Hope everyone had a nice weekend and stayed good and hydrated. As for me, I was lucky enough to be invited to the wedding of my pals Dawn and Jim, who finally made it legal after a sprawling 10-year courtship. Regular readers will likely remember both Dawn and Jim, who have made a few memorable appearances in the hallowed archives of this here journal. In fact, unless I'm mistaken, Dawn is the one and only proud owner of the BrendoThong.

As you can probably gather from these examples, Dawn and Jim are clearly two unique individuals whose simultaneous joy and exasperation with life is somehow both endlessly entertaining and inspiring to be around. They're good people that love each other. Sometimes, it's just that simple. Congratulations, guys.

As for your local rock hero, all the resources of my body are still being utilized for "recovery mode." It wasn't so much the alcohol that did the damage - it was an outdoor wedding on Saturday so the combination of buckets of sweat pouring off me on the dance floor and the mosquitos sucking every spare drop of liquid out of my salty-tasting body meant that I could drink all night without even a courtesy buzz.

No, what I'm really hurting from is the worm. Years before they were even engaged, Dawn made me promise that at her wedding, I would do the worm across the dance floor. I am a lot of things, but a man that doesn't keep his word to a bride on her wedding day is NOT one of them. As a result, I have giant bruises on my knees and there are tiny aching muscles in my lower back and abdominal areas. The worm is no joke. It was worth it as Dawn was a happy woman, but here's a publice service announcement: only bring our wormy friend out when absolutely necessary, Turbos. Your lower lumbar region will thank you in the morning.

Speaking of celebrations, Brendo Birthday Month officially starts tomorrow! Oh my God - are you guys as excited as I am?

Speaking of birthdays, I'm world-renowned as the most shameless of birthday whores in the Western world. And friends, I've got a biiiiiiiig one coming up. Like one of those dreaded birthdays that ends in a big fat zero. That's right - it's the big 7-Oh.

Okay, I'm not quite that old, but I'm not going to lie to you - I'm starting to feel my age creeping in on me. The biggest difference I've noticed is recovery time. I just don't bounce back from physical abuse I heap upon myself like I could in the glory days. For instance, I don't know if the astute of you have noticed, but whenever I land on stage after the synchronized "Longshot" jump, my right knee makes a deafening crackling sound and spits out a fine white powder, composed of a combination of cobwebs, asbestsos and ancient Egyptian mummy dust.

But I like to make the best of it. In past years, I usually turn my birthday into a birthweek, using all seven days in mid-August to generously allow multiple friends to buy me celebratory dinners and drinks. I do it for them, really. You should see their little faces light up when the bill comes and I wait for them to utter my favorite words: "This one's on me. After all, it is your birthday week." As always, I'm one of the greater Boston area's greatest humanitarians.

Well, since this is such a large, looming birthday over my old greying head, I've decided to get even more generous with you and expand my moochtastic behavior with the following announcement:

August is officially Brendo Birthday Month.

That means that for the entire month of August, I will be accepting free drinks, dinners and gifts. And before you even ask, I know what you're thinking: no, I am not offended by large sums of cash. This is your opportunity to live out the American dream of buying me stuff. You're welcome.

But you'd better hurry and reserve your night - there are a LOT of people out there who want to buy me drinks and make me dinners. The power is in your hands. Have a good weekend, aardvarks.

Hey, it's a big day for our drummer Mikey Mike. Everyone be sure to congratulate him - he finally sprouted pubes!

Wait, I wasn't supposed to tell you about that part. Oh yeah - it's his birthday! Hooray for Mikey! Hip hip! In honor of this very rare and illustrious anniversary of his birth, there is a party in his trousers and everyone is invited. Except me, of course.

Let me ask you a little question on social graces, because quite frankly I'm a bit of an asocial oaf and sometimes I have a little trouble picking up on the more subtle signals people send. Completely hypothetically, let's say a drummer in a local power pop band is having a little birthday get-together. And let's posit, just as an example, that he invites all his friends and every member of his band to said soiree EXCEPT his handsome and charming bassist. In fact, say that said handsome and charming bassist wouldn't even know about the birthday bash except he heard about it from a third-party (out-of-state even!) source. Would that tell you:

a) Said drummer was planning on giving said bass player a very special personal invitation, including a trumpet flourish, perhaps a ribbon and maybe even a sloppy hoofjob from Signor Yazul, the world-renowned mountain goat slut flown in special from the craggy cliffs of Nepal.

b) Said drummer is sick of people confusing him with said bass player because of their slight passing physical resemblance, which would result in much birthday confusion and quite possibly less cake for him.

c) Said drummer cowers in fear the mighty birthday spanking that will inevitably come from the bassist's massive, ripply forearms.

d) Said drummer is the head waiter at the hot new restaurant Chez Douchebag.

Any thoughts out there, my little Miss Mannerseseses?

If you missed it over on my compadre Madden's bloggy blog, here's a photo he took of a gas station near his office (reprinted here without any permission whatsoever):


To me, the funniest part of this photo isn't really the "arm and leg" part, but that the name of the gas station is "Jamco." Maybe it's just me, but a gas station named "Jamco" immediately shoots images into my mind of sleeveless grease monkeys jumping on the hoods of their flame-detailed Camaros, waging intense air-guitar wars to Eddie Money songs. I mean, they probably really jam over at Jamco, know what I'm sayin'? I like it a lot.

Other things I like a lot this morning:

- Dry honey nut Cheerios washed down with Lyon's Irish tea with honey and half & half. Yummy.

- The mental image of our wonder-producer Tom Polce sticking his head behind a speaker to adjust the PA in my basement and suddenly lurching around the room after getting a faceful of cobwebs. I'm carrying that image to my grave.

- Scientology. Seriously, it just makes sense. Read the literature before you get all judgy on my ass.

- David Wells. That big fat fuck is going to lace them up again? Nothing makes me happier. One of my favorite things in the world is watching Wells bounce around the diamond with his gigantor belly flapping in the breeze and thinking "That man is a professional athlete."

So you see - even though the world is in ever-expanding war while back home it's hot as buffalo balls, tunnels are falling on our heads and you need to take out a small business loan to fill your tank with gas, things are still in general pretty ok. Right?

As the astute of y'all may have noticed by checking out the SHOWS section of the Scampernet, our little flurry of shows has come to a merciful end. So we're actually on a little bit of a break until the end of August when we get on a ferry and play a fun fun all ages show up in Maine (state motto: "Someone in your family has probably fondled a moose's balloon knot.")

It's actually nice to have a little break in the recent Scamptastic non-stop XXX action (that little phrase is going to get some unhappy visitors from google, eh?). Despite being a usually tight-knit group, each member of Scamper is spending his vacation in a drastically different way...

After his outstanding job coming up with the nickname The Dunkler, Keith Daddy has been recruited by Vince McMahon to come up with hot new wrestler gimmicks. Just wait until the wrestling world gets a load of the debut of John "The Head" Bandwidth, the WWE's most vicious battling online crossword puzzle enthusiast. This Friday on Smackdown!

On the other hand, Nate Diggity is chasing more lofty pursuits, leading a crack team of archeological experts on a perilous dig to the center of his own chest hair. While he's not sure exactly what dangers he will encounter on this death-defying journey, he has packed three extra pairs of silk boxer shorts, a can of pterodactyl repellant and a bologna sandwich.

Mikey Mike is spending his vacation retracing the route Tony Danza took on his 1992 trip to colonial Williamsburg. Like the majority of Americans, Mike likes to spend the bulk of his free time traveling the country in a half-broken Winnebago, re-enacting the more obscure Danza family vacations. I know, I know - what a cliche, right?

Which leaves your buddy Boogie. What am I supposed to do with my time off? Any ideas?

Big thanks to all our pals that made it out to the Wellfleet Beachcomber on Friday night. It was, by all accounts, the oddest day in Scamper history.

Usually, these road trip gigs are opportunities for the four of us to hang out all day, have some laughs, play a little grab-ass and generally engage in some not-quite-all-the-way-hetero male bonding. But lack of communication and planning caused us to break up into to two separate but equal teams, spending the day in warring Scampfactions.

Mike and Nate (Team name: "The Douchebag Express") went down early to comb the beach at the (aptly named) Beachcomber. Apparently, Nate got all "diggity" on your asses and dug a big hole in the sand, while Mike was busy lodging sand into his unspeakable places while drooling over Rocketscience, who were running out of the water in slow motion, the salty ocean water dripping off their toned, glistening bodies.

On the other side of the Cape, Keith and I ("Team Passive-Aggressive") resentfully had our own little mini-Day of Fun which included but was not limited to ice cream, batting cages and walking around Provincetown playing the always-fun "I think those two guys might be gay" game. On the upside, I beat Mr. I-Win-at-Everything in a game of bocce ball. My victory was shallow, as it was overshadowed by the glaring absence of our fellow Scampatriots.

Like the little girls that we are, each side of the Scamper schism wondered why the other half hated us so much that they didn't want to hang out. For those of you with dreams of the rock and roll lifestyle, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: being in a band is the just about the gayest thing you can do with your day. It's literally like dating three guys. It blows my mind sometimes.

But when we finally converged, we had a little group pow-wow, got on the same page and did our best to rock the swimtrunks off the joint. By all accounts it was a good show, although I did get confused and play the verses "Bruised By You" in the wrong key. Because I'm a professional.

After the show, a drunken/crazy beach lady said she'd only sign the Scamper mailing list if I agreed to move in with her. Sorry, honey - I'm already spoken for. I'm in a band.

Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.
Mike is gay for Rocketscience.

That is all.

As many of you have read in the past, nicknaming Red Sox players is a bit of a hobby of mine. Joe, 12-Gauge and I came up with a few beauts in our day, including Bullett (Brian Daubach), Gabe "Tip of the" Kapler and of course, Big Papi (Jonathan Papelbon). Well, I'm pleased to report that yesterday, a new Red Sox nickname was born. Here's how it all went down:

Occasionally, Scamper's erstwhile leader Keith Daddy will try to bond with me by pretending that he knows something about pro wrestling, leading to the following conversation...

Keith: Batista... is... BACK!
Brendan: You seem pretty excited about it.
Keith: I really am.
Brendan: With the injury to Mark Henry, who do you think he's going to wrestle at the Great American Bash?
Keith: Umm...
Brendan: Perhaps one of the superstars from RAW, like Kane or Umaga?
Keith: Maybe...
Brendan: We know it won't be the Great Khali, as he's already embroiled in a bitter "Punjabi Prison" match with the Undertaker. I mean, any idiot knows that.
Keith: I think it will be the Dunkler.
Brendan: It could be. It could be the Dunkler, although it's not incredibly likely, since there's no such person as the Dunkler.
Keith: Come on, man. It's the Dunkler!
Brendan: No, you're making him up.
[As we argue, the Red Sox score comes in on the wire.]
Keith: Looks like Josh Beckett got the shut-out win.
Brendan: Sweet. Maybe Josh Beckett will challenge Batista.
Keith: That's what I said.
Brendan: What do you mean?
Keith: Well... have YOU ever seen Josh Beckett and the Dunkler in the same place together?
Brendan: I can honestly say that I haven't.

It's just that simple, folks. Josh Beckett is now "The Dunkler." It's sort of obvious if you look at his bulbous face. That guy is SO the Dunkler.

If you'd like to argue Red Sox nicknames with Keith or myself, we'll be heading down to the Wellfleet Beachcomber tomorrow night to play a little showy show with Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth. Rumor has it that John, the drummer from Rocketscience, will challenge Mick Foley to a brutal no-holds-barred "Beards on the Beach" match. Should be quite the spectacle. See you there, Scampermaniacs.

Bad news, kids: looks like the bus down to the Wellfleet Beachcomber isn't happening for Friday's show. Apparently, the only bus available will blow up if it drops below 50 miles per hour. So sorry - you're going to have to burn up your share of fossil fuels in your own individual death traps. Don't let the fuel costs discourage you: it's worth choking a few spotted owls with your car's exhaust pipe to see Scamper rock alongside Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth. This show will be seeeeeerious fun. And rumor has it that Nate is offering piggy back rides once you get to the beach.

Continuing the mooching discussion, last night I took advantage of the tried and true "drink way more than my share of beers at the company softball game" model of cheap inebriation. The humidity was making me thiiiiiiiiiirsty. Why not add a dehydrating agent to my already sweat-soaked carcass, eh? That sounds healthy.

Luckily for my team, beer apparently has the same effect on my arms as flat-chested gangly chicks has on Popeye's guns, because I was absolutely jacking the ball. I hit two homeruns and was robbed of a third by a spectacular catch in centerfield. A two homerun game! Sure our team lost by one run in the last inning, but the team result was by far overshadowed by my stunning individual achievement. I repeat: a two homerun game! I was like Albert freakin' Poo-Holes. Except much much poorer. And giggly-ass drunk.

But this little story raises the question: is there anything sadder than a near-thirty-year old man taking so much pleasure in such a dubious athletic achievement? A two homerun game in an office softball league is literally the athletic highlight of my life. I'm still beaming from it. There can't be anything sadder than that, can there? I mean, anything?

A couple of quick updates on the Hooray for Earth-chartered bus for the Wellfleet Beachcomber show with Rocketscience this Friday:

1) The original Stop and Shop in Allston pickup spot has proven to be unviable due to lack of late-night parking, so there will be a new pickup spot announced soon. It will still be in Allston.

2) The bus is too much. It's a magic bus. I want it, I want it, I want it... caaaaaaaan't have it!

In other news, my general financial brokitude continues. The good news is that I put myself on a uber-strict budget to stop the bleeding and it seems to be working out okay. This weekend, I spent a grand total of $6 and still managed to meet my gluttonous eating and excessive drinking quotas for the week.

What's my secret? The key is that I have developed an almost Joe Welsh-ian ability to take advantage of free stuff. Don't get me wrong - he is and always will be the master of the mooch. But I'm doing my best. My sister-in-law's sister (would that make her my sister-in-law-in-law or my sister-in-sister-in-law?) had a great birthday party this weekend during which I never wandered more than 3 feet in any direction from the keg or the rib platter. It's like I had a mooch tether attached to my ass.

When you're in a band, there are many little techniques to cut costs. For instance, fellow band members will rarely question their bass player when he says, "The club only gave us one drink ticket each, the jerks." And by the time the other band members find out the truth of his clever rouse, their bass player has already finished consuming the band's allotment of free adult beverages and is lovably drunk. He's simply adorable when he's loaded and quite frankly, they can't stay mad at him.

Birthdays, weddings and anniversaries can present sticky situations for someone with no cash flow whatsoever, but it's nothing a little imagination can't overcome. For instance, for the recent Scamper 5th anniversary dinner, I made coupons for each of my fellow band members. Mike gets one free hug while Nate gets a complimentary backrub. I saved the best of all for Keith: one time during the next calendar year, Keith gets to punch me in the stomach as hard as he wants. As long as he warns me - that's how Houdini died.

I guess what I'm saying is it takes a lot of hard work to be a cheap bastard. It's a complete lifestyle change. Anyone have any other cheap-ass stories/ideas for mooching to help a brutha out?

Damn - I was only Brendan Boogie for 24 hours and it already ended up in print. Check out the review of the Kay Hanley show in the Boston Phoenix last week. Bam. All traces of my previous name are erased from the public consciousness. Got to love the information superage and all that shit.

The good time party continues on Friday at the Wellfleet Beachcomber. It's a great venue and the perfect opportunity to blow off work for a Friday, spend the day on the beach and see a great show with Scamper, Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth at night. Hooray for Earth have been gracious enough to set up a bus down to the venue and back. If you're thinking about heading down, it's a seriously good deal - $40 for the ride to and from the Cape AND a ticket to the show. It's filling up quick, but I believe there are seats available, so act now.

It's officially "Busiest Day in the History of the World" at work today, so I'm getting slammed. Consequently, I've got nothing in my bag of journal tricks this morning. Anyone got any good stories from the hot, sexy weekend?

Hey kids - thanks for an absolutely terrific turnout last night at TT the Bear's. What a fun night. Some highlights:

- During the always fun "load gear out of my house and into the club" portion of the evening, we were lucky enough to be joined by Keith's lovely wife Alena and son/expert stagename-creator Jason. I hadn't seen Jason in a few weeks, so I suppose I was a little overexcited to see him. I jumped into the back seat of the car with him while he was still locked in his car seat and gave him a big ol' rasberry on the belly. Of course, he reacted by getting scared and bursting into tears. The lesson? I scare children.

- Before the show, we planned a little surprise in which Kay Hanley would jump up on stage with and sing an old Letters to Cleo song, followed by "Barcelona." So we set up the following bit:

Me: Okay, we're trying a little something new here tonight. Earlier in the night, we had people write their names on little pieces of paper and put them in this bag. We're going to draw a name out and the winner gets to come up and sing the next song with us.
[As the audience groans in anticipation of the impending trainwreck, Keith brings out a bag from which I draw a scrap of paper]
Me: Okay, I can't really read the writing, but I think it says "Kate Handy." Is there a "Kate Handy" here?
Kay Hanley: I think that's me!

After the show, a very friendly and intoxicated New Zealander pulled Keith and I aside and in a conspiratorial tone confided, "That thing where the girl came up and sang... I think that was a set-up." Somehow, he just couldn't buy the coincidence of us randomly selecting the name of the frontwoman from Letters to Cleo out of a hat to sing a Letters to Cleo song with us. You caught us, sir. It was out-and-out trickery.

- Our set was SO much fun. Probably one of the top five best shows we've ever had. Behind the scenes and in our private lives, this summer has been a little hectic for Scamper. We've all been a bit burned out. To be honest, despite the fact that it was a big night, we weren't really as up for this show as we should have been. We were just wiped.

That all changed when we hit the stage. You guys in the audience gave Scamper the shot in the arm that it so desperately needed. It was one of those great sets that seems like it's over way too soon. We got off stage and agreed: THAT'S why we love being in a band. So thanks so much to you guys - you make our lives better.

- After the during the load-out, Nate and I were chatting Kay's youthful husband/kickass guitar player USA Mike when I made the mistake of getting him started on what I thought would be a relatively short and sweet story. BIG mistake. USA Mike likes to USA talk. "In order to tell you that story, I have to go back seven years..."

About ten minutes later, Nate and I are standing there in slack-jawed disbelief at the intricacy and detail of the yarn that USA Mike is spinning, when Keith and Mike shoot us the Scamper stinkeye for not helping them load out the equipment. After a few attempts of polite interruption, I say "USA Mike, I'm sorry - we really have to help with the load out."

And this is why USA Mike is the coolest guy ever. Without stopping the story AT ALL, USA Mike walks over to our gear, picks up the coat hanger with my suit on it, walks it outside with me and hangs it up in Keith's car. All the while embroidering layers upon layers of this eternal story. "Remember, this was the mid-90's when I used to wear an onion on my belt because that was the style at the time..." It was simply amazing.

So thanks once again for Kay and company for letting us ride her beautiful coattails for yet another great night. And thanks to you all for coming out and making us fall in love with rock and roll once again.

The momentum will hopefully continue next week at the Wellfleet Beachcomber with Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth. There's a bus! Hooray for buses!

I think I've got it. I was going to stretch this "looking for a new name" conceit out for another day, but late last night, I had a revelation: I have already been given the perfect name. Why am I looking for a new name when I've already been awarded a great name by someone very smart and creative and important in my life? So what that he's only 22 months old - he's a very good nicknamer.

Ladies and gentlemen - your winner (drumroll and inevitable sigh of disappointment please): Brendan Boogie.

For those of you new to the Scamper fold, when Keith's son Jason was younger, I used to pick him up over my head, blow rasberries on his belly and say "Boogie boogie boogie." One day, he pointed at me and said "Boogie." Since that day, I've been Uncle Boogie. So I figured it was time to make it official - my new stage name will be Brendan Boogie. The winner of the prize (I believe it was a Vladimir Putin-style kiss on the belly) is Mr. Jason Raymond Michel (in response, I have deemed his new stage name: Captain Poopy Pants and the Electric Drool Wagon).

Thanks to everyone for your great suggestions. As always, I am amazed by the creativity and funniness of my readership. Unfortunately, none of you can compete with a two year-old toddler. How's that feel, huh? Live with that, bitches!

I'll be trying out the new stage name for size tonight at TT the Bear's with Kay Hanley (new stage name: Miss Hotty "Boom-Boom" Rodriguez) and Charlie Chesterman (stage name: Dr. Eduardo "Shakes" McBlueberryBalls-Rodman). See you all tonight. And don't forget to get your asses on the bus.

Quick reminders: Kay Hanley at TT's tomorrow. Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth at the Wellfleet Beachcomber on Friday the 21st. There's a bus. Get on said bus.

Now, this "shopping for a new last name" thing has sure been a fascinating little project. My first instinct was to just go with my middle name, making me "Brendan James." Unfortunately, there already is a Brendan James who apparently is a Capitol Records artist. I know - I haven't heard of him either, but I don't want to take the chance of him breaking big and me ending up stuck with the equivalent of naming myself "Nick Lachey" or some shit.

After I combed through a few old family names that just didn't seem to fit, I of course immediately turned to the world of professional wrestling. "Brendan Flair." "Brendan Piper." "Brendan 'The Dragon' Steamboat." As much as I enjoy the occasional steel chair to the cranium, none of them really fit like a pair of velour tights with my name embroidered across the ass. Vinny suggested I go with either "Brendan B. Ware," "The Brendan Shiek" or "Andre the Brendan."

Nate decided to go another way entirely - his suggestion was to go with a one-word concept name, like "Strength." It sounds ridiculous, but hey - people call Sting "Sting" without snickering. Who says I can't pull it off? I almost decided to go for it, just to see the look on people's face when I say "Hi, my name is Strength." I know it would get pretty old pretty quick, but still - "Call me Strength." Classic.

Then, I remembered that an old friend of mine from high school and I used to give people American Indian "Dances With Wolves" names to describe their foibles. One of our friends was "Thinks With Dick" while another was "Enables His Alcoholic Family." But what would mine be? "Sweats Through Tuxedo Pants"? "Blogs About Drummer's Balls"?

I'm still in a conundrum. Nothing's really stuck so far, but there have been some great suggestions, both on the comments and to my email. Keep them coming - I promise to make a decision by Friday and end this crap of which you are probably all tired by now. Whoever's name I choose gets a big Vladimir Putin-style kiss on his/her belly. Now THAT'S a prize, friends. See you all tomorrow night at TT's.

Busy week, kids. Let's take care of some bidness, shall we? Yes, yes we shall.

First off, as far as we've been told, there are still tickets left for the big Kay Hanley show at TT the Bears on Thursday night. As those of you who have attended this show in the past know - this puppy will sell out. Kay always brings the ruckus, so head on down to TT's early and often and grab your tickets.

Secondly, there's a big show on July 21 down at the Wellfleet Beachcomber on the Cape featuring your local rock heroes along with two of our favorite bands Rocketscience and Hooray for Earth. I know, I know - sounds like an awesome show, but going all the way down the Cape is a giant pain in the ol' tuckus, right? Wrong! This time, you're wrong, sir! Check out what our friends in Hooray for Earth have done for you unworthy people:

Wanna go to the beach for the day AND see the show? No problem. We
have chartered a bus! For just $40 you can get a ride with us to
Cahoon Hollow beach, hang out for the day, rock the show at night, and
get home safely.

Keith has put all the details of how you can get in on this deal up in the NEWS section. For cereal, this is a great opportunity to come see a great show at a great venue with minimal hassle to you. In other words, there are no excuses, people. Come on down and party with Scamper on July 21. And hooray for Hooray for Earth for setting this shit up.

Finally, thanks to all the suggestions for new stage names that have been pouring in. I appreciate all the funny funny. Just in case any of you had good ideas but were too shy, it is okay for you guys to suggest serious names as well. I am planning on living with this name for the rest of my "professional" life, so feel free to hit me with anything that pops into your sick little heads. Until tomorrow...

Hoo-ah! Scamper's "Summer of What Seems Like a Million Jillion Gigs 2006" continues this thursday Thursday THURSDAY! This week, we're a little closer to home and lucky enough to be once again riding the sexy coattails of our friend Kay Hanley at TT the Bear's in Cambridge. Kay's annual homecoming gigs are always popular, so you may want to grab your tickets early.

Now, on to a weird bit of business: I need your help, friends. As many of you know, I am juggling graduate school for mental health counseling with being the studly, apple-bottomed rock star. Sometimes, it feels like I'm living a bit of a double life - the responsible adult studying to caretake psyches at their most vulnerable versus the pelvic-thrusting, dick-joke loving id with whom you all dream of sleeping. You know what? It's time to make the separation official.

I need a stage name.

Now, let me get a few things straight right off the bat. Usually, I HAAAAAATE when local "rock stars" go by stage names. Actually, I don't mind it so much if they're on stage at the time, but I find it incredibly obnoxious when they carry over the stage name to real life, leading to exchanges like the following VERY REAL conversation I had with a local "rock star" (whose name I have cleverly disguised):

Me: Hey man, nice to meet you. I'm Brendan.
Him: I'm Teal.
Me: Teal? As in the color?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Okay, but what should I call you?
Him: You can call me Teal. Everyone calls me Teal.
Me: You sure? You don't want me to call you Steve or, you know, your actual name?
Him: No, Teal is fine.
Me: Okay... Teal.

See what I mean? This is an incredibly dumb conversation for two adults to be having. I want to avoid that sort of pretentious bullshit as much as possible. Essentially, I just want to make it a little less likely that a schizophrenic with whom I working can google me and find my ridiculous internet ramblings, thus undoing years of careful mental health work. But feel free to call me anything you want in person... just don't call me late for supper! Hey-oh!

Also, I am extremely proud of my family name and the history and tradition that comes along with it. Both my first and last names have long and meaningful stories and my taking of a stage name in no way reflects my disrespect of those traditions. In fact, I feel I'm protecting the family name by taking measures to keep it more private.

So anyway - just for ease's sake, I'm planning on keeping the Brendan part, so essentially I need a new last name... which is where you chumps come in. Any ideas? I have a few ideas, but I want to make a decision by the end of the week, so any help would be greatly appreciated. Let your imaginations run wild - maybe if I choose yours, I'll give you some sort of prize or some shit. Have at it, donkeys.

And winners of yesterday's contest to open for Bon Jovi at Gillette Stadium... Clarias! Second place went to Cialis with Claritin coming in a close third.

I keed, I keed. Congratulations to the guys in Clarias - very nice young lads. I'm sure they'll do us proud in front of 70,000 people and not get all nervous and CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE! Just kidding - we're happy for you guys. Congrats on getting to live out the rock and roll dream.

As for your buddies in Scamper, it was just an odd-ass day all around the bend. When we got the specs for the order of events and our instructions for arriving at the venue, we let out a collective "Whaaaaaaa?" Nate tried to clarify on the phone with the organizer of the event.

Nate: So we have to be there at 10:30am.
Organizer: Yes.
Nate: But there's no sound check and we don't go on until 5pm.
Organizer: That is correct.
Nate: And we're not allowed to leave the premises of the event at all during the event?
Organizer: That's right.
Nate: Are we allowed to...
Organizer: No.
Nate: You didn't even let me...
Organizer: You're not allowed to finish sentences. That's in the rules.
Nate: (flipping through the rules) Well, I'll be.

Rigid rules were the rule of the day. Apparently, Waltham got disqualified for exceeding some sort of phantom "too many decibels" rule during their set. To be fair to the organizers, I did see Huey Lewis at the foot of the stage with a megaphone saying "I'm sorry - you're just too darn loud." Rumor even has it that we were disqualified for including four bars of Fleetwood Mac's "Go Your Own Way" at the end of "Stunner," violating some sort of "no covers" rule about which we were never informed. It was just an odd day all around is what I'm saying.

As we were at dinner after the show, Keith raised his glass to the "last contest Scamper is ever entering." Nate and I raised our glasses only to turn to Mike and see him suddenly clutching his temples, trying to pluck out his eyeballs in agony. Was he that upset that we lost? Nope - he had a brain freeze from his fresh fruit smoothie. We all laughed at his pain for a good ten minutes. We all felt a lot better. Except Mike.

Big shout-out to Maura and Sara along with my sis-in-law Katie and Kristen for making the trek down all the way down to Newport RI to support your local rock heroes. Losing - it just gets easier the more you do it. Now I know how the Kansas City Royals feel.

Let's put all this loser talk behind us, friends. Next week, more fun stuff including the big Kay Hanley show on Thursday at TT the Bears and also a fun little project with which I'm going to need everyone's help. Fa. Have a good weekend and don't buy a Saturn. They suck.

Ahhhhh. A nice long weekend, huh? Like most of you, I'm getting slammed at work, but I have a lot information to cover, so let me be as quick as possible:

- I finally made it to Ohio for the wedding, about eight hours late. Luckily, the boys were in mid-bachelor party when I arrived, so they sent the limo to come grab me. The patrons of the Akron-Canton airport were pretty impressed when I hopped in a limo, let me tell you.

- It took approximately 38 minutes for my lily-white limo driver to casually drop an N word. And not in the ironic "alternative comedy" kind of way. Got to love Ohio.

- Yes, I cried a little at the wedding. There. Are you happy?

Sorry to be so brief - it was a wonderful wedding and the happy couple is off honeymooning on some lake somewhere. It's almost 10am eastern time, so chances are the happy hubby Hogg is either a) drunk, b) hungover, c) hairy or d) a AND c. So congratulations to the happy couple.

But on to other business - okay, the information is trickling in to us about this Bon Jovi contest show at the Newport Yachting Center. Here's what we know so far:

Apparently, although the concert allegedly starts at 1pm, our set time is 5pm. We're not sure exactly what's going on, but that's the most updated information we've got from the radio station. Basically, if you're planning on heading down to Rhode Island, be prepared to be a little flexible and/or listen to 5+ hours of rock and/or roll.

Also, Mix 98.5 has listed our "opponents" (as experience band-battlers, we prefer to think of them as "mortal enemies") on their site and what do you know? There are our old friends Waltham.

For those of you new to the fold, our last encounter with Waltham was when MTV asked us to audition for the role of "rock and roll coach" for the show Made (read about it hynaw). We met Waltham in the corridors as we were waiting (terrific guys, by the way). Eventually, the MTV folks went with the tattoo'd tough guy Frank from Waltham rather than the giggly nerdballs in Scamper. Shocking, I know.

Frank did a much better job on the show than any of us would (i.e. he actually took it all seriously) and thus, Waltham has gone on to tour internationally and virtually explode with success. Scamper, on the other hand, practices in a bug-infested, flood-prone cellar. So essentially, we owe you one, Waltham. We'll see you bitches tomorrow.