Time once again for some of Brendo's New Year's resolutions. As you read yesterday, I miserably failed in all my attempts at bettering myself and achieving my goals in 2005. Here's hoping I can do a little better this year. In 2006, I resolve to:

- Try to get my shilling out of the way early, like reminding everyone to get their tickets early for the big Scamper/Kay Hanley show at TT the Bear's on Thursday, January 5. The place always sells out whenever Kay comes back to town, so be sure to plan ahead lest you end up looking like a right old New Year's jerkoff.

- Finally hunt down and drive a stake through the heart of Count Chocula. He's been terrorizing the Transylvania countryside for too many years and it is time for him to die. And don't even get me started on Yummy Mummy.

- Stop using "effect" when I really mean "affect." I'll admit it - I have a degree in English and I've never quite mastered this one. Along the same lines, I'll try to stop using the term "Old Touchy-in-the-Bad-Place McGillicuddy" when I really mean "Grandpa."

- Try to write less in this space about my drummer's balls. Really, I know it's been funny and we've all had a good laugh, but it's time to stop. It's just flat-out immature. Besides, there are other parts of Mike's undercarriage besides his huge balls that are going tragically underappreciated, like his wrinkly shaft and his bulbous taint. (Note: I actually made myself a little uncomfortable with that last line. That's a New Year's first.)

- Start the revolution. I don't want to give too much away, but Scamper is hatching a little project that's going to revolutionize the way we entertain you in 2006. It's still in the planning stages now, but it should be very cool. So stay tuned. And yes, that's a fucking tease and a half.

Enough from me. Anyone else have any resolutions?

2005 is winding to a whimpering close. Before I offer my resolutions for 2006, I thought it might be fun and space-filling to take a look back at the resolutions I made in this space last year. Won't that be fun? And time-consuming?

So let's take a little sip of the mysterious Scamper Time Drink (patent pending) and travel all the way back to the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Four to see how I did with last year's resolutions. These resolutions actually appeared on this page on December 29, 2004. Check yourself if you don't believe me, Sally Doesn't-Trust-People:

Speaking of the future, it's time for a few New Year's resolutions. In 2005, I plan to:

- help pick up the broken pieces of manhood that used to be Nate and Mike when they return from New Orleans next week. It's not going to be pretty, people.

Well, Nate and Mike survived in 2005, but New Orleans didn't. Coincidence? I. Think. NOT.

- learn to speak Spanish. Failing that, I'll learn Spanglish. Then, Engspan with a possible side order of Sanscrit. When I can't pull that off, I'll just hang out down at Anna's Taqueria and eat burritos.

Nope. Didn't learn any Spanish or Spanglish. But I did learn that the Picante's Mexican food place in Davis Square, Somerville is going to be replaced by a Spike's Junkyard Dogs hot dog restaurant. And for this alone, I look forward to 2006 with a tingly feeling in my doodacky.

- finally beat Mike Tyson's Punchout. I know the game is like 40 years old at this stage, but I just can't get by Don Flamenco. He paralyzes me with his Latin machismo.

Nothing doing. However, I heard a rumor that in 2005 Don Flamenco and Starman from Pro Wrestling finally made their common-law marriage official and moved to the magical kingdom of Hyrule. They're very happy together. King Korn Khan got them a nice dinette set.

- convince you to get that mole removed. Seriously, I'm worried about that thing.

What did I tell you? Next time, listen to my unsolicited medical advice. It looks like you've got Gary Coleman's head growing out of your ass.

- avoid tsunamis. What? Too soon?

Man, I was so edgy in late 2004. I've gotten soft.

- rock out with Fooled By April at the New Year's bash at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge. Shill shill shill. Whore whore whore. I'm still sifting through those random "makeout at midnight" offers that have been rolling in. Dudes?

If memory serves, I didn't get any action that night, but I did wake up with a strange rash on my uvula. I blame Pete Galea.

- appreciate how lucky I am every single day. Sorry, snuck in a serious one there. Have a great and safe New Year everyone.

Ditto and ditto. I'll share my 2006 resolutions with you some time this week. Unless I resolve to stop writing dumb shit on the internet every day. Then, you're out of luck.

Hope everyone had a happy Christmas and your stocking was stuffed with fifty dollar bills, eight balls and other wonderful holiday cheer. It wasn't a great Christmas for me, as I accidentally maimed one of Santa's elves in a tragic wassailing accident. The village children just cried and cried. Not pretty.

Other than that, the holiday was pretty nice. Spent lots of time with the extended family - it's always reassuring to be reminded that most of my personality quirks are very likely genetic. Everyone in my family is like this. It's not just me.

One funny holiday anecdote - my newly-married brother Colum was fixing an extra-strong screwdriver (a.k.a. a giant glass of vodka with just a hint of orange juice for color) for his new father-in-law when we had the following exchange:

Colum: We've found that he's easier to deal with around the holidays the more liquor he's got in him.
Me: Man, I envy that.
Colum: What do you mean?
Me: Someday, I hope to be so difficult that the family has to employ strategies to deal with me.
Colum: (looks at me) Oh, we've got strategies.

How was everyone else's holiday? Any embarrassing/awkward family stories this year? Those are my favorites.

What's that sound you hear? That's the bottom of the barrel being scraped.

All right! Time for one last Scamper Christmas carol! I'm pretty sure Nate won't talk to me afte this one:

(sung to the tune of "Oh, Christmas Tree")

Oh Diggity, Oh Diggity!
You're oh so smart and witty,
Oh Diggity, Oh Diggity!
Your eyeliner is pretty.

With model cheeks and bod skinny,
You're the vision of androgyny.

Oh Diggity, Oh Diggity!
We think you're just swe-ell.
Oh Diggity, Oh Diggity!
We don't ask, you don't te-ell.

And... I'm spent. Merry Christmas and may God have mercy on all your souls.

Here we go! It's time for Scamper Christmas carol number two! Try not to throw up in your mouth too much!

(Sung to the tune of "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town")

Oh, you better watch out,
You better really try,
You better not be late,
Or he'll poke you in the eye -
Santa Keith is coming to town.

He's making a list,
He's checking it twice,
He's checking it a third time,
And then double checking against his master "list of lists" -
Santa Keith is coming to town.

He schedules when you're sleeping,
He schedules when you pee,
He says that he's just organized,
But it's really OCD.

Oh, you better not eat,
That sandwich Keith labeled,
I really think that boy
Is a little unstable -
Santa Keith is coming to toooooooooooooown!

Eesh. This abortion of a concept will mercifully end tomorrow with the Nate song. Why do I have such freakish commitment to a bit that's clearly not working? The Christmas spirit can make a man do terrible, terrible things.

It's Christmas time! Time for some Scamper-related Christmas carols! Gather the kids around the yule log and sing along!

(sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells")

Mikey's Balls, Mikey's Balls,
They are really huge!
If you don't love Mikey's Balls,
You're a big old Scrooge!

Mikey's Balls, Mikey's Balls
Oh, how big they are!
You can sail your sleigh by them,
They shine like a Christmas star!

Dashing through Mike's pubes,
Right past Mikey's shaft,
There haven't been some balls this big
Since William Howard Taft!

Mike's balls are made of snow
And tasty candy canes,
What fun it is to find out just what
Mike's scrotum contains!

Oh, Mikey's Balls, Mikey's Balls
They are big and bold
They generate a glowing heat
And keep us from the cold.

Mikey's Balls, Mikey's Balls,
They will save us all!
Santa wishes that his nuts
Could be half as enthrall... ing.

Yeah, I know - not that funny. I'll think twice before I make promises of original Christmas songs again. Just wait and see what I come up with for Keith's song tomorrow! Maybe!

Bleh. What the crap? This is supposed to be a holiday week, no? Why the Christ am I working Monday through Friday? This turn of events doesn't fill me with ho ho happiness. Grrrr...

But enough with the cranky poo. It's my favorite time of year. I love everything about Christmas. Santa coming down the chimney and plucking out a single grey pube for the children to play with for the entire year. It's a heart-warming story, especially the way my grandfather used to tell it. It was always followed by holiday-themed game of Good Touch/Bad Touch featuring a special appearance from Blumpkin, one of Santa's lesser known reindeer.

Nothing's going to kill my Christmas spirit. As a matter of fact, I just decided that this week, I'm going to let up a little on my one-man war on Christmas (it's been going really well, especially since I sent anthrax to Frosty the Snowman) and delight you all with some original winter/holiday songs prominently featuring your very own members of Scamper. Unless of course I change my mind or can't think of a clever way to rhyme "Nate" with "seasonal affective disorder."

In the meantime, anyone have any good Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa stories about how fucked up their family is? People like those.

Today was the last broadcast of the Howard Stern show on terrestrial radio and I've got to admit - I'm a little sad about it. I've been listening to Howard since he came to BCN when I was in high school. Listening in my bedroom in the dark (they aired it at night for the first 6 months or so), I was hooked within the first few minutes. I immediately felt like I was part of the gang. Busting on each other, making outrageous, juvenile jokes (in case you didn't notice, my sense of humor can lean toward the blue), pulling back the curtain on the absurd things that other people took too seriously like race and sex and celebrity - listening to the Stern show felt like hanging out with my friends.

Several years ago, I worked a soul-crushing data entry job for 8 hours a day. It was just me and a room full of middle-aged women with whom I had nothing in common. For survival, I put my headphones on and quietly listened to the Stern show. The first few hours of the day flew by. One time, I laughed out loud (at a particularly well timed Jackie-related sound effect, for you Stern devotees) and looked around the room. All the ladies in the room were laughing, too. One of them turns to me and says, "I hate Jackie." Even though these women weren't in Stern's typical demographic (they were mostly conservative middle aged Catholic white women), his show helped them get through the day just like it helped me. I was always a little sad when the show ended around 10:30 and I had to face the rest of the day without him.

Sadly, I will not be getting a sattelite radio because I'm broke. Even though my commute lately has allowed me to only listen to the show for about 5 minutes a day, I will miss Howard. He influenced my sense of humor a great deal and made me feel like I wasn't so alone in the world.

Myspace teaches you the most amazing things. We recently learned that Scamper is apparently embroiled in a bitter feud with the Click Five. Yeah, we were surprised too, but the girls on myspace don't lie. Here's what we got in our inbox:

GIRL:
hey,
so like yeah um i c you and the click five are not the best of friends
anymore you guys look more like worst enemies idk well comment me back
....luv ya

Surprised, we wrote back:

SCAMPER:
What makes you say that? We like and respect them just fine. Did they
say something?

To which she responded:

GIRL:
well idk i just wasnt sure b/c it is like they have forgotten abt you
and like well it sounds like they want to be better and they like
black - mailed you .....................................soory didnt
mean to insult you or anything
.......................................luv ya


Okay, listen up, Click Five - if you want a war, you've got a war. Apparently, you guys are blackmailing us without our knowledge! What's up with that? It doesn't even make any sense! You think just because you're younger and more successful than us that somehow that makes you... younger and more successful? Well, I've got news for you, little misters... it's on! You fucked with the wrong hombres, muchachos.

Is it technically a feud if one band doesn't even really remember that the other one exists? I'm not sure. I need to check Fred Durst's blog for how to do this right. More to come...

Maybe I should pick on Aloud instead - they're about to take off. As a matter of fact, you should tune into the the Fox 25 morning show tomorrow at 8am. At least Henry will return my witty barbs. Granted, he just quotes The Family Guy at me. No creativity in that boy.

It was good to get out and mingle with all you rock and roll folks at the Middle East Christmas party last night. And by "mingle," I of course mean "stand in the corner and hope no one talks to me."

I'm usually not shy at parties or anything, but when it's a "business" type of affair, I tend to clam up for some reason. I can be sort of useless at these "let's get together and schmooze about our bands" things. I think the problem is that when I'm out at these events, I'm not just representing myself - I'm representing the respected institution of Scamper, Inc. So I have to be on my best behavior.

Of course, this means that I can't use any of my time-tested, well-worn Christmas party opening lines, such as:

"Excuse me, sir - you have mistletoe hanging out of your snatch."

"You know, some people say there is no such thing as Santa. But I say there's no such thing as Sanka. Instant coffee, my ass."

"I love the holidays - my pubes always feel like fiber glass this time of year."

"One thing I've never understood about the nativity scene - why do they always have the baby Jesus wearing minstrel show-era black-face? It just seems historically inaccurate to me is all."

"Ho ho ho - I've got full-blown Hodgkins. Can I borrow your car keys?"

Wow - I can almost hear all those Christmas party invites being reneged. Happy Kwanzaa and don't forget to vote for us.

In all my complaining about my food poisoning and vomitatiousness this weekend, I neglected to offer a word on the death of Richard Pryor. I know - it borders on the ridiculous for a white guy from the suburbs to think he has anything insightful to say about Richard Pryor. And I don't really - I just thought he was a funny, brave bastard and I admired him a lot. Performers of all kinds - comedy, music, kabuki theater - could stand to learn from the way he turned his private pain into public laughter.

Now, that doesn't mean I would have wanted to hang out with the guy. From everything I've read about him, he was pretty awful to be around. Based out of his head, violent - he famously pulled a gun in a script meeting with Hollywood producers because they wanted to cut a joke. The same coin that made him edgy and hilarious had a dangerous flip side.

I was thinking similar thoughts when I was watching Walk the Line this weekend (excellent movie, by the way) and thinking - man, I love Johnny Cash's music, but... he was such a bastard. I certainly wouldn't be able to put up with him.

When I was younger, I used to want to meet the artists whose work I admired. Now, I tend to think they'll either be boring (like 99% of the celebrities I met when I was living in Beverly Hills) or giant raging pricks.

It's an interesting point of discussion: whose work do you really like, but NOT want to meet because they're probably insufferable assholes? David Cross and Jeff Tweedy top my list. I don't get the impression (based on documentaries) that either of them is super arrogant, suffering from ego trips or anything. I tend to think that part of what makes their comedy and music respectively so good is that they're probably pretty miserable creatures. In other words - great artists not so much fun at parties.

Anyone else think about this shit? Or is it just me?

Sorry I left you bitches high and dry on Friday - I spent the greater part of Thursday night and Friday morning vomiting my innards out. Don't worry, it was nothing serious - just a mild case of the bird flu. I guess my doctor was right - I probably shouldn't have had unprotected sex with that dead ostrich I found by the side of the highway. Hey, what can I say? Sometimes opportunity knocks and you're left unprepared. Avian passion waits for no man. Don't judge me.

But my yuke-induced absence means I'm a few days late on a little announcement. If you've been checking out the Kay Hanley website, you already know: when you come to the show on January 5 at TT the Bear's Place in Cambridge, you will be able to purchase a limited edition split single - a new song by Kay along with "Barcelona" by Scamper featuring Kay.

The details are still being worked out - it looks like the original "let's make a 7 inch collector's version on vinyl" idea has proved impossible due to the short timetable and embarrassing lack of advances in vinyl-pressing technology over the past 50 years. But it should be very cool and both the Hanley and Scamper camps are very excited about bringing this unique item to the people.

I'll keep you posted on all the news about the show and the project as it becomes available to me. And God bless America.

Not to get overtly political with you this morning, but I know a great many of you have expressed your disgust with the political process. You're passionate, active citizens. You put in all this energy campaigning and get excited about the prospects of your candidate winning, only to have your vote rendered meaningless by countless herds of stupider citizens with much worse taste than you. It almost makes you want to give up voting at all. Why bother if you're just going to lose in the end anyway?

Look, it was only a Hanson show. You've got to get over it, people.

In fact, you should get right back on that voting horse by heading over to the Noise Poll, the annual Best of Boston-type thingamajig. This year, Scamper is nominated for:

Album of the Year (Leave Your Glasses On)
Song of the Year (The Proof is Altogether Too Late)
CD Cover Art (Leave Your Glasses On)
Disappointment of the Year (Scamper doesn't open for Hanson)

Needless to day, we're particularly excited about being nominated for "Disappointment of the Year." If we win that one, we'll advertised it everywhere... and not mention the Hanson part. Scamper would officially be the 2005 Disappointment of the Year. It would look great on a poster.

While you're over there, our producer Tom Polce is up for (ironically enough) Producer of the Year. Tom is not only the guy-behind-the-guys, but also a big cuddly teddybear that gives out cinammon kisses and poops toy trucks for underpriveleged children. He deserves your vote is what I'm saying. So get out there and vote, Americans!

Today is a day that will live in infamy... it's Mrs. Madden's birthday! Heeeeyyyy!!!! Happy birthday, Lauren and thanks for taking a chance on a broken-down shell of a man with syphillis all those years ago. I'm pretty sure Madden would have been found dead in a pool of KY jelly somewhere in Canada without you.

In less birthday-riffic news, I know many of you read this item in the news this morning and immediately thought: "Hmmm... Scamper plays at Brandeis and then this happens. Coincidence? I. Think. NOT!"

But in Mike's defense, it's not as weird as it sounds. He merely sneaks into college girls' rooms, gently strokes their hair while they sleep and collects a piece of their underwear for his "college girl white cotton panties diarama." See? There is nothing sexual about it at all - it's an ongoing art project. Mike is an artist and you can't judge him. So get your minds out of the gutter, you pervies.

Actually, when I showed Keith that news item this morning, the first thing he writes back is "Kudos to Mike for getting us some press."

Phew - I'm sure exhausted from shoveling all that snow. Eek - my back is screaming. The whole "they say it's going to snow and it doesn't snow" thing is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I'm always happy not to shovel. But conversely, I was planning on using the snow as an excuse to sleep in and be late for work today. Now, I have to once again blame on the methamphetamine addiction. My boss is getting a little sick of hearing that one.

I would recommend Jesus Is Magic, the Sarah Silverman stand-up/sketch movie, but only if you're into jokes about rape, incest and other sick stuff... which, if you've spent even a little time reading this journal, you know that I am. The most refreshing part of Silverman's act is that although she pushes all your buttons by talking about sexual, racial and cultural taboos, there's not an ounce of preachiness or "look at yourselves, America" that plagued her predecessors like Lenny Bruce, George Carlin and Bill Hicks (comics I loved, by the way).

No, Silverman seems only interested in being funny. That's it. No message, no ironic examination of stereotypes in America. No moment when she asks you to stop and think about why you're uncomfortable about her making jokes about her dead grandmother being raped. She just makes you laugh.

The movie's not perfect by any stretch. There are a few musical numbers, which fall short of the mark in my opinion. (But then again, I hate musicals. I think that everyone who lined up for tickets to the movie Rent should be legally compelled to register their reproductive organs with the government.) I would have been just as happy to see a solid hour and a half of Silverman's stand-up. But then again without the "You're All Going to Die" musical number, we wouldn't get to see her prancing around a nursing home in pigtails and a school-girl skirt. There are exceptions to every rule, is what I'm saying.

So two thumbs up for Jesus Is Magic. Anyone else see it?

Kudos to all the Brandeis Filthy Pandas (actual mascot name) for joining us at Chum's Coffeehouse on Friday night. We made some new friends and had a blast. Some highlights:

- As we are known primarily in the Boston scene for our punctuality, we arrived at the venue with plenty of time to spare. As we unpacked our gear and prepared for a lengthy soundcheck, Nate looked around, turned to us and said, "Did I forget to bring my guitar?"

We all had a good laugh about what an Alzheimers-ridden douchebag Nate had become in his old age. Just as I was about to rip into him some more, I looked around. "Wait - did I forget my bass?" Turns out I'm the douchebag, too. Nate and I were so excited to play for all the Brandeisianologists that we forgot our actual instruments. That we need. You know, to play the show.

- Chum's is a coffeehouse (read: no beer), so it was a blessing-in-disguise that Nate and I had to go back to my house for the guitars as we were also able to pick up some beer to feed the Mikey. No beer before a show makes Mikey something something. Go crazy? Don't mind if I do! A;L;LASKD;LAO;DS,AS;LJ!!!

We arrived outside the venue to find, much to our surprise, that Mike was crouching in the back of a strange van. My first instinct was naturally: "Oh no - my drummer is being molested by a clown!" Nate and I burst into to the van to rescue him, only to find Mike drinking with the members of Baker, the opening band.

Nate and I joined the crew to pound a few back when the members of Baker looked at their watches and said "Oh shit - we're on." As Baker left to rock the muthafuckin' (coffee)house, they left us alone in their van with their beer. Bad idea jeans. It became a Prohibition-era speakeasy in there. I'm not even sure what that means, but I'm pretty sure it involved some flappers.

- Once we hit the stage, we had an absolute blast. Chum's has a bunch of couches everywhere, so we were worried that the audience would lounge around in berets, sip lattes with their pinkies up and scoff at us by ironically raising their eyebrows in our general direction. But it was a terrific crowd with a lot of fun energy. A good time was had by Scamper.

So thanks again to Brandeis for having us - we hope to be back there very soon.

Thanks to Tom for organizing the Toys for Fucking Tots drive at the Courtside last night. It was a smashing success - big uppies for all of you who came out, brought a toy and listened to me drunkenly murder "Hole Hearted" by Extreme.

On the topic of drunkie drunkie droo droo, I woke up this morning after a long evening of alcohol consumption both at Scamper rehearsal and at karaoke madness. I took a shower, got dressed and started driving to work - as I'm wont to do on weekdays - when I realized that I felt a little funny. It wasn't a hangover per se - there's no pain or headache or dizziness. I actually felt pretty good - better than I do most mornings after a bender.

And then it hit me - I'm still drunk. Right now, as I'm typing this, I'm still a little drunk. I'm sitting at work in my crap job, still drunkie doodle dandy. Blah blah blah. I'm drunk drunk drunk. ap;ljopdahdjhasdhopa...

Hopefully I'll sober up before the show at Brandeis tonight. See? Never too drunk to plug.

Hey there, my little labradoodles - check our shit out: we're in the Notes section of the Boston Phoenix this week. See, that's the thing about our shit. It just don't stank.

Speaking of stank, I hope everyone within the sound of my internet-amplified voice has had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to watch R. Kelly's "Trapped in the Closet" video by now. I know I'm a little late on getting to this subject matter, but I finally had the chance to catch the VH1 version. Oh. My. Jebus. It might be the greatest piece of televised comedy since that Rosie O'Donnell retarded movie.

If you haven't caught it, "Trapped in the Closet" is R. Kelly's "urban opera," in which Kelly talk-sings his way through these insipid, ridiculous "plot twists" while he and a group of actors "dramatize" the action. The best part is - it's clear that Kelly is taking the whole thing very seriously. He's a singer and now an actor and this... well, this is his masterpiece. It's so hilarious that you almost can't laugh because you're in shock at how hilarious it all is.

As a special bonus on the VH1 version, there are interviews with the opera players in character. It makes no sense whatsoever. Top notch. Please do me a personal favor and watch it the next time it's on. I promise you - you won't be sorry.

Speaking of favors, don't forget to bring by a toy for a fucking tot to karaoke at the Courtside tonight. Feeling good about yourself for helping the little bastards, you'll then come see Scamper at Brandeis tomorrow night. After that, your duties are fulfilled and you are dismissed. For now.