Some highlights from watching yesterday's Red Sox game with my 72-year old father:

(When Yankees pitcher Chien-Ming Wang takes the mound)
Dad: What's this guy's name?
Me: Chien-Ming Wang.
Dad: Jin Jin Jong?
Me: Chien-Ming Wang.
Dad: T. J. Long?
Me: (pause) Yes. His name is T. J. Long.
Dad: I guess I keep getting it Wong.
(He laughs for about 35 minutes.)

(Upon looking at the face of Julian Tavarez):
Dad: Ahhh... skin cancer.

(After the Red Sox win)
Dad: The bookies must have decided it was Boston's turn to win.
Me: I really don't think baseball is fixed, Dad.
Dad: All they have to do is throw a few thousand bucks to the pitcher to lose.
Me: You mean that pitcher that's making tens of millions to win?
Dad: (to the dog sleeping on my lap) Bite him! Attack! Take him down!
(The dog lifts his head for a moment and then goes back to sleep on my lap).
Dad: You ungrateful little hoor.
Me: Are you talking to me or the dog?

It's truly a game within a game when watching with my dad.

Movie recommendation time: see Hot Fuzz. The guys from Shaun of the Dead take a run at action movies, placing a by-the-book super cop in a small English village. Very funny stuff. Timothy Dalton and Paddy Considine are particularly good in it. So there you go. There's one night of your miserable weekend taken care of.

As far as this weekend's Yankees-Red Sox games go, I expect the Yankees to strike back and at least win 2 of them at home, probably the Saturday and Sunday games. Still, it's all going to be okay. Everybody just coooooool out.

In other news, a mouse died somewhere in the walls of my apartment. How do I know this? I can smell it rotting. Unfortunately, it seems to be stuck somewhere deep in the heating system, so I can't find the body to remove it. So I've just got to wait it out until its little corpse finishes decomposing. In the meantime, my place smells terrific. Anyone want to drop by?

Yeah, so there's that. Have a nice weekend, you rotting mouse cadavers, you.

Thanks to all the good people who came out to the show on Tuesday night at TT the Bear's with Damone and The Charms. Hopefully, your socks were as rocked off as our undershirts were moist and musty.

During the day before a show, we spend an inordinate amount of time discussing what we're going to wear. We're four giant girls like that. After we had debated tie coordination, Keith decided to take it to that next level:

Keith: "I made a costume for tonight's show:"

To which Nate responded, "If we're doing homemade costumes I'm going with this one, since I'm already wearing it. This was me coming into work this morning:"

To which Mike retorted, "Um...."



I love funny stuff. It's just so darn amusing.

Tonight, big ol' show at TT the Bear's Place with uber hot rockers Damone and The Charms. I know it's a Tuesday night and you've got to work in the morning and wah wah wah wah. Want a bottle with that wah wah, you big baby?

It's going to be a relatively early one (we go on around 9), so be sure to arrive with plenty of time to purchase many Scamper products. We're launching our new line of Scamper brand pharmaceuticals this week, so bring some extra spending cash. Take it from me - you haven't had Halcyon until you've had Scamper-brand Halcyon.

There is a real possibility that this one sells out. So no bitching. See you all tonight.

Our apologies to those who showed up at Harper's Ferry on Friday night expecting us to play. Apparently, somewhere on the WBCN website advertised a "cameo by Scamper" and a few folks showed up hoping for us to rock their little worlds. The "cameo" comprised of taking the stage and handing our stolen tiara back to its rightful owners Campaign for Real Time. It was all a whole lot of silliness, I tell you what.

But tomorrow night, I promise you we WILL be playing our first tiara-less show at TT the Bear's with Damone and The Charms. Come early or get tickets in advance.

Congratulations to Township, the winners of the WBCN Rumble this year. Their set was absolutely scorching Zeppelin-inspired rock. They were fantastic. Our buddies Baker also completely destroyed in the finals. We hope to leech off their upcoming success very soon.

We've got a bit of a bad moustache news/good moustache news situation: due to a combination of some work-related issues and my shameful inability to man up and grow something reasonable on my upper lip in the truncated time period, the Moustache Show will NOT take place this Tuesday at TT the Bears with Damone and The Charms.

Don't fret, Rollie Fingers Fan Club - the Moustache Show IS on for the May 24 show at Hennessy's with Aloud, Rooftop Suicide Club and The Sterns. This way, those facially follically challenged among us will have time to grow a crumb catcher worthy of the Moustache Show tradition.

Funny story: we were discussing this over email yesterday, trying to make the final decision. At the same time, Keith was making a presentation at work and forgot to turn off the email notification on his laptop which was projecting onto a big screen. So every few minutes for about an hour, a small bubble would pop up with the words "Re: Moustaches." Keith's co-workers must have naturally assumed that he spends the majority of his day talking about moustaches. Which, of course, is true.

Good luck to our friends Baker in the WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble finals tonight. Remember - third place is the sexiest place of all.

It's really tough to find something funny in the face of the Virginia Tech massacre, but Fox News managed to (unintentionally, of course) deliver that comic relief to us. FOXnews.com is running a story on the front page suggesting that maybe the Virginia Tech shooter was, in fact, possessed by the devil. Thank you, Fox "News" - you have single-handedly morphed the tragic into the ridiculous once again.

Speaking of segues, it would be tragic if you missed our ridiculously kick-ass show at TT the Bear's on Tuesday with Damone and The Charms. Get your tickets early and/or don't call us if the place is sold out. There's nothing we can do for you at that stage. Don't say we didn't warn you, Procrastinating Polly.

On the bright side of this whole Virginia Tech thing, at least this means we will be hearing a little less about Don Imus. So there's that.

Speaking of racist comments, I'm scheduled to appear on the Reverend Jesse Jackson's radio show tomorrow to apologize for the insensitivity of my comments. Regretfully, I said, "Sometimes I get Omar Epps and Mekhi Phifer mixed up." It was hateful and I apologize to the African American community, my family, and our God. I will be entering racial rehab as soon as I finish this sentence.

But you know what two things I'm NOT going to apologize for? First of all, I'm not going to apologize to Nate for ending that last sentence with a preposition. More importantly, I'm not going to apologize for rocking your gonards off on Tuesday night at TT the Bears with Damone and The Charms. Because let's face it - you people have that one coming. You've been bad little boys and girls.

There is always the chance of a sellout. The last couple shows have left a wake of disappointed bodies at the door. So plan ahead, poopies.

Happy Tuesday, all. Some weekend highlights from my trip up to New Hampshire with French Lick for Bodefest:

- I don't have too many memories of the first few hours of the day, as I was still shaking off the cobwebs from the previous night's Rumble semi-finals, during which I may have had a few drinks. I was in baaaaaaaaaaad shape, almost causing me to miss the road trip. Luckily, Pete and Jordan are old pros at rock and roll touring and were able to help me into shape for the car ride.

Thanks to their TLC, I was able to have a relatively painless ride to New Hampshire during which I was able to piece together some of my prouder moments from the previous evening, including weeping outside a BBQ restaurant, alienating several close friends, and making several slurring phone calls to console recently ousted American Idol contestants. I can't be sure, but I think I snorted pixie sticks off a Scottish terrier. No gnews is good gnews with Brendo GDrunk.

- When we arrived at the venue, we immediately ran into Bode Miller on the elevator. My God. That is a good looking man. I'd get more into it, but I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable just remembering my reaction. But seriously. Good looking guy.

- After soundcheck, we were headed over to the hotel to get some rest when we saw a clown coming in to make balloons for the kids. For some reason, Pete and I decided it would be the most hilarious thing ever if I had sex with the clown that night, just so we could have have the following conversation the next morning:

Pete: Hey Brendan - did you get fucked last night?
Brendan: Better. I got clownfucked.
Pete: No way! Give me all the clowny details, my man!

- I was feeling adventurous during the show and decided to play a little electric guitar. Midway through the first song, I had a striking revelation: "Oh wait - I don't play guitar." So I just turned the volume down to zero and struck a few hot guitar poses. The crowd was none the wiser but sadly, Bode didn't notice.

- The show was really fun and the crowd was great. Thanks so much to Bode and the nice people at Bretton Woods ski resort for having us. It was a blast.

But on to some Scamper rock and roll: a week from today at TT the Bear's with Damone and The Charms. Today is your last chance to express your thoughts on making this one a Moustache Show, as I'll need at least a week to grow anything reasonable.

Don't forget to stop by Harper's Ferry tonight for the "good night" of the WBCN Rumble semi-finals with three of our best buddy bands (Aloud, Baker, and the Silver Lining) slugging it out with another band (Protokoll) who are not our friends per se but seem really really nice.

It's really a win-win for the Scamper compound, as chances are one of our pal bands will make it to the finals. And for the bands who don't make it, there will be a round of consolation hugs/inappropriate ass grabs from yours truly. I'm leering in your general direction, Henry.

Have a nice long weekend, all. On Tuesday, I'll be back with post-Rumble shenanigans, more on the potential Moustache Show as well as a report from Bodefest in New Hampshire.

As I was getting ready this morning, I watched a little Saved By The Bell: Hawaiian Style. I've got to admit - without the laugh track, it was quite difficult to ascertain which parts were supposed to be "funny." So I didn't laugh. At all.

Now, there has been some mumbling in Camp Scamper (known to insiders as "Camper") about turning this next show on Tuesday April 24 (at TT the Bear's with Damone and The Charms) into Scamper's 3rd Not-Quite-Annual Moustache Show.

For those of you unfamiliar with Moustache Shows in the past, check out the hairy mannish carnage hnyaw and hnyaw.

As you can imagine, a Moustache Show takes some advance planning. As it stands now, Mike and Keith already sport some wintery fuzz, so grooming said fuzz into a couple of creepy lip caterpillars would require minimal effort on their parts. And Nate... well, by the time Nate finishes reading this paragraph, he probably has at least a semi-Lincoln going on.

As per usual, I'm the problem. I wasn't blessed with a lot of "testosterone." My "beard" isn't really a beard. It's a "beard." I'm legally required to refer to it only in quotation marks or the National Association of Actual Men will levy a hefty fine and several atomic wedgies on me. In short - if we're going to do a moustache show, I need to start now and be able to live with the patchy red monstrosity that will creep out of my face for the next few weeks.

So I turn to you, my people. Is it worth it? Thoughts on a potential Moustache Show or facial hair in general?

Two funny baseball-related articles over on The Brushback today: one about Tim McCarver and one about Dice-K. They both made me larf and larf. Funny websites are funny.

In "music"-related news, Scamper is ramping up for our big show with Damone and the Charms at TT the Bear's on Tuesday April 24. I'm giving you a few weeks' notice so you can practice your "sick voice" for when you call in to work on Wednesday morning. You don't want to miss this show. It's going to be a good one.

Last night, the non-drumming members of Scamper held a little vocal rehearsal during which we reviewed some harmonies, argued about stupid shit, and planned the next big mean-spirited prank on Mike. It's going to involve thumb tacks and his mom. That's all I'm going to say.

Exciting things are afoot in the land of Scamper, I tell you what.

This weekend, my other band French Lick is back in action on the charity circuit. This time, we'll be hitting the mountains of New Hampshire for Bodefest 2007, the annual event hosted by Olympic silver medalist/all-around bad-ass Bode Miller. Any of you ski bunnies that have a few extra dollars for charity and want to rock and roll with us in the 603, hit it the F up.

I've actually never been skiing in my life. And I don't exactly have a crystal ball, but I'm thinking that the "no skiing" streak will continue for... um... let's say... roughly the rest of my life. I will NEVER ski ever ever ever.

My aversion for skiing is based purely in logic. I present a well thought-out list of several strikes that the fine sport of skiing has going against it:

- It's outside. That's a no-no for me. You know how there are indoor cats and outdoor cats? I'm an indoor Brendo.

- It's snowing out there.

- I will fall down. A lot. Probably in front of a bunch of little kids. I know they say little kids are innocent and they don't judge you and blabiddy blah blah. I know the awful truth: out in the wild, children are pure evil what with their high-pitched laughter and their Gobots Trapper Keepers and pooping wherever they see fit and oh, the screaming, the SCREAMING!

- Groin pulls. I like my groin. A lot. Probably more than the average person. So I'm not putting myself in a position for my groin to be all stretched out and twisted and generally made to be a mockery of its former perfect self. No one's pulling my groin without my expressed written consent or at least buying me a drink or two first.

- Gravity. Not my friend. Enough said.

In short, don't do anything outside ever. The end.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend and those of you who base your moral systems around zombie-like reincarnation had a wonderful Easter. Personally, I'll buy even the most implausible fairy tale if it results in my mother making such a delicious roast lamb with sweet potatoes. Mmmm... now that's good saviour.

Speaking of zombies, I killed a few with my broadsword this weekend. That's right - I once again nerded it up big time. My friends Madden, Hogg, Garecrow and I revisited our teen years with a rousing afternoon of Dungeons and Dragons. In the words of Nelson Muntz, I feel like punching myself.

Even though most of the other fellas are married and have children at this stage, a sporting session of Dungeons and Dragons can act like a sort of emotional time machine. To my knowledge, there's nothing that makes me feel more like a 15-year old pale, friendless virgin than sitting around a table with 3 other guys, consuming my weight in greasy junkfood and casting mind-control spells on imaginary hobgoblins and then making them kiss each other (for the record, one of the goblins was kind of into it). Weirdly enough, it's an oddly comforting feeling these days.

For a long time, I fought my inner nerd. I dressed him up in the hippest of platform shoes and parachute pants. Admit it - I had you all fooled. You just assumed I was the cat's meow in high school, didn't you? Nope - it turns out that the jocks on the football team stuffed the ballot so that I won Homecoming Queen, just so they could pour pig's blood all over my brand new yellow meringue-colored dress. My mother made that dress! It's not my fault that I'm just a poor Italian kid from Reseda. God, those guys were such assholes! I don't regret that revenge scheme where I spiked their keg with Rohypnol and then took pictures of them with their dicks taped to each other's foreheads.

The point is this: I have learned to love my inner nerd. He's not such a bad guy, really. Sure, he could have spent a little more time running around outside and a little less time memorizing the lineage of the WWF Intercontinental Title. But what if terrorists hold a gun to your loved one's head and need to know who beat the Ultimate Warrior for the Intercontinental Title after WrestleMania 6? Who are you going to call then?

It's a trick question, you fool! Warrior won the World Title from Hulk Hogan at WrestleMania 6 and so President Jack Tunney vacated the Intercontinental Title. You probably would have answered "Mr. Perfect" because he won the tournament for the vacated title. But you'd only be half-right. Do you think the terrorists would have accepted a half-right answer? I don't think so! If you ask me, they'd have to be pretty forgiving terrorists to let that one go. Sorry. Bam! Dead loved one.

All because you called me a nerd. I hope you enjoyed your comeuppance, you stupid forehead-dicked jocks from the football team.

I've got to admit it - I've got Dice-K fever. I also have him on my fantasy team, so I got a double dose of goodness yesterday. Hooray for me.

But for those of you who are sick of baseball talk, they discovered the reason that small dogs are small. Apparently, it's genetic.

Discuss. And have a nice weekend.

Ah, the sweet joys of spring. The rain, the snow. The whipping winds of hail pounding your pink fleshy cheeks. And of course (as my friend Hogg taught me) gathering around the Easter hearth to share with your loved ones a big chocolate cream-filled baby Jesus.

Seriously, any time someone wants to pull the ol' "nice weather" switch and get us out of the crappidy crap crap, that'd be just peachy thanks. I mean - they're playing baseball for cripes' sake. Staying up and watch the Red Sox get their first win of the season and then waking up to brush snow off your car - that shit just ain't right.

We will persevere as we are hearty New Englanders. We are mentally tough. We have small pockets of fat stored in hidden areas throughout our bodies. We will survive.

But you know what helps get you through the dreary and the mundane? Working the cardio machine at the gym and seeing this story scroll across your screen on CNN. Scary Spice is claiming to have Eddie Murphy's baby? He's denying it? Did she tell him what she wants, what she really really wants? Did he stick a banana in the tailpipe? Pop culture references are colliding!

Let's take a quick inventory of things I lost at the first preliminary night of this year's WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble:

- my shirt
- my ability to reproduce
- my dignity
- my driver's license

I have no idea where the christ my license went on that fateful Sunday night. I can only assume that it was pickpocketed by some underage indie rock douchebag who then used it to sneak into the Model Cafe in Allston to watch a 52-year old with a hipster haircut and three roommates drown the sorrows of his wasted youth in two dollar PBR and BU girls who hate their dads. Either that or I dropped it.

This morning, I went down the RMV to replace it. Have you been to the RMV lately? It's fucking great. They give fast, efficient service even when it's busy. And the sweet older lady that took my license picture thought I looked "too mean" in the first one and encouraged me to smile. And you know what - she was right! My new license photo is downright adorable!

So let's have a big "hep hep" for the RMV. The bygone days of long lines and bitter, angry tellers are over. It's sort of sad, actually. Like a relic from the past is gone. Ah well - at least we still have the post office.

The Sox are a game back already! This sucks! I quit! Poop!

If you haven't been checking out The Scene regularly, our man Diggity has been keeping tabs on the current happenings on this year's WBCN Rock and Roll Rumble. So far, Scamper is 2 for 2 in our buddy bands taking the night with rock and roll pals The Silver Lining and Baker advancing. It's a shame that our friends Aloud didn't advance, but it's most likely because Henry shaved the awesome "15-year old Puerto Rican" facial hair he had going. Never doubt the power of a good moustache, son!

After having a very stressful week, I made a rare drunken public appearance at the Sunday night preliminary. I enjoyed a few pops that resulted in the following disgraceful behavior:

a) I flicked a few people in the balls, causing them much discomfort and pain.
b) In response, I got my own balls whacked causing me no pain whatsoever.
c) For a reason that escapes me now, I took my shirt off and gave it to Maura.
d) While Shred was on the mic announcing the winner, I decided it was a good time to have a conversation with him. Keep in mind that he's on stage talking at this point:

Shred: The judges for tonight were Rich Shertenleib from the Toucher and Rich show.
Me: Really? I love that show!
Shred: That's great, Brendan.
Me: Is he here? I totally want to meet him.
Shred: Maybe you can see him tomorrow night when the bands are Cassavetes, Baker, Aloud and the Ark Royal.
Me: Yeah, I don't know if I can make it tomorrow...
Shred: (wisely ignoring me) And the winners tonight - the Silver Lining!

As people are celebrating the exciting win, I start following Shred around and asking him where Rich Shertenleib is.

You see? This is why I usually drink alone in the privacy of my own home.