July 19, 2016
I will often times give people fake breeds when they ask what type of dog I have. I don’t do it to be a dick; I do it just to entertain myself. Besides, I don’t actually know my dog’s pedigree. My best guess, given his size and snoring habits, is some cross between a deer and an exhaust manifold.
Anyway, some of my favorite breed names have been: Grundleplith, Romanian Hotfarm, Dipshit, King Ding Carpeter, Larry Beezler, French Twelve Leaner and Miniature Donkeybear.
The other day my brother-in-law asked me, “When you guys stage dive, jump in the crowd or dance on tables, do you ever fall down?”
The answer is yes. All the time.
The end of the Tour
I tried a VR headset for the first time. Admittedly both fun and amazing, this incredible new technology left me only with an acute sense of anxiety. Virtual Reality is gonna take over the world, there is no way it won’t, and I am gonna be here for the start of it.
We are gonna have to develop some machinery, something inside our guts, to help us turn off unreserved pleasure. Technology is only gonna get better and better. And it’s gonna get easier and easier, and more and more convenient and more and more pleasurable to be alone with images on a screen, given to us by people who do not love us but want our money. Which is fine. In low doses. But if that’s the basic main staple of your diet? You’re gonna die. In a meaningful way, you’re going to die.
Soaked in Bleach
I need a team of scientists to figure out my hair. It baffles me, still. After years of following me around, I’m confident these scientists would scratch their heads and hypothesize something like: “The main winding was of the normal lotus-o-delta type placed in panendermic semi-boloid slots in the stator, every seventh conductor being connected by a nonreversible trem’e pipe to the differential girdlespring on the ‘up’ end of the dingle arm.”
This movie was recommended to me by a friend and it took me by surprise. I was unaware that it was being questioned whether Kurt Cobain actually killed himself. If you are interested in true crime and/or Nirvana, check this out.
The Big Short
Near our house there is a mall that we go to a few times a year. The kid really enjoys it because she gets to ride the Horse Tornado.
Now it’s my right as a parent to teach my kid how to relate to the world. However, I should probably start thinking about how I’m gonna talk my way of out it.
The intervention might not happen when she shouts “Horse Tornado!” at a carousel or when she screams “Creeping Rack Disease” as she points at somebody with hat head or pillow indentations on their cheek, but I’m fairly confident that the principal will call me in to explain why the kid says in a mock asian accent, “Oooooooh, nooder sooop, vary goood fo yu,” every time noodle soup is served in the cafeteria.
I know Curt’s mom reads this occasionally so we try to watch our language, but we do a shit job of it. We also are pretty uncensored as far as our subject matter so read these reviews at your own risk. This was a good indy film, go find it somewhere.
2016, the year of Alexander Hamilton.
You ever have that book in the pile of books that you know you should read, but it keeps getting pushed down in favor of more interesting and compelling reads. You keep it there on the nightstand, at the bottom of the pile and it just stares at you, making you feel guilty for putting it off. I have that with the biography of Alexander Hamilton. It’s just fucking sitting there, staring me down. This is going to be the year though, I can feel it. 2016! The year of Alexander Hamilton!!
I’m that guy digging through the huge bin of discount DVDs at Best Buy. You’ll find me with my legs up in the air wiggling around as I’m face down plumbing the depths of the barrel. “Found it!”
I can also be seen nosing through the 12 DVDs on sale at gas stations. Books are the same way with me. They like to surround me, and scream at me even.
Anyway, if I come across this movie I’m gonna buy it. Sam Rockwell as the lead, a cameo by Tom Waits, Christopher Walken in a starring role. It’s witty, irreverent, funny. Great movie. I look forward to nerding out on all the bonus features. Some funny lines from the movie:
Hans: An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, I believe that wholeheartedly.
Billy: No it doesn’t. There’ll be one guy left with one eye. Hows the last blind guy gonna take out the eye of the last guy left, who’s still got one eye! All that guy has to do is run away and hide behind a bush. Gandhi was wrong, it’s just that nobody’s got the balls to come right out and say it.
Charlie: Should’ve brought that gun along, buddy.
Marty: I don’t believe in them.
Charlie: In guns? You don’t believe in guns? They ain’t fucking leprechauns, you dumb Mick.
Hans: “I know you said dream sequences are for fags, but I think it could work, don’t you? We all gotta dream don’t we…..not just fags. Oh by the way I don’t think they like being called that anymore.
I’m gonna start helicopter pilot training. Believe it, Goose. One of these shows I’m gonna chopper in.
My parents always taught me to follow my dreams. Or maybe they didn’t, I can’t remember. Maybe that was just something I picked up from a bumper sticker, or a bad TV show.
Last Christmas as I was passing down my parents’ teachings to a nephew professing “You can do whatever you want”… my parents stopped me and said, “You know, we never actually said that. We wanted you to be an Electrician.”
The Funny thing is they were serious, and haven’t given up. I still regularly get electrical manuals and wiring handbooks for my birthday. It’s true, ask the wife.
Social graces 101: Lesson 703.B-1: For the love of god, please eat with your mouth closed.
The Good Dinosaur
I forget if I’ve told the story but I was just sitting here thinking about it and started laughing to the point of tears, again….
About 6 years ago, this was back when my dog would share the bed with me, I woke up early one morning and began to read in bed. The dog casually opened an eye, looked at me and promptly went back to sleep. As I lie there reading he began to dream and in his dream he began to run. Those of you who’ve had sleep running dogs know how amusing it is so I just sat back and watched him as he chased something in his sleep.
Realize that this dog is large so him running in his sleep is a big production. His legs were kicking towards me and his back was up against the other edge of the bed. Gradually his kicking got more and more animated and he started letting out little whimpers and yips. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion and I watched it all unfold right in front of me. The dog got so animated in his sleep running that he kicked his way right off the side of the bed.
The thing about a large dog falling off the bed in his sleep is the complete lack of reaction. It’s like a huge sack of potatoes, it doesn’t fall all at once. One end starts to go over and the the rest just gets pulled behind it, potato by potato. His head went first, which pulled his long legs skyward and then over, this of course pulled the rest of him, yet his legs kept running in air until his head hit the ground.
Every part of his body made a different sound when it hit the hardwood floor. HIs head a higher pitched thud than his torso which was a succession of low meaty tones followed lastly by his legs and feet which were of a higher thinner variation.
As the milk flew out of my nose, the dog woke up and proceeded to panic. This doubled my laughter because he was upside down and completely confused which led all four legs to kick wildly in the air trying to find the ground, which of course was in the opposite direction than it normally is. He finally righted himself and in so doing knocked his head on the nightstand table which sent the lamp crashing down. This threw him into a secondary panic that resulted in him running backward into the bookshelf bumping it hard with has hind section. There is where he finally just stopped, I assume hoping for this nightmare to end.
I was wiping the tears from my eyes and trying to catch my breath as he just stood and stared at me like “What the hell was that!?” He shook himself, looked around the room, and then just climbed back in bed. I love that dog.
Years back my buddy went to the doctor. It was a routine examination and during it he had a friendly discussion about some problems he was having with his girlfriend. After a few laughs the doctor paused and then eloquently said: “Women have little chance at sanity considering the chemical chaos they have swirling within them.” I think of this from time to time. I love my wife but god damn sometimes she is crazy.
A common question we get is how and where we write songs. Sadly there is no magical answer. It’s really a bizarre and elusive craft. Some of the most complex songs get written while on the couch watching TV. Some of the simplest songs take years, others just come out of the ground like an eggplant and all you have to do is pick it up. You never know.
Some songs ripen and change, some tell you when they’re done and others are never done. Some are just right and others just aren’t right. There are the songs you work on and work on, replacing this part for that, taking the arm off that one and putting it on the other. Maybe take the head off the one collecting dust in the shed, replace it with the muffler from the truck. You never know.
Its like birds setting out to fly for the first time. Some fly, others just crash to the ground. Some of those you pick up, slap some duct tape on it and send it out again. Maybe it crashes again, maybe it needs more than duct tape. I think I saw an old refrigerator in the back yard, maybe that has some parts we can use. You never know.
I forget where I heard this but one of the greatest insults you can say is “Who’s this clown?” because it implies that A) they’re a clown and B) they’re not even one of the better known clowns.
I haven’t even seen this movie, I just put the picture up to remind me I want to see it.
The Hateful Eight
I do not condone my bandmates style of dress. I am often embarrassed by their daytime clothing choices. I understand that I myself have always appreciated, enjoyed and respected well dressed people. I love walking around Paris and New York, fashion is a form of artistry that I connect with. I realize not everybody thinks like me nor has this affinity, which is fine. However, I will contend that there has to be a fundamental level of common sense and general courtesy to fellow citizens of the earth. You don’t have to look at yourselves but other people do.
With the dudes I feel like I’ve even been trying to tilt the scales, attempting to balance it out a bit. I’m putting my good shoes on for breakfast, showing up for soundcheck in a suit and tie, hell I’m even doing it at home. I come up for dinner in a 3 piece suit and an ascot and the wife and kid don’t even bat an eye.
I walked into a Pete’s Coffee the other day and they had this big community cork board where they took polaroids of the regulars. The locals would then write something on the picture and they would pin it up on the board. I had 5 minutes to kill so I just started to read em. My favorite one: picture of a cute girl and her message: “I hope the fetus that you save grows up to be gay.”
Anybody who knows me knows I am an unabashed sports junkie. You’ve probably seen me out at the bar before the show yelling at the TV. Here’s the thing though, the music industry is not filled with seamheads and ballers. It’s full of `artists’ who deem sports as superfluous. It’s a desert out here for any good sports discussions. I can make the dudes’ eyes immediately glaze over by uttering only the word “Lebron.”
Just understand that sports is merely one platform for looking at the world. One way of understanding and engaging with things larger such as education, politics, economics, religion, leadership, math, love etc. I bet you have your own platform and I won’t judge it. I consider myself well read, well traveled, well cultured etc, and sports has given me some of the most profound insight into all the wonderful and terrible corners of emotion, thought, culture, race, politics and humanity. It’s just one of the great many tools to understand the world.
So yah, if you see me sitting watching a game, come say hi. I’ll buy you a drink and we can yell at the TV.
Straight outta Compton
Speaking of sports, I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am for the Cubs this year. 2016, the year of Alexander Hamilton and the Chicago Cubs. Maybe the wife and I can do our anniversary in Chicago this year…. She won’t like that. Or maybe she will, I don’t know. How do you even broach that subject? Can you get in trouble for even bringing something like that up? Shit, I’m already psyching myself out…. Now when I ask she’ll see it all over my face that I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I’ll be sweating, breathing heavy, forgetting my script because the writing on my hand is smeared….She’ll get upset and say “Well how long have you been thinking about this!? Were you not gonna include me in your plan?” I just know it, it’s not gonna go well.
Either way, wouldn’t it be cool to go back and spend a weekend at Wrigley Field!? She might like that, or at a minimum, she would tolerate it, right!? I’m already starting to sweat.
Here are some hipster baby names that require some real courage;
- The Fourth
Stop annoying me with your weak attempts at unique baby names.
Star Wars: The Force Awakens
I took the kid to see the new Star Wars. There might be as much joy in watching Star Wars as there is watching a kid experience it for the first time.
We’ve been doing the original trilogy leading up to The Force Awakens. Big movie nights, inviting the dog up on the couch, cranking the sound, dressing up as Han Solo. It’s been great. It gives me the excuse to eat pizza, the kid gets her movie candy, the dog gets his cigarettes, everybody’s happy. The wife still brings some weird smelling kale bowl but we make her eat it in the other room. Good times.