10G Goes to SF; No One Gets Arrested

The occupants of 10G made the pilgrimage to SF for Chris Fry's wedding and some general hang-out time in the city we called home before we moved to the NYC and became angry and bitter. Here are the highlights and a few lows, since you can't drink for 8 days straight with out at least something semi-ridiculous happening.

I made it out there with out incident. I did, however, get called out by and old man for snoring for like 3 hours straight--embarrassed, (remarkably) I hid in the bathroom for 10 minutes--then I realized I was in the bathroom for 10 minutes which isn't exactly cool either. Finally, I remembered that I do what I want and I went back to my seat to pass out again. Hopefully, I snored really loudly and disrupted his viewing of Ocean's 12.

A $60 cab ride to Jordah's later, Nav and I hit the streets and showed up at a BBQ Birthday for a friend of ours. I got drunk. Since restaurants don't serve food passed 10pm, (my normal dining hour) if you're not paying attention, you'll miss dinner at a normal restaurant and end up at HOME ordering a bunch of sides and drinking strange gin drinks and listening to your iPod at the dinner table. Then we went to Amber, which is conveniently located across the street from Home, and even more conveniently, allows you to smoke. I had a really bad gimlet and fended off some weirdos before I realized I'd been awake for 24 hours and it was time to call it a day, or night...whatever.

See, this is why I can't blog anymore. I have the attention span of a gnat and I'm already bored with this. So this is it. I got drunk every single day, went to Soupenkuche three nights in a row and had meatloaf wrapped in bacon, went to Nori's, went to see the Pixies, my cousin got kicked out of the Pixies show (you go Dave), went sailing out to Tiburon, went to Guyma's, went to a BBQ in Marin, drove around town by myself and didn't get lost which was so money, ran into Tim, the guy I ALWAYS run into when I'm out there, got funky to James Brown, went to Napa, went to a wedding, the photographer took a picture of my breasts presumably cause they looked awesome in my dress, soent a bunch of time in the hot tub drinking pina coladas, went swimming in the Russian River, went to the beach, played horse shoes, lost, saw people I haven't seen in 17 years, watched them stare in awe as I chain smoked and cursed--I believe Will said it best "But, you're 8..." watched people get naked frolic in our hot tub making subsequent use of it impossible, danced salsa with J, did the bump with J to the Pharcyde while DJ Snowman spun on our deck (if anyone knows who that guy is or where he came from, I'd be interested to know since it seemed like he fell out of the sky) But I think the best moment came from Rob, as it often does. Rob hooked up with "Bob Marley" a white girl with dreads down to her ass. The funniest part isn't that in order to score with this chick, he had to get in the hot tub with all the other "naked people" but that she's 20 and the next morning, her PARENTS came to the house looking for her and the Turtle had to diffuse the situation sighting that all the siblings of the groom stayed over and so everything was chill. Good work Rob.

Tonight I'll Take What I Pay For

So, I was going to do a play by play of jazz fest (a month late, bovs.) But instead I'll just give a general feel. Basically, Ziggy and I were rock stars. And when I say rock stars, I mean ROCK STARS. Especially at the Drive By Trucker shows. You know you're a rock star of the super ultra mega variety when you're hanging over a balcony screaming PLAY SOME SKYNYRD! There was lots of drinking at Snake 'n Jakes. There were "roadies" and rides home from sketched out N'Awleans locals who invited themselves into our house. There was fried chicken and crawfish Monica. There were hurricanes at Patty O'Brians. There was black jack at O'Harah's. When Dars arrived, there was also insane amounts of Jaeger consumed. People fell down. Several times. I laughed at them (and when I say "them" I mean Dars) cause when absurdly tall people fall down, it's always really funny cause they have so far to go. There was a completely and totally cracked out Brian Wilson. And fo course there was dancing. Lot's of dancing. I pulled out the old tap dance moves at Tips and Ziggy and I did the "Mardi Gras Umbrella" dance. We totally GOT 'ER DONE. And unlike my last trip to the Big Easy, I managed to stay with the group and not wake up in the gutter. Sweet.

Tonight Ziggy, in from SF, and I will have a decidedly more mellow evening of music as we head to Theivery Corp. The J-Mizz makes his second concert appearance of the season since James Brown. In our on going effort to do "the bump" in as many places world wide as is humanly possible, the J-Mizznazzle and I got down to "Make it Funky" and blessed B.B.Kings with our superior "bump" skills.

Last week, Weezer was also on the bill. It was the worst concert I've ever seen. Ever. Jansens and I wondered why there was no one by the bar at Roseland. We then realized it was because everyone was 15. Yeah. The kids were singing along so loudly that I couldn't even hear the band, the band who clearly didn't want to be there. But as any outing does with the Artist Formerly Known as SNAKE, the =w= show had its moments. Like when all the girls in front of me started screaming "Rivers, Brian...WE LOVE YOU!!!" I came back with, "I'M LEGAL!" And during the encore, instead of requesting songs the band actually sings, I called for Misty Mountain Hop and EJ wanted Barracuda.

Friday saw the return of the Miguel and CC show. Reunited after WAY to long, Michael and I hammed it up at a party celebrating the third place win of his roommate, the dashing Brandon (who looks frighteningly like NPH),in a "my apartment in insanely small but look what I've accomplished with some smoke and mirrors" contest. I drank too many gimlets (what was I supposed to do, they were free), went out with a bunch of people I didn't know, and pretty much made an ass of myself. Pretty typical Friday. One of my better lines that night was at the end of my evening, after I left the people I didn't know, and come to think of it, I had no idea where I was either, I went to go pick up Nav. He was at a crappy bar and I had no interest in being there, and I wasn't sure what was keeping Nav there. So I decided to explain to him that (in my stage whisper, which is really a yell) THERE ARE NO HOT GIRLS HERE LET'S GO! And of course Nav was surrounded by women. Fed up with Nav's insistence on staying, I left.

He's Such A Loser...Baby

Ok. So I know he's come out with a new album, and from the little I've heard off of it, it seems better than the last piece of trash he put out...But let's face it: Beck isn't that great anymore. Which is totally fine. You can't expect someone to turn out great music or books or even herb encrusted rack of lamb for the rest of his or life. Then why is that people can't just except it? Still, the "alterna-nerds" were clamoring for tickets to the "secret show." Clearly, I'm in a race with myself to see how many concerts I can get to in my lifetime (I've even got a best evs in Espana working to get me tickets to the SOLD OUT Cream shows in Londres--the only catch is that I have to pretend to work for Billboard, which won't be too hard of a stretch considering the time I masqueraded as a member of the AP during the [gasp] Eiffel 65 show in the A-Tizz....And there we have confirmation of the aforementioned contest---and my best evs has to sell himself.) Anyway...The last few times I've seen Mr. Hanson, it's been crap. The acoustic performance he gave at Coachella last summer was so lame, I left. But I suppose If you've never seen him before, why miss the opportunity to do so. So I guess this has been a pretty moot post.

In other news:

I'm pretty psyched that this guy is our new Pope. Not that I have any idea who he is really, but he's brings with him the possibility (however unlikely) of some reforms in the Church. Some people are up in arms about the fact that he used to be a "Nazi." What those people don't seem to realize is that ALL young German males were required to joint Hitler's Youth, and it's no secret that Adlof wasn't too keen on the Catholics either. Well over a million of us were also executed. Also, I'm digging that he took Benedict. So awesome.

UPADTE: Yeah, so this guy's a conservative, orthodox zealot. obvs. What was I thinking. This is

or not

But whatever. Michigan still sucks.

Holy Shit

What a game. NCAA RULES! Unbelievable! Sparks ices over and then brings it back. Michigan sucks. Long live the SOUTH!!!!

N'Y Pensez Pas Trop

Spring is finally here. Well, in name anyway. For me, this means an increase in Bosanova, and of course my ubiquitous Spring album: the La Belle Histoire soundtrack will be broken out. Spring also brings with it the opening of Tom Collins season; we'll have the opener at the Boat House this year. And of course, the Spring party season arrives courtesy of Brown & Brown Productions. We'll kick off this year at 10G, probably on April 16th. Spring is always my best time of year, and even though a bunch of people tried to fuck it up last year, it was still awesome.

In other news, last night we watched Shaun of the Dead which was pretty much best ever. I won 10 bucks from Nav, it was triumphant.

Noah (aka PTF) comes to visit this weekend. Unfortch, unlike everyone else in the free world, I actually have to work on Friday which blows, but I'll catch up with the gang for cocktails and shenanigans in the post work hours. It that his younger brother, who will be in tow, is finally of the drinking age---this is going to be a good one.

But I'll Just Keep on Rollin' Along With the Grace of the Lord Above.

When you find what completes you, it's a magical moment. It's like coming home, going on a fantastic journey, being lifted into the heavens and descending to Earth all at the same time. This is the way I've always felt about Led Zeppelin. From scrawling the lyrics to "Misty Mountain Hop" all over my book covers in 3rd grade to building a Physical Graffiti sand castle with the J-Mizz, Zeppelin has shared some of the best and not so best times with me. I haven't listened to them in a while- I've been preoccupied with other, less gritty ditties-but just now, listening to Mr. Plant's warble on, "Since I've Been Loving You" I'm reminded of the true power of music.

In light of this, I will be playing only Zeppelin tonight while we're out. I'm definitely playing "Heartbreaker" into "Livin' Lovin' Maid" which is the best duo EVER. Even better than the rare-ish DEAD couple "Scarlet" "Fire."

Yeah, ain't but one thing to do Spend my natural life with you,
You're the finest [band] I knew, so fine.

Whiskey for the Leprechauns! Whiskey for the Leprechauns!

I always greet St. Patrick's Day with equal parts giddy anticipation and unequivocal fear. It's a holiday that starts out with the best intentions (having a "roast turkey dinner" aka Guinness) but usually ends up with someone going to the hospital or climbing through my window. Each year, I shudder with the knowledge that some crazy freaked-out thing is going to happen to me and I have absolutely no control over it. Some say the loonies come out on Halloween, in my world, however, they wait for a holiday that revolves around getting good and liquored up. Game on.

The other thing that has remained constant throughout the years is my "Luck of the Irish" speech. It was first delivered so brilliantly by John Belushi on SNL and I have tried to carry on the tradition. In elementary and high school, I simply recited the speech for anyone who would listen, and most people didn't get it. But, by the time I got to college, it quickly became a thing of legend--requiring me to stand on the roof top of a house or two in order to re-enact the scene for a larger audience. In recent years, I've taken the show on the road. St. Patrick's Day 2002 was spent driving by myself from Tennessee to Alabama. I decided to stop in Chattanooga for the grandest setting the speech has ever seen. ROCK CITY. Here, amongst the fake stalagtites and super creepy talking gnomes, I gave the speech to SEVEN STATES at once. It was a triumphant day and one that I won't soon forget.

This year, I'll be spending St. Patrick's Day with a few close friends. Clearly the speech will be given, maybe not from a roof top, and maybe not from a mountain top--but from the top of my lungs and the bottom of my heart.

So Hott, So Best/So Not for All the Rest

Joan Jett is playing a Super Special Concert at Webster Hall on April 7th. You get "FREE" tickets when you buy her new album at Best Buy...that costs 17.99.

The Cocteau Twins have pulled out of Coachella. I'm not going this year in favor of JAZZ FEST and visiting Pands and Spence on the back end. This is the only band I was sad about missing since I'm seeing most of the others as they come through the NYC. It sucks for all those who awnted to bake in the sun while listening to Blubeard. Durst.
All of the above from Jasonproductshop.

Have I Mentioned that My Life is Over?

So once again I've sabotaged my own happiness. I find the ease with which I can accomplish this task, amazing. I wish I could get a job doing it. I am, however, adding it to my skill set on my resume right after "proficient in French."
Some good things do happen each time I shoot myself in the foot. I often drop the novels or non-fiction works that I'm reading and retreat into short stories, and short or short-short non-fiction narratives. This in turn motivates me to write (for real, not the crap I throw up on the internerd). Writing is perhaps my favorite thing to do besides singing and dancing, but mostly I reserve the latter two for times when I'm not feeling the triumph of my own stupidity (unless of course, you count the relentless, sorrow filled "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" that continues to spin in my head)
Ok anyway, other tricks that I use to steer myself out of the pits of despair include prisms. Prisims are a lot of fun. They're not only really really pretty, you can work out cool mathematical functions trying to figure them out.

Kaleidoscopes (I realize that this is the Rose Window, but it looks like a kaleidoscope and all the kaleidoscope sites are shit). I was obsessd with these devices as a child. The changing patterns and swirling colors as so existential/zen or whatevs.

Um, yeah...

Anyway, did you know that Boy George was responsible for Richard Bronson buying/creating Virgin Airways? It's true. Bronson made so much cash off of Culture Club that decided to by an airline. Sweet.