Last night 12-Gauge and I were doing what we always do with our time together - fighting in a war against other nerds all around the world in the virtual environs of Halo.
Now, as I've said before, I suck at this game. I mean, I really suck. Like, badly. But that's why it's fun to play with Pete, because he's good and my association with him makes it look like I suck less.
Anyway, one particularly infuriating feature of the game is that when you are in close proximity to your enemy you can talk to them through your headset. This lends itself to lots of trash talking, especially when someone has killed you. You see, some people will stand over your dead body and talk about how much you suck. And when you're dead, you can't talk back. AAAAAAARRRGGGG, right? As you can imagine, this humiliation happens to me a lot.
But last night there was some vindication in the form of one Mr. 12 Gauge. In one game, my character (I like Pajamas) was running along when suddenly I hear "I like Pajamas? Ha ha! I like killing you!!!! Ha ha. You suck!" Of course I was instantly killed at this point and was getting really pissed until I hear 12 say "You like killing him? I like killing you, bitch!" at which point he ran over my nemesis with a truck.
It was the single greatest act of friendship I have ever been the recipient of.
We are abandoning Florida. There is quite a story to tell, but more than a couple of those involved wish it not to be told. Sort of like a "What happens in Florida stays in Florida" type of thing. And so, with respect to them, we'll move on. If this leaves you unsatisfied, just imagine me covered in a mountian of cocaine eating lobster bisque and being waited on by underage cuban refugees. That was about the size of it.
Anyway, here's a good story about how lazy I am. Saturday at about 5:30 I decided I was tired and could use a nap. I got in bed, turned on an episode of Overhaulin' and settled in for a snooze. Cut to 9:30, when I woke up. Damn.
I got out of bed, had a pee, and then thought about what I should do. I could got to the movies, I could play x-box, I could work on songs or......hmmm.....I could go back to bed. Guess which one I chose.
Cut to 11:30 yesterday morning, when I woke up again. Yes folks, that's correct, I slept for 18 hours like I am some kind of feline/human chimera. I missed two meals, three invitations from friends to go out and do something and basically a full third of my weekend.
Blogger took the proverbial "dump on my head" yesterday and allowed no posting. So here's yesterday's entry in it's brutal entirety.
Florida, Day One:
So we arrive at our hotel on the 80 degree wonderulness known as Friday. You gotta check this place out www.thebreakers.com. Ho-lee crap.
This place is 5-star, top notch pampering at its finest. Everything is attended to. You sneeze and someone offers you a tissue. You fart and they bring you a candle. You mention someone you want dead and they bring you the rifle. This really isn't an exaggeration.
Anyway, this pampering can sometimes go too far. As we were checking in there was a guy who's whole job was to make small talk with the guests. Now, you may be surprised by this, but the last thing in the world I want to do is be forced into small talk with a 60 year old dude who becomes the most passive aggressive bitchy queen when you aren't interested in his opinions on rock and roll. Whatever.
After we checked in we hit the pool and spent the rest of the day with the fellas and their wives. We not only had our own cabanas but also our own cabana boy. I think that after about an hour of being brought diet cokes and magazines and generally just being waited on by Michael I realized that I could probably get used to this.
After a couple hours of sun we all went out to dinner. Let me re-iterate an earlier point - why wouldn't you want to live where it's warm all the time? Not only can you always walk around with a t-shirt on, you can also ride a motorcycle all year round and the ladies are a spectacle of plastic surgery gone mostly wrong. LBS and I dubbed it 'Silicon Alley South', and I ain't talking about technology (nudge nudge, wink wink). I am, as always, a huge loser
Anyway, so in the midst of this hot and humid boob parade we managed to have a superb sushi and steak dinner.
At this point I not only had gotten used to this high life, I was ready to apply for the full-time job of spending other people's money. It, how do you say, rules.
Now, as I sat wondering how I had gotten to this point, with a plate full of filet mignon and eel sashimi, I somehow hadn't realized that everyone else was PLASTERED. And this, people, is where the fun started.
Tomorrow we'll cover the ensuing drunken shenanigans.
This past weekend Ladybetrothed Sarah and I hit the sunny shores of Palm Beach Florida. Here's how it went down.
About three weeks ago a got a call from my friend Dave.
Dave: Hey Joe, you're really good looking and very talented.
Me: Thanks, Dave, what's up.
Dave: Well, the band [Capt. Miles Band - Dave's classic rock cover band] is playing a Christmas party on December 11th. Our bass player can't do it and we could only pay you about $250 but we'd love it if you could sub in.
Me (rubbing two nickels together to try and make a spark to warm my hands by): I'm in!
Dave: Here's the catch. The gig is in Florida and you'd have to travel down with us and stay in a five star resort with all expenses paid.
Me: Really? I mean, that sounds....
Dave: Ok, asshole, you drive a hard bargain, you can also bring Sarah.
Me: You're tough but fair.
And so began our odyssey down south.
On Friday, Sarah and I packed it up and headed to the airport. We flew Song, and it was cool because it was the first flight I ever took where I had a tv in the headrest in front of me. Unfortunately, and this would become a theme of the weekend, no porn. Oh well.
Anyway, we killed the flight off by watching movies. Sarah treated herself to the sure to be Academy Award winning Hilary Duff vehicle Cinderalla Story and I watched the Bourne Supremacy.
Unfortunately the airplane's satellite feed went down halfway through the flick and we had to restart our movies again. Of course, my movie restarted in a spot about 30 minutes past where I was. More unfortunately, the place it came back kind of made sense and I didn't notice the gap. Ten minutes later the credits rolled and I said "Matt Damon was in this?" Damn.
In no time we were in FLA and headed to the taxi stand. It was 80 degrees out and right then and there I was ready to renounce my Massachusett's citizenship. I honestly just don't understand why we live here. I mean, why wouldn't you want to live in a place that is summer ALL YEAR LONG? Haven't we evolved that far yet?
Anyway, we got in the cab and headed to our hotel, which is a story for tomorrow......
Well, the Ladybetrothed and I are fresh back from our Florida weekend of debauchery and classic rock shenanigans. Unfortunately, the fact that I currently have a cranky 75 year old boss wedged way up my ass complaining about how I mess everthing up is going to push the full coverage of my expense account weekend until tomorrow. Damn.
Anyway, as always, keep it real. I promise you a good one tomorrow.
I was going to write about how funny it is for me to be travelling to Florida to play a cover gig tomorrow, but that will have to wait.
The story of my morning is Dimebag Darrell, formerly of Pantera, being shot to death onstage in Ohio. What. The. Fuck?
Apparently, some guy came into the club, jumped up on stage, assassinated Darrell and then shot other members of the band.
I mean, not that I'm a huge Pantera fan, but I always respected Darrell. He was a brilliant guitarist, pretty funny, gave me the tip to drink pedialyte on tour to restore fluids after a night of heavy drinking and wrote a cool column I used to practice to in Guitar for the Practicing Musician. (Yes, I used to read and practice to Guitar for the Practicing Musician).
But more than that I unabashedly love heavy metal. I also unabashedly hate senseless violence, and for the two to go together...well, I take it kind of personally. I mean, the whole purpose of metal is for the disenfranchised to come together and get off on this outsider music. It's about inclusiveness of the excluded, and that's what I've always loved about it. It's crap like this that ruins things for everyone.
From the files of Ladybetrothed Sarah on the symbiosis of infants and their surroundings.
On Saturday, LBS had the chance to babysit for her friend Liz who has an adorable, almost year old hunk of baby who goes by Jack. Of course, being 28 and just entering the period of female life known as "The Baby Crazyzoic Era" she jumped at the chance.
Now, at one, Jack is fully testing his ability to crawl at the expense of other things, like not spitting up on the floor. That's right, after Sarah fed him he apparently become a crawling, puking machine - never stopping or being fazed at all by his digestive machinations.
Anyway, being a good babysitter, Sarah hit the kitchen to get some sponges and disinfectant. However, when she came back, she saw that her efforts were for naught. Baby Jack had petered himself out and was no longer a puke factory. Also, all the places he spit up were spotlessly clean. And the puppy sitting beside him wagging his tail had a huge happy look in his eyes.
I love sleeping. I mean, I think by this age everyone does. Paula Poundstone used to do a stand up bit about how you knew you were an adult "When you can't remember a time when you didn't want to go to bed."
Anywho, I love my sleep, especially because I've always had very vivid dreams. Usually my dreams are great and involve me solving mysteries or fighting in wars or starring in Halo 2 (ok, those are just my recent dreams). Regardless, they're usually really fun.
But sometimes you get a real sucky dream. It might be scary or disturbing or "I'm having sex with the elderly woman next door" unpleasant. Or it might be, in my opinion, the worst of the bad dreams - the "I have no control over my situation at all" bad dream.
Last night was one of those. I dreamed that Ladybetrothed and I were walking down a cement path behind an apartment building that my friend David used to live in in Niskiyuna, NY. Don't ask me why, but that's where we were. Walking down the path towards us was a woman and her pet LION. Sarah acted like this was no big deal, pet the lion and continued walking. I was scared to pet the lion and let's just say that the lion didn't take this well. So then the lion starts walking towards me and baring his teeth. Damn.
I walk backwards and smile. The lady says "Don't smile, you 'll make him angry." I stop smiling and look at the lion. the lady says "Don't look at him directly. He hates that." So then I start murmuring things like "good cat." The lady says "Don't speak."
At this point I find myself walking backwards, looking at the sky, unable to speak and just waiting to be mauled by a lion. This, my friends, is a bad dream.
Finally the lion did pounce and took a big chunk of my left knee with him. Of course, everybody blamed me for provoking him. Then I woke up.
1) Last I was at a friend's house, talking to his 10 year old son Nick.
Me: So, do you have Halo 2?
Nick: Yeah, I love that game!
(one minute of us both confirming we love that game)
Nick: What's your favorite weapon?
Me: Well, I like the plasma sword
Nick: Yeah, that rules
Me: Do you know how to get it on the Zanzibar level?
Oh lord. It was then that I realized what the XBox has made me, a ten year old in the shell of a middle aged adult LOSER who sits around wondering how he got here. Damn.
2) I was playing this golf game I bought which is narrated by Dave Attell and features lots of scantily clad animated figures. The game is pretty raunchy and definitely for the adult crowd, but nevertheless I was more than a little repulsed at myself for looking forward to the animated sequences featuring the girls I was attracted to. Attracted to, people! God damn cartoons!
Last night a fun time was had by all (except those who have no hearts and are unwilling to rock) as Scamper and pals rocked the Middle East downstairs for their CD release party.
- I broke not only two strings during our set, but also my $300 super fancy "it'll never break" delay unit. Farts.
- Somebody else broke a knob off my guitar. Come forward, you puss, and get the punishment you deserve. Personally, I think Brendo did it.
- Scamper played a great set, full of songs from the new record. Having come up through the ranks with these guys it was great to see how much they've developed into a fearsome rock machine. They were gooood.
- I ran the light board for Scamper. I was baaaaaaaaaad.
- When I got home I did my current equivalent of snorting coke off of hookers; I had a big glass of water and watched some dudes build a gigantic vacuum on the Discovery Channel.
You know how when you get high you think that you have the world's greatest ideas? Pot isn't really my bag these days, but when it was that was always my favorite part of the experience. I used to love to lie in bed before going to sleep and just think. I was convinced that I wrote some of the world's greatest symphonies, novels, pop songs and movies all in my head.
Of course, what you think is good when you're high is invariably not good. At all. One time when I was stoned and convinced of my genius I hooked up my four track and recorded what I thought was an AWESOME song. I was wrong. The next morning I woke up to the worst 18 minutes of crap ever put on tape in the history of the world. Oh well.
This morning was a flashback to those days. You see, recently I've been waking up early and lying semi-conscious in bed for a while. In this half sleep/half awake state I often get song ideas and I think they're great. I mean, I think they rule. Top notch.
So this morning, determined to not let the muse slip past me, I got out of bed and started singing my idea into the memo recorder of my cell phone. Two problems: 1) Ladybetrothed was not amused and 2) On the recording I make no goddamn sense at all. The twenty second memo has me mumbling and humming incoherently and ends with -
Sarah: (shouting) What the hell are you doing?
Me: (mumbling) Just recording an idea
Sarah: Go do it in the bathroom!
Reason # 4,312,678 why I shouldn't have children -
The other night Ladybetrothed Sarah and I were hanging out in the Somerville Crib of Domestic Bliss. I was working on my novel (ok, playing Halo) and Sarah was testing out that new Freeze Away stuff on a stubborn plantars wart on her foot. Pretty normal night, right?
Of course, it couldn't just be left at that. I came into the room when she was done and immediately started interrogating her like I was two. What is this for? How does this work? Did it hurt? Why? Are you hungry? Etc.
Anyway, during my interrogation I also indulged in another of my habits - touching and fooling around with things I shouldn't touch or fool around with. Before long, I had spilled a bunch of the freezing compound on my hand.
What this did for me was put my entire hand to sleep for about 20 hours, 20 hours which I spent complaining and waving my now vestigial hand around like some sort of dead fish.
I think the saying should be amended to "If you can't trust me with Dr. Scholl's Freeze Away, how can you trust me with a child." And people, I just don't know the answer to that one.