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Sorry for the unexpected absence yesterday, kittens. I had to visit my local physician to get poked and prodded a bit. Don't worry - everything's okey doke. The medical community's initial reports of my elephantitis were wrong: it turns out that I just have really huge balls.
On that note, I can't tell you what a wonderful, fluffy feeling it is to unexpectedly miss one mere day of journal writing only to have everyone on the message board
start yelling at me. Even my own guitarist has gone on record and publicly called for my replacement. You can't buy that kind of loyalty, folks.
In other news, you all may want to check out Assy McGee
, a new cartoon on Adult Swim. It's a noir-ish hard-boiled cop drama in which the hero just happens to be a talking ass. Here's Assy:
I've only seen one episode, but it's pretty hysterical. You would think that a cartoon about a talking ass would just be an excuse for a bunch of fart jokes, but they really don't overdo that aspect of Assy. Sure, the occasional fart slips out, but it all depends on Assy's mood and state of mind in the context of the story. The farting is all realistically grounded in the character.
Man, that was a fun paragraph to write. Anyway, the Assy McGee
combo on Sunday nights on Cartoon network is a killer one-two punch. I don't get to see much TV these days, but I recommend both programs. Anyone else seen these shows?
My favorite quote this morning from our boy Madden: "I'm eating a pastry that is so good, it's like an angel just took a dump in my mouth." Classy.
As November comes to a close, I suppose it's as good a time as any for in-depth professional football analysis. I know that's why most of you come to this site, so here are my thoughts on the state of the National Football League as we hit the home stretch:
- I didn't notice until this week that pre-game host James Brown (not to be confused with the famous R&B/funk singer Jackson
Browne) had switched networks from Fox to CBS. I have watched every pre-game show all season and I just noticed this. And apparently, Fox has replaced Brown with a guy who looks a lot like him (i.e. they're both black guys in suits).
Does the fact that I didn't notice the change in hosts make me a racist? How about when I yelled the n-word five times at them during my comedy set at the Laugh Factory last week?
- Sadly, I think my fantasy sports career is over. I am officially the worst team manager ever. In past years, at least I had the excuse of the "joke team" to cover the hurt. Could I really be all that surprised when the Generals (all general studies majors in college) or Hey, Nice Johnson! (all guys named Johnson) or Captain Oreo and the Beige Riders (all black guys that looked white or white guys that looked black) performed poorly down the stretch? I'd always laugh off my shitty performances, but really, I was a crying-on-the-inside clown.
This year, I went with a team theme of "Trying to Win, Actually Pulling Off a Few Upsets in the Early Goings But Ultimately Failing Miserably." Not as funny, right? Let's face it - I tried and failed. The lesson, Homer Simpson? Say it with me: never try.
- If you watched the Patriots-Bears game, you may have noticed Tom Brady yelling out "Sarah" and "Kelly" at the line of scrimage. I'd like to think that he wasn't actually calling plays by code names, but bragging to his teammates about which particular Chicago cheerleaders had slaked his manly yens during halftime. Brady is the balls. (See - you don't get this sort of post-game analysis on any of the networks. Okay, maybe Fox.)
- The Bears and Colts aren't as good as their records indicate. If I there were a gun to my head, I'd have to predict a Cowboys-Ravens Super Bowl, but I'd also likely soil myself. You know, if someone had a gun to my head. That would be really scary and traumatic.
Any other Jimmy the Greeks out there want to argue with me or make some racist remarks about black players' superior thighs?
In all the holiday hub-bub last week, I forgot to wish a big ol' happy birthday to everyone's favorite inconsistently blogging curmudgeon, Mr. J-Dog
. For my birthday, Joe drove ten hours each way from Rochester on his motorcycle to surprise me. In return, I sent him a jokey e-card and then mentioned him a week later on my stupid journal. Looks like we're even, pal.
Hope everyone had a great holiday weekend. Personally, I managed to defy all modern medical knowledge and get my BSI up to about 35% ("BSI" stands for "Body-Stuffing Index"). I'm still sweating marshmallow from my mom's sweet sweet sweeeeeeet potatoes. I ate a lot of food. That's what I'm getting at.
With another Thanksgiving in the books, it's time to look to the future. You may have noticed that Scamper doesn't have any shows lined up in the immediate future. And December is the busiest time for Santa's elves. Coincidence? Maybe. Scamper might be Santa's elves. That's what I'm getting at.
But seriously, Scamper is spending the next month or so trying to juggle studio time with writing new material and the occasional gay-ass tickle fight. But don't you worry your fluffy little heads about nuttin' - Scamper will be back with a vengeance in 2007 to rock your fucking socks off.
Speaking of stealing lines, I recommend the new Tenacious D movie, but only if you have already seen Borat
. That one is a necessity.
How was everyone's Thanksgiving? Awesome? Was it awesome?
Good morning, folks. I'm checking the dwindling readership numbers this week and realizing most everyone's leaving for Thanksgiving early, so I won't waste too many pearls of hilarity on the unlucky few of you who are still stuck at work. Like me.
Quick reminder: the WFNX Last Band Standing
competition is open for voting until December 1. If you want to throw us a vote, please feel free. If not, no worries. We in Scamper are really tired of making you guys vote for us only to see us be exposed to the world for our gross unpopularity. It's no big deal to us - we've grown accustomed to the indifference of the general populace. But we worry about you guys. Really, we're tired of seeing the disappointed looks in your little Cindy Lou Who eyes.
So vote if you want. Or don't. Either way, I'll still eat a lot of stuffing on Thursday. And the smart money is on me doing some serious damage to some sweet potatoes with marshmallow. So don't shed any tears for me, kittens.
Have a great holiday everyone. I'm out until next week.
Well, good friends - the infectious murky fog seems to have somewhat cleared from my general respitory system, so I suppose I'm ready to recap the big OK Go
show at Avalon from Thursday night. Now, if my Nyquil-addled brain could only remember anything from the past week...
- As we pulled up to the Avalon on time (we are, after all, New England's most punctual band), there was a sizeable complement of road crew ready for our arrival. They quickly helped us unload our gear and then whisked us to our dressing room area where there was a full spread complimentary food and beer as well as large but adorable anthropomorphic teddy bears to gently lull us to rejuvenating pre-show nappy time.
To say that we are not used to this kind of rock star treatment would be a bit of an understatement. The majority of our gigs usually involve us arriving at the venue at our insanely early load-in time and then spending the next two hours figuring out who the fuck is in charge, what's going on, whether we're soundchecking or not, etc. On one occasion, we actually showed up at our proper call time and had to spend ten minutes cajoling an ornery janitor to let us bring our equipment in out of the rain. In short, I would highly recommend playing Avalon if you are ever so inclined. They do you up right.
- Despite the plethora of free beer and chips, the one thing we didn't have in abundance in our dressing room was privacy. As we were changing into our monkey suits, a veritable who's who of Boston media were streaming in and out of the private band area. Granted, they were completely ignoring us, as they were only interested in schmoozing with OK Go. Still, I felt a little violated. As I stood there in my boxers, changing into my tuxedo pants, I had the following conversation with WFNX DJ Julie Kramer
I guess this is the privacy level you get if you're the opening act.Julie:
It's okay - I'm not looking.Me:
Well... you don't have to be afraid
Don't worry - it's nothing I haven't seen before.Me:
Are you sure?Julie:
Pretty sure, yeah.Me:
Are you suuuuuuure?Nate:
Brendo, what are you doing?Me: (quietly)
I don't know.
- Speaking of Nate Diggity, your local rock guitarist took a serious spill on his bike (his bicycle, not the cool kind of bike) earlier in the day, causing the entire right side of his body to be in excruciating pain all day. Not that you could tell from his performance. The little bastard nutted up in a big way and rocked the house.
- The performance itself was predictably a blur. I don't know if it's possible to accurately describe what it's like to play for almost 3000 energetic audience members. It was by far the biggest crowd we'd ever played for and we only had about a half hour set, so foremost in my mind was a) not royally fucking up my bass parts and b) connecting with the audience. I also spent maybe 13% of the time wondering if my fly was down.
But right before I went on stage, I told myself to take a moment and really enjoy it. Too many times for big shows, I end up not even really remembering the performance because I'm concentrating too hard on what I need to get done. I didn't want this to happen this time around. So about midway through the set when I felt we were solidly firing on all cylinders, I specifically took a moment to just stand there and bask in it. It was pretty incredible. I don't know if I've ever felt anything like it.
- Our reverie was quickly broken when the oh-so-efficient Avalon crew insisted that we load our gear out of the venue immediately
after our set. Not off stage - out of the venue. The rock star-size ego that I had developed in the previous few hours of royal treatment was immediately punctured down to size. The cute girls that were giving me the googly eyes in the front row during the show quickly shifted their gazes to pity when they saw me lugging a bass amp in the rain only to be locked out of Mike's truck. Rock and fucking roll!
But overall, our experience at Avalon was a great way to cap off an amazing year of Scamper. So thanks to all the great folks we met before and after the show. And to the Phoenix and WFNX and OK Go and the Cinematics and blah blah blah. Thanks to everyone we've ever met. I'm tired.
Hey kiddies, quick one as I'm still recovering from the massive rock onslaught of last evening. I'll give a full recap on Monday morning when the evil mucous frogs have left my respitory system and I am at basic human capacity again.
In the meantime, enjoy these photos
from the show.
Thanks to all for coming - it was a great night.
The Germans have attacked my throat and nasal passages. I woke up this morning with my head floating in a sac of green mucous. Apparently while I slept, a million tiny germ faeries thought it would be fun to flutter in through my open maw and slice up the soft tissue inside my throat with razor blades.
Just in time for our big Avalon show tomorrow night. Come by and witness the great Froggy McGillicuddy on bass attempt to hit those sweet melodic high notes. As far as I know, it's still possible to sign up for a free ticket
. But info on this doodaddy is all very hush-hush (i.e. we're not important enough to get our phone calls returned).
In other news, I decided that with recent goings-on
in the sports world, it was a good time to renegotiate my Scamper contract. Keith wanted to sit down and hammer out a new agreement, but my new agent (Big Phil) insisted on a $13 million bid just to talk to me. Negotiations sort of slowed from there and the long and short of it is - after the OK Go show tomorrow night, I'm being traded to Japan for a large order of tempura shrimp and a used karaoke machine to be named later.
But don't cry for me, Nagasaki. Superagent Big Phil has already lined up some really cool endorsement deals when I get to Japan. Does anyone know what Japanese words literally translate into "Tucks medicated ass-pads"?
See you kids tomorrow night. Who's coming to the shizzow?
Last night, I dreamt a great method for getting a clown to leave you alone.
In the dream, said clown was all up in my grill. He just wouldn't take the myriad non-verbal hints that I wasn't in the mood for said clowning. Finally, I reached my boiling point and yelled, "Look, I didn't murder my wife, okay?"
In the dream, it was very effective. The clown slowly backed away, understandably frightened for his life. When I woke up, I was proud of my unconscious mind for hatching such a fool-proof plan for being left alone in a public situation. I see no reason why the effective use of this same line couldn't be expanded beyond the harrassing clown population to other people bothering you on the streets.
It's scientific experiment time. Next time that a Mormon or one of those Mass PIRG hippies starts bothering you on the street, pull out the "Look, I didn't murder my wife/husband, okay?" line. Be sure to accompany the line with the classic "crazy eyes" look. Report back to me with the data.
Warning: although I haven't done any field research on this topic, my hypothesis is that the line will NOT work on homeless/crazy people. Mentioning the word "murder" to a mentally ill person probably isn't the smartest idea. But if someone tries it, we at the Scamper labs would be fascinated to hear the results.
You know who the line really works on? Natty-suited pop stars like OK Go
. I know personally I hate it when I'm just trying to walk down the street and eat my fish taco when up comes OK Go, dancing on pogo sticks and trying to sell me the newest model of vacuum cleaner. It's almost gotten cliche at this stage.
If you too are constantly bothered by major label Chicago power pop bands harrassing you on the streets, you can try out my fool proof line on Thursday at Avalon. Get your tickets hnyaw
Big thanks to the few, the proud, the warm-hearted who eschewed leaving town during the long holiday weekend and stopped by our show at Boston University on Friday night. Some highlights:
- When we don't know exactly where the venue is located, there's a little game Scamper likes to play called "Mike tries to follow Keith while Keith does his darndest to lose him." It's a lot of fun... if you're in Keith's car. In Mike's car? Not so much.
On this night, Keith was in rare form. He took us on a roundabout route through Harvard Square traffic for some reason and then pulled one of the biggest asshole driving moves I've ever seen, faking that he was going into the right lane and then quickly juking to the left around a bus into oncoming traffic. Really, it was a sight to behold.
Elapsed time getting from Somerville to BU: 43 minutes.
- As we approached the venue, we were shocked at the ample parking on Comm. Ave. This would seem to be a good thing for us until you realized... there's never
ample parking on Comm. Ave. Either all the BU students were out of town for the holiday weekend or the famous BU CHUDS had gone on a vicious co-ed eating spree. We were hoping for the latter, if only for the high probability that the college students getting devoured would be part of an a capella group.
- For all the crazy ideas we thought to put into our hospitality rider, we ended up with just some vitamin water. Sadly, Vinny's idea of asking for a "case of condoms and a freshman facebook" was not executed. Because I'm so mature, I did manage to share that particular joke with the kids during my show banter, much to their horror/booing.
- As predicted by the parking situation, the show was sparsely attended. But the handful of dreamers that did show up were fan-fucking-tastic. We played for well over an hour, having a blast with the audience and even dipping into a few old Scamper deep cuts.
Despite the small audience, Scamper had a great time at the show. We hope to come back to BU soon and entertain the young 'uns. And that has everything to do with the great audience and very little to do with the GIANT wad of cash the University gave us to perform. College gigs, man.
But before we get back to the college rah-rah gigs, we need to open for OK Go on Thursday at Avalon. If you haven't got your ticket yet, sign up for the Phoenix thingy
. Hurry up! It's getting down to the wire!
Things have just been going a little too well for your buddy Boogie the last few weeks, so I knew karma was going to bite me in the tuckus at some point. Last night, I was whacked with a vengeance.
I was driving to class in the pouring rain when I felt a distinct "bump bump bump" coming from the front passenger side of my shitbox of a car. I handled the situation as I do every auto-related foible: I ignored it. But it would not be denied - when I tried to start up from the stop position, my tire spun in one place, shredding to pieces.
I pulled into the Whole Foods parking lot, pulled out my jack and started cranking my little shitbox into the air. Now, I'm a bit of a foppish dandy by trade, but I have changed a tire before in my otherwise-priveleged life. It was raining pretty hard on me, so I tried to do it quickly.
As I started to pull the shredded tire off, the jack slipped from under the car, jamming it firmly in the undercarriage. So I had a flat tire and
couldn't pull my jack out. In the pissing rain. Sweet.
There's an old adage: "Never send a bassist to do a guitarist's job." So I called good ol' reliable Nate Diggity to come by with his
jack to rescue my
jack and get this damn flat changed. Like the true superhero he is, Nate was there in a flash with his jack. I didn't understand why he was wearing the cape and the star-spangled corset, but hey - I was grateful, so I didn't say anything.
With my second jack of the evening, I cranked up my piece of shit car. Just as I was about to pull the original jack out and change the tire, the new
jack slipped out from under. Now, the car had two jacks trapped underneath it. I may have been imagining things, but I think I actually heard the Three Stooges
theme playing softly in the background.
Just as Nate and I were calling AAA to have a bunch of recovering alcoholics come jack up our car, a good samaritan walked out of the Whole Foods, grabbed his jack and cranked up the car in about 2 seconds (while his girlfriend sat in the car pissed
at him for taking the time to help us). Quickly, I rescued the other two jacks and put the spare tire on. The third jack started to slip again, but Nate managed to hold up the car using only his massive musculature.
As the good samaritan was leaving, we had the following conversation:Me:
Yeah, I don't know why the jacks were slipping so much. It must have been the wet ground.Good Samaritan:
You have the emergency brake on, right?Me:
As the good samaritan shook his head and got into his car, Nate and I called after him: "Sorry. We're musicians."
While Nate and I suck at changing tires, we are more than competent at delivering the rock and roll. Last chance to get on the list for the BU show with Casey Desmond
tomorrow night. I'm off tomorrow so there will be no journal. See you all at college!
We've got some late results coming in from last night's election:Most likely to succeed at sneaky manuevers during a game of backgammon:
KeithBest dressed/class pedophile:
BrendanThe real reason behind both the Spears and Witherspoon breakups:
NateNew freshman congressman from Montana's 7th district:
As you can see, it was a great night for Scamper and a great night for democracy.
Speaking of democracy, we're in another one of those them thar popularity contests for y'all to vote for us. This time, it's the WFNX Last Band Standing
contest. Just log in and vote for Scamper and we promise we'll make it so that queers can't marry and gay up our rock clubs anymore with their gay dancing and their rubbing eyeliner on each other's chest hair and shit.
Speaking of WFNX, we're getting more information on how you can get into this free Boston Phoenix show at Avalon with OK Go
(who rocked the pants off The Tonight Show with Jay Leno
last night, by the by). You can:
- Listen to WFNX and call in when they give out tickets. Sounds like a longshot, but we hear it's actually been working for a few folks. Be sure to mention to the DJ that while OK Go is great and everything, you're really
calling because you want to see Scamper.
- Sign up for the Boston Phoenix "Friends with Benefits" list right here
. From what we can glean, you can either pick up your ticket at the Phoenix office or they will send you an "e-ticket" which apparently does not
guarantee admission (we know, we know). You bring your e-ticket to the door and it's first come, first served from there. If it sounds complicated, that's because it is. But hey - it's a free show with the hottest band in the country. And OK Go.
- Tickle Nate's undercarriage with a feather. Granted, this isn't guaranteed to get you into the show, but if you demonstrate tickling dexterity and purity of heart, you just might be rewarded by a shower of sugar-coated gold dubloons!
Don't forget about emailing me at email@example.com
if you want to get into the BU show with Casey Desmond
on Friday night. It's another free one. Don't be shy - getting emails makes me feel like I have actual friends.
Having survived a group of large men looming over me at the Celtics game on Friday, it was time for my long-awaited return to the Scamper fold on Saturday night at the Paradise Lounge. Some highlights:
- On the ride over to the club, an exhausted Mikey consistently mangled the English language, butchering three otherwise-funny jokes. Finally, he said, "That's it - I'm not talking the rest of the night." At 6:23pm, the poor guy had already thrown in the towel.
For the record, Mike's silence lasted until 6:27pm. The little trooper hung in there for four whole minutes (as it's now known in Scamper folklore "The Greatest Four Minutes in the History of the Universe.")
- When we arrived at the venue, it was clear that wardrobe-wise, we were most certainly not on the same page. Keith was sporting an informal t-shirt, whereas Mike and Nate were in semi-fancy mode. Me? Full-on three piece suit.
Clearly, I was the sexiest of the bunch, but that really wasn't the point. We needed to engage in a good ol' Scamper throwdown over this completely unprofessional lack of communication. In a flurry of screaming, flying fists and potato skins, we hashed out and a settlement: Keith would ironically wear a tie over his t-shirt and (in a seemingly unrelated side negotiation) Nate and Mike would touch dinkies for 5 seconds.
Don't judge us. This is how our band operates.
- As we were the second band on a bill of 312, we felt a bit on the rushed side. We only had about 25 minutes to pack in the usual dose of erotic power pop. The mixes must have been weird on the wings of the stage, because both Nate and I had trouble with our sound while Mike and Keith reported good-sounding shows.
The audience, as always, was wonderful, especially for such a short set and an early start time. You guys deliver 10 out of 10 times. Thank you all so much for coming out and showing us the love we've been spoiled with all these years.
We're going to be able to stretch our rock-and-roll wings a bit this Friday November 10 at Boston University Central
with a full-out Scamper show. The ridiculously talented Casey Desmond
will be opening. Technically, admission is for BU students only, but email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
and I'll make sure your freeloader ass gets in.
Fun fun show over at the Paradise Lounge for the International Pop Overthrow. I'll get to the highlights of the show tomorrow, as I have another post-game wrap-up with which to smack y'all.
On Friday night, the boys in French Lick (minus Joe
who unfortunately lives a kajillion miles from civilization) were the special guests of our sexy-ass drummer/team owner Wyc Grousbeck in the front row of the Celtics-Pistons game. Being a kind and generous friend, I brought Vinny Shit on the Face along with me for a night of fun. The highlights:
- I felt like such a big shot skipping to the front of the VIP will-call line to pick up my tickets. I get to the window and give her my last name. No tickets. I tell them that Wyc assured me that tickets would be there for me. Still nothing. Uh oh - this was starting to become quite the embarrassing scene. What if Wyc forgot about me? And then it hit me:
"Are the tickets under the name 'Boogie'?"
Of course they are. Phew. And then I show my legal ID, which needless to say does not say the word "Boogie" on it. Luckily, the lovely woman behind the counter accepted my explanation and gave me the tickets. The fellow VIPs in line behind me during this debacle were not so pleased to have been made to wait. VIPs hate
- When Vinny and I looked at our tickets, it wasn't immediately obvious where the seats were located. We showed a few ushers and got the "I have no fucking idea where these seats are" look on their faces. The seats were so good that the ushers
had never heard of them. Apparently, VIPs don't usually need ushers to find their seats. A tight-bodied cheerleader whisks them to courtside in on a magic carpet made of the finest sabre tooth tiger pubes.
We eventually found our seats and... wow. We were literally right under the basket. It was pretty incredible. You felt like you were part of the game. If you have a chance to sit in the owner's seats, I highly recommend it.
- Being that close to the players, of course I had to heckle. I mean, of course
I did. The problem was that they were playing the Pistons who (by last report) are responsible for 65% of the violent crime in the state of Michigan. So heckling wasn't without its risk factors.
But I soldiered on. As always, it's my goal to confuse the players more than anything else. Since I was sitting next to Wyc and didn't want to reflect badly on him, I decided my strategy would be to kill the Pistons with kindness. When Chauncey Billups missed a free throw attempt, I said "That's okay - I'm sure you have other good qualities besides being good at basketball."
When Rasheed Wallace was standing by himself waiting for play to start, I said "Rasheed I don't care what anyone says - you seem nice." He turned and gave me the most intimidating stare I've ever seen in my life.
From then on, I just picked on the refs. I was bigger than most of them and I'm pretty sure that (unlike the Pistons) they weren't carrying switchblades in their shorts. Plus, I got to yell funny quips such as "That's a stupid rule - stop enforcing it!"
- Vinny, a lifelong Knicks fan, has officially switched allegiances to the Celtics. His reason? When have the Knicks ever done anything for him like this?
Overall, it was an exhausting and exhilirating experience being that close to the action. My never-ending thanks to Wyc and Celtics for putting up with my nonsense.
Tomorrow, a full inside Scamper report from the International Pop Overthrow and the truncated pimp for the BU Central
show begins! Fa!
EDIT: Here's a photo of me courtside:
I'm in the green OK Go shirt with the slack-jawed look on my face.
Stage one of the pimp-o-rama is sputtering to a merciful end. Scamper's November to Remember begins tomorrow night night night! A few reminders:
- Our show starts earlier than usual. We'll hit the Paradise Lounge
stage around 8-8:30 or so. So drink heavily early in the evening. In fact, maybe you should start now.
- There are literally 358 great bands playing within a 48 minute period. We know you love Scamper above all else, but please stick around for a night of great music. The other musicians in the greater Boston area need your adulation and gentle metaphorical rimjobs as well. We're starting to feel a little guilty for hogging you good people.
- Fate takes some interesting turns. Little piece of trivia: did you know that Scamper was almost named "Dr. Keith and the Bottom-Heavy Alphabet Band"? True story.
- As my great Grandma Boogie always used to say, "It's never too early to plan ahead and keep your hands out of my liquor cabinet, you little dillhole!" As far as the first part, you can get your FREE ticket for the OK Go/Dr. Keith and the BHAB show by signing up for the Boston Phoenix "Friends with Benefits" list hnyaw
. "Friends with Benefits." That's a funny piece of marketing, huh? We here at Scamper always support clever marketing. We love it!
- Mikey Mike is sporting a sexy beard. That should be all you need to know to get your asses out to the Paradise Lounge.
See you all tomorrow night, dillholes!
Good morning, my scaly little love geckos. T-minus 2 days and counting until the Rockovember (Norocker? Novembrock?) Scamper flurry of shows begins. Here's how it breaks down:
Saturday International Pop Overthro-vember 4 - Paradise Lounge
Friday Drunken Sorority Ho-vember 10 - Boston University Central
Thursday Ok Go-vember 16 - Avalon
The Scamper marketing department worked overtime on those catchphrases. Hope you enjoyed them. You each owe us $12.95 just for reading that last paragraph. Sorry - someone's got to pay those guys' six-figure salaries.
In other news, I was near my ancestral home on the South Shore this weekend on my way to Madden's house for some serious nerding it up (Dungeons and Dragons, pocket protectors, sprouting acne - the whole nine). I tried to stop by a convenience store to pick up a bag of Doritos. Simple enough, right?
WRONG! I stopped at the first convenience store. No Doritos. Undaunted, I drove to the second. Once again - no Doritos. Wait a minute - I couldn't hit three
convenience stores in a row without Doritos, could I? Why yes, yes I could. Not. Very. Convenient.
Finally, I found a 7-11 with a more-than-ample supply of Doritos. Exhausted and punch-drunk, I dropped to my knees and kissed Sully the overweight clerk's powder cheese-covered hand. Twenty-five minutes and $63 worth of gas later, my vision quest was complete. I had my Doritos.
Why do I bring this up? Well, those of you in Massachusetts may know that we've got a little election coming up next week. One of the propositions (#1, I think) will allow grocery stores to sell wine. The opponents of this proposition say that it will hurt the small business owner. What's my position on this complex and sensitive topic?
Fuck the small business owner. The small business owner can't even sell me a bag of Doritos when I want one. I had the money. I was ready to support their stupid little business, but nooooooo. They needed that shelf space for the 52 pounds of dried apricot that nobody wants! Stupid small businesses. Hate you.
Down with local businesses! Up with 7-11 and their wonderful, tasty Slurpees! Brendo for Senator!
For those of you hankerin' for a hunk a' live music and just can't wait until Saturday night at 8 for Scamper's performance at the Paradise Lounge
for the International Pop Overthrow
, don't get your knickers in a tangle. We've got a cool little appetizer for you: the great Dave Mirabella (brother extraordinaire to our sexy drummer) will be performing at the Abbey Lounge
pub stage tonight. It's at 7pm and its free so you have no excuse for missing it. Stop on by and show the extended Scamper family much love.
But sadly, there's no love for Andy Taylor of Duran Duran. For those of you who missed the story
last week, guitarist Taylor (not to be confused with one of the other 19 unrelated Taylors in Duran Duran) has left the group, citing irreconcilable differences. My favorite part of the press release:Duran Duran apologized to fans for not making the announcement sooner, saying they realized that speculation had been running high about Taylor's future
How could they leave the world hanging like that? The news organizations have been diverting their investigative reporters from Iraq and North Korea to pursue this hot "Are these aging rock stars with ginormous egos getting along on their nostalgia tour?" story.
On a personal note - don't they know how much trouble I've been having sleeping wondering the status of Duran Duran's guitar player? How am I supposed to properly begin the grieving process if you're going to hold out information on me? For shame, Duran. And you too, Duran.
Now, if I could only find out what the keytar player of Kajagoogoo had for breakfast this morning, my stormy soul will finally be at peace.