Author: Dave

Posted on

rememberies

Ali says,
Long blog. Yesterday we had stories of personal tragedy that are funny when I look back on them. Today I have a couple stories of personal tragedy that haven’t quite turned into funny memories yet. Well.. the getting beaten up one… kinda…

We got robbed when I was in the 5th grade. My mom picked my brother and I up as usual from the house where we’d spend a couple hours after school every day. As we pulled into the driveway, dad’s car was there already. I remember a soon as mom pulled into the driveway he came out and told mom he needed to talk to her, and asked my brother and I to stay in the car. I saw my mom start crying, and then they went into the house. I don’t think I waited, I just got out of the car and followed them in. What a mess.

Someone had broken in and absolutely trashed the place. They had taken everything out the fridge and spread it all around the house. Books were taken of bookshelves, laid open on the coffee table, and had milk poured all over them. Squeeze bottle ketchup covered the walls and ceiling, and clung to every picture and painting. My dad’s bark paintings he bought in Brazil were ruined. Powdered laundry detergent stuck to the floor where something else had been spilled. Dark lines of soy sauce stained the carpet up and down the hallway, and added a sickly sweet smell to the whole mess. To this day, the small of soy sauce still reminds me of that day.

They took my mom’s jewelry, a handgun of my dad’s, and other things. From my room they stole the few dollars I had laying on my desk, and I think a couple Nintendo games. They didn’t even touch my brother’s room, although there was a $20 bill in plain sight on his dresser. Later on we discovered they also took a spare set of keys to the house, we had to have the locks changed.

I got so upset that I had to leave the house. My folks were calling, or had already called, the police. I took off on my bike and headed up the street, I just wanted to go away from there. The smell and sight of the whole thing was just too much. I ended up riding across the road to my school. It was there that I saw Mrs. Forinash, my 4th grade teacher from the year before. She must’ve seen me crying, because she came out of the classroom and started talking with me. I’ll never forget how good she made me feel. She told me that as long as no one was hurt, we were lucky. I left there feeling a lot better.

The house was such a mess that we had to have it professionally cleaned. Insurance put us up in the Embassy Suites while the various cleaning companies took a week to undo the vandalism. When we got back, there was a little piece of carpet they missed in the hall that was still crunchy with old soy sauce. I remember that. The cops never did find anything on the kids who did it. To this day my mom thinks it was some kids who had some kinda beef with me. The most certainly had to be kids, not only would a real thief not stay long enough to trash the place, but they came in through the doggy door – so they were small. Anyway, I don’t know what kind of enemies I could’ve made, being only in the 5th grade, but stranger things have happened I suppose.

It sucks to get robbed.

Shane and I went down to the dirt tracks to go ride on Hell Hill, I think we were in 5th grade. It was this huge dirt ditch that had a track running into, and out of, it. You had to ride down one side and make it back up the other. It was very steep, and very deep, at least to a couple of 5th grade boys.. You got going really fast on the down side, and then had to peddle like crap to make it up the other side to the top. If you made it, there was another little trail that went through the woods and ended up in a field (everything there seemed to end up in a field somehow).

Anyway, that day Shane and I both made it. The patch of woods that the little trail afterward went through was sunken in the ground – the tops of the trees were at ground level ? like a little sunken copse of trees. At the beginning, you had a tiny steep hill that dropped you to the bottom of the sunken place, about 20ft or so. So, when you went down that little hill after just coming off Hell Hill, you always let out a little sarcastic yelp, like you’re supposed to be scared of this little hill when you just conquered Hell Hill! At least that’s what we did. Anyway, I led the way, and I went down the hill and yelled something, probably “Whoa” or something like that. Shane followed close behind and I heard him yell too.

The trail was skinny and twisty, and you really couldn’t ride all that fast. I came around a turn and there was another kid riding towards me, I’ll never forget that kid’s face. A short blonde kid, older than me. I put on the brakes and stopped, so did he. He asked me, “Did you call me an asshole?” I was like, “No.” Then, Shane comes tearing around the corner and has to slam on his brakes too. We’re both sitting there, and this kid is blocking our way. He asks Shane, “Why did you call me an asshole!?” I don’t remember what Shane did, but I said, “We didn’t,” or something like that. Then this kid got off his bike, and punched me in the mouth.

I’d never, ever, been hit in the face before, let alone with a closed fist. It was shock more than pain, and I just looked at him and said, “What did you do that for?” he hit me two mores times, and then got on his bike and rode away in the direction we had just come from. So, we got on our bikes and continued riding. About 40 seconds later, I came out of shock and began crying. Riding and crying, we both wanted to go home. And my face hurt.

When we got to the end of the trail, there were like 10 kids there. One of them was the kid who had already hit me. I just remember thinking how big they all were, there was a black kid there who was so tall an skinny. Anyway, the blonde kid and what looked to be his older brother approached us and started with the, “Why’d you call us assholes” thing again. We were blocked off, and we just straddled our bikes and denied saying anything.

They began hitting me, hard this time. In the face. The older stocky blonde kid was hitting me a lot, and they were just talking to Shane. Other kids started hitting me too, in the stomach and face. I was crying and asking them to stop. The whole time they’re asking why I called them assholes, I kept saying I didn’t. The big black kid hit me, and it hurt the worst.

I remember telling them, in response to the, “Why’d you..” question, “Why don’t you ask him,” pointing at Shane. I didn’t want to get Shane beat up, but I was getting pummeled. They then took up on Shane, hitting him a lot harder and a lot more than they hit me. They were still hitting me, but it wasn’t as much. They were really laying into Shane, we were both crying. I heard the big blonde kid talk about stabbing us, and he had a knife out.

Then, the black kid said to stop hitting us. The other kids ignored him, but he said, “Hit them again and I’ll hit you.” I guess they all knew how hard he could hit, because they quit. After they stopped, they just got on their bikes and rode away. The stocky kid had a red jacket on, and it had a name on the back, “Travis “Something, I couldn’t make out the last name because it was in cursive. But I remembered the first name.

When we rode out finally, there were some Mexicans working in the field, but they didn’t speak English when we asked for a phone. So, we had to ride al the way home to my house. It was a long ride. I remember my head hurting so bad, and Shane’s too, we were riding slow and we both felt dizzy and sick. I thought of riding to Jason’s house, his mom used to babysit my brother and I, and it was a lot closer than my house. We called my mom from there. I said, “Mom, can you come pick me up, we just got beat up.” Of course I was crying. Shane called his dad too. His dad was extra pissed.

I remember driving all around town with Shane’s dad in the van, just looking at every kid we saw an him asking us if that was them. We went back to the dirt tracks, we went down to the riverbed, we went everywhere that teenage kids might hang out. We finally stopped over by the park, and I saw a friend of ours outside. I asked him if he knew any kids with a red jacket that said “Travis” and he said yes, and that they lived in the apartments on the other side of the park. We drove in the direction he pointed us in, and sure enough all the kids were outside on their bikes. It must have been a couple hours since they had beat us up, but when they saw who we were – they scattered. The two brothers ran towards the apartment complex, and Shane’s dad ran right after them. When they ran into an apartment and shut the door, he ran right in after them. The kids’ dad was watching TV when Shane’s dad busted in, and they almost went at it. Shane’s dad called the cops from the kids’ own apartment.

Eventually the cops rounded up all the other kids. They questioned Shane and I about the incident, and we said all of the kids had hit us – but that the tall one had stopped them. It turned out that some of them were on probation already, and might have been be going to jail. Shane had to go to the hospital, and I went home with a sore head and neck, and a cut up mouth from getting my cheeks pounded into my teeth.

Bad day.

Funny how things stay with you when you’re a kid. For years I had a fear of being in relatively remote wooded areas. When we’d be hanging out in the woods, I’d jump at other kids coming. I also had a great fear of getting beat up, although I suppose that’s a pretty normal thing. I’ve always been over-worried about getting robbed too, but hopefully that childhood incident will satisfy the statistics and I won’t have to deal with it again.

In closing, I’d like to thank those of you who told me that yesterday’s blog was some of the finest blogging ever. Even though you broke the cardinal rule of not talking about the blog in person, I appreciate the praise. Pat’s comment was the clincher, helped push a kinda funny entry over the edge.

Dave out.

Posted on

a rock in my ear

The master and I were at a similar ear-disadvantage.
In 1st grade, we were all sitting indian style on the rug while Mrs. Swanson played the piano. She was pretty good at the piano and we would have “music class” where we sat and listened to her play. I had picked up a small rock from the floor, the kind that sometimes comes loose from asphalt, and was playing around with it. I was putting the rock in my ear, and then letting it fall out into my hand. It was fun for some reason, pretending that a rock was coming out of my ear. I remember sitting there putting it in and taking it out, over and over. Then one time, it didn’t come out. I tried to dig for it, but it was gone. I started crying and told Mrs. Swanson what had happened. She sent me to the nurse, where I again explained that I had got a rock stuck in my ear. The nurse used one of those lighted scopes to take a peek, and then announced that there was no rock in my ear. I faintly remember her sentiment being that I was lying, either to get attention or get out of class. I’m almost certain I remember them either calling my mom and informing her, or giving me a note to take to her explaining why I was at the nurse’s office. Either way, I’m sure my mom knew about it – even if she thought I made the whole thing up.

Come 5th grade my family followed the Space Shuttle to FL, and I left CA behind. Sometime in the 6th grade, I went to the doctor to have my ears cleaned out. If you’ve never had your ears cleaned out before, it’s not the most fun thing ever. They ask you to hold a little tray under your ear while they squirt warm soapy water into it at high pressure. I don’t really remember why I was having it done, but I was. All of the sudden, the doctor stopped and exclaimed: “I think this is a rock!” I knew immediately where that rock had come from. No one in the room, my mom, the doctor, or the nurse could believe a rock had just come out of my ear. When the doctor asked how it had got there, I lied and said that it must’ve happened while playing with my brother in the driveway or something. Secretly, I knew that rock had been in my ear for five years – ever since the day I put it there in 1st grade.

When we got home I told my mom the real reason there was a rock in my ear, and that it had been there since 1st grade. She swore then, and still swears to this day, that she never knew of the incident in 1st grade. Never knew I had put a rock in my ear and gone to the nurse, who brushed me aside as a liar. I knew that rock was there all along, but no one would believe me. When I think of my head growing around a rock for five years, it kinda freaks me out. But it never caused me any discomfort or hearing problems, so I guess I got lucky. And as for mom’s denial, I think she does remember – but she’s so embarrassed that she let her son live with a rock in his ear for five years, she has gone into denial. That’s OK mom, I know it’s easier to believe the lie if you tell it to yourself too – I forgive you.

All throughout gradeschool, I had an awesome tactic to make people think I was smart. I somehow got it in my head that I would look like I was doing something important if, during storytime (or any other social on-the-floor time), I sat there and very obviously counted to myself. I don’t know where I came up with the idea, but I figured that if I made a show of using my fingers like I was counting, with a fixed look of concentration on my face – the other kids would think I was important. I would even count for a while, all serious looking, and then pretend to mess up: shake my head, maybe mutter a bit, but then return to counting with my fingers while my eyes looked left or right as I did some obviously complex mental calculations. I always thought that people might think I was “planning” something, figuring something out in my head. For whatever reason, I thought counting would give that impression. I was a loon.

I think it was 5th grade. In the bathroom at the house we had these in-wall heaters, for cold mornings. The heater was just a bunch of coils built into the wall and covered with a metal grate. You would flip it on before you got in the shower and when you got out the room would be nice and warm, the metal coils glowing orange and radiating heat through the grate. One morning I got out of the shower, bent over to dry my legs and feet, and stuck my butt right on the grate. It was the worst pain ever. The heater grate instantly branding a “waffle” pattern onto my tender 5th grade butt. I was so embarrassed, but it hurt so bad I had to run out of the bathroom naked and cry to mom. I remember the humiliation of lying on my stomach on the couch while my mom put ice on my butt… ugh. For a few years after that my folks would jokingly call me “waffle butt” due to the nice scars I had. Thankfully, the scars either went away – or became totally obscured by a thick forest of ass hair. Either way, I can no longer rightfully be called “waffle butt.” “The incredible bearded butt,” maybe… but not waffle butt, that’s for sure.

Mmmm… stories. ‘Nother day, ‘nother blog. Dave out.

Posted on

nobody’s home (as far as you know)

Treehouse. Hideout.
Why do shirt manufacturers think that as one goes from L to XL or even XXL, the only dimension that needs to change is the length? XL doesn’t mean I’m an 8ft tall giant, it means I’m hugified. Now I have a t-shirt that’s still “queer eye” tight up top, but hangs down to my knees. I’m supposed to wear this? Scale the entire shirt in proportion you idiots! America is overweight, not overtall. Sheesh.

Sometimes there’s nothing more liberating than not answering the phone. I’m not talking about not answering the phone because I’m busy or asleep… I’m talking about not answering the phone for no reason at all. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, it’s not that I don’t like the person calling me, it’s just that I don’t want to answer it. I get this little feeling of victory when I ignore the phone, and it feels even better when the caller ID shows it’s someone who I wouldn’t mind talking to. I just like the idea of not being available at anyone’s beck and call, not having to respond to anything. It feels so good to just sit on the couch and let that thing ring its little heart out. If they’re serious, about ten seconds later I’ll have to ignore the cell phone too. Phones are great, but they’re also a great nuisance sometimes. When I’m in my house doing nothing, I really want to do nothing. Meaning, I want to sit around and do whatever it is that I want to do – without being interrupted. Back in college I used to not only ignore the phone, but ignore the door too. Sometimes it’s fun to just hole up and and be a hermit for a while.

The new Lord of the Rings comes out this week, and I couldn’t be more excited. Ever since I read those books back in high school (and three times over again through college), I’ve considered them the best works of fantasy ever. Jackson has done such a good job capturing the imagery of the books, and thank the lord for the digital recording techniques that make everything look so crisp and clear – New Zealand looks like an awesome place. I can’t wait to drop fistfuls of cash on the super-deluxe full-film edition dvd set, whenever it comes out.

I’ve decided to go into business doing what I love, on the side of course. It’s crazy the way things happen, but my best bud from 5th grade has a business opportunity and we gonna go partners on it. We’re gonna start a webstore (like millions before us). I’m going to handle the technical and webpage part, and he’s the salesman and goods appropriator. It’ll be my pet project until it’s up and running well, and we can actually launch it and see if it floats. I’m excited because I think there may actually be some money to be made with it, but who knows. At least I’m finally doing something with the internet that has some possibility of return.

That’s it. No links in this blog at all, strangely. Dave out.

Posted on

silky smoothness

Happy birthday to me!
Not much been going down, so it’s gonna be a short one today. Last night I divided my time between ripping VHS to MPEG and coding the brand new sidebar element you see on the right of the page. I hope to add some more sidebar elements as time goes on, just to make the blog more fun. Anthony and Ben said they stopped reading it, so I guess the blog novelty (and my 15min) is about over. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing, I’ve been doing it this long I might as well carry on.

The VHS to MPEG activities went well, although I didn’t have time to properly edit the captured video yet – so I won’t be posting it today. The 5th grade “fitness challenge” one was great, got to see all my old classmates and stuff. My best bud Shaine is like the star of the video, and since I know he’s a blog reader – I’m gonna put together a “best of” Shaine running the obstacle course. It’s pretty funny to watch. I think the comments sidebar addition to the webpage turned out nice too. If you’re confused by it, here’s a breakdown: it shows a snippet of the three most recently entered comments, each comment is clickable through to the full comment page for a particular blog entry. One of the thing I like about it is that even if you go back and comment on a really old blog entry, that comment will show up in the “most recent” sidebar. That’s cool for me because previously I had no way, other than scanning through the old pages, to know if someone commented on an older article. Anyway, it was a fun coding project and kept me busy for a couple days – so I deem it successful.

I still haven’t shaved, and to me this scruff looks pretty bad. However, Sharaun insists she likes it – so I’ma keep it for now. Maybe I’m crazy, but I get this strange feeling there’s something going down with this beard that I’m not aware of. Friday night is our little “holiday party” at the house, and Sharaun’s asked more than once if I plan to shave the beard for the party. Why would she wonder if I will have the beard at the party? Is there some kind of beard-related joke or event going down at this soiree that I’m unaware of? Only time will tell I suppose, but I’ve just never seen her take so much interest in my shaving habits. Maybe there will be bearded dude on the cake or something? Who knows.

Why do people always laugh when I tell them I put baby powder on my balls? I’m totally not embarrassed by it. That baby powder is a godsend when it comes to swampy balls. I guess my habit started in FL, where it’s always a million degrees in the shade, and a perpetually-hot dude like me is more often than not overheated. A lil’ baby powder applied in the morning can make the day so much more bearable. I tried Gold Bond at first, but that stuff is like powdered acid when it comes to genitalia – at least for me. I even have a little travel-sized thing of powder to take with me on trips and when hiking/camping. I’ve gotten way used to staying nice and dry and chafe free, so I gotta take it with me. My whole ball-area moves with effortless silky smoothness, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe I’ve got dysfunctional ball sweat glands or something, but I need some kinda desiccant up in there to help me out – so I powder. Back off.

What am I listening to lately? Well, still the Decemberists, I can’t get enough of ’em. That and absmi has been spitting out some great new stuff lately. I’ve been alternating between the Statistics (with one of the members of the group who had last year’s best album, IMO, Desaparecidos), a group called Menomena (who have a hilarious website), and the new +/- album. All pretty good upon several listens. Since I’m talking about music, it must mean I’m out of other things to say. An appropo time to wrap up this entry I’d say.

Dave out.

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on the lam

Huddled in the trenches, gazing on the battlefield.
Ugh. The other day at work the sales rep from a company I purchase stuff from called and wanted to have a “meeting” with me. I hate having meetings with this guy. His job for the company is basically to go around to everyone who spends a certain amount of money with them, schmooze it up with that person, give them t-shirts and goodies, and make sure they continue to buy. I can’t stand the “meetings.” We’ll meet at my cube and go down to the cafe where he’ll buy me whatever I want: coffee, donuts, etc. Then we’ll sit and talk about the current “business climate,” something I know nothing about and care even less to speculate on. After that he’ll talk about what exotic places his job takes him too, where he golfed last, his family, maybe show me some pictures from his last dive expedition, and I sit there and pretend to laugh at the right spots, act surprised when warranted, serious on cue, etc. It’s absolutely terrible. Having to pretend I’m best buds with some dude and that I’m interested in his rambling. Just sell me stuff and drop the swag in the mail please.

So anyway, I hid. Yup, that’s right – I totally went into hiding to escape the mutual-masturbation that is meeting with this dude. Took my laptop, found a nice hidden corner of the building, and hid out for an hour working from the shadows. Do I feel guilty?, yeah a little bit – but I have a history of this kinda behavior so I’m pretty much used to it. I remember back in high school an old boss from the CPA place I once worked called me up. He told me they were moving into their own building and they needed some “manual labor” type help, would I be interested? I wasn’t working at the time and money sounded good – so I agreed. I showed up at the empty lot where the building was being framed at 7am on a hot and humid FL Saturday. My former boss rolled up and told me that he wanted me to take a sledge hammer and go around the entire property, breaking large rocks into smaller ones. Then I would get the wheelbarrow and pick them up so I could move them to a truck. I brought that hammer down on one rock; and then ran away through the woods, through a swamp, over a fence, and got the hell out of there. Oh yeah, I’m a bastard. Man, I hope he never sees this… he’s actually a pretty nice guy.

Tuesday night was chili night at Anthony’s. He makes this awesome chili, which is most famous for being crazy hot. I love hot food. I love having my mouth burn while I eat it, I love the spicy taste. The chili that he makes is notorious for turning away people who can’t handle hot stuff. Sharaun can barely stomach the “mild” batch (he has to make a “mild” and “hot” batch so the wimps can come too). Anyway, it was awesome – but it sure tore me up on Wednesday. Ugh. Super hot food is usually only good in one direction. I’m a hot food and hot sauce nut tho. I used to think that the hottest sauce in the world was Dave’s Insanity Sauce, that was until I had Da Bomb Ground Zero. One dipped toothpick point and you’re on your ass. Turns out I was wrong, as this stuff outdoes them all, and then some. Nearly 7000x as hot as Tabasco (~16mil Scoville Units), it will actually burn the skin on contact. Awesome.

I thought I was pretty good at grammar, but this quiz put me in my place. I got a 7/10, missing the I/me, lied/laid, and affect/effect ones. Stupid grammar, it’s the tricky ones that get me.

I guess that’s it. Pretty dumb one eh? I’ve been working on some little upgrades to the blog page… hoping to unveil them early next week. Until then… Dave out.

Posted on

boats, check; poop, check

A boat, in a storm. It's the perfect image for my entry.
Last night there was a storm here. Not a “storm” in the Florida caliber I’m used to, but definitely more of a storm than we usually get. It was rainy, and really windy. At a couple points during the night I woke up to the whipping of the wind outside our window. I love the sound of a storm, if I was smart I woulda been the dude who recorded it and made millions putting it out on a series of “Earth Sounds” cds. Anyway, ’round about 4:30am I woke again to the rain and wind and decided to put on my glasses and go check out what it looked like. I got a glass of water and went to the sliding glass door to look, but couldn’t see much so went back to bed. I was lying there, listening to the storm, and I started imagining that I was in a boat at sea. It was the old times, y’know? with wooden boats like in pirate and pilgrim movies. I was out on the ocean, on some cool journey to some far away place.

I used to know a guy who lived on a boat. When I was manager at the record store, he was a salesperson. One night he asked a couple of us guys to come back to his place and hang out. Man, that boat was so cool. It wasn’t very big, but it smelled all “boaty” like that stuff they treat wood with. In the cabin it had all the trappings of a little efficiency room: TV, fridge, microwave, stove, etc. It was really cool and all old-timey nautical decorated, and I just loved that boat smell. Maybe it was because that little self-contained cabin area tapped into my “enclosed space” fantasies, all womby and stuff. He just had it moored at this little marina, where he payed a docking fee and a hookup fee for electricity and sewage or whatever. I remember him saying that it wasn’t as cheap as I may have thought, but man did I dig that whole idea. You could pick up and leave whenever you wanted, go out for days, whatever. Awesome. We got tight on Jack that night and hung out above deck telling stories under the stars – it was totally awesome. I guess Florida has some things going for it, the Jimmy Buffet lifestyle that the weather affords is certainly one of them. I’d never get Sharaun to agree to moving onto a boat though, and I dunno how much I’d really want to “live” there either. Owell, cool to think about.

When I was a kid, I didn’t like to take any time away from playing with friends. I would spend as much time as I could enjoying myself, and didn’t like to get interrupted with other things I had to do. From this dislike of playtime stoppage, I developed a habit holding in my poops. Oh yeah, I totally said it. While I no longer hold my poops (in fact – I now revel in them, marking them not only as necessary but also totally enjoyable), I did for a few gradeschool years? I think about 3rd through 5th. When I was outside playing and I could feel nature calling, I’d simply ignore it. If it got really bad, I’d sit on the ground with my leg folded underneath me to help add some “you get back in there” pressure to my innards. Why I disliked the poopin’, I have no idea? I think I was just trying to save time or something. Why I’m writing about this, I also have no idea. Other than it might make me laugh one day when I get senile and can jog my memory by reading it.

Hmmm? talked about boats, check. Talked about poop, check. What else was it that I was supposed to talk about?

A friend at work is letting me borrow a machine that rips any video input source to MPEG video for the PC. You just plug in an S-video or RCA source, and it encodes and outputs MPEG video to your PC in real time. I wanted to borrow it so I can rip and archive a couple old VHS tapes I have. One of them is “A Day in the life of Dave,” a 24hr autobiographical documentary I made in high school, and the other is of a videotaped “fitness challenge” that my 5th grade class participated in. (Yes Shaine, you’re in there crab-walking with the rest of us). I know the idea of me in any kind of “challenge” seems an alien one, let alone the “fitness” kind? but I was in 5th grade and relatively un-ruined by Nintendo and potato chips at the time. Anyway, I’m gonna rip ’em and upload them to the web? as I do nearly everything.

Ahem… Dave. Is. Out.

Posted on

sense of pity for today’s kids

I thought it was so cool when I first started shaving... ugh.
Yesterday while getting the link for the blog to talk about Explosions in the Sky, a new group I’ve been digging, I was poking around their webpage and realized they were playing in Sacramento that very night. I quickly informed Ben that, pursuant to the conditions of our rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, we would have to attend. Even though I’ve only had their stuff for a few days, I had already decided I liked them a lot – as they reminded me a lot of other post-rock (see, I know the jargon) outfits I enjoy, like Mogwai. So Benz and I decided to pull off the last-minute show, and Sharaun came along as well.

The show was at the Cap Garage, a nice little place in downtown Sac where we’ve seen other acts like Pedro the Lion and Hot Hot Heat. I generally like the place, although it’s way small and therefore gets really loud. This time I got smart and brought along three pairs of earplugs, just in case. It was a four-band night, and oddly enough Explosions in the Sky weren’t the last up – some local Sac band was. That was fine by me, since it was midnight by the time EitS finished anyway. Oh, and finish they did! After sitting through about five mediocre songs from another local band, the second opening act came on. A dude by the name of Lazarus was up. He mostly strummed his guitar solo and had occasional soft drum, keyboard, and rhythm backup. This guy sounded like he was about to commit suicide at any moment. He was seemingly so bitterly depressed or tortured that it was all he could do to croak out some apologetic intros to his Prozac-needy songs. The portrait of loneliness and loss, his songs had us all considering suicide by the end. I’m not saying he wasn’t talented, he was – quite talented. His stuff would be good for rainy days or breakups; or rainy days when you’ve just been broken up with, and your entire family just died in a fire, and you just learned you have cancer. Yeah.

Then came EitS. Holy crap. Right out the gate I knew they were here to rock. Tuning up and soundchecking their instruments, it was obvious that their amps went to 11. I decided that, image be damned, I would put in my earplugs and enjoy the show while also preserving my hearing for the years to come. Yeah I looked funny with neon orange foam in each ear, but it was cool with me. Heck, I’m old now? I gotta start thinking about my kids. What? Anyway, the band went from one wordless tune to the next with no pause in between. It was sometimes hard to tell song from song, with only an extended bit of feedback separating what may or may not have been different tunes. It was like one huge In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida/Mountain Jam/Thick As A Brick/Moby Dick/Dark Star/Get Ready epic. Their playing was tight and powerful, and sounded excellent. They ended with a crushing version of The Only Moment We Were Alone from The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place, grinding three guitars and smashing the drums into a wash of total noisy awesomeness. After their hour+ set, the crowd showed their appreciation with a lengthy round of applause. We split after a couple songs from the closing band, as we were eager to get some sleep and not too interested. All in all, a great show and a fun evening – and a deal for $7. I took some pictures, maybe I’ll post them.

Right now I haven’t shaved since before Thanksgiving. While it’s liberating in the sense that I loathe shaving, I’m torn trying to decide if it looks nasty or not. Sharaun seems to like it, which is I guess all that matters – but I’m still undecided. It itches. But last night at the show I saw a guy with this immense, wild, lumberjack beard – and I just loved it. I would love a crazy stranded-on-a-desert-isle beard, and I might just try and grow one. The more unkempt the better. Wonder why Gilligan and them never grew beards? Guess they either figured out how to shave with coconuts, or managed to salvage some dull-proof razors from the Minnow. Hmmm?.

Oh, and out of some sense of pity for today’s kids I decided to actually watch the new He Man. And guess what? It’s not bad at all, in fact – it’s really good. Now, the new Transformers, that computer animated crap sucks. But the new He Man was good, a lot like the old one I used to love. The action figures are still gay looking though, too pretty boy if you ask me. I think I was a little hard on the Cartoon Network the other day, there are some great kids’ shows on there. The new Justice League looks awesome, He Man ain’t bad, and I saw a couple more previews of stuff that looked pretty decent. So to the youth of America, I apologize. Your toons aren’t all that bad, just mostly bad. Oh, and stay off the fighting trading-card monster crap? that junk will rot your brain.

Bonus points to anyone who can tell me the artist of each epic song mentioned in the concert review. Dave out.