Two weeks of birthdays

Today is Greg and Brandon's birthday. They're twenty-three. How hot is that.
If you see them you should wish them a Happy Birthday, and bow down before the laser-tag power of "Stickboy" and "TwoBalls".
The sexy voices of Steve "The Disinterested" and Victor "The Face-Painted Crooner" kept the crowd at bay for the entrance of Brandon who is the new Tom Jones. I'm his lady. You heard right. Panties flying toward his face. Couldn't balance on the chair. Hitting on the waitress. Congratulations from the bouncer. Chorus support by the table in the back with the screaming jackasses. And why not? He saw him two weeks ago in Vegas, and he was awesome.

No, no no. Keep your wrists limp.

Doesn't this seem like it would be a one-sided fight?

"I'm a veteran." "Yeah, that's great pops."

Is it possible? Has John Kerry cracked through his robotic demenor to display emotion? No.

Oh yes, and goats will be slaughtered

We're trying to figure out when we'll be able to practice this week; we'd better.
Sounds like everyone has some song ideas to bring to the table, and we'll have a lot to work on. Perhaps even record some rough cuts of songs and junk. Woo!

Minus the Brandon

With Brandon and his family in Las Vegas gambling and throwing woman's underpants at Tom Jones, mostly from Brandon's private collection, and Greg taking vacations like they were visits to the crapper I'm left here to practice and write by myself, and to be quite honest, I haven't done all too much; sadly.
Some parts have been constructed or sharpened or made better. I'm optimistic about the outcome of the songs we have with more practice and some shuffling. We'll see what happens this week with practice and the possibility of more practice. More I say!

...if you's a true playa'

Greg and I got together to practice today. Worked on a new song he wrote and another. Interesting stuff with the Wurlitzer. Lots of sampling will occur. Good times, and the lack of pants was a plus. Things are coming together, but I'm still thinking about life with a bassist. Hmm.

First day on the job, and where's Brandon on this thing?

Today is my first day as a working human being. I mean, I've had jobs before, even a few that seemed like they could proceed to a career but none panned out because of school. Now that I've graduated -- I think I did, but question that every day -- things seem a bit more stressful. I need to find a job, I need to pay my bills, I need to buy a new toothbrush, get that hamster out of there; things like that. It's annoying. And having accepted a job that has nothing to do with the degree I received doesn't exactly sweeten the deal. I’m quaking but unshaken, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, last night Brandon, Patrick and I carried my Wurlitzer down into my basement; the thing's a beast. Hopefully in our next practice we'll be able to integrate some sounds into some songs, and with the foot pedals now working every song needs a keyboard and some local anesthetic.

Lastly, Brandon needs to sign on and post something to this thing. Does a lone dove cry? I don't know, but if you slap it in the face enough times I'm sure it'll get angry and try to peck your eyes out and poop all over. If you’re not sure what that has to do with this situation you may also need to take a shower.

Think about it.

Hospital, Bronson! Explosion.

I want to name the first bus we get "The S.S. Charles Bronson".
I assume no one will contest this. Not even Charlie himself; from beyond the grave.

The once and future king

Such a mustache.