Ahhhhhhhh. That's the sound of me still kicking back, relaxing on my vacation. Jealous? Oh, I know you are. You know what I'm doing with my afternoon today? Going to the dentist to have a cavity filled! You know you want to be me. Admit it.

Even in my absence from the real world, I've tried to be good about the journal entries, but you'll definitely have to do without me tomorrow, pandas. It seems like it sneaks up on us every year, but it's time for Jim and Brendo's 3rd Annual Day of Fun! Fa fa fo!

Once a year, my buddy Madden and I blow off work and waste the day doing stupid shit, driving way too much and eating lots of delicious/terrible food. You can read all about last year's Day of Fun right over hnyaw. Go ahead and have a look - I'll wait.

Wasn't that terrific? Madden and I sure know how to party, don't we? Huh? Not lame at all, right? Right? (cough)

This year, we're adding a few rookies to the Day of Fun lineup. First off, our soon-to-be-hitched pal Hogg will be making his Day of Fun debut. Secondly and much more importantly, Madden has this cool new hand-held GPS system that we've named the Friendly Robit What Tells Us Where To Go and Shit. Madden and I are so excited by the presence of the Friendly Robit that we've already promoted it in the Day of Fun chain of command. That's right - there's a very well-defined hierarchy. I'm Captain of the Day of Fun (due to my undeniable leadership qualities), followed closely by my sidekick/co-pilot/gunnery sergeant Madden. Then, Friendly Robit is navigator/morale officer. Finally, Hogg ranks somewhere between "hostage" and "smallpox-ridden stowaway."

I'll try to get the 3rd annual Day of Fun photo essay up either Friday or Monday. Until then, all hail the Friendly Robit and may God have mercy on our souls.

Good morning, mullets. Hope everyone had a nice long weekend. I'm continuing this concept of "the weekend" through the whole week. I'm sitting on. my. ass. Doing nuttin'. Hope you chumps are enjoying hanging out in your little cubicles while I type this journal from the comfort of my own bedroom, sipping a mimosa, wearing a pink camisole and surfing the 'net for underage koala porn. But you guys enjoy all that "typing" and "mimeographing" at your "jobs." Heh heh.

Hey, hey - big thanks to all who came out for the show on Friday night at the Middle East. A few highlights:

- Because of the flooding in my basement following by giant, hateful allergens engaging in a week-long siege on Keith's facial area, Scamper actually hadn't practiced since the last show at the beginning of May. In his wisdom, Keith decided that there wasn't a better time to play a bunch of stuff we hadn't played in years. Years, I say. His mind works in odd ways. We nitpicked for a while about the set list, but decided ultimately to throw in at least one or two "old" favorites.

Strangely enough, he was proven to be on to something. While the songs that we had played over and over during the past few months were muddy and flub-filled, the "revived" stuff that we hadn't practiced since the Clinton administration actually sounded great. Score one for the boss.

But don't get me wrong - this was NOT a good Scamper show. It was fun and the audience was terrific and energetic, but we did NOT play up to our usual standards. You know I can't lie to you people. So if Friday night was your first Scamper experience, don't give up on us yet. There are future shows for us to win your fickle hearts back (June 11 at the Knitting Factory in NY, anyone?)

- It was Matt from Harris' birthday, so I made sure to throw him over my shoulder and spank him a few times in front of a bunch of pretty girls. Because I'm a good guy like that.

As usual, Matt whipped my ass in the unofficial funny stage banter competition we have going when he said, "It's my birthday and no one's gotten me a white Russian yet. My mother always told me it's a good idea to jump around on stage with a belly full of milk." Then, he paused and said, "This microphone smells like Scamper."

- After the show, my achin' bones was achin'. While the adrenaline of a rock and roll show never fails to get me through, occasionally my right knee will turn to me after the show and remark, "Well, I hope you enjoyed jumping around like a moron on me for an hour, because I'm going to make you pay with screeching pain for the next - oh, I don't know - say, 2 days or so? Don't blame me, Coco - you shouldn't have been so quick to stretch that single into a double during the company softball game last week. What, you think because you jog a couple miles once in a while now that you're NOT a decrepit old man? Ha ha ha." My right knee is kind of a jerk.

As I sat there nursing my wounds, the lovely young Nicole from Baker asks me if I'm going to join them at their after-party, leading to the following exchange:

Me: No, I'm just going home and going to bed. I'm an old man.
Nicole: You're not old. How old are you?
Me: I'll be 30 this summer.
Nicole: Oh. (puts her hand on my shoulder) I'm sorry.

Rock and roll, people. Rock and fucking roll.

Happy Friday, snow leopards. Word of warning: I'm going to be off work all next week, so I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting. I'll probably try to check in, but don't get all up in my ace if you don't hear from me for a week. I deserve a vacation without packing my bags for another guilt trip. I'm looking in your general direction, Alena Pants.

Slim pickins for this week's Friday Rip-off (in which I steal other people's ideas in lieu of coming up with something original myself). I knew this was going to happen - once everyone knew I was expecting them to be funny, you all clammed right the F up. For shame. Still, I did have this brief conversation with Hogg yesterday:

Hogg: Hey, I just got some shocking news... it turns out that the "Soul Patrol" is actually an anal rape gang. I bet America didn't see THAT coming!
Me: I... I have no idea what you're talking about.
Hogg: Oh. It's American Idol bullshit.
Me: Sorry. I don't watch that show. Was that a funny line?
Hogg: It was okay, I guess. I've done better.
Me: Eh, good enough. It's only the journal.

One more - as I was walking into one of my local bars last evening (as I'm wont to do), I noticed an attractive gothy young lady standing outside smoking with her tattoo-covered boyfriend. As I approached, I spotted the GI Joe Cobra insignia...


... tattooed smack dab in the middle of her cleavage. As I asked her about the tattoo, her boyfriend pulls a drag from his cigarette and says, "She's my Baroness." Bad ass. I shook the man's hand for being so much cooler than I'll ever be.

Speaking of GI Joe, did you know that after collecting the DNA from the greatest leaders in history to create Serpentor, Cobra then divided the genetic material back into five parts to create the band Harris? True story. Come on by the Middle East tonight and see them in all their evil glory getting their ass kicked by Sergeant Scamper. Hospital "Tomax and Xamot" Grade and Baker a.k.a. Destro are opening.

When I congratulated Stacy for graduating this past weekend, I neglected to mention that she was studying photography and design. Clearly, our girl has a future so bright that even I've got to wear shades, as evidenced by this photo in which Stacy effortlessly turns my ugly mug into the Sexiest Guy That Ever Lived:



Seriously, have you ever seen a hotter picture in your life? I'm gorgeous! This wasn't even a posed photograph - it was all the perceptive eye of Ms. Stacy. That's talent, people. Hire this girl.

(See what I did there? In the guise of paying someone else a compliment on their art, I indulged in a little self-love and found an excuse to post the one photo ever taken of me that doesn't make me look like a cranky mongoloid with an overactive thyroid doing his impression of Alex Karras in Blazing Saddles. I'm truly insidious. Help.)

Speaking of sexy bitches, the "it boys" in Harris have a show at the Middle East Upstairs tomorrow night. The grapevine says it's Matt's birthday tomorrow, so someone's getting a spanking! Rumor has it that Scamper will stop by and play a set, say around 10:30 or so? Perhaps the excellent young band Baker will hit it with us. But you know what this show is missing? Canadians. What about Hospital Grade? They'll open the show with their signature brand of rock and roll and universal health care. Love those Canadians.

Kick off the holiday weekend in style with us, won't you?

Okay, time to bite the bullet and tell the long-awaited, sure-to-be-disappointing karaoke story from Saturday night. It's sure to be a stinker, but whatevs.

So after a long, fruitful day of hungover photo posing, I did what any sane, mature adult would do: I spent the rest of the day drinking more. A lot more. Because I'm physically and emotionally healthy, that's why.

Late in the evening, Vinny Shit on the Face and I joined up with Maura, KFunk et al over at the Courtside, our favorite karaoke haunt/lair of forbidden love. If you read last Friday's journal, you are no doubt familiar with my triumphant return to karaoke after a long layoff. "Separate Ways" by Journey was my tune of choice, much to the chagrin of all those pairs of panties in the room that would have liked to remain dry for the evening.

So on Saturday, I decided to go back to the well. "Separate Ways" again. After only a one-day layoff. Now, many of you know that I take my karaoke quite seriously. I usually don't repeat songs at all, much less only two nights later. But I decided that it was such a smashing success the previous attempt, why not give an encore performance?

The karaoke gods disagreed. They lay the most smacketh of downs on my silly ass. First off, the high notes just weren't there for me. Apparently, despite my inflated sense of self, Steve Perry I'm not. When I realized midway through the first verse that the high notes weren't coming, I decided to make up for it with a little showmanship. Jumping around, dancing, pumping my fist - I might just be able to land this puppy!

I don't know if you've heard about this, but alcohol can sometimes affect your equilibrium. Did you hear about this? Sometimes - and this was news to me - when you're drunk, you fall the fuck down! Who knew? During the second chorus, I took a monstrous tumble backwards, feet over ass. It was, shall we say, a touch embarrassing. Like, Shockmaster embarrassing.

Luckily, it wasn't the first time I had ever fallen down on stage (and very likely won't be the last), so I was able to keep crooning without missing a beat. I even managed to writhe around on the floor a little like the chick from the Billy Idol "Cradle of Love" video, much to the delight of pre-pubescent boys everywhere.

Still, it was a clear-cut case of karaoke hubris. I've learned my lesson - the power to sing Journey is not to be abused. It is a privelege and not a right. Steve Perry - if you're listening from your cloud up there in heaven... I get it. It will never happen again. I will never again wield the awesome power of your godlike tunes my own nefarious drunken purposes.

From now on, I'm sticking Scamper songs. Hey - maybe I should start on Friday at the Middle East Upstairs with our johnny cakes-cooking, volunteer fire-fighting fuddies Harris, along with Baker and Hospital Grade. I'll try to stay upright for most of our set. 10pm start.

Soooo... after we partied the night away with Aloud, we were scheduled for a Saturday morning photoshoot at 9am. Because Keith has no soul.

For this round of photos, we went with a bowling alley theme, because we wanted to accurately portray Scamper's competitive, yet playful spirit as well as make a bunch of visual "big balls" jokes. We're mature like that.

We show up at Lanes and Games on Route 2 at 9am, figuring that we'll have the run of the place. We were shocked to discover that there were some hardcore types that show up at the crack of ass to hang out at the bowling alley. They don't even bowl. They just hang out there. Oh, and they're, how shall we say, not UN-surly. As I entered the building in my tuxedo and Hawaiian shirt (I've never looked sleazier), I was shot some nasty looks and overheard a few "Who the fuck are these guys?" mumblings. This small-town territorial shit is a pet peeve of mine - I'm always amazed when people's first instinct is to be an asshole to a stranger. I was hungover and cranky enough to consider mixing it up with them, but then I stopped myself. They hang out at a bowling alley at 9am on a Saturday. Game, set and match to Brendo.

Of course, I was hanging out at the same bowling alley at 9am on a Saturday. But it was for artistic reasons, so I'm excused. Right? (cough)

Having gone to bed at around 3am, I was probably in the most functional shape of the 3 non-Keith Scamps, as Mike and Nate decided to post-show party at Roy from Aloud's house and managed to hit the sack around 5:30am. I was by no means a picnic to be around, but Nate and Mike were the walking dead. Mike didn't even bring a change of clothes. To a photo shoot. Classic Mirabella.

But once the photo shoot started, we actually started to shake out the cobwebs and have some fun. Our soon-to-be-a-proud-papa photographer Johnny Anguish and his beautiful soon-to-be-bursting-with-baby wife Nicole came up with some great ideas, including convincing Scamper to steal yet another award that we didn't earn:



You know what? I think I'm going to stretch stories from my weekend into an unprecedented third day. Want to hear the falling-down-at-karaoke story that Maura and Vinny Shit on the Face have already ruined by posting in yesterday's comments? I guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow, chumps.

Want to see a kick-ass rock and roll show with those four sexy bowling champions pictured above? You only have to wait until Friday at the Middle East. We're playing with our heterosexual life partners Harris along with Baker and Hospital Grade. 10pm start.

Good morning, chickens. Hope everyone's weekend was as fun and alcohol-fueled as mine. I feel terrible in every way this morning. Just awful.

But that's the price you pay for fun fun fun, no? The Aloud CD release show on Friday was terrific - predictably, the 2nd best band in Boston did not disappoint. I suggest you pick up a copy of their new CD "Leave Your Light On" despite the fact that they ripped off the album title from us and they're shameless title-stealing jerks.

The show was amazing as always - Aloud has never failed to bring the noise. They're the best live band in Boston. Much to the amusement of the audience, I had been drinking since 4:30pm and provided a nice little side show for the paying customers, drunkenly embarrassing myself at just about every turn. I asked the drummer of The Luxury what band he was in RIGHT AFTER he got off stage. Oh, did I mention we played with them 2 months ago? As a way to recover from my social gaffe, I then proceeded to say, "Sorry, man - but you're the drummer. No one pays attention to the drummer. The drummer could get off stage in the middle of the set and I wouldn't notice." Score. I'm a nice guy when I drink.

After the show, I proceeded to deliver a spittle-covered lecture to Ross (Aloud's handsome-face drummer) about life, love and rock and roll. The jist: if he failed to take advantage of his youth, movie star good looks and position as drummer in a hot band to get the primest of trim in town, it would be taken as a virtual slap in the face to us old guys who didn't win the genetic lottery by being born looking like Josh Hartnett. To his credit, he listened politely like the nice young man that he is and probably waited until I was out of earshot to laugh at me with his young, buoyant friends. Another proud drunken moment for your boy Brendo.

Luckily, I got to sleep it off all day on Saturday. Oh wait, we had a photo shoot scheduled for 9 in the AM the next morning. Double score. I'll tell you folks all about the most hungover photoshoot in Somerville history tomorriz...

Speaking of drunken good time party shows, we have yet another awesome rock and roll show this Friday at the Middle East Upstairs with our gay love buddies Harris, as well as the bands Baker and Hospital Grade. Be there - good show.

Finally, congratulations to our favorite college graditator Stacy, who grabbed the ol' sheep skin or pig skin or whatever it is. We knew you could do it, baby!

After a long absence due to my Friday morning class this past semester, I made my triumphant return to Thursday night karaoke last evening. I marked the occasion by rocking some "Separate Ways" by Journey. Before you karaoke purists get all up in my ass, I'm fully aware that performing Journey at karaoke is a bit on the show-offy side. Normally, I'd be with you, but I was coming off a rather long layoff and I wanted to "announce my presence with authority".

My favorite moment of the evening ensued after I involuntarily poured myself a second pint of beer from the pitcher even though I was literally only halfway through my first pint. Confused, I turned to my fellow kroker Lauren and had the following exchange:

Me: "Wow - why did I just do that?"
Lauren: (shrugs) "You like beer."
Me: (thinking) "It's true. I really DO like beer."

As I was replaying this exchange in my head this morning, I gots to noodling - I know a lot of funny people. Most of my days are filled with email exchanges, phone calls and IM conversations that often leave my anus seeping with laughter. Some of you have this mistaken idea that I'm the funniest guy in the universe. I know, I know - I'm like a god to you people. But really, most of my friends are almost as entertaining as I am. Almost.

So I've decided to start a new feature here on the journal: the Friday Rip-Off. Every Friday (or unless I don't feel like it), I will feature some of the best quotes of the week or conversations with friends and co-conspirators. Sometimes, I'll have to paraphrase (with the occasional punch-up for grammar, timing, etc), but of course I'll always give the artist credit. Sound like fun? Not really? Whatever, I'm plowing forward with this ill-conceived bit, for this week at least:

From Madden:
"Man, I just got this new liquid band-aid stuff. It's awesome - I'm going to start cutting myself just so I can use it... and because I'm too fat for anyone to ever love me."

From Nick:
"Why does Jesus get a free pass? Everyone else in the history of the world that comes back from the dead: zombie. But no one calls Jesus out for being a zombie. What the fuck?"

The last word goes (as I'm sure will happen more often than not) to Vinny Shit on the Face, who has been in Philadelphia this week and files the following report:
"As for Philly, good shopping, great food, cheap rent, INORDINATE concentration of useless/insane homeless men. I was spit on last week while walking to the Olive Garden, which is like being spit on twice, now that I think about it."

Huh? This'll be fun, huh? Have a good weekend, friends. And keep saying funny things to my lazy ass so I can steal your material.

Morning, my little blumpkins. The plumbing is fixed, the porous cement basement has dried out and the Miami Wham(!) stubble I had been inexplicably sporting on the ol' mug for the past week has been mercifully shaved. All is right and just and wonderful in Scampertown, USA.

It seems like the rain has stopped for now and that early summer sun is poking its head through those grumpy old clouds. I have no idea why I'm talking like this right now. Sorry. Anyway, I'm sure many of you are making those summer plans, so as always, Scamper is here to help you the fuck out..

Hoping to get down the Cape this year? Why not make it a Scampertastic mystery tour? On Friday July 21, we're playing at the Wellfleet Beachcomber with Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth (formerly Raymond). Bada-bing! That's a fucking show, huh? What a way to spend your Friday night on loverly Cape Cod. Really, you should certainly adjust all your summer plans around Scamper. It's the least you could do.

We've been wanting to play with Rocketscience for a loooong time. Especially Mikey. He's had the Rocketscience disc spinning in his car non-stop for months - it reached the point where we had to stage an Scampervention. Well, not so much an Scampervention as me turning to him and saying, "Mike, admit it - you're gay for Rocketscience." He readily admitted it. That's how good Rocketscience is. Mike is head-over-heels gay for them. You will be, too.

By the way, if you have a friend who's having a problem with drugs or alcohol, we are available to stage a Scampervention. Healing through radio-friendly power pop. For a small fee, of course.

Hey, have you checked out all the fun everyone's having over on the new message board? It's the cat's chinos.

Last night, the scamps came over to my place to ostensibly to have our usual "Tuesday night rehearsal followed by hand-holding seance to communicate with the spirit of Jim Nabors." You know, typical rock band stuff. Little did the band members know that in this particular case, "rehearsal" actually meant "vacuum an inch of water from the floor of my basement." So... yeah. There was that.

Luckily, Boy Scout Keith was prepared with the worst wet-dry vac ever made. Apparently, the filter in the machine didn't operate properly when it was wet. The filter of a wet dry vac. Didn't work when it was wet. And we wonder why the Guatemalans are kicking our ass in the international wet dry vac market.

Still, with some patience, a little Scampergenuity(TM) and the unique sucking style of Mr. Mike Mirabella (he's a natural at sucking), we managed to get most of the water up off the floor... to only discover more flowing in. Upon further investigation, it turns out that the water was coming from a busted pipe. It wasn't actually flooding from the rain! It was yet another plumbing problem at my mouse-infested ghetto of a house! Ha HA! Isn't that funny? I live in squalor! Hee hee! Someone stab me!

If anyone has a basement that doesn't flood and would like a rock band to come by a few times a week to annoy your neighbors with radio-friendly power pop, drop us a line.

Good morning, chums and chumettes. If you missed me half as much as I missed you, then I missed you twice as much. Fa.

So I spent the looooong weekend with the non-abroad members of the former rock juggernaut known as Fooled By April up in scenic Rochester NY where Joe and his wife Sarah now reside. It was a blast - just a great weekend.

I've said it before, but if you ever have to go on a road trip, be sure to pack Pete "The Applesauce Master" Galea in a small suitcase or something. He's small enough to not take up much room and he is the absolute KING of making the time fly. Jordan, Maura and I were mere puppets in his expert car game hands. Shockingly, there wasn't a moment of boredom for the entire 14 hours in the car. It seemed like a 2 hour ride. Amazing.

In Rochester itself, we were psyched to find that the predicted complete rain washout of a weekend just didn't happen. It was beautiful, perfect weather the entire time, proving that either Jebus loves us or that the weathermen in Rochester SUCK. We played a combined 72 holes of frisbee golf on 2 different courses in the greater Rochester area. My arm, in a word, fucking kills.

There was only one real moment of bad weather - as we are on the 9th hole of our 2nd consecutive frolf round of the day, the sky turns really ugly, really fast. Clearly, it is about to come down hard and sudden. I want to head back to the car (you know - like an adult), whereas the other idiots decide it would be fun to sprint through the rest of the course and try to beat the inevitable crap storm. We reach a compromise: give me the fucking keys to the car and do whatever the fuck you want, you retards (that's how my friends and I compromise).

As I sit in the car, listening to Pete's iPod and finishing off Maura's delicious MVP-earning road trip cookies, lighting strikes and the sky just OPENS up. Pouring, hailing - Biblical shit. Predictably, a few minutes later I see a small group of morons running up the fairway toward the car. It's really too bad that I locked them out and couldn't hear them pounding on the window to let them in out of the rain. What can I say? Those cookies were distractingly good.

Our nights were spent eating terrible, delicious food, shooting virtual deer and watching a Next! marathon on MTV. Sounds boring, right? Well, I'd agree if you've never spent any time around this group of fellas (which I'm guessing is a good percentage of the readership). I laugh a lot in my life, but when I get together with these guys, it's a whole different level. Predictably, there are a million impossible-to-relay jokes/lines/bits that grew out of the weekend that I will find myself re-laughing about in traffic, the shower or at funerals for weeks and months to come. Just a great weekend.

Of course, weather karma bit me in the ass when I came home to find the basement of the rock house flooded... again. Score.

I see Keith has been busy while I've been gone - did you all check out the new bot-free message board? We want to hear what you have to say, people.

Thanks all for the great feedback on the new digitally-released 4-song Boulevards EP (available for quick and easy download through iTunes - just check out our store). I agree - the songs do kick some serious wallabee ass. Furthermore, I whole-heartedly agree with you that digital downloading is a quick, easy and exciting way to get new music. And why yes, I have been working on the abs especially hard at the gym lately. Thanks for noticing, you sweet talkers.

As for me, it saddens me to inform you that today's post is going to be my last journal entry until Tuesday morning, as I'm hopping in a sweaty, man-filled vehicle with a few ex-FxAers (and this wicked hot chick named Maura to balance out the estrogen levels) to visit this sporadically-blogging asshole and his cadaver-cutting better half up in scenic Rochester, New York.

The weather forecast says "Rain Everywhere in the Known Universe for As Long As We Both Shall Live," so our hopes to work in a marathon frolf session are probably silly, naive pipe dreams. More likely, we'll be spend the weekend in the following ways:

1. Joe, Pete and I will discover some annoying voice or character that irritates everyone to the point of near Jordan-icide. (You laugh, but Jordan has killed before).

2. We will sit around Joe's and Sarah's house playing board games that become WAY too competitive. Tears will soak the Candyland board.

3. I will instantly undo all of my weight loss over the past 2 years when I finally meet what is sure to become my lifelong nemesis: the garbage plate.

4. Pete will chant "Red Wings Suck!" at random athletic-looking passers-by on the off-chance that they are actual players for the Rochester Red Wings. Pete HATES minor league baseball players. Always has. Don't know why.

5. After three days with yours truly, Joe and Sarah will drop to their knees and face Mecca to thank Allah that they moved 7 hours away from us ridiculous assclowns.

Good times, great oldies. Have a great weekend, all. I'll give you the full, sexy detailed report when I get back on Tuesday. To hold you over while I'm gone, I present to you what you KNOW you've been begging for - pictures of men wearing tiaras:

Hopefully, my little blogger friend will be less of a biggidy bitch this morning and this will be posted less that 3 and a half hours after I write it. Fingers crossed.

So ever since yesterday's big announcement, I've been bombarded with tons of questions about the big digital-only 4 song EP release. Rather than waste my time with you as individuals, I thought I'd answer a few of the more frequently asked questions here:

Why aren't you releasing the songs in CD format? I mean, what the fuck?

All right, all right - calm down. There are multiple valid reasons why we decided to do things this way. Primarily, after Mike's highly public and embarrassing "jewel case incident" earlier this year, Scamper has thought it best to avoid physical CDs altogether. I'll never look at a reuben sandwich the same way again. (shudder)

But seriously, folks - it doesn't take Nostradamus to see that this is the way music distribution is headed. Luckily, the lack of overhead with physical product really benefits a meek little band such as your local rock heroes. Instead of blowing a bunch of cash on CDs, we put what little money we have into what really counts: production. And Keith's vicodin addiction.

Are the older songs available for digital download as well?

As a matter of fact they are, poochie! You can look up Scamper on iTunes and get 1) the brand-fucking new Boulevards EP, B) 2004's hottest release Leave Your Glasses On in its entirety and as a free bonus just because you're cool III) the entire first season of the Scamper Podcast. We have you covered with hours of entertainment for your little iPod machine.

But I like CDs! Why are you guys being such jerks?

Oh, we're the jerks now? What about that time in 4th grade when you pantsed me in front of the entire geography class?

Come on - I was in fourth grade. When are you going to let that go?

I'll let it go when you're turning in your cold, cold grave, Matt VonDette!

(cough) But as far as the CD issue goes, we know how some of you feel, so Keith has put together this terrific artwork for a CD that doesn't actually exist (he's nutso like that). Pretty soon, we'll have a high resolution version available for easy download, so you can buy the songs on iTunes, burn them to a CD, print out the artwork and WHAMMY! You've got yourself a new CD! How's that sound, you publicly-pantsing dillhole?

Brendo, I know you have too much dignity to bring something like this up, so I'll say it: you provide high quality entertainment for literally hundreds of people a day here on this journal. And you ask for nothing in return. In that way, you're a bit of an American hero.

Well, I wouldn't say that...

No, no - let me finish. For all the free entertainment, insight and high quality writing that you provide for these good readers every day, isn't 99 cents too little to ask? I mean, if everyone reading this just bought ONE song, it could do wonders to support your band. Shouldn't the person who reads your journal every day but is unwilling to spend a measly 99 cents to support you burn in hell for all eternity?

I can't argue with that. But then again, I was raised Irish Catholic. For me, getting a guilt trip is like slipping on a warm, broken-in pair of slippers.

For the record, I DON'T think any of you should burn in hell (well, maybe Matt VonDette), but come on, people. It's 99 cents. Get your asses over there.

Sorry for the lateness - Blogger.com is being a bitch today.

Today is the day: the Boulevards EP is available for download right now! So this is sort of our CD release party except it's a Tuesday morning and there is no CD and most of you are sober.

Seriously, this is a very cool and exciting way for us to get our music out to you folks. A small, unsigned band such as ourselves just doesn't have the resources to push a lot of physical CD product down the throat of the consumer. Luckily, we are more than willing to shove things down your throat on a more intimate, one-on-one basis.

I don't know about you, but I can't tell you the last time I bought a CD from a store. Most of my music purchases are either supporting local bands at shows or downloading from iTunes. With one fell swoop, you can both support your local rock heroes AND join the digital revolution. How do you do it, Mr. Cool Daddy and Ms. Hot Mama? You're so cool it's like you're James Freakin' Bond and Ponch had a kid or some shit.

Now, some people out there just can't let go of the physical CD with the artwork and all that hoodaddy. Why don't we just make an 8-track version for you, Uncle Grandpa? The past is over and you can't relive it! LBJ is dead and buried, Pops!

I'm only funnin'. Don't worry, we've got you nostalgia-heads covered as well - Keith has done up a beauty of a job with the cover art. Go take a look - pretty soon, we'll have a high resolution, easily-downloadable version so that you can make your own CDs from common household items.

What's left to do but take that 99 cents multiplied by four and head over to the store to pick up your four favorite new songs? Seriously, people - I'd like to hear your excuse why you're not doing it. I'd really like to hear that shit.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who sit around and wait for tiaras to be handed to them and those who take them.



The scene: Your local rock heroes had just given their all on the Middle East stage at the WBCN Rumble finals, only to see the winning tiara handed off to another band. Exhausted and covered in the stench of flop sweat and sour defeat, your local rock heroes carried our heavy equipment up the stairs, living to fight another day, when there it was, lying on the stage like a shiny beacon of hope:

The tiara.

In all the hubub and the chaos of their victory, that other band must have plum forgot about it. Being the petty human beings that we are, Scamper quickly pocketed the prized item. We're that small. We really f'ing are. And now, the tiara is our hostage. Demands for its safe return to the "rightful" owners will be forthcoming. In the meantime, it's all ours, baby.



Like the true people's champions that claim to be, Scamper is taking the trophy to the general populace. Just last Friday at Bill's Bar, we stuck a blue Scamper sticker on the the front and unleashed the jewelry on the unwashed masses. Over the next few weeks, we will be posting a daily photo of a Scamper fan wearing the tiara over on the Campaign for Real Time's MySpace page. That'll teach you time traveling bastards to defeat us in a fair fight! More to come...

Sometimes, I get tired of communicating with "words." Booo-ring! So this morning, I've decided to connect with you entirely through the ancient and beautious art of guttural sounds. (Don't worry - I've included a handy dandy translator so the slower among you won't get lost.)

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! (Thats the sound of a man who has just taken his last final of the semester. And, not to jinx it, but I'm pretty sure I crushed it. "Cuntt" has two t's, right? Because if not, I may lose a few points for spelling. You'd be surprised how often I can work the C word into a clinical psychology test.)

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (That's the sound of you anticipating what a blast you're going to have at our big WFNX show at Bill's Bar on Landsdowne Street tonight! Good golly - you just can't wait.)

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa? (That's the sound of a Halogens one-night reunion. Who'd have thunk it? It's like the Beatles reuniting for one night except WAY less exciting. I mean WAY less. Still, it'll be fun.)

Tee hee hee! (We're also playing with the Jumblies. I hope I'm able to meet them without giggling.)

Ay ay ay! Arriba! Arriba! (That's the sound of Cinco de Mayo celebration! Or, as we like to call it in my family, "Poor Man's St. Patrick's Day." Still, big props to Mexico for creating a meaningful holiday for Americans to bastardize and revolve completely around drinking. You've got a long way to go before you catch up with the Irish, but we appreciate the effort, amigos.)

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasp! (The anticipated reaction of tonight's audience when we reveal our little secret item we stole, I mean "liberated," from the WBCN Rumble. Scamper's new motto: "Come for the scandal, stay for the synchronized pelvic thrusts." We're thinking of having bumper stickers made.)

See you all tonight! Jason Halogen has promised to buy you all salted margaritas. He promised me. Just tell him Scamper sent you.

A few folks have been inquiring as to what exactly I was implying with #7 of yesterday's "Starting Nine Reasons You Should Come to the Scamper Show on Friday" gimmick. A "little piece of hardware" from a "certain battle of the bands"? What could Brendo possibly have meant by such cryptic debuggery?

Sorry - you're just going to have to come to Bill's Bar tomorrow night and find out, Curious Georges. Let's just say that Nate really knows how to accessorize - I'll leave it at that. Tough case to crack, eh my little Columbos?

Speaking of battles of bands, one leftover mini-story from the WBCN Rumble that I never got around to sharing: after our performance in the finals, an F.O.S. (Friend of Scamper) overheard a young girl turn to her other young girl friend and have the following exchange:

Young girl #1: "I didn't like them. They were too emo."
Young girl #2: "Yeah. I hate emo."

Don't forget to check out your local emo heroes tomorrow night with The Jumblies (heh heh - boobs) and the one-night Halogens reunion.

In other news, anyone want to chime in with his/her opinion on yesterday's Moussaoui verdict? I know, I know - it's a radical tone shift from talk of jumblies and emo to 9/11 and the death penalty debate. But really - I'll do anything to avoid the comments degrading into a "Nate and Keith reminisce about the terrible songs they wrote in high school" stroll down memory lane again today. Oof.

Since we've been discussing Fenway this week, it seems apropos to mention: we've got a show at Bill's Bar on Landsdowne Street on Friday night! Since we're in the thick of the baseball season, I figured I'd give you the starting nine reasons to come to the show on Friday:

1. The show is only $5. Five freakin' dollars! That'll buy you 3/8ths of a beer at Fenway.

2. In honor of Cinco de Mayo, Keith has promised to grow a pencil-thin moustache and conduct all his between-songs banter en Espanol.

3. The show is part of the WFNX New England Product series. For reals, this is a great series that brings the best bands in town to your asses for a low low price. Good for lovers of rock music and cheapness alike. Go out and support these bands. (Mostly us).

4. Speaking of WFNX, New England Product host Dave Duncan will be more than glad to accept your offer to buy him a beer. He's good like that.

5. Former local rock and roll stalwarts The Halogens have decided to put aside the fussin' and a-feudin' for one night to have a one-off CD release of a whole bunch of previously unheard new material. Kick ass.

6. For once, Scamper will play a show without competing with (and soundly thrashing) the other bands on the bill. To be honest, all that winning started to make us feel a little bad. On Friday, we'll quickly revert back to the "lovable losers" persona we have spent the past few years cynically cultivating as a marketing tool.

7. Speaking of competition, on Friday Scamper will debuting a little piece of hardware we may have collected from a certain battle of the bands a few weeks ago. It's all hush hush at this stage, but let's just say: sometimes, to the bronze medalists go the spoils. More on this hot story later.

8. The opening band is called The Jumblies. Jumblies. That's another word for boobs. Heh heh. Boobs.

9. Nate and I have apparently spent way too much time synchronized dancing over the past few weeks. During rehearsal last night, we were screwing around and spontaneously pulled the exact same high kick move - which we have never done before, mind you - at the exact same moment during a song. It was downright frightening. We spent the rest of rehearsal just standing at our microphones, peering at each other awkwardly.

That kind of synergy - while scary to experience with another grown man - will light up the stage at Bill's like a Willy Mo warning track shot. See you there, fans!

Last night was a terrific night at Ye Olde Ballparkeee. Some highlights:

- On the subway down to the park, I was lucky to find myself sitting across from a middle-aged guy in a moustache crouching with great attention over his edition of the Metro. Upon further inspection, I noticed that he was actually reading another magazine that he had enfolded in the Metro. Upon even further inspection, I realized it was a fucking Hustler. Jesus, dude. On the train? You can't wait until you get home to crack that puppy open? I got up and moved, on the off chance he was going to see his actions to their natural conclusion. I really didn't want to end up as a witness for the prosecution.

- I made the unthinkable mistake of showing up at Fenway hungry and thirsty for beer. Here's what I what I ate and what I paid for it:

2 hot dogs: $8
1 fries: $4.50
1 ice cream: $4
4 beers: $26.50 (!!!!)

Do you have any idea how far I could stretch $43 at the grocery store? I could get 427 hot dogs or a tub of ice cream high as an elephant's eye. Curse you, overinflated Fenway prices. And curse you, ice cream for being so freakin' delicious.

- In response to yesterday's debate, I did clap for Damon during his first at-bat and then booed him every other time up. Apparently, I wasn't booing viciously enough because the girl behind me poked me in the back and said, "Come on, man. Boo his fucking ass."

I responded: "When I was a baby, I was held a lot and breastfed, so I don't have all the deep anger inside that you do. I'm sorry." She looked at me like I had 12 heads. Score.

- As anyone who has ever gone to a game with me knows, the actual athletic competition falls secondary to what clever quips are yelled. The goal is to get as many people in your section to stop concentrating on the game for a moment and think "Wait - what the fuck did he just say?"

As you can imagine, Scamper as a whole is quite good at this little game. Mike started the proceedings by yelling quite loudly "Yay baseball!" to which the guy in front of us turned and said, "That's a bit general, isn't it?"

We were in the center field bleachers, so of course everyone was jumping on Damon with the very clever "You suck" and "You're a fag, Damon." Charming, original material, all. It took well into the 6th or 7th inning before I could get a moment alone with Johnny and yell, "What - you think just because you have 52 million dollars and an upper east side apartment and a really hot wife that you're better than me?" (Pause and look around) "Oh my God - he is SO MUCH better than me." No one in the general vicinity seemed to disagree too strongly.

Late in the game, my throat was starting to hurt from all the screaming and I just blurted out "I like ice cream!" over and over again. A guy in front turned around, leading to the following exchange:

Guy: "I like ice cream?"
Me: "Yeah, it's really good."
Guy: (concerned) "Look, you've had some real gems in this game. But 'I like ice cream'? Come on, man." [disappointed, he shakes his head and turns back around.]
Me: (quietly) I do. Like ice cream.

- You know, as much fun as I had last night - I think I'm all set with Fenway for a while. There is such a high concentration of douchebags there, especially when the Yankees are in town. The douchebag to non-douchebag ratio in that place is just off the scale. And they're boring. Oh God, they're just so boring. The arguments and "quips" between Sox and Yankee fans in the men's bathroom were narcolepsy-inducing:

"How many rings does A-Rod have?"
"Yeah, well how's Coco's finger?"
"Yeah, well how's Giambi's shrunken balls?"
"Yeah, well it's 26 to 1, asshole."
"Yeah, well how are the Giants doing?"
"Yeah, well we should both probably just suck a tailpipe. We've got nothing to contribute to the world at this stage."
"... yeah." [They hold hands and jump off a cliff.]

Don't get me wrong - it's not just in Fenway that the douchebag ratio goes up. I've had the same experience in every ballpark or arena or concert I've ever attended. Maybe I'm just not designed to have direct, intensive contact with large masses of people. It sours me on the whole "being alive" thing.

Anyway, it was a fun night. Thanks to Nate for getting the tickets. Here is photo evidence of your local rock heroes, enjoying a fine spring evening at Fenway:

Happy May Day, my little junebugs. Ah... spring. When an allergic young man's fancy turns to hocking up large chunks of his sinuses.

The big ol' spring promises to be jambilly-packed with tingling excitement in the sphere of Scamper Nation. We should have some scintillating news to announce over the next few weeks regarding a) the digital release date on our new online-only four-song EP, b) some lingering a-fussin' from the big Rumble finals show and c) Nate's chest hair being declared "protected land" status by the EPA.

We've even got a somewhat-thrilling mini-announcement over in the NEWS section: we're going to be part of the Newbury Comics/WFNX "Wicked Good Boston Bands: Volume 2" compilation. It's very cool to be lumped in with all those other great bands - we hope we're as wicked good as them and don't disappoint the general public with our general lack of wicked goodness.

But on to more pressing issues: tonight, the Yankees come to town for the first time this season. As luck would have it, it falls on National "Take Your Band To Fenway" Day, so Scamper will be attending this game en masse. Mmmmm hot dogs and beeeeer.

The phone calls and letters have been pouring in, asking the important question: "How is Scamper going to react to Johnny Damon's first at-bat at Fenway as a member of the Yankees? As community leaders, the entire ballpark will be looking to Scamper to set the tone. How will Scamper handle that kind of public pressure?"

Pressure is Scamper's spank rag, so don't you worry your pretty little noggins about that issue. But it's an interesting dilemma - how will Scamper handle the awkward "cheer or boo" situation with Damon? Some people appreciate Damon's role in finally bringing a championship to this town. Other, stupider people feel personally betrayed for some reason that a professional athlete would choose to do the same job for more money for a different company.

But as always, Scamper has you covered. As we had our weekly meeting/body hair shaving session, we concoted a perfect solution aimed at pleasing everyone. When Damon first comes up to bat...

Nate will be on his feet, cheering heartily.

Keith will be on his ass, booing lustily.

Mike will burst into tears and bury his head in the nearest ice cream vendor's cleavage.

Brendan will take the time to once again deny the holocaust.

See? Everyone's happy. Go Sox!