I'm a real gas, you see

I spent all day yesterday in the recording studio, laying down tracks for an upcoming release by Band B. Lots of time in a little room by myself with nothing but headphones and drums? Makes me a bit zany.

On the ride home, Chico (have I mentioned Chico? he plays the bass) and I stopped by the grocery store, where we noticed that Harry the Happy Dragon was "Out of Order," a sad state for an ostensibly happy dragon.

Me: Can dragons really be happy and child-friendly?
Chico: Mmm, I don't really think so. Their job is to destroy humans and villages and stuff. That's not really happy if you ask me.

[…]

Me: So where does dragon fuel come from anyway? For the flames, I mean.
Chico: I dunno. They must have a real fucked-up digestive system.
Me: Could be methane, I guess. Cows produce methane.
Chico: True. But methane burns blue. Have you ever seen a dragon with a blue flame? I don't think so.
Me: Good point. Dragons are totally made-up.

Yeah. Science.

There Is Nothing In The World Like Good Music

Ryan at the post office today. (The post office, let it be known, is in a town of 3,000. Furthermore, Ryan walked once to the post office only to be turned away because the tellar was on break for an hour and a half. Then he walked again, after work. In the dark. Rain. Cold rain.)

Ryan: I have this to send.
Tellar: Ah, Charlottesville.
Ryan: I want to send it overnight if that's a possibility.
Tellar: It is not.
Ryan: . . .
Tellar: Do you want to send it First Class, or another class?
Ryan: Whichever is the most fast class.
Tellar: First Class.
Ryan: . . .
Tellar: Thomas Jefferson was from Charlottesville, right?
Ryan: Yes he was.
Tellar: Monticello.
Ryan: Have you been there?
Tellar: Nope.
Ryan: Well, it's nice.
Tellar: Long way to go for 'nice', isn't it?
Ryan: . . .
Woman Behind Ryan: Is there any way that you guys can hurry up? I'm late for Lamaze.

Knee Jerk

My post-Thanksgiving weekend festivities included a wedding and the attendant reception, which was held at the Officer's Club of an Army base. I didn't really know anyone (bride was a high-school friend of eek's), but with a little help from my sidekick Red Wine, I made some fast friends, including an enlisted guy who had just returned from Iraq. He was very interesting and seemed unannoyed by my many questions about the military and what's going on Over There.

I tend, at weddings, to always end up talking to the other guests about weddings in-general—it's the one subject we all definitely have in common, right? This tendency makes me feel sort of lame, but, hey, small talk.

This wedding was a pretty traditional one (they said "man and wife," for example), but one tradition strike me as new and, quite possibly, extracted from the DJ's rear end.

After the toss of the bouquet and the garter belt, the DJ called up the girl who caught the former and said, "There is one more tradition we haven't mentioned. It is said that for every inch above the knee that he can get the garter belt, it's another year's good luck for the bride and groom."

The dude who caught the garter belt—he, all of maybe eighteen—then pranced around doing a mock seductive dance and then proceeded to slip the garter belt on the leg of the girl who had caught the bouquet, as she sat there uncomfortably. WTF?!

Squick. Squick. Squick.

Special Thanksgiving-Day Leftover-Ingredient Edition

would cinamon and honey be good for a sore on a dogs elbow?

I've never thought to ask. But hey! We're the #3 experts IN THE WORLD.

Charles: In Charge

Scattered as I've been amidst dust bunnies on the floors of East Coast abodes, I haven't been thinking too clearly. But one good idea came of the trip.

I've hit upon a solution to the problematic proliferation of band names incorporating "Wolf", a true plague upon our time.

There shall be a band named Scott Baio Wolf. The name is free to the first takers. Go forth and fight, brave soldiers.

daed ton si zzaJ

Because you asked:::::
- Hangovers generally suck
- Miles Davis' middle name was Dewey.
- A modern U.S. passport comes with twenty-four pages.
- Parallel to our common stereotype, most all Mexicans love their Tequila.
- Ryan needs a haircut.
- Nine out of ten Americans agree: Lewis and Clark were badass.

More superlatives

The best meal I've had on this trip so far was a BK Veggie® at a rest stop in New Jersey at three in the morning. There were no pre-made veggie burgers under the heat lamps, and the nice lady made me one fresh.

Fucking delicious, and quite possibly the single greatest thing about New Jersey.

[/kidding!]

Funniest joke I've heard on this trip so far

Q: What's the difference between tampons and cowboy hats?

A: Cowboy hats are for assholes.

(told by a bartender in Philly named Paulie)

A mixed bag

Bad things so far:

- Van deemed unroadworthy one day prior to departure
- Stayed up till four burning CDs (Bayleaf stayed up screenprinting)
- Departed late, in a Dodge Caravan full of all the gear and seven people
- Cramps (see above)
- Found out en route that show was cancelled (venue shut down: licensing issues)
- Got lost, missed Philly, ended up in Jersey
- Broke a mirror on the borrowed van while parking in Philly
- Got dicked on money at the Manhattan show
- Had a friend, who had come up to NYC from Philly, get her wallet stolen in Manhattan
- Wandered around Bushwick at 8:30 am exhausted, because I couldn't sleep anymore
- Learned the Monday show in Jersey get cancelled
- Slept on a floor every night since Friday
- Watched a really crappy Monday Night Football game

Good things so far:

- Played a fun warehouse show in Philly, arranged at the last minute
- Rode in the very spacious replacement van
- Met a long-time/no-see friend in Manhattan for a afternoon two-hour coffee
- Ate delicious Ukranian food and drank delicious beer with the ass-kicking A White Bear, Bave Dee, et. al.
- Played a great show in Brooklyn with Titus Andronicus (after a lengthy nap in the van)
- Read a newspaper over coffee for the first time in days

We'll see how Delaware treats us tomorrow.

Hum 'n' Shred

So:

1. Two co-workers today proclaimed their categorical hatred of hummus, which, yes, sounds impossible. But I suppose that no single foodstuff can be universally adored, plus their hatred means more hummus for the hummus-loving among us—a policy view I can only too happily get behind.
   
   However, their reason for not liking hummus—texture resembling maggots—well that's just batshit crazy.
   
   
2. This huge paper-shredder truck came to work today. It was sort of like a dump truck, except with a giant, menacing-looking shredder on it. So rad.
   
   I confess that I get irrationally excited about paper shredding, and I absolutely love using the small office shredder we have at work. Such a big shredder? Would have been ecstasy.
   
   
3. Plus: Tonight at band practice, I pointed out to a visiting friend that his fly was down. Not thirty seconds later, my own XYZ-ness was pointed out to me. Whoops!
   

"Sometimes my eyeballs dance in their sockets!"

I work with a young Mormon child named Drew, and he drinks a lot of coffee.

Drew is twenty-one years old, a proficient wrestler, and has facial hair exactly like Wolverine if only Wolverine were more into psychotropic medications. Drew drives a VW bug, talks all the time about how the girl can't get pregnant if she's on top - "It's gravity!" - and carries around two separate mugs of coffee, one from Dutch Bros and the other from a very special Oregon State football game he once attended.

If you ask Drew how much coffee he drinks he will answer you in terms of gallons. During harvest, Drew will tell you, smiling between his chops, he drank five gallons per day. To illustrate this, Drew will hold up a five gallon bucket and point at it and say, "Yeah, this much."

Drew's first cup of the day comes in the shower. "I take the leftover coffee from last night - I take the entire pot with me in the shower and drink it cold." Drew then buys one on the way to work. Then he makes coffee for the entire staff, filling the coffee filter up ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP with grounds. This is the way true coffee drinkers do it, so says Drew. And I beleive him, because if anyone is a coffee drinker, it is he.

I once asked Drew if it was true that Mormons had to preach door-to-door in a bicycle and he said, "Maybe" and gave me a weird smile and his teeth are yellow. Tired of all the talk of tannins and terroir, I attempted to get my fellow interns to play a rousing game of Asshole, and Drew announced that he would play only if he could drink coffee and not beer. And we let him. And the coffee was cold. And from three days ago. And he was Asshole all night.

Whoopsie

I was enjoying a late-afternoon meal on the patio of a local establishment on a lovely afternoon. As the waiter brought me a refill, he tripped, and the drink spilled onto the table, much of it absorbed by the newspaper I was reading.

Yeesh. I recalled spilling barbecue sauce all over this lady's white dress in my table-waiting days, and I helped him dab up the little mess with extra napkins that he brought.

Not a big deal, and the spill was quickly remedied. But apparently, in these moments of slight social awkwardness, I channel my mother, for what else could I say but, "Hey, these things happen."