonely, being miserable. But I've got to think it's worth it. I don't know - maybe not. But I look at my parents... I've got to think that it can, against all odds, work sometimes.

See you at the Abbey for Week 2 of the residency. May you all find a little slice of love there tonight.

I've got a lot of dookie to p.i.m.p. this week, so I'm starting early this morning:

Tomorrow night - Scamper embarks on the "Sloppy Seconds" portion of our residency (with special guests The Dents, The Brett Rosenberg Problem and Jason Liebman & The Uprising from NYC) at the Abbey. That should be a killer show and I'm actually feeling human again, so hopefully my high notes won't crack the windshields of your cars out on Beacon Street.

But also tomorrow night at the Abbey, my friend David Craft is playing an acoustic set on the side stage at 7pm. My very first rock and roll performance on a stage took place at my high school talent show in 1992 with David on drums, Joe from Fooled By April on guitar, Madden on vocals and myself on bass. If you think about it , it's pretty cool that all of us are still playing on the Boston music scene, except Madden who quit music to pursue his true passion: Mexican amateur porn. On that fateful night thirteen years ago, the four of us murdered a medley of Queen songs. It wasn't pretty, but we won 2nd prize, after a bunch of goobers from the football team re-enacted that "Da Bears" skit from Saturday Night Live. Yeah, real original, clever bit, guys.

These days, David is an uber-talented singer-songwriter (if a little on the fruity side) and he's worth checking out. I'll be there. And if I'm going to be there, you know it's a happening.

I seem to get into the weirdest conversations. For example, I have been having a lot of debates lately around the subject matter of "If Scamper were [insert nerdy pop culture reference here], who would be whom?" So I thought I'd share this debate for wider consumption, discussion and irritation.

For example, it's obvious to even the most mouth-breathing of morons that if Scamper were the Fantastic Four, this is how it would all suss out:

Keith - Mr. Fantastic
Nate - Johnny Human Torch
Me - The Thing
Mike - The Invisible Girl (because he's the drummer)

But, as Socrates once said, things can get a little more complicated when you start to get into the Smurfs. Here's what I came up with:

Keith - Papa
Nate - Brainy
Me - Jokey
Mike - Hefty

I feel like we have merely scratched the surface in this debate, so I open the floor to you idiots.

Along with my hacking cough, some burning and important questions have been keeping me up all night lately:

- How much money would you pay to see Paris Hilton get punched in the face? I think I'd pay $70. She'd have to be on her cell phone, completely unaware. She turns around and then BAM! You know what? Make it $75. $80 if I get to do the punchin' myself.

- This one came from our good buddy Hogg: "My belt holds up my pants, but my belt loops hold up my belt. Who's the real hero?"

- Is Scamper the sort of band whose members should be wearing eye-liner?

- Why don't they just make the whole plane out of the black box? And what's the deal with airline food? Could it BE any drier? But seriously, folks. White people walk like this. Black people walk like this. Stop heckling me - I don't come down to your job and slap the dick out of your mouth.

Thoughts? Answers? More questions? Have a nice weekend.

Dear Hello Kitty Diary,

OMG!!!! Last night was the first night of the Scamper residency and it was hella kewl!!!!! I heart all the bands so much. They're all...

2 kewl
+2 be
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4 gotten

The first band was Furvis and they were totally dreamy and rockin!!!!1111 When I first saw them, my instinct was to check their IDs (not only to see how old they were, but to peek at their home addresses - I think we could totally be best friends, if they'd just give me a chance!!!!). But once they started playing, I totally checked myself before I wrecked myself and stapled my butt to the chair of my soul. I haven't been that excited since that time in October when I thought I saw one of the Olsen twins at the piercing pagoda at the mall (it turned out to be a Halloween skeleton decoration). I mean, they were that good!!! OMG! OMG! OMG!

Then, the Valhalla Kittens came out and blew my Paris Hilton collection signature panties right out the dizzoor!!! I couldn't believe how pretty and glamorous those girls are! They're totally my heroes... except for Drew Barrymore. I admire her sooooo much because she's a survivor and the second Charlie's Angels movie was totally underrated. Imagine Charlie's Angels 3 with the Valhalla Kittens as the Angels? Charlie's Kittens! OMGAJ!!!!! Make this happen, Hollywood!

Third, Scamper came on. Hmmm.... didn't care much for this one. It was a little cloying. Still, that drummer is wikkked hotttttt!!!!! :)

But who came to my rock rescue? The Halogens!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG!!! They were so awesome heart heart heart smiley face with a side order of cutie pie! That Jason is so dreamy that he almost transcends dreaminess. I almost have to make up a new word for him, like creamy. Wait, that's already a word. How about breamy? Jason Dunn is totally breamy!!!! I totally heart that song he did about racquetballs. I'd like to see him on the racquetball court if you know what I'm saying.... and totally make out with him!!!! Heart heart heart smiley face poop!!

It was the greatest night of my life... until next week, I hope. I'm totally going back to the Abbey next Wednesday and every Wednesday after that!!!!!! OMGAJATHG!!!!!!

Oh, and I'm not sure, but I think I got my period. More later...

XOXOXOXO

Brendan

Before I recap last night's radiotastic fun, let me take this one last opportunity to remind you that the Scamper residency at the Abbey Lounge begins... tonight tonight TONIGHT! Joining us on stage are Furvis, the Valhalla Kittens and the Halogens. Rumor has it that this one might be pretty well-attended, so I'd advise getting there early and taking advantage of the Abbey's world famous cheap beer.

Now, on to some highlights from last night's appearance on WMBR's Pipeline!, the local music show on 88.1FM:

- Your heroes arrived at the station around 6pm, parking on Memorial Drive in Cambridge. Immediately, we had to maneuver heavy equipment around the hip-high snowbanks while traffic whizzed by our ears at 60 miles per hour. It was, in a word, terrifying. Oh, and I was wearing all black. But according to Fashion Police on E!, bloody and splattered on the snowbank is the new black.

- Before we soundchecked, we enjoyed a few sandwiches at the local MIT cafetorium where a TV was showing the new Family Feud starring a casually dressed Richard Karn. When they asked the question, "Name something you do in the shower besides clean yourself," no one said "Jerk off." I mean, how do you not say "jerk off"? Okay - I'll accept that the #1 answer is "Sing." But the #2 answer has to be "Jerk off." Right? Am I living in another America that all of a sudden doesn't jerk off in the shower?

- Soundcheck was a little on the rough side. For whatever reason, my vocals were either completely missing from the mix or loud enough to split the very core of Nate's and Keith's souls. After much bitching to our extremely patient sound engineer Brian, the mix was to our liking and we hit the airwaves.

- The live broadcast started on a few sour notes and missed bass parts. Personally, I thought I sounded like crap for the first two to three numbers. Playing for the radio is a little weird because it mixes the usual anxiety of live performance with the additional anxiety of being recorded for posterity and ever and ever. I guess it got to me a little because I messed up notes that I normally can nail in my sleep (I sleep with my bass. What? Don't judge me.). After a few songs, we loosened up and started to find the groove. By the end of the set, Scamper was feeling pretty Scamperrific.

- After our set, we waited about 10 minutes for our interview segment to begin. In between, our kind host Jeff played a song that I would describe as a mix between an Indian raga and a squirrel with its tail caught in a paper shredder. If you survived this song to wait for our interview, you are a true fan. Scamper salutes you.

- During the interview, I accomplished most of my pre-determined goals: a) I made fun of Mike. 2) By request, I managed to use "cannibal" and "Darryl Hall" in the same sentence, as well as "It's like having a pickle in my pocket," much to the delight of the lovely Ms. Stacy. III) I made our host Jeff look at me as if I had a third head growing out of my already-sprouted demon second head.

Overall, it was a successful appearance. Keith listened to the mix afterward and said it sounded okay, except for the low-mixed vocals. Any thoughts from the listeners? How'd it sound out there?

You know what's a good thing? DayQuil is a good thing. It's not quite as good as NyQuil, because NyQuil makes me go sleepy sleepy sloo. But DayQuil enables me to be with you on this fine snowy morning, depsite the fact that every hole in my head is stuffed full of hardened crazy glue and my lungs are regurgitating every shade of green mucousy goodness.

Yes, I'm feeling better today. Thank you all for your "concern."

As you might be able to tell, this DayQuil stuff makes me really loopy. Hell, I feel downright incoherent. Donkey adhesive blumberbeans. See? It made utter sense to me to type that last sentence. That's what this DayQuil shit does to me. It's like Colonel Sanders and a stapler were down at the karaoke bar with Mike Lookinland and Vicki the robot from Small Wonder. Know what I'm saying?

If you think I'm in bad shape now, wait until you hear me on the radio tonight. WMBR 88.1FM at 8pm. At least I'm not too high to shill.