joe's diary

Thursday, July 31, 2003

Folks,

We have a really big weekend coming up, with a show tonight in Rhode Island, a show tomorrow in NYC, a show Saturday in NYC and final mixing of the new rock record on Sunday. Ouch. Seeing as how we all feel like we're running on fumes after last weekend, I'm not sure exactly how we're going to make it. Oh right, cocaine! (Ed. Note - by "cocaine", Joe means Twix bars and Diet Dr. Pepper)

Anyway, it is a pretty jam-packed weekend and so in preparation I went to the gym yesterday. I guess I've finally been convinced by our oppressive, beauty driven culture that I am a big fat fatty who must shape up or fear ridicule, but that's another story. The main story here is that the gym is categorically always a mistake. There's absolutely nothing, I mean nothing, fun about being in a confined smelly place with grunting musclemen, all the while doing things your body really doesn't like to do. I mean, I was doing a bench press and every fiber of my chest was asking one simple question of me, "Why?" And I gotta admit, I just didn't know how to answer him.

And so, people, I advocate starting the Ideal Gym, Inc., where men like myself can sit around a television, drink beer, eat pizza, and smoke. Shirts and having your top pants button actually buttoned will be optional.

How about it science?

joe welsh  @  8:13 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Wednesday, July 30, 2003

People,

So yesterday I painted a pretty bleak portrait of our benefit performance experience. But that was only one small part of the story, folks. Today we will dwell on what made it actually, as Jordan might say "a pretty kick-ass night."

It was perhaps the oddest bill we will ever have the chance to play on. We were not only the only rock band, we were the only band period. The other performers?

- A Samoan prince (for real) who performed a "slap dance" where, dressed only in a loincloth, he danced and hit himself rhythmically (and very hard). It was, to quote a friend "kick ass".

- A real live Broadway singer who sang a couple Sondheim pieces. I wasn't wild about her, but I kind of hate that kind of music so I'm sure it was my fault and not hers. Her piano player was snarky as all get out though and that was his fault.

- This dude who played avant-garde solo saxophone and did a beat poetry piece about Native Americans and global warming. I don't know what to say about this guy except that his act was as weird as it sounds.

- Hula dancers. I think Gordon nailed it on the head when he said "I'm not attracted to the dancers per se, but when they move I feel all funny."

- And us. One of these things is not like the others....

Anywho, it was our job to play out the night. The hosts said goodbye and people were encouraged to leave at their discretion while we ended the show. Time it took to clear the theater? Approximately 11 seconds. Life is funny.

After we finished and packed up, we joined the rest of the benefit crowd for a little benefit buffet, which is where the night really picked up. In attendance was uber-cool Rob, THE VOICE OF 60 MINUTES!

Since everyone was a little tipsy, we felt entitled to make Rob pretend to be doing 60 Minutes promos for us. Luckily, he really is uber-cool and rewarded us with things like "Tonight on 60 Minutes Mike Wallace investigates the troubling lack of regulations on America's chemical industry....." It was awesome, but not as awesome as when we learned he's also the voice of the NFL United Way ads. Line of the night? "Vinnie Testeverde is a magician on the field, but he also makes time for children..."

Rock.

joe welsh  @  8:23 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Tuesday, July 29, 2003

People,

The FXA rock machine is back in town and god damn if it doesn't need a nap. Our weekend was full of...well...really annoying driving. We hit NYC on Saturday for a veritable ass-kicking festival at the Luna Lounge, replete with screaming beautiful ladies, some old friends and a healthy dose of candied ginger (don't ask). Anywho, after that rock extravaganza we hit the highway, arriving at the Somerville rock house around 5:30 in the AM for a little post-rock sleep. Sunday I headed over to the Paradise to check out our sweet rock friends in THISWAY as well as our non friends but the still rock Supergrass. After a few fitful hours of post THISWAY-partying sleep I was rousted by Gordon and the arrival of the band van. Despite my crankiness at the completely non-sensical bit of traveling I was about to do, I loaded up and we headed back to NYC. And here's where it gets interesting.

We had to head back to NYC to play a benefit. Now, usually we avoid benefits like the plague because they don't pay and we hate people (Ed. Note - Kidding, sort of). But seriously, although the traveling sucked, it was for a very good cause close to the band's heart. Of course, that doesn't mean it wasn't a RIDICULOUS time.

We got to the venue, which was the set of an off-off-broadway Bobby Darin song revue. Ouch. The stage was set up like an early Ed Sullivan soundstage, complete with footlights and a raised platform for a singer. Unfortunately, we have more than one singer in our band and ended up having to cram everyone onto about three inches of stage. Jordan ended up playing both in front of as well as facing the band. It did not bode well for the night.

Anywho, when we got there we met the stage manager S., who was a royal pain in the s. Actual comments: (imagine a real whiny New York socialite voice)

To Gordon - "Do you have to put that amp there. It's just so ugly. Can't we put it behind a pole or something?" Um, no.

To me - "Are these all your pedals? Do they really have to be on the stage?" Um, yes.

To all - "You need more outlets? You didn't bring those with you?" What???

To all - "You guys shouldn't be too loud and the room acoustics are very good. Do you really need microphones?" Um, yes.

But her best line of the evening came when she was asking our opinion as young people about an ad campaign her firm was designing. I didn't really like her at this point so I decided to break her balls about it a little and say the dumbest things that came into my mind. Of course, she took everything I said sort of seriously, but became frustrated when I wouldn't be absolutely serious and revere Her Majesty Queen Condescension. So she, this woman who does NOT know me at all, says in a very snide tone of voice "You know, you almost have some good ideas." And I said "You know, me being able to tell you to eat farts right now almost makes the five hours of driving worth it." Of course, I only said this in my head. Ah well, life is, of course, terrible.

Ok, people, that's all I can relate today. Tomorrow I will deliver the rest of the story with my trademark candor and aplomb.


joe welsh  @  8:34 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Friday, July 25, 2003

People,

So, this weekend we pack up the Town and Country and move into the city in order to bring rock to the masses. Now, every time we head out to NYC we inevitably eat about thirteen meals at the McDonald's that litter the interstates of our great land.

I love McDonald's. I love the food, the folks, hell, even the fun. I love McDonald's so much that even though I both used to work there and have read Fast Food Nation twice I don't think I'll ever stop eating there. It's like fatty crack and it has made me a ho'.

Anyway, the thing not to like in almost any McDonald's is the service. It's abysmal. No one ever seems to enjoy their job or offers anything remotely resembling courtesy. Ah well, it's just the price you pay for the sweet, sweet, highly processed, made from horribly mistreated animals, delicious food, right?

But yesterday I had an experience at McDonald's that almost restored my faith in humanity. I ordered, got my food and was headed to the drink island at the Mickey Dee's in Davis Square. As I was trying to find a comfortable way to get my drink while also carrying seven million other things my bag ripped and all my fries spilled out across the floor. It sucked. I felt like that kid who drops his ice cream cone before he's had a chance to lick it and just starts crying. Of course, I'm well into my twenties, so crying wasn't exactly an option.

Anyway, I got down on my knees and started cleaning the mess up when from behind the counter comes the manager. I thought she was going to yell at me but instead she treated me like the ice cream cone kid. She literally came over, patted on the back, said "it's OK honey, let me clean this up and we'll get you some more fries," which she did, going so far as to bring them over to me at my table.

I suppose it's sad that this made my day, but in the world we live in, where common courtesy and simple acts of kindness are pretty rare, my McDonald's angel made everything OK. So, thank you, McDonald's angel (not her real name). I will remember you tomorrow when some high school kid on I-90 ignores me for five minutes, gets my order wrong, and when I complain squeezes his pimples into my Big Mac.

joe welsh  @  8:25 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Thursday, July 24, 2003

Rockers,

Last night was the big premiere of Brendo Frendo's long awaited documentary about us. And people, it was a hit all around. Through his insane publicity efforts and general charm, BF managed to fill the whole theater. And apart from a couple small technical snafus and repeated calls from the audience for "more Joe nudity! more Jordan nudity! less Pete nudity!," it all went perfectly.

I gotta say, it's pretty weird seeing yourself on a big screen talking about the most intimate details of your life while a bunch of people sit next to you eating Jujubes. Of course, I anticipated this and ducked into a bar just before the screening for a couple bolts of courage. This had the desired effect of making it a lot easier to take when had to see my twenty foot high self humping Jordan in a vinyl tiger suit. Ah well.

After the movie, we had a Q&A with the crowd which was cool, but also a little weird. It's strange to live a chunk of your life, then watch a chunk of your life on screen and then talk about watching a chunk of your life on screen. It's like deja vu all over again and again.....and again.

The night continued at a corner bar next to the theater. Unbeknownst to us, it was ladies night and it was, literally, a sausage factory in there. I haven't seen that many backwards baseball caps in a long time. Sorry fellas, it's just not a good look. Anywho, we carved ourselves out a little sector of the bar and had a sweeeeeeet afterparty. It was great to see Brendo Frendo, someone I have known for twenty-odd years, have a huge successful night that was all about him and his talents. I felt like a proud, drunk papa.

Finally, despite the fact that the bar was so full that, as Mike from Scamper put it, "all these college girls have to rub their boobs on my arm as they walk by!," it was time to head home. I had an M&M ice cream bar, took two tylenol and packed it in. It was a wacky night.

Until next time, I'll see you......at the movies!!!!!



joe welsh  @  8:35 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Wednesday, July 23, 2003

People,

Last night I stayed at home with my ladyfriend and fired up the old DVD player. Since we consider ourselves very elegant and culturally sophisticated folks, we rented the cinema verité masterpiece The Real Cancun. And people, what a treat it was.

This movie is essentially the Real World with boobs and curse words. Now I'm not too good to say that I don't love my MTV reality TV, but unlike most Real Worlds (or dare I say it, most Road Rules!), this movie features nary an interesting character in the bunch. Even more important than that is the fact that none of these people are that hot. I mean, it's a frigging movie, for Christ's sake! Let's use that budget to get the hottest, most depraved people we can. Right? Wrong. Nobody in the "film" is nearly as good looking as anyone on Real World Las Vegas besides Frank. And no one is really all that depraved, either. In the end you just get a bunch of annoying 20 year olds parading around dead drunk philosophizing about the meaning of life and grossly making out with each other (maybe times have changed since I was a young'un, but the people on these shows literally aren't satisfied until they eat half of each other's faces off.)

Anywho, I would have been happier if they had sent this same group of people off to make "The Real Maximum Security Penitentiary," or "The Real Nike Shoe Factory," or even "The Real Guantanamo Bay US Army Torture Center." Oh well.

Our movie premiere is tonight.

joe welsh  @  8:29 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Tuesday, July 22, 2003

Rock,

So yesterday was picture day in the Fooled By April camp. It's been a year since we last got any photos taken and we really need some new rock shots for the new rock image.

Luckily for us, our good friend Jimbo Frimbo (also good friend of Brendo Frendo and photographer par excellence) was available to lend us his talents for the afternoon. Also lucky is that nary a block from my house is an gigantic abandoned paper factory/railyard where lots of homeless people and drug dealers hang out. And what says rock more than drug dealers, rusted railroad ties and burned out factories?

So we packed up the equipment and set out with towards this modern day Gomorrah. Now, let it be said that I hate taking pictures. I have massive insecurities about how I look anyway, and when coupled with the fact that I can't ever seem to not make some goofy face, it just becomes a bad scene.

But we persevered. Some highlights included when I realized the thing crunching beneath my feet wasn't gravel but was in fact a squirrel skeleton, when I definitely contracted gangrene by cutting myself on the rustiest fence in the universe and when Jordan made his super hot "pouty face" for five photos in a row.

I'm out like Ansel Adams....

joe welsh  @  8:37 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Monday, July 21, 2003

People,

Saturday at the Lizard was one of the most fun shows Fooled By April has ever played.

Highlights:

- Rob from Mile One opened the show with a set of very strong set of acoustic "get the ladies to take off their clothes" rock. Unfortunately, there weren't a ton of ladies there at that point, but the songs did seem to work on Scamper.

- During Rob's set, some yahoo was being really loud and playing that game where you make a paper football and flick it through your friend's fingers/goalposts. I was really pretty annoyed but, as if to prove the unpredictableness of human nature, after the show he got up and bought a Mile One t-shirt. Weird.

- Scamper kicked ass. I mean, I actually have scheduled an ass-replacement surgery this week because mine is so battered right now.

- Our show was just fun from the first note till the the last. We were really the Maxwell House of rock bands. At the end of the show we invited everyone up on stage to sing High and Dry. I kind of felt like Eric Neis when forty people all came up and tried to grind me/sing into my microphone. Pete said he felt like Downtown Julie Brown. Wubba wubba.

- Our often spoken about in this journal neighbor Ralph came to the show. For those of you who don't know, Ralph is our really nice, older neighbor whos has a little touch of Tony Soprano about him. So he comes to the show and sits down next to me. After a minute he turns to me and says "Where's the waitress?" "There's no waitresses here, Ralph." "No waitresses?!? What kindofa [sic] fuckin' joint is this?" What kind of a fucking joint indeed....

joe welsh  @  8:35 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Friday, July 18, 2003

Rockers,

So of course I exaggerated yesterday when I mentioned that we were going to killed by a horde of hard-rockers in New Bedford. However, we did think we were going to be the unwanted odd fish out on last night's bill.

Well, people, nothing could have been farther from the truth. Although we were definitely the anomaly of the show, the people of southern Massachusetts greeted us with open arms. It turned out to be a rock-ass rock show and we met some really cool people.

We tend to forget it sometimes, but suburban type shows can often be a lot more rewarding than some shows at "big" city venues. Although we have simply the best fans in the world who faithfully come out in Boston and New York, there's always those people who stand at the bar being completely jaded and scowling. And that can be a tough thing as a performer, especially when you're working so hard to reach everyone. But in surburban shows, there's a lot less hipness and a lot more appreciation for your efforts. Plus, suburban clubs don't have the benefit of location and they usually make up for it with a fantastic sound system. I think last night was one of our best sounding shows in a long time. Ron the soundman rocks, folks.

Anywho, we are now revved up and breathing fire for our Lizard show tomorrow. I will see you there.

joe welsh  @  8:23 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Thursday, July 17, 2003

People,

So tonight we load up the band van and head to "New Bedfa" for some serious rock and roll. It's going to be good to get back on the horse after our last show, which apart from being rife with technical difficulties, well, kinda sucked. Oh well, you can't win them all, folks.

Anywho, our only reservation about bringing the rock down south tonight is that the place we're playing looks like a pretty hard rocking club. And hard-rocking rockers tend to take a while to be won over to Fooled By April's HI-FI garage rock stylings. Add to that the fact that we're playing on their "ROCK NIGHT!" and not their "indie rock" night and it could be a little rough.

Brendo Frendo offered this advice; "before you start playing, if the audience looks mean, get up and say 'look, you guys are definitely gonna hate us, but if we can ask one favor, please don't beat us up for being pansies until after the show.'" Uh, thanks for the vote of confidence Brendo.

You never know though. Some of the bills we've been on that looked like we'd be eaten alive turned out the best gigs we've ever played. You'll get all the details tomorrow, unless Gordon gets really stomped and I have to nurse him back to health....

joe welsh  @  8:24 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Wednesday, July 16, 2003

Rock.

People, the Fooled By April hiatus (or for me, the HIGH-atus. Not true, mom) is coming to an official close and it is time again to rock.

Tomorrow night we take New Bedford by storm. I haven't been to New Bedford in a lot of years, but I have a strong emotional connection to it anyway. When I was 14, I had one of my first girlfriends, a short summer "romance" with this girl Marcy, who was from New Bedford. There wasn't too much to it, some hand holding, some awkward kissing attempts and a horribly rejected grab for the Holy Grail that was (and is) second base. Anyway, it was all pretty innocent and I wouldn't even remember it had she not scarred my poor 14 year old psyche like she did.

The last day of summer we took a walk and she said she didn't like me anymore. Fine. Even at 14 I had heard that speech a few times. But she followed it up by telling me that my guitar playing sucked (which, of course it did - I had been playing for two months) and then the kicker....that if I didn't have sex by the time I was 15 then it meant no girls would ever like me and that I was an irredeemable loser. Needless to say, as a girl who had boobs and, moreover, hadn't let me touch them, I knew that she had an intelligence far vaster than mine and her words hit home.

So I freaked out and worried incessantly about making that 15th year count. And, well, let's just say I missed the mark by quite a while. But all was not lost, my guitar playing got better and in time I did get over Marcy's warning. Meanwhile, she had two kids by the time she was 18 (I guess people "liked" her) and eventually I lost track of her.

So Marcy, if you're out there maybe I'll see you tomorrow....

joe welsh  @  8:28 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Tuesday, July 15, 2003

Rock and/or roll,

It's kind of a funny thing being in a band, people. It's like having a bunch of intimate relationships at once with none of the needed sexual release (Ed. Note - except maybe between Pete and Gordon). But like any intimate relationship, when it's going well it's perhaps the greatest feeling in the world, like everything in the universe is spinning the right way. And when it's going poorly, Jesus Christ, it's like every minute is someone sticking a hot needle under your fingernails while singing that frigging Evanescence song.

I bring it up because this morning on my bike ride to work this point was brought into sharp relief. I was just riding along, minding my business and thinking about the band. We've had a few really good rehearsals in a row, we're all getting along, we have new rock jams and there's a movie showing about next week where I look really fat. What else do you need? Anyway, as I'm riding in my uncharacteristic good mood, I cross an intersection where a man and a woman are in a car fighting. As I cross, the light turns green and the dude EX-PLODES because I'm delaying his crossing by perhaps 3 milliseconds. So he revs his engine, peels out just after I pass and pulls up next to me. His face is all red and he is screaming every curse he knows at me. I just look at him all confused and don't do anything (Ed. Note - doubtful). He finally screams one more "Fuck You!!!!!!!!!!" and peels away. It was, of course, ka-ray-zee.

I'm not sure what the point of this story is really, but I think it has something to do with the need to try and get along with the people you're close to lest you go absolutely bat-shit insane and almost kill a poor bike riding musician...

joe welsh  @  8:27 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Monday, July 14, 2003

People,

Lots of excitement in the Fooled By April camp this weekend...

- We got the rough mixes of the songs we recently recorded and they are, indeed, the bomb skillet. Definitely a few tweaks to be done here and there but overall you, the true rock and roll fans, should be very happy. And that's our real goal here at FXA, Inc.

- We had perhaps the most productive rehearsal we've ever had. We learned a couple new covers and wrote a new song, all the while managing to not rip each others heads off or discuss how weird Pete can smell in the morning.

- Gordon and I will be heading over to WAAF (107.3 on your radio dial) on Sunday night to talk about how Brendan made us look like assholes in the movie. Should be fun, although I'm actually a little concerned. The station sent us an email explicitly warning us not to curse or talk about potentially offensive things on the air. Now, people, my entire sense of humor is offensive and I would have no material at all were it not for the F-bomb, so I'm not exactly sure what to do.

Rock

joe welsh  @  8:18 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Friday, July 11, 2003

So,

Last night Brendo Frendo and I took to the softball field. I was asked to come and play with his employee team as a "ringer," ostensibly because they respect my athleticism, but more likely because I filled up necessary space.

Now, pretending I worked with Brendo was actually pretty easy, I just acted like myself if I were a little dumber and talked slower. Seriously, it was actually pretty fun.

Highlights:

- As a "non-essential" (i.e. not official) team member, I had to sit out a couple innings. This would have sucked except it meant I got to drink the lion's share of team beer and play with a very cute ten month old baby, who I'm pretty sure pooped on my shoulder.

- Superstar outfielder Matt was wearing no shoes. I asked if it hurt at all, to which he replied "naw, it feels greeeeeat" (Ed. Note - he was not Tony the Tiger). So I took my shoes off and you know what? It did hurt. A lot. But I didn't want to lose face so I played the whole game like that. Ouch.

- I popped out during one of my at bat's, and while coming off the field in obvious frustration was greeted by a ten year old who said "at least you didn't curse this time." I'm a good influence.

- I didn't injure my testicles at all. This sounds like a small feat, but for me a sporting event where no harm comes to my old friends is a good one.

joe welsh  @  8:23 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Thursday, July 10, 2003

People,

Fooled By April got their rock engine rolling again last night with our first rehearsal in a month. As hard as it is to believe, with all the movie stuff, the residency, recording and Pete trying to kick the Horse we've just had no time. So last night it was back to the basement, where we actually wrote one new song and worked up smooth jazz arrangements for a bunch of others. (Ed. Note - I wish that that was a joke. They did their "smooth jazz" bit for about 45 minutes, until no one less than George Benson himself called to tell them to "knock that shit off.")

Anywho, it was some good clean rock and roll fun. After rehearsal, Gordon managed to back the band van into a traffic sign at the end of the Somerville Rock House's driveway, sending it flying across the street in a hail of bolts and twisted metal. It was funny. It would have been a lot funnier had the sign not been erected by our vaguely mafioso next door neighbor. Literally the second it hit the pavement it was World War Three. He's a real nice older guy, but he's the kind of older guy that needs to take care of everything. So he's leaning out the window yelling at us, then he's on the phone to city hall, then he's calling "his people," etc. Now this would all be fine, except that as the indirect perpetrators of the sign-toppling, 12-Gauge and I were expected to listen to the whole thing unfold over an hour and a half. Thanks, Gordon.

Rock...

joe welsh  @  8:25 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Wednesday, July 09, 2003

People,

Last night was the 12-Gauge's birthday, and I just gotta say that he gets better looking every damn year. And so, in honor of his handsomness and general affability we all headed out for a night on the town.

Highlights:

- MCat managed to break his ankle over the weekend, so it was fun to watch him try to cross the street, work his cane and light a cigarette all at the same time. Naturally, no assistance was offered.

- Before heading out, 12-G, MCat and myself all played Ghost Recon and ate about three pounds of Sour Patch Kids. "Hefeweizen, do you know Sour Patch Kids?" "{growl}We've met"......Ouch.

- There was an acoustic guitar player at the bar who, despite being this chubby short guy, did a DEAD-ON Jewel. I swear to God you would have thought Ms. Kilcher was right there. I think Jordan made out with him later.

- We found out that the record is mixed and on its way to our doorsteps and, subsequently, to your hearts.....

joe welsh  @  8:38 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Tuesday, July 08, 2003

Hey people,

So, I've been doing this "blogging" thing for a while kind of in a vacuum. I've never really looked around to see what other people in the "blogging community" write about or even how they construct their journals. So yesterday I thought I would check out the scene, and people, it's not pretty.

The main problem with online journals is that they're so frigging boring. There's really hardly anything worth reading. Yesterday I sampled about 100 journals and 95 of them were literally about NOTHING. I mean, I don't actually think anything I write about is interesting, but all these twenty-something housewives and tech-nerds need to follow my lead and spice their stories up with a little poop humor.

But forget for a minute that everyone's journals are boring. Far more annoying is the fact that all these boring people describe themselves as "crazy." I mean, literally half of the journal descriptions go like this - "the crazy ramblings of a crazy 21 year old crazy college girl's crazy life." Now, this sounds like it's going to be good, full of voyeuristic fun and definitely some sex, right? WRONG, unless the new definition of "crazy" is having two margaritas and singing karaoke in front of your mortified girlfriends, then staying up until 2:30 in your dorm room talking about Tori Amos. Not crazy. Ted Kaczinski was crazy. Charlie Manson was crazy. "27 year old crazy single guy's crazy thoughts on dating"? Not crazy. The more I read, the more I became convinced that there should be online legislation passed stating that unless you've killed someone you shouldn't be allowed to label yourself, or your journal, as "crazy."

Which brings me to my ultimate problem. There simply aren't enough really really really attractive people writing very graphically but also very well about being lonely, having lots of sex and essentially airing all their dirty laundry. I mean, isn't that the whole point of reading someone's diary? You want the dirt...or at least a good poopie joke now and then.

I don't know, but then again, I'm really crazy.

joe welsh  @  8:45 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Monday, July 07, 2003

Rock and/or roll.

So, this weekend we successfully celebrated the 227th birthday of this great land by loading up the band van and hitting the beach. Now, there's a reason bands are pale, and folks that reason is that the sun hates rock and roll. In fact, it has been scientifically proven that the sun casts hotter and more damaging rays on rockers than the general population, thus causing us to become the albino-like creatures of the night that we are.

And so, even though I know it's a cheap joke that has probably worn out its welcome, I present to you the final in my trilogy of recent conversations between my brain and body, occuring on Friday, July the 4th.

Me: OK body, I'm looking out for you. We're going hard core with the sunblock. I believe you know Mr. Coppertone Ultra-Sweatproof 15?

Body: Whoah! I know his brother, Mr. Ultra-Sweatproof Active Sport Motherf*&kin' 30! Where's he at?

Me: Oh body, 15'll do the trick. He's good people.

Body: First of all, he's sunblock, not people, you dick. Second, every time I listen to you I end up hurt. Get me some 30.

Me: Sorry this is it.

Body: Attica! Attica!

Me: Shut up! Put it on and I'll give you some beer.

Body: OK

Needless to say, I got burned to a crisp and body is definitively not speaking to me, except when he gets his beer, in which case he assaults me with a slurred string of pimp lingo and profanity.

People, you just can't win...

joe welsh  @  8:28 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Thursday, July 03, 2003

People,

So, we saw Brendo Frendo's Fooled By April rock opus last night and I just gotta say.....there was really a lot more porno in it than I would have imagined. Oh well. Seriously, we were all really nervous about how we would look and whether our general "affable but whikked cool" demeanor would come through, but we needn't have worried. Brendo did a really good job and was very careful with us.

It's weird to have someone make a film about you if you, like me, are not an interesting person. You look at yourself on the screen and, after you stop wondering why anyone would ever want to hear what you have to say, you start an internal monologue along the lines of "self, why don't we speak in complete sentences?" and "if the camera adds ten pounds, how many cameras are on me right now?" and "I wonder if this is the part where Gordon and I kiss?" It's weird.

Rock and roll....

joe welsh  @  8:24 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Wednesday, July 02, 2003

Rock.

So we finished the record and now we're waiting on super-rock producer Mike and super-rock engineer Tim to mix the monstrosity, which, if I can be plain people, sucks (Ed. Note - I'm pretty sure Joe means that the waiting sucks, not that the record sucks, but he has so many subject-verb agreement and self-hate issues that you never really can tell). I mean, we've finished our part and now it's really all up to them. It's sort of like having driven a car three hundred miles, just to let go of the steering wheel when your destination is in sight and hope you make it into the driveway OK. So we're nervous.

In other news, I hate being sick and had yet another horrible night of tossing and turning. Now, I think I alluded to this yesterday, but people, if you have a fever running DO NOT read a lot of Harry Potter before bed. All I could dream about was magic wands and spells and castles and sweet sweet Ron Weasley....er...um...I mean dragons. It bit ass.

Tylenol Cold and Flu tastes Tylenol Nasty as Crap....

joe welsh  @  8:22 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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Tuesday, July 01, 2003

So people,

Those of you who read this column know that anytime I have a period of extreme stress I follow it up with getting sick. It's as if my body, who's no big fan of me anyway ("why all the drugs Joe, the alcohol, the KFC?"), is saying "you know what, you son of a bitch? You think I like sleeping on floors? You think I enjoy staying out until 1 AM every night only to get to your lame ass job at 8:30. F*&k you, I'm calling in a cold and we're gonna get some goddamn sleep!"

My body gets very angry.

Anywho, the body made the call and I'm now in summer cold hell, where my penance is wiping my nose every thirty-five seconds on my increasingly diminishing pile of tissues and, inevitably, my sleeve. Oh well.

Last night I tried to sleep the cold away but he wasn't having it. I got in bed at 9:15, took some benydryl and read a little of the new Harry Potter. Within 15 minutes I knew I was going out and I was psyched. I hadn't faced the prospect of ten hours of sleep since I was 11 months old. But just before I drifted off I had this conversation:

Me: So cold, thanks for coming, but I gotta go to sleep. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, but feel free to take off.

Cold: Hmmm, good try be-atch. How bout we make a little date for 1:30 in the AM after you have two solid hours of dreams about being chased by goblins in a run down castle?

Me: Well, ok. That's fair, I guess, but after the fever dreams it's all smooth sailing right?

Cold: Oh, it'll be smooth sailing until about 4:15 in the AM, when you'll wake up soooo cold you have to turn off the AC and get out the winter quilt, and then it'll be all cool until 4:37 in the AM, when you'll get so sweaty you have to turn the AC back on full blast and sleep with no covers.

Me: Is that it?

Cold: Well, that cycle will repeat itself until 7, when you'll get up and have to pee and will not, under any circumstances, be able to get back to sleep.

Me: Oh, ok, thanks.........Um, how long you planning on staying?

Cold: Oh, I ain't even unpacked yet

Me: Oh.....great.

So, two lessons can be learned here I think. 1) Be nice to your body and, if you aren't nice to your body, 2) at least make him sound like a bad ass if you write about him in case he reads your journal.

joe welsh  @  8:36 AM  |  link  |   0 comments

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