Happy Halloween, jerkasses. Sorry the posting website crapped out on me yesterday and wouldn't let me post. But rather than rewrite a new post, let's all hop into the "Scamper Time Machine" and head all the way back to yesterday (spooky music)...

Happy Monday, cherubs. Hope you're all not too creeped out from your myriad Halloween costume parties. I couldn't come to a consensus on my costume, so I called a last minute audible: I grabbed my giant hat from the last French Lick show and went as "Guy Who's Trying To Look Inconspicuous at a Costume Party Even Though He's Not Really Wearing a Costume." I've got to tell you - it was quite the hit. And by "quite the hit," I of course mean "nobody gave a spooky fuck."

But it's okay, because October is just about over and you know what that means: it's time for Rockvember! (Yeah, I know - the Scamper marketing department is working on a better catchphrase.) Three Scamper shows in just three weeks! Wha wha whaaaaa? I can't believe it. Mayhaps I should start el pimping now, huh hombres?

For reals, the International Pop Overthrow show at the Paradise Lounge is going to be very cool. Check out the lineup over at our SHOWS page. That's a lot of bands for one low low price. Scamper is hitting the stage relatively early (around 8:30 or so), so it's a great opportunity so grab some dinner, see a quick Scamper show and then party the night away. Or, if you're really fucking lame like our lead singer, go home early.

The IPO is actually a 5-night event with literally TONS of bands. Check out the schedule and get back to me. Seriously, that's a TON of really good bands. If you want a crash course in the Boston rock scene, there's really no reason for you not to attend all five nights. You can do it, heroes.

Folks, I'm in a band again.

Although I had been absent for so very long, I reclaimed my rightful place on the throne last night during our first full-squad Scamphearsal in months. It felt great to kick off the dust and rattle the catacombs of the musty basement rehearsal space. The night was not without its awkward transitional moments, however.

After messing up a spot in "The Proof is Altogether Too Late," Keith stopped the song and huddled with Nate to get back on the same page:

Keith: So has it always been only one hit there?
Nate: Yeah, you're thinking of the Nastri version.
Brendan: Wait - what?
Nate: Huh?
Brendan: There's a "Nastri version"?
(awkward silence)

The guy replaced me for ONE show and he already has versions of songs named after him. Apparently, I've had it wrong all along - it is in fact I who have the impressive shoes to fill. Two and a half years in this band and I've got to win my job back. I feel like a much much sexier version of Drew Bledsoe.

See how I struggle to regain my band identity at our next show: the International Pop Overthrow Saturday November 4 at the Paradise Lounge with many many other cool bands. If Nastri shows his face, I'm throwing down.

Wow - I've been so busy preparing for all the big Scamper gigs coming up in November (check out the SHOWS section for details) that I completely forgot that the big ol' holiday is coming up. Whatever am I going to be for Halloween?

It's always been of paramount importance to me that on any particular Halloween, I am virtually guaranteed to be the only one in the entire world sporting my particular costume. Call it ego, call it what you will. Call me old fashioned, call me over the hill.

So far, I only have come up with one idea: I'm thinking of going as pitcher Ted Lilly after a plane crash. I'm positive this one is unique, plus it has the added bonus of kickstarting the following conversation with fellow partygoers:

Partygoer: So who are you supposed to be?
Me: Ted Lilly after a plane crash.
Partygoer: But... I thought Corey Lidle was the one in the plane crash.
Me: Yeah, I know but when they both pitched for Oakland, I used to get them mixed up all the time. So... Boo!
Partygoer: What are you doing?
Me: I'm Ted Lilly haunting you from beyond the graaaaave!
Partygoer: But Ted Lilly's not dead.
Me: Beyoooooond the graaaaaaaaave!
Partygoer: Yeah. I'm going to go talk to that guy now.

Not great, but it's all I've got right now. Let's get a little creative brainstorming going. What's everyone else going as for Halloween?

More good news in the land of Scamper: it looks like "Barcelona" has been added to the regular rotation at our new favorite radio station WFNX. No more cramming ourselves into the one-hour local show on Sunday nights (with the charismatic and not UNsexy Dave Duncan). Ten to fifteen spins a day - we're in prime time, baby!

It's very cool to finally be unleashed on the radio to mix it up with the big boys. We would like to thank WFNX for spinning us and of course the Red Hot Chili Peppers for allowing other bands' music to be played during breaks between their overrated, unlistenable, terrible terrible terrible songs about California. We sure do appreciate it.

The best part about this whole thing is that it greatly increases the likelihood of the four of us freaking out and dancing like fools around an appliance store with Liv Tyler. And then Tom Hanks will come and bring us to California and we get to be in a porn or something. I don't really know - I didn't watch the end of that movie.

"But Brendo," you may be asking yourself, "What can I do to help? I'm just a simple country lawyer." Well, I suppose you could call WFNX and request that they play Scamper. Or email or text them or whatever it is the kids are doing nowadays. You could just make a general nuisance out of yourselves.

But really - don't knock yourselves out or anything. We've already made the big time. We don't need you chumps anymore.

I've finally pried my journal out of the tiny but shockingly powerful hands of the great Mike Nastri. Thanks for filling in for me, pal.

More on the weekend: while a conflict prevented me from joining the rest of Scamper for the daytime show at the Head of the Charles event, I was able to show up just in time to join my other band French Lick as we played a charity show late that night for the terrific Year Up program. We were fortunate enough to share the stage with Mr. Boombastic himself - Shaggy. A few highlights:

- Shaggy put on a great, energetic show, but I've got to say - he's really pulling a fast one on everybody. Every single one of his songs without exception is based around a very prominent sample of some major hit song. I'm sure the original artist gets royalties and all that, but still - of course everybody will love your song if your song is essentially a Marvin Gaye or Bob Marley song with a few different lyrics. It's pretty shameless.

(By the way, stay tuned for Scamper's new reggae hit "No Woman No Pants." Coming soon to iTunes.)

- After the last show's unfortunate banter incident, I was told in no uncertain terms that there was no time for banter this time around. Apparently, there was a band meeting about it and everything. Our drummer Wyc (who happens to be the owner of the Celtics) pulled me aside and gave me the "no banter" speech, leading to the following conversation:

Wyc: No banter.
Me: But what if there's a delay?
Wyc: No banter.
Me: If there's dead silence on the stage for five minutes - you want me not to say anything?
Wyc: No banter.
Me: Come on, man. I'm a three point shooter and you're asking me to spend the whole game in the low post.
Wyc: I cut two guys this morning. Don't test me on this one.
Me: Yes sir.

Being the team player I am, I didn't talk the entire show. But don't get any ideas, rest of Scamper. You need me on that wall.

- Since I couldn't make any of the rehearsals before the show, Pete "The Applesauce Master" Galea ably sat in on bass for the show. As a result, I just sort of showed up, sang some harmonies and danced around the stage like a white non-gold toothed version of Flavor Flav. I wasn't sure what to do with my hands, so I grabbed a tambourine from Wyc's drumset and went to town.

Well, apparently I'm a much more enthusiastic tambouriner (tambourinist? tambourinologist?) than I had previously thought because I woke up the next morning with ENORMOUS purple bruises on my right thigh and the palm of my left hand. And they weren't the usually Saturday night activity-related bruises. I went to town on myself. Really, I don't know how Susan Dey managed it.

So big thanks to my friends in French Lick for allowing me to come have a blast with them and BIG thanks to the Year Up people for inviting us to their great event. It really is a terrific organization - check out what they do.

As promised, Harris bassist extraordinaire Mike Nastri provides us with this morning's journal entry:

Mike Nastri here - I've hacked into the mainframe.

A couple of weeks ago I was given a great oportunity - to play in one of my favorite bands in the city. It gets even better - they were set to open for a band that I've been a fan of since I was 14 years old. At first I was excited, then I became terrified. What if I let them down? What if I froze?

I started listening to Scamper's tunes very closely, and practicing with the band. If you're reading this, likely, you're a fan. You've picked a great band to latch on to. Not only are these guys great songwriters (there are intricate and very well thought out harmonies and slight changes hidden in all of their songs), but they're truly "good" people. Brendan even took the time to guide me through the tunes, show me his harmonies, and crack jokes about me taking over his spot in the band permanently. His sarcasm never rests.

The day of the show I woke up, a bit hungover, at 9am to run through the songs one last time before heading to meet up with Mike, Keith, and Nate. I was freaking out. I'd never been this nervous to perform in my whole life. They supplied free "Monster" energy drinks at the show. Those don't calm nerves apparently. Joking briefly with the drummer from Nada Surf did however, and as we took the stage, I felt confident that things would go well. Keith started playing the first few notes of "Sophie". All was right in the world. Then my bass strap broke. I fixed it as quickly as I could and joined the band for the rest of the song. I'm still unsure whether or not to accuse Brendan of loosening the strap.

The crowd grew considerably during the set, and the band even ended up signing some autographs, so things must have gone well. Its all a bit foggy to me. I'm really thankful to the guys for having me, and would be more than willing to fill in for Brendan anytime, unless the guys ever decide they'd like a piano player or something.

Nada Surf kicked all kinds of ass. They were even better than I thought they would be. As you can probably imagine, leaving the show and going to a job waiting tables at Pizzeria Unos sucked royally. I was very quickly thrust back into "reality", but I'm thankful to have experienced playing with Scamper and can't wait to see them from the crowd at the Avalon when they open for OKGO next month.

Thanks to everyone that came to the show.

Best-

Mike Nastri

I was watching the end of game 7 of the Cardinals-Mets game last night (congrats St. Louis fans) and had a few thoughts:

First, I am so glad that I'm not watching baseball this late in the season. I can't imagine trying to add "4 hour long games" into my already frenzied life these days. Remember the 2003 division series in Oakland during which the west coast games started at 10pm and ended some time in late December? Guh. I remember I had just moved into my current apartment and spent my first night keeping my poor chronic fatigue syndrome-suffering roommate Fantelope up all night. It took a full tofu dinner and a hairy armpit handjob to win him back over to my side.

But more importantly, I think it's time to start summarily executing the "sound effect" guys at these stadiums. It was bottom of the ninth, two men on in a 3-1 game. A very tense situation. But the sound guy decided he need to spice things up with some "Cotton Eyed Joe" and some canned "Let's Go Mets" chants. Really? The suits don't think the whole "Game 7 of the NLCS, close game in the bottom of the ninth" is appealing to the right demographic? Need to jazz it up a bit? That's a good idea, Mr. Junior Vice President of Marketing. Maybe you could tell me more over here by this firing squad. Don't worry - they won't shoot you. They're baseball fans. Baseball fans LOVE when you fuck with their game.

Speaking of people who think they're better than me (what?), Mike Nastri will be leading the Scamper charge tomorrow at the Row-a-palooza event. Check the SHOWS page for details. Mike (that's Mr. Nastri if you're nasty) has even promised a journal entry recap of the show. So let's hold him to that, shall we?

Scamps, we've got quite a month ahead for you. As I reviewed in the comments of yesterday's journal, here's what's on tap for the near future:

October 21 (That's this Saturday): Scamper (well, sort of) plays at the Head of the Charles Regatta's Row-a-palooza event with Nada Surf.

November 4: Scamper (the REAL Scamper, that is) plays the International Pop Overthrow at the Paradise Lounge with a ton of cool bands.

November 10: Scamper plays Boston University with a bunch of screaming undergrads who will literally do anything for that MRS degree. (I kid, ladies.)

November 16: Scamper plays Avalon on Landsdowne Street with the sensational OK Go.

November 23: Scamper's intrepid leader Keith Daddy goes into a tryptophan coma from eating too much turkey at Thankgiving. We hold a candlelight vigil at his bedside for about 10 days and then attempt to replace him with the corpse of Klaus Nomi.

December 7: A day that will live in infamy. Mike eats the leftover pad thai out of my refrigerator. Naturally, a murder-suicide type of deal ensues.

December 24: Abandoned by his bandmates, Nate signs a Tim Allen-esque deal with the real Santa Claus and attempts to bring his unique brand of sexy to all the little boys and girls all around the world. His well-intentioned attempts are brought to a quick halt by a new Dateline NBC special feature: To Catch a Diggity.

So come to one of these shows is what I'm saying. The future's not looking good for your buddies Scamper.

It's big announcement time, kids! Actually, it's really two announcements, one big and one absolutely mammoth. Here we go:

Big announcement: Scamper will be reuniting with our treadmill-dancing brethren OK Go for a show at Avalon on Thursday November 16. The last time we played with OK Go, a raucous good time was had by all. Even Hollywood bigwig Juliette Lewis left $120 and a lipstick-smeared napkin on Scamper's bedstand with "Thanks for the good time, Scamper" scrawled across it. (Read all about it hnyaw.)

Since that night, OK Go's career has really taken off with appearances on The Colbert Report, MTV VMAs and of course all over the freakin' internet. Two words, OK Go: you're welcome. The natty suits, the synchronized dancing - gee, I wonder where you guys got that idea? You're lucky Scamper are lovers not fighters.

But now it's time for the MAMMOTH announcement...

I'm actually playing this show! The administrative staff down at Scamper HQ has cross-checked schedules with my people and the night has officially been cleared for hot rock and roll action. I'm going to deign to appease my Scamper constituencies with a rare public appearance. Foo.

But if you want to see the far inferior Mike Nastri version of Scamper (which they have renamed "Scampri" in an attempt to undermine my authority), feel free to check out the Head of the Charles Regatta this Saturday with Nada Surf. I mean, they'll be ok. I guess.

Did you guys know that you're supposed to show up for jury duty just because they say so? Were you guys aware of that? Even if you're a local rock hero - no special dispensation. It's a load of crap, I tell you.

Last week, I completely forgot to call in and see if my number was up. The next day, I stumbled across my reminder notice (which, not for nothing, completely failed in its duty to remind me) and quickly called the courthouse to tell them what a failure their shabby little "reminder" system had turned out to be.

Me: So yeah, I forgot to call in yesterday.
Court Lady: Did you get your Failure to Appear notice?
Me: Not yet. Is there a warrant out for me or anything?
Court Lady: (with perfect, yet unintentional comic timing) Not yet.

Imagine I get thrown in the clink for missing jury duty? How fucking lame would that be? I mean, I'm already WAY too pretty for jail. But when you toss in such a pussy reason for getting locked up as "missing jury duty"? I'd be like a small Caesar's salad appetizer to those dudes. They'd have to keep me out of gen pop to prevent those nasty goats from gnawing on my fresh verdant butthole.

Show up for jury duty, kids. That's the take-home here.

Guh. What a way to start a Monday morning. The woman who sits next to me at work has decided to douse herself with "Allergen" - the hot new perfume that is guaranteed to make me sneeze out the body weight of a yellow labrador puppy. Nothing like a splitting sinus headache coupled with the most pleasant of fluids leaking out of my face to start the week. Yay adulthood!

But at least I have a big outdoor festival gig this weekend with my band to make me feel better. Oh wait - no I don't. Scamper is playing the Row-a-palooza event at the Head of the Charles Regatta on Saturday October 21 with Mike Nastri of Harris instead of me. It's getting ridiculous - I read a vicious rumor on the internet that my bandmates are even conspiring to change the name of the band to "Scampri." Of course they denied it when I confronted them, but we all know what shady individuals make up the non-Brendan subset of Scamper.

It's pretty funny, actually - when I've been talking to people about this show, I've been having the same conversation over and over:

Person: I heard you guys are playing the Head of the Charles with Nada Surf. That's awesome.
Me: Yeah, I'm actually not going to be there.
Person: What?
Me: Yeah, I have a conflict, so I'm missing the show. The other guys are playing with a replacement.
Person: Really? But that show's going to be great.
Me: I know. I'm bummed.
[Person thinks about it for a moment.]
Person: That really sucks for you.
Me: Yes. It does. Thank you.
Person: I mean, how often do you get to play an event like this? And you're going to miss it?
Me: Well, it just couldn't be helped...
Person: Not to mention the inner failure you must feel for letting your band down like this.
Me: "Inner failure" is a strong term, but yeah it sucks...
Person: Really, a band is like a brotherhood. And you're abandoning your fellow soldiers in a time of war.
Me: A time of war? I mean it's a cool gig, but...
Person: Sir, you are a disgrace to that uniform.
Me: Uniform? What uniform? I'm wearing a grey hoodie.
Person: You are worse than Benedict Arnold, Pearl Harbor and the American Taliban guy combined.
Me: What? That doesn't make any sense. Pearl Harbor isn't a person.
Person: Save it for your court martial, you son of a bitch. I hereby place you under arrest for treason.
[CIA agents swarm me and roughly throw me to the ground.]

So yeah - that was my weekend. How about you guys?

And... we have a winner. Ladies and gentlemen, the winning entry of the "Play Bass with Scamper" essay contest:

Dear Scamper,

I'm Mike from Harris. I am the balls.

Love,

Mike from Harris a.k.a. "The Balls"

I can't argue with that sort of airtight reasoning. Congratulations, sir. You will be filling my freakish oversized shoes on October 21 at the Head of the Charles Regatta with Nada Surf. I know that you are a far superior bassist to myself, but will you look as sexy in a natty suit? We shall seeeeeeeeeeeee.

As for my bandmates, well they're obviously really broken up about my inability to play this show. Nate has already done up some new press photos:

Thanks fellas - really warms the heart.

Big ups to all the folks who sent me essays. We're confident we made the right choice. Here's hoping that the October 21 is awesome, but just slightly less awesome than a typical Scamper show featuring yours truly on bass. I'm a small, small man.

Many of you saw in the news that our "Play Bass With Scamper" essay contest took a tragic turn. I got this in my email box this morning:

Dear Scamper,

I'm an anonymous professional athlete and my team has recently been unceremoniously dumped from the playoffs. I'm tired of hanging around all these overpaid assholes. It's time for a career change. Playing bass with Scamper seems like the perfect fit. I've never played bass before, but I figure if an insensitive, sick joke-making prick like Brendan can do it, a finely tuned journeyman pitcher such as myself shouldn't have too many problems.

I'm really getting highly motivated to jump off this sinking ship. If I don't hear back from you soon, I may just have to do something desperate.

Anonymously yours,

C.L. in N.Y.

Wow - I had no idea that people were taking this essay contest so seriously. I feel terribly responsible. Time to call it a day - we'll announce the winner of our "Play Bass with Scamper" contest in tomorrow's journal.

(Say it with me: what? Too soon?)

Wow - the essays keep rolling in for the "Play Bass for Scamper" contest. Here's another one that comes all the way from our growing fanbase in the Netherlands:

Beste Scamper,

Ik denk u een bos van schokken bent, maar ik wil nog baarzen voor uw band bij uw smelly festival spelen. Ik denk ik beter kijk in een kostuum dan die douchebag Brendan.

Hebben ook, u overwogen gebruikend Viagra? Het zal u in een nagel voor uw vrouw veranderen.

Oprecht,

John Mark Karr

Luckily, when I joined Scamper, a Star Trek-style "universal translator" was implanted in my inner ear (mostly so I'd be able to understand Mike's "language" of guttural grunts and whistles) so I can translate for you:

Dear Scamper,

I think you're a bunch of jerks, but I still want to play bass for your band at your smelly festival. I think I look better in a suit than that douchebag Brendan.

Also, have you considered using Viagra? It will turn you into a stud for your wife.

Sincerely,

John Mark Karr

I don't know about you, but it comforts me at some level to know that the Dutch word for douchebag is "douchebag." We are the world... we are the children...

This contest has taken on a truly international flair. Keep those essays coming in, my little Hemingways.

Since we're in a bind for the October 21 gig with Nada Surf at the Head of the Charles, we've decided to hold a "Play Bass for Scamper" essay contest. Here's our first entry:

Dear Scamper,

OMG I totally want to play bass for you guys LOL ROTFL!!!!!1 I dont know how 2 play bass, but how hard could be?? That dillhole Brendan can do it! LOLLLLL!

Just kidding I totally love Scamper and would be a totally boss bass player. My favorite song is that one where you sing with that chick that was in that movie. You know what movie was awesome? The Shawshank Redemption. They totally tried to break that guy's spirit!!!! I'd HATE to be in prison unless it was with Scamper which would still suck but be kind of awesome too because at least we'd have each other.

Sincerely,

Senator Joe Lieberman

That's a pretty compelling entry. Think you can do better? Send your "Play Bass for Scamper" essays to brendan@scamper.net. You could be a winner!

Ok, folks - I've got a big announcement for your long weekend pleasure. Actually, it's a bit of a good news/bad news/good news/more good news type of thing.

First, the good news: Scamper will be playing the Row-a-palooza event as part of the Head of the Charles Regatta on Saturday, October 21. Time TBA (but it will be during the day), exact location TBA (on the Cambridge side of the Charles, I'm guessing in the MIT area).

The bad news? I'm not going to be there! I have a scheduling conflict that day that I absolutely cannot avoid. In a shocking and heretofore unprecedented move, Scamper has decided to go on without me. You will be seeing Brendo-less Scamper for the first time over 2 years. (I guess this item is good news for that segment of the Scamper fan population that absolutely hates me.)

Which brings up more good news: Scamper is looking for a fill-in bassist for the day. Maybe it can be you! This is your big chance, closet rock and rollers! Requirements: must look sexy in a three-piece suit whilst sweating the body weight of a small Guatemalan boy. Needs above-average synchronized jumping/shimmying ability. Tendency to spew out offensive between-song banter is a plus.

But there's even more good news: we're going on before one of our favorite bands: Nada Surf. Wait - that's bad news! I love Nada Surf! The Let Go album has been in my car CD player non-stop for months. Bah! I can't believe I'm going to miss this show! Curse these evil scheduling conflicts!

Don't be a fool like me. Don't miss this show. More details as we get them, honkies.

It's time for the "weirdest conversation I had at work yesterday" portion of our show. A woman who literally sees me every day turns to me in surprise yesterday morning and starts the following dialogue:

Woman: Hi, Brendan. You shaved your moustache!
Me: Uh... I did what?
Woman: Your moustache is gone. What made you decide to shave it?
Me: I... I didn't have a moustache.
Woman: Sure you did. You've always had a moustache.

So it's 9am and I am forced to spend the next five minutes trying to politely explain to this loony bird that in fact I have been clean-shaven as long as she has known me. But she was unbendable. I had definitely been sporting a moustache. She was so convinced that I started to question myself. Did I have a moustache yesterday? Was I going insane? Was this all just a horrible dream?

Eventually, I talked my colleague into accepting the fact that I did not, in fact, have a moustache. As I was walking away, I started remembering those "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions" from MAD Magazine. I used to love those when I was a kid.

In the great MAD Magazine spirit, here's what I wanted to say to this poor middle-aged, post-menopausal woman:

Woman: Hi, Brendan. You shaved your moustache!
Me: Hi, Connie. So did you!

Anyone else have any MAD-flavored snappy answers to stupid questions they'd like to share with the group?

An Open Letter to Other People at the College Library:

Dear You Bunch of Whispers Johnsons,

Your whispering is very very loud. In fact, it's so loud that it really doesn't fall into the "whispering" category anymore. You're pretty much yelling in a whisper voice. Your words are echoing in my soul. Please stop whispering.

I know, I know - by whispering, you are at least making an attempt to be quiet. But you are failing most miserably. In fact, your voice is probably more intrusive as a whisper than if you were talking in a full speaking voice. I'm sure the irony of this is not lost on you, as I can tell by the content of your whispers that you are extremely smart. But in this case, the irony is not so much amusing as irritating. Almost but not quite as irritating as your whispering. Please stop whispering.

I'm trying to read. I came to the library to read because presumably, it was fucking quiet. It is, after all, a motherfucking library. Last night, I had to move my seat three times to get away from the Sally and Sammy Whisperpantses that infested the place. I ended up in some dank mold-infested catacomb of the library, resulting in an unexplained rash and a promised email relationship with a hunchback. Not good. I hope you're happy, you bunch of Reese Whisperspoons.

Please, I'm begging you. Stop whispering so I can read. I have enough trouble concentrating in this place with all the 20-year old college girl ass in tight jeans parading around. Must you add to my distraction with your incessant, ear drum-shaking whispering?

In short, please stop with the whispering. You cunts.

Love,

Brendan

Time for part 2 of my Lovelane charity show story. "What? There's more? But yesterday's journal entry electrified a generation!" I know, I know - it's going to be tough to handle the excitement. So buckle up, hombres and hombrettes.

As I mentioned yesterday, there were a few local celebs hanging out at this gala. Normally, the celebrity thing doesn't phase me in the least. I lived in Beverly Hills for a while and learned, among other things, that celebrities are the most boring people on the planet. So playing it cool around the famous isn't really a problem for me.

But my ubercool facade was quickly shattered when I ran into Chris Nowitski. For those of you who don't know, Nowitski was on the first season MTV's Tough Enough and had a cup of coffee on the main roster of WWE RAW before concussions forced him to retire. No, he's not exactly of the Ric Flair pedigree, but it didn't matter - I was talking to a professional wrestler. I was 10 years old again.

I tried to play it cool at first, but the fanboy in me quickly took over and threw any social graces out the window. I'm asking this poor guy dorky-ass questions like "So... what's it like to be in the ring with Mick Foley?" There I was - fawning over this 6 foot 5 250 lb. man right in front of everyone. It was absolutely pathetic. Chris was graceful about it, but clearly it wasn't the sort of attention he was hoping for that evening. After a few "Kurt Angle must be awesome to work with"-type comments, I realized I had gone round the bend and quickly excused myself from his presence.

About an hour later, I'm licking my wounds with some of my band members when word gets around about how much I embarrassed myself in front of Chris. So they call him over, hoping for another "Brendan is a loser" show. I'm able to control myself a little better this time around although at one point I did whisper to Joe "He's been in the ring with the Undertaker" and giggle like a little girl.

To say Joe is not a wrestling fan would be a bit of an understatement. When we lived together, we used to have vicious fights every Monday night about whether we were going to watch RAW or American Chopper which combines Joe's two favorite things: motorcycles and difficult father-son dynamics. We explained the struggle to Chris, who naturally took my side and started making fun of Joe for watching his little father-son cry-cry fest, leading to the following exchange:

Joe: Wait a minute - you're making fun of me? Pro wrestling is one step away from gay porn.
Chris: (thinking) Maybe, but it's a pretty big step.

So thanks to Lovelane for having us at their great event. It was a ton of fun and we look forward to doing it again next year.

Fuck Scamper. Long live French Lick!

Good morning and happy Monday, lovelies. My weekend gig opening for Gregg Allman at the Lovelane charity show was simply a blast. Some highlights:

- Sorry, classic rock fans: I didn't get to actually meet Gregg Allman. We did get to see him do his soundcheck, which was kind of like having a private little mini-show. It was pretty cool - the guy's voice is still pretty amazing.

But it's probably just as well that I didn't meet him - the only question I would have come up with is "How do you manage to get your magic sleigh to all the little boys' and girls' house in one night on Christmas Eve?" He's not looking so youthful and spry anymore is what I'm saying.

- During our set, the general "we don't get to play a lot of gigs" excitement set in pretty early for some of the band members (not that I'm looking in the drummer's direction or anything), so we ended up flying through our first 5 songs. This was a bit of a problem as we had almost 2 hours to fill and maybe 10 songs left in the set.

Realizing we needed to buy some time, Jordan and I secretly conspired to slow things down. Forty-two bar blues intros became the rule of the day. Much to the annoyance of some of my fellow musicians, I was forced to shift into full-on "long, lingering between-song banter" mode. Things were said. Feelings were hurt. I'd rather not discuss it further.

- Speaking of banter, I apparently made a bit of a boo-boo. For part of the charity event, all the best barbecue joints in the greater Boston area had booths set up for a taste test. Jake's Boss, Blue Ribbon, Redbones, M&M in Dorchester and You're Fired were all barbecuing their little hearts out.

As I was directing people to the barbecue in the back, I said "Personally, my favorite is Blue Ribbon with Jake's a close second. Redbones - I'm sorry. You guys have been coasting on reputation for way too long." Apparently, it's bad form to trash-talk a restaurant that's providing food at a charity event. Who knew?

Revenge was swiftly brought down upon my carcass at 2am the next morning, as some of the 10+ pounds of barbecue I had consumed didn't agree with me and I was hunched over my toilet bowl, getting all "Nicole Ritchie" on your asses. I don't have a problem. I'm pretty.

- If you're going to hang with a bunch of rich people and local celebrities, I highly recommend bringing the patented one-two Joe and Brendo combination with you. Let's just say that the odds of a "scene" are greatly increased. We were chatting with comic/actor Lenny Clarke about the Red Sox:

Lenny: I met Kapler. That guy's arms are huge. I told him that he can't even jerk off without ripping his dick off.
Joe: It's true, although I've got to tell you: when he gave me a handjob? Surprisingly gentle.

After getting a real, hearty laugh from Clarke, we were feeling all good about ourselves. So we approached hockey legend Cam Neely, who has got to be a leading contender in the "Nicest Guy in the World" competition. Which made me that much more of a dick for having the following exchange:

Cam: Hey guys, how's it going?
Joe: I've got to tell you - when I used to skate on the pond behind my house, I'd pretend I was you. I wanted to be you.
Cam: That's cool.
Joe: Of course, I didn't even make the high school hockey team.
Me: So what he's saying is that you're a failure as a role model.
Cam: Yeah, that's what I've heard.

You know what? I've got more stories from the Lovelane event, so I'm going to turn this one into a two-parter. Ooooooo.