I can think of worse ways to go...

There's this great bit in one of my favourite books ever written, Nick Hornby's High Fidelity.  Basically, he speaks about just how difficult it is to make a mixed CD.  Now, in the book, it's written in the context of making a CD for a crush or a woman you're romantically interested in, and the whole section is sort of a metaphor for how the narrator views romance. 

But the fact is, even outside of that context, he's absolutely right - making a mixed CD is hard.  And it doesn't matter who it's for - your best friend, your mother, or whoever.  There are rules to making a mixed CD, and it's just one big headache. 

I've been working on making one mixed CD for the last week or so.  Literally - a week.  I keep listening to albums I have on itunes, and just when I think I've got the mix figured out, I think a bit more on it or pick up a new song off itunes and realize I need to change everything.  

If people find me next week, dead in my chair with itunes open in front of me, they can safely assume that I died of a brain aneurysm brought upon due to mixed CD deliberations.  The coroner will take a look at my corpse, with blood trickling out of the ear, and instantly conclude it was "musical homicide".

He'll take a long pull on his cigarette, lower his shades, and make a comment about how Steve Jobs has a lot to answer for.  Then the theme song to CSI: Victoria will begin. 

Movember Madness!

Earlier today, Squee and I were watching a hockey game in Langford - or rather, we were watching the Victoria team play hockey, and the Cowichan team perform some sort of improv physical comedy routine involving skating into walls and tripping over the puck.  But I digress

About halfway through the first period, completely out of the blue, Squee turned to me and said "I'm going to shave on October 31st and then not shave for the entire month of Movember."

I looked at him, stunned.  "Holy crap!" I said.  "I was just about to tell you I'm gonna do the same thing!"

For those that don't know, Movember is sort of a show of solidarity among men in support of Prostate Cancer and other men's health issues.  Basically, men across the globe decide to grow silly moustaches for the month of November, and, if able, raise money while doing so.

I've decided to throw my hat into the facial-hair-growing ring.  However, I suck at growing a moustache;  if I started today, by November 30th, you'd only be able to see my moustache via an extremely powerful electron microscope.  Therefore, I'm going for the beard route.  The problem with growing a beard is that there is nothing to differentiate  A Movember beard from, say, hockey playoff season beard. 

So I'm gonna go for silly beard.  Exactly what sort of silly beard, I don't know, but these are the ideas I have so far:
  1. Mutton Chops.  Like, actual, honest-to-god Mutton Chops.
  2. Full beard, no neck beard, and shaved chin.  A perfectly shaved chin.
  3. Tiger-Striped beard - i.e., it alternates between rough beard and bare skin.
Place your vote in the comments, plus any other recommendations!  Let's make sure Dave looks even more like a complete ass than he already is for the entire month of November!

Of course, it's not just about making me look like a total fool.  It's also about raising money.  I make this pledge:  if I shave the movember beard before December 1st, I will make a donation to the Canadian Cancer Society. That donation will be in the amount of $300 in the first week of November, $200 in the second week, $100 in the third week, and $50 in the fourth week.  In addition to these penalties, I will also be making a $50 donation to said agency at the end of the month, win or lose. 
Now, at most, that's only a three hundred dollar donation - that won't even buy the researchers an Xbox 360 for the break room!  So I'm asking that anyone who wants to get in on the fun to make their own pledge in the comments.  Just say an amount, name your charity, and send the money December 1st to the appropriate address - it's sort of an honour system dealio. 

My made-of-awesome brother has donated an old camera to yours truly, so I'll be able to document the silly beard's progress week by week... each photo will be taken with a date stamp of some sort so you know I'm not cheating.  I'm thinking we call it "Movember Monday" or something.

If anyone else wants to join in on the fun, by all means do so!  Make sure you give me a link to your blog/myspace/whatever, and I'll use this blog as a central relay station of sorts.  It'd be handy if you link here on your blog, but it's by no means necessary.  Of course, I'll post any photos that get sent my way every week - make sure you send them in with you holding a relevant (and original!) time stamp of some sort!

Any women that want to get in on the fun - I recommend you find some way to grow facial hair.  If, however, you're unable to do so, fear not!  All hope is not lost!  You can bully your male friends into raising some money by growing their own horrid moustache.  You can spread the word by providing links to this blog or even the Movember website (I'll have a page there soon, and will provide the link ASAP!).  You can also buoy our spirits with frequent comments to the effect of "Dave, you look like an ass".  Or, even better yet, you can make your own bet/pledge in the comments!

Here's looking forward to an awesome Movember!


I read a lot of webcomics.  In fact, reading the webcomics is sort of a morning tradition for me - wake up, put on some tea, and browse the internet while I regret getting out of bed and shiver in my icecold apartment, simultaneously fighting the urge to turn on the electric heating. 

Anyways, I figured I'd post some links to my favourites.  These are all comics currently being released at least once a week, and all are worth checking out. 

Amazing Super Powers:  There is no plotline to this comic.  Or regular characters.  Or anything that could really sum it up easily.  Basically, it's just skewed humour, written by guys primarily for guys.  There are jokes about beating up children, sexual inadequacy, movie plot holes, dinosaurs, ghosts, and so much more!

Extra Ordinary:  Sickeningly cute, semi-autobiographical comic about a girl, her cat, and her boyfriend.  She acts like a six year old most of the time, and, well... I don't know.  It's really hard to explain, because the whole strip is basically non sequitors. 

Fudge That Sugar:  Observational comic about a rather odd girl, and some of the bizarre stuff that happens in her life.  At its best, it reminds me almost of a webcomic version of Seinfeld, only with the role of Jerry being played by a spectacled Canadian twenty-something.  

Penny Arcade:  Blah blah blah.  Penny Arcade.  Blah blah blah.  Video Games.  Blah blah blah.  Most well known Webcomic out there.  Blah blah.  Revolutionized the webcomic field.  Blah blah blah.  Bird sex.  Blah blah blah....
Questionable Content: You've read QC, right? No? Okay, here's the basic rundown: an Indie guy gets a crush on an Indie girl. They flirt outrageously for a long time, and then some drama develops. And then the series gets funny. It has poo jokes, crazy robots, charming OCD women, smarmy goth girls, clueless guys, more poo jokes, and a yelling bird.
xkcd:  Another really well-known webcomic.  This one is science-oriented, with jokes about tech support, math, schrodinger's cat, and geocaching.  I have to admit... sometimes I don't get the jokes.  Because I am not a science guy.  But when it's funny, it's friggin' hi-larious.  Also, there are several websites dedicated to explaining the xkcd jokes.  And that's funny in and of itself.

Weekly Haiku #32: Aftermath of a party

twenty one coke cans
hedge in an empty bottle
trapped in morning light

Holy Mackeral!

This isn't a very popular blog.  I imagine there are about ten people in the world who read it a couple of times a week, and maybe a hundred who might visit it once a month or so.  Basically, my daily readership is smaller than a soccer team.  I mean, Soccer.  How is my blog losing to Soccer!? 

I'm perfectly fine with not being the most popular kid on the blogosphere - I write this blog for personal enjoyment, and not really the enjoyment of others.  Although, truth be told, it is nice when your blog gets visited, commented upon, etc.  People that read this blog have accused me of narcissism in the past (even if they were unable to spell the freaking word) and I guess I am just a tiny bit of a narcissist. 

Hey, who isn't?

The point is, while I'm perfectly happy with the fact that my daily readership is actually smaller than a soccer team (ew!), a part of me yearns for the wonders of internet fame.  A part of me wants the gorgeous women and mounds of money that come with being the world's most renowned crazy newt on the blogosphere.  I want the fame, baby! 

This morning I was surfing reddit.com and found myself reading all sorts of interesting blog entries.  And then I decided - what the hell - to put up a link to one of my older blog entries.  I submitted this little random piece as well as a few links to other blogs that were not my own, because I like to spread the love - like that guy that invented AIDS. 

My submission wound up getting a +11 rating at the end of the day, which isn't really that huge, but hey, it means that at least eleven people read my piece and liked it enough to give it a plus rating.

Then I checked my Google Analytics.  Turns out I had 1,484 unique viewers today.  Think of it - nearly fifteen hundred people checked my blog today! 

Of course, from how I understand it, it only really means 1,484 unique ISP addresses checked out my blog entry.  And surely some of those are tech geeks that use a proxy to spam ISP addresses when checking out a site, so I have no idea exactly how many people actually viewed my blog today... but I'm guessing that the number is somewhere higher than eleven. 

But only eleven liked it on Reddit... and only one clicked the "good" button on the actual blog post.  Now, I'm not mathematician, but I'm pretty sure this means that eleven (possibly twelve) people liked my blog post, while 1,472 people clicked on the link and then really quickly navigated away.

So yeah, I don't see fame anywhere in the near future.  But I would like to say "hello!" to any of those eleven who have decided to keep reading post-reddit.  And don't worry, I won't make you join our soccer team.


Dear Woman Calling CBC Radio 3....

When you are calling CBC Radio 3, and the hosts ask you a little bit about yourself, it's kind of stupid to start off your spiel by saying "Well, I'm Canadian" and then talking about your university - and telling the hosts where that university is.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret - "CBC" stands for "Canadian Broadcasting Company".  In other words, those guys are just as Canadian as you are, sweetcheeks.  Which is probably why you are able to listen to that radio station. 

Also, when they went "Ah..." after your little Canadian announcement, it wasn't because they were interested or thought it was strange.  It was out of pity, and the fact that they were fighting the urge to make fun of you.  To be honest, I'm amazed they were able to resist.

God knows I wasn't. 

Whoa, this is cool....

I'm not always a big fan of putting links in my blog - it seems very counter-productive to say "Hey, go somewhere else!  Anywhere but this blog!".  But sometimes, it just has to be done.

That, my friends, is the new music video from the band Hollerado.  You may remember that I wrote a rather passionate blog post about them only a week or so ago.  Or, maybe you don't.

Anyways, about a week after Rifflandia, they released this video, which is going viral on youtube and is already being described as the "Next O.K. Go".  Since the music video is awesome, and the music is definitely better than O.K. Go, things are looking pretty damned peachy for Hollerado. 

Seriously, check them out, buy their record in a bag, and listen to rock and roll the way it should be played. I actually picked up the album last week, and it's amazingly fun - not only does the album come with a list of ways to recycle the bag ("Put your lunch sandwich in it!") but it also comes with temporary tattoos, stickers, fortune cookies (bring them to a live show and they'll give you presents, apparently), and confetti!  Which is pretty damn nifty.


Okay.  You have to check this site out.

It's a game of Twenty Questions - you pick something, and the computer tries to guess who you are.  It didn't guess Firefly's Mal Reynolds in less than twenty questions (it took 21), but it did guess Futurama's Bender in nineteen.  It took 26 to find Lionel Hutz, attorney at law, and it didn't guess BladeRunner at all.

Seriously, it's a lot of fun!

Drinksgiving + Alcohol choices

I had some friends over last night, for what we decided would be called "Drinksgiving".  You see, last week was Thanksgiving (or, as Americans like to call it, "fake Canadian thanksgiving"), and everyone went to their parents' place, ate a boatload of turkey, and watched a game of football or something silly. 

I figured it'd be fun to invite a bunch of friends over, have a potluck, play some games or something, and maybe a few drinks, for sort of a "family free" thanksgiving.  And much fun was had by all. 

Except, after the turkey had been cooked and I realized I was now able to drink, I realized I had no booze.  So I ran down the liquor store to pick up some rye.  My choices were:  Hiram Walker, Crown Royale, and Canadian Club. 

Hiram Walker is my favourite rye, absolutely no doubt.  I don't mind Crown or CC, but they come a distant second to good ol' Hiram Walker.  Which means it's sort of surprising that I went home with a bottle of Canadian Club. 

Why did I pick Canadian Club?  Was it because I was ready for maybe a bit of change?  Nope.  Was it because it was cheaper?  It was, but that wasn't why I grabbed it.  Was it because my friends prefer CC, and I wanted to share?  Of course not, hippy. 

Nope.  It was because the bottle of Canadian Club is shaped in such a way that when you pour it out, it makes a "bloop bloop bloop" noise that I really like.  And while I really like Hiram Walker Rye, it doesn't have a bloop bloop noise. 

Apparently, these things are important. 

Another Axe to the face


It comes in many forms.  For some, it involves lonely nights, abusing the drug of your choice.  For others, it consists of lighting a cigarrette from the ashes of another cigarrette.  And for others, it is compulsive, self-destructive behaviour.

Some people have addictive personalities, and while the mechanics of addiction vary from person to person, the underlying cause is the same.   Often they find themselves heating up their junk, cooking it in a spoon over a flickering flame.  Or binge-eating ice cream.  Or staring in your twisted reflection of a ladle and wondering how you got there.

A lot of addicts seem to gravitate towards the spoon, for some reason.  But I digress.  The point is, there are addicts out there, and many of them are ordinary people.  And I know this, because I am one of them.

At around five p.m. on friday, yesterday, I picked up Season Five of How I Met Your Mother.  I have been watching it since I got home, at around seven p.m.  This was six and a half hours ago. 

Sure, I'm not reenacting a scene from Pulp Fiction with my habit, but the fact is, every time an episode ends, I find myself saying "one more episode, then I'll finish cleaning my apartment".  And at the end of every episode, I look at myself in the reflection of my TV screen, and wonder just what the hell I'm doing with my life.

And I remember last year, when I made a very similar post to this one. 

And I quote:
Unfortunately, I got home at around 5:30, and then realized just how addictive that TV show is. There were some 22 episodes... twenty minutes each. And I did something I've never done before, and will never do again.
I watched all of them. Some seven, eight hours of a TV show. I finally saw what happens with the goat, one of the most sappy romantic scenes ever, and the coolness that is SVEN. Afterwards, I was tired. Beaten. And I felt dirty. Soiled, somehow.
Emphasis added. I made that post almost a year ago to the day.  And now, a year later, and the cycle continues.  I'm tired, bleary-eyed, and beaten.  I feel dirty.

And there's not a single clean spoon in the house.

Well, that was stupid

When I woke up this morning, my arms were incredibly sore.  While I curled myself tightly in what I affectionately call "the Blanket Burrito", I realized my arms were engaged in some sort of riot against the rest of my body.  This was one of those riots that involved setting fire to everything in sight, flipping police cars, and rampant looting.

The dull ache was such that for a moment, I believed I had been innoculated against every disease known to man last night, by some sort of needle-happy tooth fairy who decided to hit her entire quota in one night, on one arm. 

Then I remembered why my arms no longer worked.  The night before.

I have this little weight that I picked up for around five bucks a few months ago.  It weighs perhaps seven or eight pounds and is coated in rubber.  I generally only use it during commercials when I infrequently watch TV.  I do sets of fifteen, in varying positions - a bicep curl, lifting using only my wrist, and an over-the-head motion that probably has a name, but I'm such an exercise weenie that I have no idea what it's called. 

It's a small weight because I'm not supposed to use the big ones - large weights will increase muscle mass, and as a diabetic, that's a bad thing.  And when you lift small weights, you're supposed to do large numbers of reps.  This has, in fact, been working fairly well for me.  Until last night.

I was watching Jeopardy, and as usual, I was kicking ass.  It's a well-known fact that I am a Jeopardy king.  I mean, if you had only fifteen seconds, could you name the two countries in the world that contain the letter 'x'? 

I was doing reps during commercials, when I began to think - aren't you supposed to lift until your arm gets sore?  Isn't that how muscles develop?  And so, I started doing reps. 

And I mean, a lot of reps.

Fifty curls on the left arm.  And then fifty with the wrist. And then fifty.... basically, each arm was lifting the weight, in different ways, about two hundred times before I would switch arms.  And then, I'd switch arms again.  All while watching Jeopardy.

It's a small weight, so you don't really notice it, and after I had lifted what was approximately the weight of a newborn baby around six hundred or so times, I felt a pleasant ache in my arms.  It actually felt nice.  I was beginning to sweat, and so decided to call it a night.

I woke up this morning in such pain that I wanted to punch myself in the face.  Of course, my arms weren't working.  And I'm not nearly flexible enough to kick myself in the face.  I waddled into the bathroom, mumbling something about lifting six hundred babies, and then realized it hurt to pick up the toothbrush. 

When you can't pick up your toothbrush because you pulled a muscle lifting a seven pound weight, you usually wind up staring at yourself in the mirror for a very, very long time. 

But at least I know that Mexico and Luxembourg are the only two countries in the world that contain an "x".

On Guitars (with a LOT of links!)

I don't really talk about it much in this blog, but I love playing guitar.  It's a fun, relaxing thing to do on a chilly october afternoon, and there are few things more rewarding than sitting on your couch and writing a song.  Really, we're all defined by our interests - whether it's crafting, writing, dressing up as an elf and pretending to cast spells at fat people in a school soccer yard, or full contact feng shui.   

Learning the guitar has been one of the most rewarding things in my entire life.  In fact, just yesterday, I found myself writing a song that was, as I described it at the time, "Really fucking awesome".  As I sat there with a notepad on my lap, ready to write lyrics for a song that was - no joke - good enough to be on a CD, I realized just how close I had been to missing out on all this.  I wound up playing the guitar as a fluke... a happy accident. 

I first picked up a guitar in the second year of high school, and I did it for two reasons that, at least on the surface, had absolutely nothing to do with the guitar:
  1. I wanted to learn how to play the drums
  2. I had a crush on a girl
I know.  It makes no sense.  But allow me to explain:

First, about six months before I picked up a guitar for the first time, I really started getting into music - the drums in particular.  I am still something of a drum fanatic, and when a drummer plays with skill, I am entranced.  My jaw goes slack, and I space out as intricate rhythms are hammered into my skull.  When I listen to Jimi Hendrix, I'm really listening to Mitch Mitchell.  When I listen to Led Zeppelin, it's all about John Bonham.  And the only reason to listen to The Who is Keith Moon - this is scientific fact.  And yes, I know all three of those drummers are now dead.  When I found out Mitch Mitchell had died, I let out this long sigh, as if an era was no more.  Like how John Hughes must have felt at the end of the 1980s. 

Anyways, in the tenth grade, I wasn't listening to - y'know, good bands -  but rather to the drummer from a canadian band by the name of Our Lady Peace.  For some reason, I couldn't get his drum beats out of my head, even though, looking back, they are a little simplistic.  On a whim, which is how I made decisions in the tenth grade, I decided I wanted to be a drummer.

Turns out there were a lot of people in my high school that wanted to be drummers, which probably had something to do with unchecked hormones, aggression, and the abundance of sticks and dead animal skins in rural B.C.  I was told by the music teacher that there was no room for me in the band program, but if I wanted to learn the drums, learning the guitar might be a good way to start.  After all, one instrument is much like another, right?

This made no sense at all to me.  It'd be like saying "You want to learn how to rap?  Learn to knit, first!"  Or like trying to learn karate by waxing some japanese guy's car.  Because I was in tenth grade and, therefore, knew everything, I may have said something to this effect to the teacher and walked out of his class.  And my guitar "career" may have died then and there, were it not for part two.

See, like most boys twelve years and older, I was absolutely in love with women.  And by "was", I mean "am".  And by "am", I really mean "wholly and irrevocably dedicated to observing their every move".  Of course, being a shy, nerdy, ginger kid, I didn't really have much in the way of confidence.  So I'd talk to these girls - shyly, of course - and worm my way in, hoping one day that I could get close enough to sort of become their boyfriend without their realizing what I had done.

In short, I was Ducky from Pretty In Pink.   

Imagine this scenario:  there is a girl that young Dave has a crush on.  Young Dave has liked this girl for at least a year, if not more, but he is too much of a wuss to do anything about it.  Young Dave, in fact, has no idea how to even initiate or approach the situation.  Like the underwear gnomes in South Park, Dave knows what phase one is, and knows that phase three is a good thing, but has no idea what the hell phase two is, or how to get there. 

Then, Young Dave's crush decides she wants to take guitar classes.  Young Dave had already been considering taking the classes, and now there's one more chance to be around this girl that Young Dave is stalking hopelessly devoted to interested in. 

Young Dave started taking guitar classes, spending hte first few weeks splitting time between making moon eyes at his crush, and the drum set in the corner of the room.  The few times he paid attention to the guitar, it was to make fun of an instrument that had - and I kid you not - a "G-String".  However, by the time Young Dave had (mostly) forgotten about that drum set in the corner, and his cute young crush had decided that maybe guitar wasn't the thing for her, Young Dave was busy learning about just how awesome an e minor chord can be. 

And that, dear friends, is how Young Dave wound up learning the guitar.  It is also what lead to Young Dave asking out said crush, and getting hilariously rejected.  And, later, it would lead to Young Dave realizing just how shitty a band Green Day is.  And from there, it would lead to Young Dave writing awful song lyrics, working as a music reporter for a local magazine, and Young Dave learning about just how bloody expensive a hobby music really is.

Eventually, it would lead to Dave picking up the guitar at around noon yesterday and writing a song that sounded "really fucking awesome", with Dave playing it for the better part of an hour and even beginning to write lyrics before he realized he had just written The Cold War Kids' "Robbers". 


Weekly Haiku #31: Welcome back

been a long summer
long months of soccer... baseball...
welcome back, hockey

Day As Night #19: An Open Letter to Nickelback

Actually wrote the script to this one on my last day at work, about fifteen minutes before getting laid off.  I know, I know, it's not very topical.  But I think it's funny, so there. 

(as usual, click if you want to enlarge)

Music Mondays - October Playlist

My playlist for October.  I don't know what it is about this time of year, but I always seem to get into a pretty energetic mood, but one that is coupled with self-destructive music.  My mother used to accuse me of loving "music you can hang yourself to," and this is true.  But this month, it's all about energetic yet simultaneously depressing music. 

I have no idea why this is. 
  1. "Love Love Love," The Mountain Goats
  2. "How Does it Feel?" Zeus
  3. "Fools," The Dodos
  4. "Loyal Man," Yukon Blonde
  5. "Gonna Get Myself a Gun," Jon and Roy
  6. "Oh Ana," Mother Mother
  7. "Climbing up the Wall," Radiohead
  8. "Astronomers," We Are The City
  9. "Since I've Been Loving You," Led Zeppelin
  10. "Gravity," A Perfect Circle

Just dust and echoes...

I'm not really much of a video game guy.  I have an Xbox, and have about twenty games - most of which I picked up on sales or received as gifts.  After playing a game for about an hour or so, I start get bored.  My legs begin to ache.  And before you know it, the Xbox is off and I'm up and doing something a bit more productive.

There are a few games that can break down my usual restlessness, and these games are very dangerous.  Because they are so incredibly addictive.  Seriously, the surgeon general should issue a warning, and post pictures of fat gamers, which cheeto-encrusted fat guy beards, on the cover of the game so that potential purchasers know what they're getting into - "WARNING:  BUYING THIS GAME COULD TURN YOU INTO MICHAEL MOORE". 

Or something like that.

There are only a few games, thankfully, that are truly addictive.  The various Civilization games spring to mind (I don't even start playing one unless I know I have the night free).  A few rare puzzle games.  NHL games.  And, of course, the Halo franchise.

I've been playing them since the first one, when my brother got it for christmas and we spent the entire day going through the co-op mode together before laughing like maniacs during the game's climactic finish (where you drive a jeep through an exploding spaceship while being attacked by aliens).  I waited in line at midnight with my girlfriend at the time to pick up Halo 2 the moment it was launched.  I got an Xbox 360 almost entirely so I could play Halo 3.  When Halo: ODST came out, Squee came over and we ran through almost the entire co-op campaign together - and I explained at length how the cast of Firefly did most of the voices for the game. 

So, yeah.  Halo: Reach just came out.   And that means that yours truly has been on the couch for the better part of three hours every day, pwning n00bs. 

Rifflandia! Bands I Wanted to See, but Didn't

This is the last Rifflandia post.  I promise.  It seems that making posts about Rifflandia is sort of like Crystal Meth or Cocaine - once you start, it's really hard to stop. 


Anyways.  Rifflandia was this huge festival, with something like a dozen venues and a good forty bands playing PER NIGHT.  This means that even the most dedicated concert goer is going to miss some pretty awesome bands.  This here is my short and dirty list of awesome bands that I missed - and should go see next year.

Aidan Knight:  I've seen Mr. Knight before, during one his first solo shows.  His music is of the sort of soft acoustic variety, with well-crafted songs that are definitely tranquil.  But what makes him worth watching is his sense of humour, self-deprecation, and his instant likeability.  Unfortunately, the rest of the people at his venue did not seem very interesting - although it would have been cool to watch the closing act that night, The Men Without Hats (yeah, those Men Without Hats). 

Kate Miller-Heidke:  My good friend Kittens pointed this girl out on her blog, and just amazingly awesome she happens to be.  Kittens called her "An Australian Regina Spektor", which didn't do much for me - I'm not a huge Spektor fan, I'm afraid.  But then I listened to Kate-Miller-Heidke's music, which is, um, cool?  Is that a good enough word?  Let's say it has an acoustic-y electric-y roll to it, coupled with quirky vocals.  Is that better?  Also, why do australians sing with an accent, but englishmen do not? 

Hey Rosetta!  I saw these guys last year, and they were a lot of fun.  A lot of nice stringed instruments, plus a piano and an electric guitar.  I mean, that's always a combo for good music, right?  Unfortunately, I saw these guys last year... which meant I wasn't going to see them again this year.  Plus, seeing Hey Rosetta would make seeing the Dodos really difficult.  And that would have been very, very, wrong.  I have a friend who loves these guys, and gave me grief for not seeing them this year. 

Jon And Roy:  I think a wrote a blog post about these guys, but I'm too lazy right now to dig for it.  Luckily, this blog has a search feature!  Anyways, Jon and Roy are a Canadian folk music duo who are pretty much the definition of laid back.  I saw them last year, and really enjoyed the way they set themselves apart from everyone else.  It was soft without being soft, if that makes any sense at all.  And yes, you have to check out the link to their music - they're covering one of the best Led Zeppelin acoustic songs ever made!  Really sucks that I'd miss that.

Chad VanGaalen:  This is another "band" that Kittens told me I had to see.  I've heard his music, and I really wanted to go.   But I really hate the band that was playing before Mr. VanGaalen, a local group by the name of Frog Eyes that is the musical equivalent of eating dog vomit.  Chad VanGaalen is much better than eating dog vomit, though.  In fact, he sort of reminds me of an indie Beck for the new generation. Only, his lyrics make sense. 

Bucan Bucan:  They were closing on a sunday night.  If I saw them, I was going to be late for work the next day.  But I still really wanted to see this local group (yet everyone thinks they're french!) that has something like twenty-eight members in the band.  Seriously, I think they qualify as a "small town" in demographic terms.  I wanted to see them knowing absolutely nothing about their music, except that it was kind of gypsy-inspired, and that the band looks like pirates.  This, of course, means that I have to see them one of these days.  Word of mouth sometimes works, I guess.

Rifflandia! Part four

The Rifflandia saga continues! 

Sunday, September 26th:  Club 9One9.

It was the last day of the Rifflandia festival, and only three venues were open.  I chose to go to 9One9 purely because I wanted to see the band Bucan Bucan.  I was supposed to meet up with the Shlesbian, Moon Rock, and Kittens.  It wasn't to be - Shlesbian and Moon Rock decided to stay home, and Kittens arrived after I had left.

It was kind of a "blah" show - at least, the part I saw.  And I had to work the next morning, so I knew staying up until 1:30 or so was probably a bad idea.

The Ballgag N' Chain Gang:  I arrived a little late, and these guys were already halfway through their show.  The music was very country-style, with a definite indie sense of self-referential humour.  I kid you not, they had a song called "Hookers and Blow" which was entirely about wanting to be a rock star so you could spend your entire income on prostitutes and cocaine. 

I enjoyed them a lot more than I thought I would.  I mean, they had a banjo.  And banjos are awesome 92% of the time.  Imagine if Lynyrd Skynyrd hadn't mostly all died in that plane crash and then decided to make funny songs, and you'd have the Gallgag N' Chain gang.  Apparently, they're also a band that occasionally cross-dresses and goes on stage in that incarnation... which is all shades of awesome.

Big Muff:  Sigh.  Big Muff.  Allow me to tell you a story.

Years and years ago, I had a livejournal account.  And one of the livejournal groups I belonged to was a group focused on playing the guitar, and getting gigs.  I was using it to try and start up my own band, which (thankfully) never took off.  Anyways, one of the people on this group was from Victoria, and the lead guitarist for a band named "Big Muff".

I talked to this girl a lot, following her blog from day to day as she chronicled her band's forming, gigging, and all that.  I knew nothing about the band, but assumed she was the only female, and that they had a harder, "not quite metal, not quite punk" sound.  Then, I stopped blogging on livejournal around 2001, and forgot all about her.

So when this band was playing Rifflandia, the name tickled my memory, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it until I saw her setting up her guitar.  Turns out, the band had broken up in 2007 and had reformed just for the chance to play Rifflandia. 

Unfortunately, they were playing music that sounded like it had come right out of 2001.  They are, by the way, a mostly female band that plays pop-punk in the vein of the Donnas, early Green Day, or even a slightly heavier Blink 182. 

After two songs, I had enough and high-tailed it.  It wasn't because it was a girl band singing about in your face, pro-feminist stuff.  I have absolutely no problem with that (and love bands with female members).  No, it was because the message they were singing was topical when No Doubt first came on the scene fifteen-odd years ago - and I really don't care.  I don't care how promiscuous you are, and how that makes you tough.  I don't care how in-your-face you are.  It sounds silly when men sing about it, and, truth be told, it sounds even sillier when women do it, because they're supposed to know better.

Okay.  Now the nice things - first, they can all play their instruments.  If they applied themselves and tried updating their sound a bit, they might even be good.  If they reworked their vocals and sang about real things (and not be so "tough" - it's just silly regardless of gender), it could be alright.  And if they broke out of that verse/chorus/verse/chorus/interlude/bridge/verse/chorus/chorus structure they like to follow, who knows?  In short, either they need to keep up with the times and update, or rework that music they used to love and find some unique spin on it. 

Anyway, two songs in, I shook my head and said "fuck it" and walked home.   There was no way I was going to endure 45 minutes of that for bands that I knew nothing about.  I went home, picked up some Noodle Box on the way, and had a relaxing evening. 

(Please note - the video I've linked to had only 3 views at the time of linking, so I think I'm not alone in disliking this band. )

In other news...

...I got fired yesterday.  Or rather, "terminated without cause".  I got a basic severance package and a firm kick on the butt to get the hell out and not come back.  After talking to a few of my former co-workers, I have a sneaky suspicion that the entire office is on the way to being outsourced, and my little corner of it was just one of the first to get cut away.

Basically, I got called in the office at 2:20, and was walking home by 2:30.  My immediate supervisor apparently didn't know about it until about an hour before it happened, and basically had me training the temps on last-minute stuff so that they'd be able to do their job today. 

We saw it coming, but that doesn't mean our head boss isn't a dick.  Basically, we kept telling him that we need more people, that two people are doing the work of at least four, and it was putting us more and more behind.  And he would never hire anyone... and then had the nerve to tell us that, basically, the reason we were getting laid off was due to the fact that we couldn't meet our work load. 

This made me laugh.  Because I'm strange like that.

I'm taking today off, to sit back, play some xbox, and clean my apartment.  But starting tomorrow, I'll be job-hunting.  My goal is to find new work within two weeks.  I was kind of thinking quick updates everyday could be fun, putting my cynical wit to good use. 

Rifflandia! part three.

Dave's coverage of Rifflandia continues!

Saturday, September 25th:  Sugar Nightclub

The Shlesbian and Moon Rock decided they wanted to go to a different show, down at Philip's brewery - a collection or more hip-hop style bands.  I believe my exact comment was "there is no way I'm going to watch a bunch of people rapping about stupid crap when there are Dodos to be seen".  You may recall a few weeks ago, when I wrote a long post about just how awesome the Dodos are.

The problem was, the descriptions of all the other bands playing that night sounded atrocious.  Bloody Wilma was described as a "bass and drum duo" playing heavy music (ugh).  The Globes were a psychedelic indie rock group.  And Hollerado had this very annoying blurb that made them sound like the worst of the worst... although the Shlesbian assured me that they were good.  But that's not always an endorsement - the Shlesbian and I do not always agree when it comes to music. 

But I was ready to endure three hours of crappy bands.  The Dodos were at stake.  Hell, to be honest, I was ready to endure six hours of crappy music for the Dodos.  I would sit through a two hour show by Green Day to see the Dodos - that's how dead set I was on seeing them.  I did, however, decide to skip the opening act, Bells and Cannons.  I have no idea if they were good or not, though considering how the rest of the night turned out, I'm now regretting it.

You see, this night was the best concert I've ever been to.  And I've seen Robert Plant.

Bloody Wilma:  I came into the nightclub while these guys were about mid-act.  When I first walked in, I was sure it was just the canned music they play in between acts.  I remember thinking "geez, this music is pretty groove-heavy for filler music....".  Turns out, I was completely wrong. 

Imagine stoner rock in the style of Om, only with less chanting and faster beats, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what these guys sound like - and I have to make comparisons because these guys seem to have absolutely no music whatsoever on the internets.  Apparently, stoner rock isn't all that popular in Victoria, which is where these guys predominately play - and I find this very odd.  After all, we have plenty of stoners.  And an island is just an oversized rock.  Therefore...

The funny thing was, everyone was surprised at just how awesome these guys were.  Nobody expects a bassist/drummer combo playing a variant of hard rock in the vein of bands like Kyuss or Black Sabbath to really do well in a music festival aimed at the indie crowd.  "Metal and Indie, and nary the twain shall meet" - and yet, everyone was nodding their heads, dancing, and buying albums. 

I staked out a chair and watched the band while drinking five dollar rye and gingers.  I was completely bemused by the fact that these guys were playing stoner rock - one of my absolute favourite genres of music, due to the importance of the rhythm section to set the tone and "groove" of the song.  And I was bemused by the fact that everyone was loving it. 

My musical doppleganger

The Globes:  I moved to the front of the masses, stage left, while this band was setting up - and I would stay there for the rest of the night.   While the band was setting up (Mother Mother was the canned music, FYI), I realized the guitarist looked rather similar to me... and he was playing my dream guitar.  A gibson double cutaway,  2 volume controls and 2 tone controls,  and less flashy hardware - it was even the right colour!  I talked to this guy about how awesome his guitar was while he installed pedal after pedal, and it turned out that he knew very little about his guitar and just how awesome it was.  This bugged me, but hey, to each their own, right? 

And then the band started.   They were not bad, but they were not awesome.  I refer to them as the low point of the night, but the fact is, they were still one of the better bands I had seen in the festival.  Their music was fairly upbeat rock, with some neat guitar and drum lines.  Unfortunately, they had two factors that were working against them.

First, they were a bunch of band geeks in appearance.  Now, image isn't everything.  In fact, I'd say that most indie rock bands are a bunch of geeks in appearance.  But there's a difference between a geeky band like, say, Weezer, and a geeky band like, say.... wait, I can't think of a successful band that is composed entirely of geeks that look like geeks.  Take a lesson from that if you will.  I won't lampoon the individual ways each member looked like a band geek, because it's really throwing stones in a glass house, but let's just say that they could use a wardrobe change.

Second, and more importantly, they used far too many effects pedals.  As in, one of the guitarists (the "Dave Doppleganger") was always using his feet to tap a pedal - every few seconds.  This meant that he didn't move while he played.  And bands that don't move are, generally, really boring live. 

This is made worse by the fact that their songs were great - but the fact that only the bassist was really moving meant that most of the songs were poorly presented.

Okay, all those negatives out of the way, let me point out the good things - they had a great rapport with their audience, they recovered well from those slip-ups that inevitably happen during a show (I think the bassist and the lead guitarist actually crashed into each other at one point - and they made it look awesome), and - most importantly - their music is well-crafted.  If they came back to Victoria, odds are pretty good I'd catch them again... if only to see my dream guitar again. 

Hollerado:  Here's what I remember of this band:

1.  They came on the stage.
2.  They played amazingly awesome old-school style rock and roll music that was modernized and distilled into pure awesome.
3.  They left the stage, and - much like the aftermath of an alien abduction - I found myself missing about an hour of time.   

Seriously.  The crowd was going absolutely retarded (At a stage five, "I am Sam" level on the retard scale), and I was blown away.  I remember thinking to myself "oh, crap, now I have to buy their record, and I just can't afford it".  Luckily, after the show, the lead singer told me it was on sale on iTunes. This is pure awesomesauce in my book (because, while I don't talk about it much here, a reduced Carbon footprint is a good thing). 

I also told him he was the best band I'd seen play all weekend, and that they were one of the best bands I'd ever seen play live.  He grinned, thanked me, and I realized he was used to hearing that after every show - and with good reason. 

As an aside - you can see my arms in the Rifflandia gallery for the Hollerados.  That's me, stage left.  My arms are crossed not because I'm bored or anything, but because I was catching my breath after so much jumping and craziness... plus, I think they were playing a slower song.  And yes, they were constantly in motion, even when playing slower songs. 

Another thing - after this band had stopped playing, I was actually worried.  Because I was sure there was no way in hell The Dodos were going to be able to beat that pure level of energy. 

My bad.

The Dodos:  Okay, the problem with talking about three or four bands per post is that you have to cut stuff out in an effort to reduce your post size to something even remotely manageable.  I mean, these rifflandia posts are HUGE, and I'm barely scratching the surface. 

The thing is, I could fill three or four blog posts with nothing but info on the Dodos and how amazing they are live.  Seriously, I could gush about their music for a month. 

Here's the basics:  you have three band members.  One plays guitar and sings.  One plays the drums.  And one plays a gigantic xylophone and a few drum snares and whatnot. 

In case you don't know, I'm a huge fan of the drums and percussion in general, so any band that has more percussion players than guitarists is all aces in my book.  But it gets even cooler, as the drummer doesn't use a bass drum.  Or a high hat.  Or, really, a snare drum.  He has a tamborine taped to his feet. Most of his drumming consists of using the toms and the rims of his drums.  He plays the drums in a way I've never seen before - it's almost as if he's playing an entirely new instrument. 

During the whole show, the crowd was banging against the rail that divides the band from us, the unwashed masses.  People were screaming in sheer joy.  Clapping along to the music.  Even singing along - I sang at the top of my lungs during "Fools".  When a string broke on the guitar, the drummer did some amazing drum work to keep the crowd occupied.  And when a second string broke, the band had to call it a night - only to hear the crowd chant "one more song" for at least five minutes.

They came back on stage with a borrowed electric guitar (I think it belonged to the lead guitarist from The Globes) and went through an electric version of Jodi that drove the crowd into absolute craziness.  I remember at one point thrashing against the rail, looking across the crowd, and seeing this girl at far stage left.  She looked at me, smiled, and it was like I knew exactly what she was thinking - "holy crap, can you believe we're here, seeing this?". 

When the band left the stage for the final time, I got my jacket from coat check, and stepped out into the night.  It was 1:30 am, and there was a downpour.  I walked home, got drenched, all the while listening to The Dodos on my iPod.  I barely noticed the rain. 

Weekly Haiku #30: More Rifflandia!

caught your eye during
the dodos encore... we grinned
and shared the awesome

Rifflandia! Part two

Ongoing coverage of the rifflandia music festival continues!

Friday, September 24th:  The Market Square Show

My dear friend the Shlesbian, being a fan of the Tragically Hip and their lead singer, Gord Downie, really wanted to go to Market Square friday night.  I was hesitant at first, because last year at Rifflandia, I spent the entire Market Square show freezing my butt off and trying my best to not look cold while trying to prevent Kittens from turning into ice. 

But I decided to follow her this year, not so much for Gord Downie and more for Yukon Blonde.  But I prepared myself for the worst this time around, and wore three layers, my hockey toque, and two layers of socks.  I also stuffed my pockets with diabetic life-savers, which actually happen to be lifesavers candy. 

Strangely, when I got to  Market Square, the Shlesbian and Moon Rock were in the exact same spot Kittens and I had been at the year before.  This being Market Square, which is a rather large outdoor venue, this was just a little odd.  I'm going to attribute it to the fact that the Shlesbian and I tend to think alike in many ways, so she would naturally gravitate to that spot. 

The whole show was being filmed and recorded by CBC Radio, so over the weekend, most of the good shows did wind up playing at the Market Square venue.  Even if it was a bit chilly.

The Zolas:  I didn't really catch much from these guys, as I arrived late, and I can't really recall anything about their music.  Their lead singer wore a red jacket that reminded me of Marty McFly from Back to the Future.  I know they played electric rock, and it wasn't bad or anything, but nothing really stuck out in my mind.

Most noteworthy was after their show.  The Shlesbian, Moon Rock and I were directly above the area where fans could purchase albums directly from the band, and maybe even talk to the musicians.  And we watched as one very persistant young lady kept talking to the lead singer.  And then we watched as the lead singer and this young lady disappeared.  And then we watched as they came back about an hour later, and did their best not to make eye contact with one another.

 I actually got to ask Marty McFly lookalike about this saturday night, when I saw him in between sets at Sugar Nightclub.  I told him he did a great show and then jokingly asked what happened with that brunette chick he walked off with after his set.  He blushed, thanked me for my compliment, and didn't answer my question - and then we talked about guitars. 

The Zolas:  Okay... everytime I look at this
picture, I keep expecting him to start playing
"Johnny B. Goode" while Doc Brown looks on,

Maurice:  This is where Rifflandia really started getting good.  Maurice was this really energetic band that had a great rhythm section, and you could see when they were up on that stage that they were having the time of their lives.  The music was energetic, and everyone in the crowd was really getting into it.

I got this vibe that the band was really young and this was their first show, because their energy level really felt like that, but apparently they've been around for a while, and their album was actually, in fact, signed by the super famous and respected musician David Foster.

At one point, the bassist climbed up their tower of amps, gave the V for Victory to the fans, and leaped down to the stage... breaking his ankle in the process.  He kept on playing for the remainder of the song, and then limped off stage.

We saw him leave Market Square in an aircast, being carried by his band members. 

Now that's fucking rock and roll. 

Yukon Blonde:  Energetic rock music that just blew my socks off.  They play these songs that are just so infectious that they get burned into your head like some sort of awesome audio disease. 

Moon Rock didn't seem like he was going to be that into them when I gave the brief description, but by the end of the show, he was grinning almost as much as everyone else - and I count that as a victory.

I knew these guys were going to be good, and I did not leave disappointed.  'Nuff said.

Jets Overhead:  As the Shlesbian and I watched these guys set up, I kept thinking to myself "hm, they look kind of familiar....".  They got up on the stage, and I couldn't help the feeling that I'd seen them before.

When they started playing, I realized I had seen them before.  Last year.  In the same music festival.  In the same venue.  In fact, the last time I had seen them, I'd been freezing my nuts off, wondering if I was going to make it through the night.  This time around, I could focus on their music.

Hate to say it, but were it not for this blog post, I imagine that next year at Rifflandia, I wouldn't remember these guys.  They just don't stick out in my head - except for the songs where their female keyboardist sings.  Those songs just have a better all around sound.  Actually, if she had a solo project, I'd probably be pretty interested in hearing the results - I love the sound of her voice. 

Not to say that this is a bad band - just that they're not really my cup of tea, and the music doesn't really have a whole lot of groove or energy to them.  They start the same way they end, which is a musical sin in my book.

Gord Downie & The Country of Miracles:  If you're canadian, you know who Gord Downie is already - he's the lead singer of the quintessential canadian band, The Tragically Hip.  If you're in your twenties, like myself, you've been listening to "the Hip" for most of your life.

This music?  Not so much.  He started the set off with free verse poetry that made little sense.  His bassist was a woman of indeterminate age who had a cast on her leg and hopped all over the stage, which was kind of funny.  Also funny was the drummer's ridiculous hat.  Plus, the band had a theremin, which is the height of awesome - the Shlesbian can attest to the fact, as I spent the entire length of time the band was setting up going on (and on) about just how awesome an instrument the theremin is. 

All of this random, weird stuff, should have been a precursor to an awesome show.  In my humble opinion... it wasn't. 

I watched them play about three songs, realized the lifesavers candy I'd been chewing all night was no longer doing anything for me, and had to go home to get more sugar into me lest I fall over and go into embarrassing seizures. 

Apparently, it was a fairly bland show, except for the part where the band's power went out halfway through a song.  And, as everyone knows, the theremin cannot be played without electricity.  And that's no fun.

Rifflandia! Part one.

Last week, yours truly was at Rifflandia 3.  For those not in the know, Rifflandia is a multi-day, multi-venue music festival, chock-full of super amazing awesome indie rock bands.  Basically, you can go from venue to venue, watching the bands that you like, and all it costs is $65.00 ($75.00 after taxes).  Considering that you could conceivably see up to twenty bands over the entire weekend, we're talking a price of less than four dollars a band!

Now, I wanted to give you guys a rundown on the awesome bands I saw, in the hopes of getting even more people to show up next year, at Rifflandia IV:  A New Hope (apparently, that is the name they are going for, which should give you an idea just how awesome this festival really is).  It's going to be a long list of bands, so I figure I'll spread it out over the course of the week. 

This has nothing to do with the fact that I can't think of anything else to write in this blog right now.

Um....  Anyways...

Each band name links to their website, and I'm trying to include youtube links to their music (if possible, an actual peformance from Rifflandia - maybe you can even see me in the video!?).

Day One:  Thursday, September 23rd.  Club 9One9.

I got here early.  In fact, I was the first person in line.  I said to the guard "Um, where's the line?" and he said "Uh, you're it."  I looked at my clock.   It was 7:15.  The show started at 7:30. 

"This is weird.  I'll be back in ten minutes," I said, and then walked around the block.  When I came back in, the doors were open, and I grabbed a really good seat.  The Shlesbian and Moon Rock joined me a little bit later, and we watched a bunch of bands.  And drank.  We left early, because it was thursday, and we all had to work the next morning.  Also, the bands were not really that good.

Geoffrey Lundstrom:  I only figured out this guy's name because it was on the Rifflandia website. Not once during his set did he say his name, or why he was there and not the band on that silly little schedule that was given us.   Because the guides said it was supposed to be a band named "Vicious Cycles" - which doesn't seem to fit a guy that played acoustic ballads on an old guitar.  I have a feeling Mr. Lundstrom was a last-minute fill-in, because the Vicious Cycles group didn't want to be the openers for a thursday night show that was guarenteed to have a fairly small showing.

This was probably good in the long run, because Geoffrey Lundstrom was actually pretty good.  He made a few quiet jokes, played some nice-enough music, and didn't seem too annoyed by the fact that most of the crowd wasn't paying him the slightest attention and were, in fact, trying to talk over him while they jostled for their seats.  They did shut up when he did a Springsteen cover, which made me feel bad for the guy - if the only time you get a good reaction from the crowd is when you play someone else's music, it can't feel good.

So, yeah, he was a decent enough musician, but his single ear ring, jean jacket, and silly little fedora made him look like a douche.   No, really, it did. 

The keyboardist from We Are the City looks suspiciously like
Peregrin Took, if "Pippin the hobbit" shaved his feet and wore
skinny jeans. 
Acres of Lions:  Indie rock band that plays, well, energetic indie rock.  I had never seen them before, but a lot of locals were excited about seeing these guys, because they are all Victoria boys.  Their lead singer was a little chunky, and after two songs, he was sweating rather heavily - which I prefer to the alternative (bands that just sit there and have absolutely no energy whatsoever).

Thing is, I didn't really like these guys, but that's entirely because they were playing a type of music I'm not really into (energetic electric indie rock).  I would recommend them to friends in a heartbeat, and they were probably the nicest band I saw thursday night... but their music isn't really my cup of tea.  To put it bluntly, they're Earl Grey, whereas I'm more of a Chai type of guy. 

Or something. 

Best part was when the singer declared "this song is about a tv show that got cancelled way too early".  I bet the Shlesbian that it was about Firefly.  We listened to the song, and the only lyric I heard was "The Yellow Sun was retarded".  Then, the lead singer told everyone afterwards that the song was about Firefly.  I stood up, pointed at Shelley, and yelled "HA!  I'M RIGHT!". 

I acted like a douche... and I didn't need a jean jacket or a hat to do it. 

We Are The City:  A three man group (drummer, keyboardist, and guitarist) that sort of remind me of a stripped-down Cold War Kids.  Imagine songs that are super soft, mixed with parts that rather frenetic.  They were the best band we saw that night.  I bought their CD, which has a title that makes is sound a lot more pretentious than it actually is.  Thumbs up for that.

Plus, they had a buttload of energy, and I think the keyboardist actually played using his foot for a little bit.  These guys won a music award a few months ago, winning something like a hundred thousand bucks in a city-wide contest in Vancouver (the band, by the way, is from Kelowna).  I have a sneaky suspicion they're going to be around for a while, and we'll see even better albums from them in the future. 

Of course, maybe I'm just crazy, because after this set, Moon Rock shook his head and said "fuck it, I'm going home," and left.  So maybe not everybody was as jazzed by these guys as I was. 

The Hounds Below:  The Shlesbian and I wanted these guys to be good.  I mean, one of their band members was in a wheelchair.  And when we see handicapped people, we always seem to root for them in whatever it is they're doing.  Granted, I did crack a joke or two when I wondered if it was a smart idea for a handicapped keyboardist to use so many foot pedals, but I was generally on my best behaviour.

Unfortunately, their music sucked.  Imagine generic rock and roll from the late nineties.  Now, let's strip it of any energy it may have.  Okay?  Now, let's lose any originality.  Following me?  Alright, cool - let's also make everyone in the band wear dress like they're replacements for The Strokes, and let's have this indie band that no one's ever heard of swagger like they're The Rolling Stones.  After all, they have to be cool - they have a cripple on keyboards. 

After a few songs, the Shlesbian and I decided to head home. 

We missed the closing band, an energetic punk band that used to be named "You Say Party... We Say Die".  After the unfortunate death of their drummer, they changed the name to "You Say Party".  Considering my streak of douchiness throughout the night, I'm actually kind of glad I didn't see them, because I have a sneaky suspicion I'd just make Spinal Tap references

On edited posts -

You ever write a post that is kind of funny, read it a few days later, and realize it sucks? 

Because I have.

It used to be here.

Now it is not.

Carry on.