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Okay, just a quick couple of things here before you can get outside and enjoy this wonderful New England spring day (unless of course you're reading somewhere else in the world where it's nice all the time, in which case you can bite my balls):
- The Middle East, Monday night April 3. WBCN Rumble. Blah blah blah. We've beat it to death already, but we'd really appreciate it if you could make it down. Your support means the world to us.
- Speaking of support, be sure to stop by The Comedy Studio
(3rd floor of the Hong Kong in Harvard Square, Cambridge MA) tonight and support the Reverend Tim McIntire
for his big CD release show. You may remember the good Reverend from Episode 1.4 of the Scamper Podcast
, so you know he's the funniest guy in Boston. He's also one of the best nicest guys I know, so be sure to stop by the Studio and laugh your little arse off. I believe Fellow Friends of Scamper (F.F.O.S.) the Walsh Brothers
will also be performing. Foo!
- Baseball season is happening again! Hip hip! Yesterday, I had my first fantasy draft (I'm in two leagues this year) and I rolled the dice on Barry Bonds in the eighth round. He'll either end the season breaking the records of Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron or breaking stones on the side of the highway. I like them thar odds. No one in the game delivers entertainment value year after year than B Dubs. That's what I call him.
Anyone want to get on record for baseball predictions for the year?
I know how boring it is to hear about other people's dreams, but I had an anxiety dream last night that just might mean something. The origin of the anxiety is either the upcoming Rumble show (this Monday April 3 at the Middle East Upstairs
) or the approximately 1.78 tons of salsa I ingested ten minutes before I went to bed.
So in the dream, I am late for the Daytime Emmy awards. Apparently, I am up for an Emmy (the dream gods didn't share for what) and I am not sure whether I am going to go because even in dream life, I think awards shows are stupid. So my dad convinces me that I should go just in case I win, because it might be a good opportunity to pull some big prank.
Aside: it's always been a recurrent fantasy of mine to win some big award that everyone thinks is actually important (Oscar, Emmy, class valedictorian, etc.) and make a complete mockery of the awards during my acceptance speech with juvenile fart and masturbation jokes. This fantasy has haunted
me since I was in junior high. I've never outgrown it. I want it so bad I can taste it. Luckily for the world, I have achieved nothing worthy of any acclaim whatsoever.
So back to the dream - I'm late for the Daytime Emmy awards and now I realize I have nothing to wear. I want to wear jeans and a t-shirt to further mock the system, because even in dreams I'm a wicked bad-ass. Then, this weird morphed combination of my dead grandmother and Joan Rivers shows up in my room to berate me for not wearing a tuxedo. This was every bit as frightening as it sounds. I woke up immediately. End of dream.
Speaking of Daytime Emmys, a friend of mine when I was living in LA (who has since gone on to bigger things
) won a Daytime Emmy for her role in a soap opera, leading to the following exchange:Her:
Take a look at this. I won an Emmy!Me:
Wow, that's great! Congratulations! (looks at the statue; disappointed)
Nothing... it's just... it's a Daytime
Emmy.Her: (punches me in the stomach)
I'm such a dick. I really am.
In the history of this proud institution known as Scamper, we have accomplished a great many things of which we are quite proud. We've been lucky enough to open for some of our rock heroes, play to sold out clubs and have our songs spun all over the world. Heck, we're even playing the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble on Monday night April 3 at the Middle East Upstairs (tix available hnyaw
But not until early this morning when I received a bit of news in my email box did I really feel like we made it
. Scamper has arrived.
Gay men are having sex to our music.
I mean, I guess I always sort of assumed
gay guys were porking to Scamper tunes on a nightly basis, but that probably has more to do with my sick imagination than anything else. Hey hey - don't judge me. You trying looking across the stage at the bespectacled haunting eyes of Mr. Nate Rogers every night. Even the most staunchly heterosexual males among us would have to field at least a few inner questions.
But this morning, my suspicions were proven to be correct as "Sophie" was played on the Gay Porn Talk
podcast. Note: I'm not sure if this link is safe for work. I clicked on the link for a second... and then realized I was at work and quickly closed the window. Luckily, my IT people will find "www.gayporntalk.com" in my browser history. So that's good news for me.
"But Brendo," you may be saying, "just because your music was featured on a podcast about gay porn doesn't mean that gay guys are actually fucking to it. Why do you have to make such assumtions, Assumey Johnson?" Well, I'll tell you why, Doubty Magee - the description of the show actually
reads:I am one of the hosts of our show and I do a weekly segment on Music to Fuck to (MTFT) where we try to feature indie bands that our listeners might not have heard of.
Scamper is officially MTFT in the gay community. Tremendous. You know, sometimes - life is a gift. It's just a gift that keeps on giving.
If you think about it, this is the next logical step for our careers. And we're really going for it. Next summer, we're touring P-Town, Fire Island, etc. And keep an eye out on the internet for our leaked Wycked Sceptre-style party tape (look it up).
There's a Rumble in my pants and everyone's invited.
So yeah, Scamper is participating in the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble
this Monday April 3 at the Middle East Upstairs with Taxpayer
, Mach 5
and Plan B
. Should be an ecclectic and fun way to spend your Monday night. If I'm missing the post-WrestleMania WWE Monday Night RAW, then so are you, bitches. (Sorry - no more wrestling talk, anonymous).
For those of you unfamiliar with the WBCN Rumble, it started in March 1976 (pre-dating this bouncing baby bassist by a good five months) and has grown into a Boston tradition. If you want to brush up on your Rumble history, someone took the time to put together a Rumble scrapbook right hnyaw
Looking through the list of bands that have played this thing over the years, I'm struck by the fact that... hell, I've never heard of any of these people. Beyond 'til Tuesday, the Sheila Divine and the Dresden Dolls, I've got nothing. But then again, I'm not very "hep." People "in the know" tell me that everyone who's anyone in this town's rock scene has played the Rumble. I guess that means that in future years, aging hipsters will look back at the 2006 WBCN Rumble and say:Aging hipster #1:
Hey, remember the band Scamper?Aging hipster #2:
No.Aging hipster #1:
Sure, they danced around and were all really gay for each other.Aging hipster #2:
Oh wait, didn't they lose in the first round of the 2006 Rumble?Aging hipster #1:
Yeah, and the four of them just started crying and spooning with each other, right there on stage in front of everyone.Aging hipster #2:
Yeah, that's them. And didn't the singer's mother invent White Out?Aging hipster #1:
No, you're thinking of the Monkees.Aging hipster #2:
Right. Oh, I remember - right after losing the Rumble, didn't the bassist of Scamper go on a five-state killing spree on which he suffocated twenty-two prostitutes using potato sacks filled with porridge?Aging hipster #1:
Yeah, that was cool. Want to go down to Allston and pick up BU girls?Aging hipster #2:
Dude, we're like 60. (pause) I'll drive.
Ok, I feel myself running out of pimp juice and it's only Tuesday. I'm going to scale the Whore-o-matic machine down to low for the next couple days, but only if you make me feel like we're not going to play to an empty crowd on Monday night. Who's coming to the show, soldiers?
Good morning, soldiers. Episode 1.8 of the Scamper Podcast is up and running for your listening pleasure right... over... hnyaw
. Nate was sick while we were taping, so this episode is a special treat for all of those many listeners out in podcastland who can't fucking stand Nate.
Speaking of listening pleasure, Nate and I were driving home last night and had the pleasure of hearing ourselves on WBCN
. Apparently, Shred was playing music from all the bands in this year's WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble. And heck, that's us! Nestled right in there in the bosom of all those terrific bands was your old buddies Scamper. Fa!
The Rumble is a week from tonight. Can you f'ing believe it? Okay, you probably haven't been giving it all that much thought, what with the March Madness and MLB Opening Day coming up and the rumors about Lindsay Lohan being the next Wonder Woman
. But it's very exciting for us.
Scamper is jacked to be playing in this year's Rumble. It's a rite of passage for Boston bands to be involved in this thing and we'd love it if you guys all came out and supported us. The line-up is here
and the tickets are available here
. Practice your consoling "the important thing is that you tried" faces for when Plan B
stomps a new one in our girly bespectacled asses.
Just to warn you - it's going to be a whorin' week. I'm going to pimp out the Rumble show so hard that it would make Jessica Simpson's dad blush.
Anyone else see the "Chef leaves" episode of South Park
this week? Very funny stuff, especially this throwaway line:
Cartman: "What do you call a Jewish woman's boobs? Jewbs."
Ever since it was announced that Isaac Hayes was leaving South Park
because he was offended by the religious humor, something about the story just wasn't been sitting right with me. In January, I read an interview
with Hayes in the The Onion A.V. Club
in which he said the following: AVC: There's some pretty harsh satire on South Park. They don't really care who they offend.
IH: But that's their thing! They're success was built on that cutting-edge stuff. I've had to defend them a lot of times. One time on BET Tonight I defended them because Tavis Smiley, the host on that show, was coming at me. It was a call-in show, too, so people were calling in. I told them not to take this stuff seriously. If you do, you'll get in trouble. Just enjoy it. Remember your high-school yearbook? You look at those pictures now, you laugh, right? That's what South Park is. You got to laugh at it. Because we cursed, but we just didn't dare let the principals, the teachers, or the preachers hear it. And we didn't turn out bad, okay? Just look at it that way. Also, usually there's some kind of moral message at the end for the kids, by the Chef.
AVC: They did just do an episode that made fun of your religion, Scientology. Did that bother you?
IH: Well, I talked to Matt and Trey about that. They didn't let me know until it was done. I said, "Guys, you have it all wrong. We're not like that. I know that's your thing, but get your information correct, because somebody might believe that shit, you know?" But I understand what they're doing. I told them to take a couple of Scientology courses, and understand what we do. [Laughs.]
Seems like a pretty reasonable guy with a good sense of humor, which makes this story
from him all the more curious:In a statement explaining his sudden departure from the Comedy Central show, Hayes, 63, did not mention the Scientology episode but condemned its general attitude towards religion as part of what he regarded as "growing insensitivity toward personal spiritual beliefs" in the mass media, including the recent controversy over the Danish cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammad.
Hayes said: "There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry toward religious beliefs . . . begins."
It's odd that someone would suddenly have such a strong change of heart. It just doesn't feel like the same guy, does it? Well, there may be more to this story than meets the eye as the New York Post
reports:Isaac Hayes may not have quit "South Park" at all - or at least not willingly. Turns out Hayes has been away from Comedy Central's hit show for the past three months because he had a stroke. According to foxnews.com, he's at home recuperating and did not issue the press release which said he was quitting because the show made fun of his faith. That release was put out by fellow Scientologist Christina "Kumi" Kimball, a fashion executive for designer Craig Taylor. According to foxnews.com, "Hayes loves 'South Park' and needs it for income. He has a new wife and a baby on the way."
Granted, this report comes through the New York Post via Fox News, two completely untrustworthy sources. Still, could the church of scientology take advantage of the stroke of one of its most famous members just to make a political statement like this? I mean, is there any depth of despicable to which these people won't sink?
Sometimes, humanity just makes me sad. Have a good weekend, friends.
Continuing with the discussion about Adam Vinatieri, I got an email yesterday from good friend and proud BrendoThong owner Dawn which was so brilliant that I decided to share it with you in its entirety. Also, it means that I don't have to come up with anything to write today. Take it away, Dawn:I'm not really sure what to say about this one. I am not sure if this will help ease your fears, but I am reading a book on Belichick called "Education of a Coach" and something I read this morning helped ease mine. As for the book, it's not very good and I don't recommend it. I'll write a better one someday, so don't waste your money now. Anyway, this morning on the train it said the following which struck a chord with me in light of last night's activities:
"Instead he understood that the way to deal with the cap was to create a system and to play for the future as well as the present."
The cap is Bill's bitch, he owns it and he works it better than anyone I've ever seen. Bill and his coaches have always had an uncanny way of getting the right players (not the best players, the right players), utilizing them to maximize their potential and then getting rid of them when they no longer function in the system. He has never had anyone on the team for "too long," which is how he plays for the future as well as the present and finds success in both realms. The man consistently wins - despite turnover in key player personnel each year, which I view as a good thing. This goes back to his Cleveland days when he had an aging Kosar on his team, kept him around for too long because he was Cleveland's golden boy and then got rid of him in the wrong way and paid the price for it. Bill learned a valuable lesson from this which you can see signs of implementation of today.
To further illustrate my point, let's discuss a few names: Law, Milloy, Bledsoe, Tebucky, Andruzzi, Woody, and Patten. All of these people were on the 2001 Championship roster and none of them were on the 2005 roster. Law got so greedy he isn't even on anyone's 2006 roster. We have lost some big time key players over the last few years, but are you actually missing any of those people? I'm sure not. They were utilized to their maximum ability in New England and then cut at just the right time and have not enjoyed the same success since leaving New England. Is this just a coincidence? There are no coincidences. Adam is just another name on this list which now also includes McGinest and Givens and you know what? We'll still make the playoffs this year despite our mini-fireside sale.
Belichick has developed a system and I have more faith in him than I do in the Governor of my state, the President of my country and the God of my world. Whoever comes in to replace Adam will not be as talented, but he will be good enough and Bill will be smart enough to adapt the team around his new kicker. And sure Bill Simmons will have something to say about this (see what he said about McGinest if you haven't already:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/060315), but I'm really not sweating it. There will be a lot of Adam Vinatieri shirts turned into dust rags and I'll have to come up with a new Patriot's Game Day dessert since I can't make Adam Vinatiramisu anymore, but I can handle that because I have faith in Bill and I think the team will be just fine.
Viva la Revolucion,
* Disclaimer: If the New England Patriots play the Indianapolis Colts in the AFC Playoffs in 2007 and Adam Vinatieri kicks the game winning field goal, everything mentioned above is no longer valid and the author of this email will not be held liable in anyway.
Sorry, fellas - she's taken.
For those of you who haven't checked it out yet, the Jugganautz
dance remix of "Sophie" is up on our MySpace
page. I know some of your are still "rolling" from your Tuesday night "raves," so you should feel right at home grinding on each other and getting really into the texture of your velvet pantaloons. Oh, I know the "happs."
So Adam Vinatieri is on the Colts now. Everybody just cooooool out! He's just the kicker, people. So he doesn't get to finish his career as a Patriot. So freakin' what? He'll be back at retirement time to be inducted into the Patriots Hall of Fame and cash in on those sweet New England Pizza Hut advertising dollars. Then, we'll all be able to relive the memories. Until then, we'll get someone more affordable. It's time to move on.
Here's the thing I don't get about sports fans: everyone complains that athletes are overpaid and spoiled and blah blah blah. But when our team refuses to overpay a player we happen to like (Vinatieri, Johnny Damon, etc.), we act like our parents just sent our puppy out to the great dry cleaners in the sky never to be heard from again (my parents weren't very good at the "dog dying" excuses).
You can't have it both ways, fans. You either have an organization that falls in love with its players or falls in love with winning. I think both the Pats and the Sox are doing the right thing by taking the latter approach. If a player is no longer cost-effective, they're out. If Tom Brady starts sucking, he's gone. If lovable Big Papi Ortiz loses his ability to hit homeruns, replace him with someone who can do the job. For me, an infectious smile ranks way
below slugging percentage as a desirable quality for a designated hitter.
What can I say? The Red Sox and Patriots got me addicted to the W's. I want some more and I'm willing to say bye bye to some really swell guys to get them. Anyone disagree with me?
Yesterday was the first day of spring, so it's time to do some spring cleaning. Here are some subjects I meant to address in the past few weeks:
- The Flavor of Love
finale delivered the goods in a BIG way. New York (the "woman" not the city) had sex with Flava Flav (yuck) and then LOST. Tremendous ending. I think my favorite moment was the final ceremony during which New York told Hoopz that she and Flav made "beautiful music" together. Hoopz's response (which was bleeped, but I'm an excellent lip reader): "If you open your legs and let a nigger fuck, he's gonna fuck." Who says romance is dead? Just outstanding work on this program. My hat's off to all involved.
- Not even giving me enough time to rest, VH1 has launched yet another season of The Surreal Life
, the granddaddy of them all. I worry about the quality of this season, as past seasons have set the bar quite high. But from the previews, it seems like we're going to be just fine, kittens. At the very least, we've got a Tawny Kitaen meltdown in our future, so it can't be all that bad. Plus, VH1 is going to be showing a Flavor of Love
reunion this weekend. Screw my atheism: there is a God and he LOVES me.
- I really enjoyed the games that I saw of the World Baseball Classic. As predicted by Kay's Father in the comments, the Japanese team won. As predicted by me, I couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for Team USA and was thrilled
when the Canadians whooped them under the powerful bat of "Superstar" Adam Stern. Good times - it got me in the mood for baseball once again.
- Speaking of which, I'm not sure how I feel about this Bronson Arroyo for Willy Mo Pena trade, but my first instinct is that it's a good one. Pena is young and can absolutley crush. If the Sox are going to lose one of their seven million starting pitchers, I think Arroyo is the most expendable. And at the very least, Pena won't try our patience by making us listen politely to his Creed covers. At least I hope he won't.
Did I miss anything?
Hey hey Monday morning party people - welcome to the first day of spring. Can't you feel that warm spring sun lighting up my freakin' day? Mmmm... springy goodness.
Don't forget - Episode 1.7 of the Scamper Podcast
is ready for your listening pleasure.
Now, according to the always-accurate folks at Blogger
, you are currently reading my 300th journal entry here on the Scampernet. For 300 non-consecutive mornings, I've dragged myself out of the warm sticky womb that is my bed, peddled my groggy ass to work, plopped down in front this har computer machine and thought to myself "What in the name of Jebus Fuck am I going to write about today?"
As I look back on my 300 journal entries, I'll admit it - I feel a little nostalgic. We've had some really good times here at Brendan's Journal, haven't we? We laughed together (that one time), we cried together (mostly in the nude) and more often than not, we learned a little something. For instance, did you know that most common Irish breakfast teas are made out of the dried and baked remains of a very sad leprechaun's tears? True story.
Speaking of true, I figure it's time that I came clean with you, my loyal readers who have been with me since the beginning. For the past 300 non-consecutive days, I've pretended to be the bass player in this band called Scamper. The truth is - there is no band Scamper. I made it up, just to made my little "blog" stand apart from the others. These people I've talked about named "Keith," "Nate" and "Mike" don't actually exist. I created them all using a combination of my own imagination and common household cleaning supplies. The talented singer/guitarist you know as "Keith" is actually a well-disguised wet dry vac with a wig.
Ahhhhhh... I feel a lot better having come clean with my dirty little secret. It's like this giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now, that I've built up my readership over the years, it's time to institute Phase 2 of Brendan's Journal: telling you all about the ways scientology has changed my life. Seriously, just read the literature. Beck and
Isaac Hayes couldn't be wrong about something. I mean, maybe one of them could be wrong individually, but both together? It just doesn't make sense. Follow the numbers, people.
Anyone else have anything to come clean about, here on the glorious L. Ron Hubbard-certified Brendan's Scientology Journal?
Happy St. Paddy day all and thanks to all you good little leprechauns who came out to the Middle East last night for our show with The Luxury
and Sad Marvin
. Despite all your always-amazing outpouring of fun and support, you'll never get me Lucky Charms. So get your hand from under my kilt. Speaking of kilts, some breezy highlights:
- Mike, Keith and Nate showed up at my house to find me all kilted out (pics to come, I'm sure). Nate double takes and says, "You're going to wear that thing all night?" Damn skippy, I am. A) It's not exactly an "easy in, easy out" garment and B) as it turns out, I'm sexy as fuck in a kilt. Fa fa.
- We arrived at the venue at our assigned time, as always. Lucky for us, NONE of the other bands managed to make it on time for a sound check. We had a nice long soundcheck - even Keith (a.k.a. Mr. Fussy Pants) was satisfied. As we were setting up, I turned to the sound guy and said (verbatim): "Scamper - one of New England's most punctual bands." He seemed very impressed, except not at all.
- Most of the pre-show activities involved people milling into the Middle East, looking at the way I was dressed and whispering to each other while giggling. Then, they'd come over and ask me what on Jebus' green earth I was wearing.
Apparently, the famous Scamper Smackdown(!) on the Scamper Podcast
Episode 1.5 wasn't exactly the last episode of M*A*S*H
as far as number of listeners per household go. Apparently, some of our best fans/friends that we just assumed
were huge fans aren't even listening. Step into the 90's, people! Best conversation between Nate and Christine, one of our good friends who comes to a lot of shows and who we just naturally assumed reads this journal every day:
Christine: Why is Brendan wearing a kilt?
Nate: What? Don't you listen to the podcast?
Christine: What's a podcast?
- The show itself was reasonably good - the boys in Scamptown were a little sloppy. Steve Gisselbrecht, Boston's best rock critic and F.O.S. (Friend of Scamper) of the highest order, said to me "By Scamper standards, you guys were positively jam bandy. I liked it." I didn't have the heart to tell him that what he intepreted as "musical experimentation" was actually "covering our many many mistakes."
Despite our occasional dalliances with wrong notes and missed beats, the audience seemed to have a good time, especially the photographers in the front row who were trying to get sneaky "under the kilt" shots. I full expect my junk to appear on some voyeur website. Or maybe a site designed for medical students under the heading "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?"
Have a good weekend, Micks and drink safely tonight.Edit:
One of the early pics from our friend Jesse
As Phil Collins once said, "Tonight, tonight, tonight... woo-ooooooohhhh!"
I'm pretty sure he wasn't referring to our show tonight at the Middle East Upstairs
with The Luxury
and Sad Marvin
, but he may as well have been. Look at that line-up! Whooooo!
This one should be a very popular show, so make sure you get there early. I'm not anticipating a sellout or anything, but all of these bands are quite good and draw a sizeable crowd, so don't be shut out from seeing your favorite Scamps in action for the last time until the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble
If that's not enough to coax you out of the womb that is your bed - don't forget that tonight's show is unique in that I will make my first public appearance dressed as this man:
If you dress as "Cowboy" Bob Orton (cowboy hat, tasseled vest, fake cast on your right forearm) and help me shave the head of the Haiti Kid, I'll make sure Keith buys you a beer.
You know, freezing my balls off in a kilt tonight will almost be worth it - I finally had a legitimate reason to make a ton of 80's WWF references in the journal this week. I was like a kid in a candy store. Sadly, it's all over now. As Gorilla Monsoon would say, "Put a fork in him - he's done."
See you tonight, marks.
It's the Ides of March, Romans. Be-frickin-ware. Last night, Scamper celebrated the Ides by stabbing Keith forty-four times on the Senate floor. We're real history buffs in Scamptown, USA. We'll be auditioning new singers next week - bleeders need not apply (Keith died very quickly. It was quite disappointing).
I should be charged with criminal internet neglect for not pointing you to this bit of business
from our friend/twisted genius Henry from the band Aloud
. Words can't describe it, but make sure your speakers are on when you play it. Don't worry - it's completely worksafe. In fact, studies have shown that watching Henry's little thingy will increase production at your company by 34%. So watch Henry's little thingy.
Speaking of little thingies, my first public appearance in a kilt since the Great Galway Bagpipe Disaster of 1997 is happening tomorrow night at the Middle East Upstairs
, as I fulfill my podcast obligations by dressing as "Rowdy" Roddy Piper. Also appearing on the card? The Luxury
(who I hear will be dressing as the Killer Bees), Sad Marvin
(appearing as Kamala the Ugandan Headhunter) and "Captain Lou" Reverse
This should be a really good show, for shizzy. So are you coming or not? WTF?
It's Tuesday morning and thus, time to catch up on some company bidness:
Episode 1.6 of the Scamper Podcast is up and running over hnyaw
. During our podcasting session, we were pretty punch drunk after a Long Day's Journey into Gay at the Sears photo center, followed by a very silly Scamphearsal. So if you're a big fan of listening to a radio show and thinking "Why do they keep laughing? That's not that funny," this week's show is for you.
Speaking of shows, we've got a goooooooooooooood one coming up on Thursday at the Middle East Upstairs
in Central Square with The Luxury
, Sad Marvin
. All excellent bands, for real. We're very excited about this show, so please come spend your Thursday night with us.
If you need a little extra incentive to come join us, I will be making my first (and hopefully last) appearance in a "Rowdy" Roddy Piper outfit, thanks to losing the Scamper Smackdown on Episode 1.5 of the podcast. So if you've ever wanted to see a grown man play bass in a kilt, Thursday night is your chance. As many of you know, I am a character actor from the Stanislavsky school of professional wrestling, so I will be doing my best to really live
the character by breaking a coconut over "Superfly" Jason Dunn's head during the Luxury's set.
Scamper is going to the Middle East on Thursday to kick ass and chew bubble gum. And we're all out of bubble gum.
Happy Monday, all. Hope you had an exciting and eventful weekend. As for me, I choked miserably at the free throw line in front of 30,000 people. So there was that.
So here's the story: a friend got last minute tickets to the Celtics game on Friday night. During the second quarter, a guy from the Celtics promotion team approaches me and asks if I would be interested in coming out on the floor during the next time out and shoot free throws... blindfolded. The answer? Of course I do.
As I'm waiting for the game to break, I ascertain from the lovely (and deliciously stripper-smelling) hostess Julie that they always pick someone with glasses from the crowd. I only have to hit one blindfolded shot and the prize is $2500 toward lasix surgery, which leads to the following exchange:Me:
I don't think I really want lasix surgery.Julie:
Really? Why not?Me:
Well, I know there aren't a lot of earthquakes in Massachusetts, but it would be just my luck for that rare earthquake to hit when there's a laser in my eye.Julie:
(pauses) Wow. We do this promotion during every game and you're the first person to ever say that to me.Me:
I'm probably going to be the first person to say a lot of things to you, Julie. You smell wonderful, by the way.
After getting the unceremonious shutdown from Julie, I had the opportunity to get a pep talk from Lucky the Leprechaun, the guy that runs around the court and does backflips. Lucky was, shall we say, a little bit of an intense guy. Having a two-minute conversation with him gave me a splitting headache. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was hopped up on coke. I have a feeling his substance problems run much much deeper, like a need to snort dried and ground up Caucasian baby bones or something before every game. So I'll be nice and just say it's coke.
Finally, I get out to the court. I don't have much time to revel in the fact that I'm living out my 10-year old Larry Bird fantasy by standing on the Garden parquet floor. They set me up on the free throw line and put a blindfold on me. I have 30 seconds to get one in. Before I know it, I'm off and running. I can vaguely see the hoop from a crack at the bottom of the blindfold, but my depth perception is way off. My muscles reach back to the late 80's for that long-dormant 8th grade CYO basketball free throw shooting form. It's go time.
As I shoot, I hear 30,000 people going "OH! OH! OH!" Lucky the Coked-Up Leprechaun is handing me balls and giving me directions. "You're so close! Oh, you hit the rim! Cocaine is a hell of a drug!" After a few (apparent) near misses, the buzzer goes off and I have failed. Boo on me.
In related news, Paul Pierce also choked at the foul line in the fourth quarter to cost the Celtics the game. At least I had a blindfold on. What's his excuse? Besides fatigue from playing 60 minutes of a professional sport at an incredibly high level?
Continuing the story of the Sears family photo shoot...
After we take a few ridiculous photos, the young lady in charge of the Sears photo department says, "Okay, how about we do some tummy shots?" Naturally, she piqued our human curiosity. What, per se, are these tummy shots of which she was speaking? She explains: "Well, a couple of you lie down on your stomachs and the other two sort of sit on top of them." The members of Scamper consider this for a moment, look at each other and proceed to laugh hysterically for 45 straight minutes.
After we collect ourselves and dry our eyes from the tears, we say thanks-but-no-thanks to the tummy shots. "Actually, they're sort of required," she asks.
"Well, that's okay," we answer, "We don't really need any tummy shots."
"No, you don't understand," she continues, "I have to take them."
"Even if we don't want them?"
"You're forcing us to take tummy shots."
All of a sudden, we felt like teenagers on an amateur porn set. The pressure! I'm not sure what the consequences of refusing to take the tummy shots would be, but I'm pretty sure it involved a Kenmore and our nutsacks.
Not ones to rock the proverbial boat at Sears, Scamper subjected ourselves to the infamous tummy shots, which of course turned out to be the most hilarious and ridiculous thing we've ever done in the entire history of this hilariously ridiculous band.
So Scamper hereby presents to you: the tummy shot. Warning - the photo I'm about to show you is VERY disturbing. If we took a photo of us sucking each other's dicks, it wouldn't be NEARLY as gay a photo as you're about to witness. Continue at your own risk. I'm not even kidding about that...
.... and I present to you: the tummy shot.
What an odd morning. I was so confused when my alarm went off that I thought I was late for the bus... to high school. I started trying to figure out what my homeroom was and where I was supposed to sit. It took me a good ten minutes in the shower until I realized that nope - I'm actually an adult now. No wedgies or dodge ball fights for your pal Brendo anymore.
Speaking of fights, I have neglected to mention this in the journal up to this point: Scamper has been invited to play the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble
this year. Yay on us. The details are over in the SHOWS
For those of you not familiar with the Rumble, it's a contest that's been held for the last 28 years and almost all the great Boston bands throughout the modern era have been invited to play. We're very honored to be chosen this year and are very much looking forward to our night, April 3.
Now, being selected for the Rumble means that there will be a little more press coverage than usual for your local rock heroes. This troubled us, as we haven't done any recent photos.
So what's Keith's bright idea? Head on down to Sears for a family portrait. So we got dolled up in our Sunday best and THIS is the result:
Huh? That looks like four serious rock and rollers, eh? The competition better watch the fuck out!
This was already spoiled over on the message board
, but my good buddy Mary over at Millwhistle
posted an interview with yours truly yesterday. Check it out. I'll be here when you get back.
Note on that last question: for years, Mary has been pushing this idea for a short film called "The Wild Brunch" where a bunch of bacon and pancakes are thrown around in slow motion. Most of her ideas are better than that, I swear. She's actually the most brilliant woman and gifted writer I know. So check her shit out, people.
Edit: I tried to post the whole thing in its entirety, but it came out all craptastic, so I'm just giving up. Hence the short journal entry. Deal with it.
I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I've got some really good shit. Trust me on this one. Bye, bitches.
Okay, okay - so I know I'm a jerkus maximus for forgetting Keith's birthday this weekend. But in my defense, I really don't like Keith all that much. I'm just using him until he figures out the code that unlocks the treasure map he inherited from his great great uncle, the pirate "Baldbeard" Pete Michael (he lost the family "a" that should be in "Michel" in a high stakes game of "Upsy Doozy.") . As soon as Keith tells me where the treasure is located, I'm going to brain him with a pick axe and feast on the sticky goo within.
But seriously, Keith isn't a big "hey everybody, it's my birthday" kind of guy. It's just not his style. I, on the other hand, am the birthday whore of all birthday whores. August 18, bitches. Start saving your pennies now. Not to get too specific, but this one just might end in a big fat zero. Once again, I am not offended by large cash gifts.
Alas, I'm once again getting sidetracked. This entry is all about my boy Keifer. So in honor of his birthday, I have composed a very special "I Forgot Keith's Birthday" haiku. Enjoy, buddy o' mine:Sorry I forgot,
To me, you mean nothing much,
Your wife has whore balls.
There. I hope that smoothed over any lingering tension and showed what a great bandmate I am. Let's open it up to the peanut gallery. Anyone else have any birthday haikus for Keith?
Good morning, chickens. I forgot to mention last week - I'll probably be late with the journal for the next couple of days, as I'm not at work until Thursday and if I don't have to go to work, I see no point in waking up before 10:30. It's just undignified.
Hope everyone had a nice weekend. Mine was a whirlwind of traveling on buses and in cars and rickshaws. I'm pretty sure I was on a gondola at some point. The memories are all pretty hazy. Someone
was singing Italian love songs to me. I hope it was a trained professional.
Happy birthday to my good buddy Nick
, who's 30 years old and still a little bitch. I celebrated his birthday by slapping on the dreaded chicken wing crossface maneuver and making him tap out in the middle of one of Manhattan's hippest bars in front of slews of beautiful women. He was pretty psyched about that. That's the thing about me - I'm a great friend. Always looking out for my buddies.
Speaking of tapping out, Episode 1.5 of the Scamper Podcast
is up and rolling. I'm sure you'll all submit to its manly goodness.
Quote of the weekend goes to my friend Andy. We were watching a little bit of MTV's "Date My Mom" (TREEEEmendous television program, by the way) and the guy on the show just couldn't stop taking his shirt off. After receiving assurances from the guy that he was in fact heterosexual, Andy comment, "He seems like the kind of straight guy that does gay porn just because the money is really good."
Anyone else do anything interesting this weekend? Any straight guys shoot any gay porn, he asks subtly looking in Henry's direction?
Happy Friday, witches and wizards. I've got to tell you - my mornings are much more jolly since I made the purchase of one of those vibrating razor thingies - the Gilette Fusion or some such shit. Good golly willickers does that little sucker give you a close shave.
Now normally, I'm a three-blades-and-out purist, so I was loath to try any forms of hip, new shaving technology about which the scientists in the shaving field make announcements during the Super Bowl. It's getting ridiculous - there are just too many blades. This little bastard has five vibrating blades. FIVE blades! And they motherfucking vibrate! It was too much. As a good little Irish Catholic, I was raised to believe my skin is not worthy of such excess.
But word of mouth from a few friends and colleagues told me that I should give it a go. It was on sale at the supermarket, so I threw it into the old cart. I was skeptical, but I lathered up and popped the battery in. ZOWIE! My face feels like a baby's ass after a soothing acid peel. Go ahead - touch it. See? It's not so bad to touch another man.
Have a good weekend all and prepare thyself for Episode 5 of the Scamper Podcast
bright and early on Monday morning.
Good morning, sports fans. If I'm not mistaken, the World Baseball Classic
starts today. When I first heard of this idea, I was very excited for basically one reason: the Dominican Republic team. Take a look at just a few of the names on this roster:
On the same team! WhooooEEEEE! The Dominicans are like the baseball version of the Justice League, except much MUCH more kickass. I imagine the Dominican team practices are like Superman hanging out with Spider Man at James Bond's pad while Optimus Prime mixes mojitos at the bar and Voltron plays acey deucy with the Rock in the corner. Why would the bad guys even bother waking up in the morning? Anyone who opposes them is in for the ass-handing of all ass-handings.
Predictably, Manny and Pedro pulled out and so did Vlad Guerrero, so it looks like the other teams may have an actual chance. But in my opinion, the smart money is still on the Dominicans. Pujols is actually made of five robot lions. He's the protector of the universe. True story.
Am I unpatriotic that I never root for the US in international sports competitions? The WBC, the Olympics - I'm always pulling for another country. Rooting for the US in a sporting competition is like rooting for the house at a casino. I don't know - I just feel like it would mean a whole lot more to the people of the DR or Venezuela or Puerto Rico or even Japan to win an international baseball competition than the fans in the US. Anyone else with me on this one? Thoughts? Counterpoints? Tucks Medicated Pads?
March is certainly in like a lion, eh bitches? Like a cold, testes-retracting lion. Daaaaaaamn. I don't like to admit this very often as I'm in lurve with this little city of ours, but I'll cop to it: I'm ultra-jealous of all of our readers/listeners from different warm climates all over the earth. Your testes are probably hanging in their normal, non-painful location outside your innards. Well, good for you and your carefree, happy-go-lucky testes.
Speaking of warm locations, those of you who checked out the News page
already know - thanks to the Podsafe Music Network
, our music was played in Venezuela yesterday. That's four continents and counting since we started the whole podcasting experiment. Very exciting. My gut tells me that Australia will be next, but I'm pulling for Antarctica. Penguins love power pop.
And speaking of pops, I had a graduate school-related interview yesterday and (since the last time I had to wear a suit, I was a giant lardass fatty boombaladdie) had to borrow one of my dad's suits. I was looking spanky and the interview went well, but as I was walking out I reached into the inside pocket and found... a rosary. That's not a good sign for an evil lapsed Catholic such as myself. Goodbye, grad school. Thanks for nothing, old man.
And finally, I heard the greatest team name for a bar trivia team ever last night: Don't Kill a Stripper Because They're Already Dead Inside. Classic.