Saturday, September 27, 2008


As most of you know, I really don't listen to a lot of rock music. Just not my thing. Don't really hate it, just don't listen to a lot of it. The Root Down introduced Wolfmother to the world. They broke up after just one record. The void left from the departure of Wolfmother was hard to explain. They had a good march, set the Gypsy on fire in Dallas, hit it big in America and then just snapped over the follow up record. Yeah, can't say that I have a good ear for longevity. Despite that, I'm always up for something new. And, to me, everything's new.

Hailing from Austin and coming with a number of positive recommedations from the area, The Lions pulled into the Yellow Friday to open for Texas institution, the Toadies. I'll be the first to tell anyone, I never really listened to the Toadies. I heard "Possum Kingdom" in college and that's really all I remember. I didn't even know they were a Texas band until a few years back. It didn't occur to me that "Tyler" was a song about the town by the same name. I just never bought the records and was listening to something completely different about ten years ago. As was made fairly apparent to me recently, the Toadies still carry quite a bit of weight. I initially passed on the show, but then after finding out from Leroy last weekend that The Lions were opening, I found a spot on the list. I had to see it.

Yeah, I realize that most people don't go for opening acts. I don't care. Mag Seven was playing as well. And they killed it.

I waited patiently after Mag's set...wandering around and waiting for The Lions to takeover. And then...

When The Lions hit the stage, the place ignites. Now, for a crowd that, for the most part, had never heard their material, the response was immediate and significant. The horns come up and as you scan the heads of the crowd, all moved in unison with an uneasy tension. Some raised their hands above their head and began clapping in time. Lead singer Matt slithers to the microphone and begins wailing in a manic state through the lyrics of "No Generation." My eyes peel back and mouth drops open.

The boyish energy, the jumps, the spitting, the headbangs, the guitar poses--yes, this was what Leroy was speaking of. The grooves were cut from a sturdy teflon, the guitars zipped up in denim and the vocals wrapped in dingy, stinky concert tee from 1972.

Of course, for a pea-minded Yellow crowd, this kinda stuff needs no hard sell. I hear a guy to the left say, "These guys are actually pretty good," with both obvious surprise and delight. Matt's onstage dancing and nervous outbursts captivated the crowd.About four songs into the set, I could the feel the crowd becoming a little tired. I mean, yeah, they're there to see the Toadies. This was especially evident as you left the front fifty feet of the stage area. Angry Tim just gave me a thumb pointed downward with a fart noise, but he's distrustful of anything that comes with an endorsement. Mayhem seemed to just agree with the strong opinions of others. Seems I pumped them up too much to others as I was getting met with more animosity than any sort of constructive criticisms aside from the fairly unanimous "they're trying to be like Rage Against the Machine" comments. And Rage was just trying to be like the MC5 and Public Enemy. Whatever, all artists bite. And, as a fan of Rage, I didn't hear it except a segment in a song where Matt begin speaking loudly about the "American Dream." I guess anyone opens their mouth and starts talking politics, it'll be a race to be the first to mutter "Zack de la Rocha." Probably lucky no one drew Daltrey comparisons because they have a song called "No Generation."

As they neared the second half of their set, it was fairly apparent they were wearing on the crowd. Then, Matt made a joking comment about, "Well, I guess we could always just play __king Toadies songs. Anyone wanna hear 'Tyler'?" Then, all those they had befriended in the first half, seemed to turn on them. After songs, the applause was dimmed and boos began to surface louder and louder. How quickly they switch on you when you make a light comment on the headliner. Who cares, they rocked.

I think somewhere, The Lions rocked the show off course. I heard two seperate instances where someone had to tell someone, "It's not that kinda show, dude/bro." It's like The Lions got everyone fired up and ready to fight and then Toadies fans had to remind them, "Hey, this is a lovefest. No fighting." I found that really peculiar that people came out of their mind and had to be reminded, "Dude, it ain't that kinda show." I guess The Lions tend to split crowds in two and turn them on each other. Now that's a show.

The Toadies played to club that absolutely adored them. I sang what lyrics I knew. After the show, I passed by the merch table where I purchased a shirt and showed my gratitude to the band in which the drummer cooly said, "Much obliged, man. Much obliged."

Next week, another head-slaying Austin monster comes to town in a supporting role: The Sword...who will be opening for Clutch. I guess, once again, I'll be the prick that cheers for the opening band and then everyone will tell me they sound too much like Black Sabbath. Eh, you can't win when you have little understanding of the music. Can't hate me for being adventurous. The Sword kill.They're absolute monsters of rock. I've taken them on the mountain with me and I can attest to their rock greatness. Nothing like flying down a steep face with "Winter Wolves" exploding your ear drums into dust.

Dale, L'roy and Sarah, thanks for the strong recommendation on The Lions. They did you proud up here in the Yellow. Fun time.

I'm renaming Tucker and Jackson. They'll be Bingo and Buster respectively. No elaboration coming later. That's all you need to know.

Thursday, September 25, 2008


It's that time of year when everyone's pressing to make their zombie-end-of-the-world movies hit theaters before Halloween. And, let's face it, there's nothing better than zombie flicks on election years because, in the end, they're all just metaphors for partisanship. That's all there is to 'em. You can thank Mr. Romero for that bleak outlook on humanity--specifically Americanism. Of course, we can debate it if you want.

There's just something about a good zombie flick that just really does it. Something about the notion of being stranded and forced to fight your way out of a swarm of blood-thirsty undead that might've used to be your awesome neighbor or (gasp!) spouse! Out t'get ya!
It's the end of the world and hell got a lil' overcrowded and now they're walking the earth. That's a storyline. And if that's not a metaphor for the prison system, I don't know what is! Now, sit back and watch the fun begin!
The great thing about zombie movies is they essentially prey on the very fear that humanity can turn against you and, most popularly, overrun you and eat you alive and, it's like a dog marking his territory, you become them. And, then, the only way to escape them is to kill them or kill yourself which is, really, the very worst fear fully exposed in a horror movie. You can't reason with them. Sure, you might be able to outrun them for a night, but a month!? They're gonna get you. They're gonna eat you. Something so formulaic, but so functional about the zombie story. How do you kill something that's already dead? Sure, you might figure out to put a hole in Jason or Freddy's head, but how do you stop an army with a billy club? What if you were one and they were a million. Brilliant.
I have my favorites and they seem to be everchanging. It doesn't really matter, you say "zombie," and I'm there. My lovely wife thinks they're the most moronic form of entertainment and that's fine--I think the same thing about romantic comedies and, let's face it, they really fill the same need in both of us. Sometimes I feel like being a stupid man and she feels like being a mindless woman. Jacko, realizing my love for the genre, bought me last Christmas The Zombie Survival Guide.
I don't really mind saying that it's clearly the most accomplished piece of literature on the marketplace right now. Here's a taste:


No one can dispute the obvious advantage of an escape on horseback. Fueling from a gas station becomes irrelevant. Extra supplies are reduced to feed, blanked and some additional medicine. Terrain options increase, as four hooves don't need a road. Before luxury of automobiles, people traveled quite efficiently on these fast, sturdy animals. Before saddling up and hitting the trail, however, keep in mind simple warnings. As anyone who's even ridden a pony as a child will agree, horseback riding requires skill. Forget how easy it looks in Westerns. The skills needed to ride and care for horses are difficult to master. Unless you already know how, don't think you can learn on the go. Another drawback, specific to dealing with zombies, is that horses are notoriously spooked by the undead. Even the scent of a zombie, carried by a wind and maybe miles from the source, will be enough to send most horses into hysterics. This could be advantageous early-warning system to an extremely experienced rider, one who knows how to control his animal. For most, however, the end result could be a catapult toss to the ground, injuries and all. The horse, at that moment, would not only leave its hapless rider stranded, but it's frantic neighing would also serve to alert nearby zombies."

Do the math, kid. It's Friday. Tech's got the weekend off. The Lions tomorrow night. Gotta find a way in.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008


It's an absolute truth that my mix is the ultimate Cypress mix. It's about an hour deep right now and we've already featured Sly and Family Stone, Kool and the Gang, Black Sabbath, Dusty Springfield, Jimmy McGriff, the Bar Kays, Muddy Waters and, who else, Mandrill. You ain't ready. You ain't ready. Dawg, you just ain't ready. You need to go back to school.

My dogs killed a possum. Like, not just killed it, but pulled it apart. I thought, at first, that it was just playing possum which is probably the worst defense mechanism in the world. Just play dead? Really, if you play dead, two beagles are gonna eat you alive, bro. My wife walks out to see this image.

Except with, of course, tons of blood and maybe a partially severed arm or leg. It's really disgusting. I ain't never seen a possum in this town and then I come across two in my backyard. One that's squirming making his last plead and then another that's ripped to shreds. For such mean assholes, they really find themselves on the dying end of a fight alot. Here's to the extinction of the possum and I really have no problem saying so. They're rats that are really skilled at climbing trees and dying.

The closed Yankee Stadium. Awesome. Can't really find anyone who is gonna miss that toilet, Yankee fans included. Good for the organization that they closed this year or they wouldn't have had any reason for all that great archived footage of Yankees winning championships because they ain't gonna do it this year. I guess that Giambi moustache and the panties that the whole clubhouse was wearing didn't really pan out. That sucks. If you're gonna wear some dude's thong, you better win a championship. There'll be plenty of time for A-Rod to exercise his new-found freedom as a single man...let's face it, the dude's not a good team player and is not known for his consistency. She should've seen it coming from his play on the field.

A-Rod getting his adultery on.

Tonight the Red Sox beat Cliff Lee and the Cleveland Indians to punch their tickets to the playoffs and eliminating the Yankees from the playoffs for the first time in, geez, I don't know, my lifetime. End of the dynasty? Hell, I was saying that years ago. They haven't posted a championship in more than eight years and, with 26 championships to their name, they're at a rate of, say, one championship every four years so this is clearly a drought. Not sure if this the year for the Sox. I'd be lying if I said it'd be easy. Even if we clear the AL, the Cubs are playing scary baseball. Secretly (but not so much), I'm pulling for the Cubbies. And yes, Bro Bro, we're going to Chicago if what's supposed to happen happens.

The coffee thing is going well. I'm doing about 5-7 cups a morning. That's cups, not mugs. One fairly standard mug holds about 2.5 cups. So, I'm around two to three mugs a morning. It sucks except for the creepier hallucinations of twenty miniature Bette Midlers doing high kicks on desk tops.

Lovely wife wants to do another garage sale. I found out my grandfather was not a big fan of garage sales. Maybe it runs in the family. I just don't like being told what my memories are worth. Seems a little unfair.

Austin's favorite The Lions are coming to the Yellow with the Toadies. Must check it out on the strong recommendations of Leroy, Dale and Sarah. I gotta tell you, folks, no one knows of them in the Yellow so hopefully they've come prepared to blow the place up. Looking forward to it nonetheless.

Man, we're just gonna turn this thing on random so I can get a week's worth of garbage out of my head: listened to David's 45's up at work on Friday. There was some dope stuff in there--most notably a 45 from the band Smokestack...ill ill ill. Kris, I ain't got no large, you're gonna have to shrink that XL or just cut off two inches of the bottom and the sleeves. Murs is releasing a record on Warner Brothers. That dude's gotta hustle, geez. MF Doom is releasing a record this month. Oh glory be! I moving to my own desk up at work. It'll be a little lonely, but it'll give me more room for all of my garbage. I've bought a lot of vinyl lately. Just the other night, I bought Jeru the Damaja and Vampire Weekend. Both very enjoyable. Texas Tech's team whooped the crap out of UMass this weekend in Lubbock. I was in attendance with Danny. And apparently, there's no problem with drinking on campus anymore because tailgating is huge in Lubbock now. In fact, we almost had to park in Littlefield because there were more people just partying in the parking lots than actually going to the game. Lubbock, just so you know, is still dry meaning, for those city folks, you can't buy beer within city limits. But you can drink it in public. Fall is upon us. Ah, I love fall. College football, championship baseball, holidays, cold weather, condensation, morning jogs without sweating, no flies, mosquitos, no worrying about vinyl warping in the's truly pale ale season. Roundhouse beat Newschannel 10 last week to secure a first-round bye in the tournament on Thursday night. Yeah, we're your heroes. Admit it. Wear those Roundhouse jerseys with pride, pupils, it's playoff season. Speaking of, I'm a lazy loser because I haven't secured the Root Down shirts. Still working on that. Danny has requested the following model. I couldn't find any cheap hoodies on the market. Maybe next time.

Had a guy rev his engine at me the other day on my bike waiting at a light. I was thinking how gangsta it would be to hop off my bike, turn around and just lift the bike and throw it on his hood and then stand there like "what, what," then walk away. I just shaved about two months of facial hair off my face in anticipation of the Sox clinching a playoff birth (I like spelling it like "birth" as opposed to "berth" because of how it looks). New TV on the Radio came out today. I love them. I'm out of deodarant. Don't tell anyone--I'm wearing my lovely wife's. Because I know you're interested, I'm reading the Zombie Survival Guide on the can--it's really good reading. I'm ready to defend myself against the undead on land, sea and, yes, sky. B'lee dat. I need to see what my Oklahoma musician family us up to. You want a story line, Cubs and Red Sox in the World Series. Or Dodgers and Red Sox in the Series and it goes seven games and Jason Bay wins the championship for the Sox in a 9th inning RBI single off the Green Monster that's misplayed by Manny Ramirez in front of Red Sox Nation allowing the winning score to run. It's not that I'm spiteful. It's just a good storyline. Jason Bay strikes out a lot. So does Jed Lowrie. Woudl really love to win the division on a sweep of the Yankees. Eh, enough baseball talk. I really miss Lubbock and I don't mind saying so. I need to mow the lawn. I'm getting tired. I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry I don't write in the mornings anymore. I'm looking to change that if I could just finish this Cypress mix. I work on it about twenty minutes at a time. I'm probably too old to listen to Cypress Hill...wait, nah I ain't. I'll decide when I'm too old for hip hop and it ain't yet.

If you wanna try me, come and get it, ese.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


It started back in college, I suppose, at Daybreak Coffee in Lubbock, TX. I'd go up there with Danny, Sarah, occassionally Dale. I was never a coffee man until then. But there I was, drinking it with a pull of cream and a lesser helping of sugar. It'd be freaking 10:00 at night and I'd be on my fifth cup of some Brazilian bean. And I wonder why I couldn't crawl out of bed in the morning. I was like Jessie Spano singing, "I'm So Excited."

My lovely wife and I started talking about my caffeine intake the other day as well as my sleeping habits. I usually go to bed at 10:30, start stirring at about 2:30 or so, crawl out of bed at about 5:00-5:45 and then drink about 12 cups (standard cups, or about 4-5 mugs of coffee) and then proceed with my day. I do all of my consumption before the hour of 8:00 and rarely do I drink anything at work. What do I do during those early hours? This.

We figured that my sleeping habits were not really sound and I was settling for really bad sleep. I mean, when you see me, I'm running on about four hours of good sleep and an additional three hours of tossing and turning. We started a quick rundown of my caffeine intake and determined that, if the recommended daily allowance of caffeine is 200-300mg of caffeine, I was getting close to (brace for it) 1100mg--close to four or five times the recommended amount. And, remember, I get that before you even make it to work in the morning.

At that level, I'm prone to muscle tremors, nausea, irritability (let's go ahead and throw bruxism [teeth grinding] in there too), high heart rate, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, low bone density, increased risk of fractures, anxiety, wild mood changes, decreased attentiveness, reduced fertility. One lady I found online says she suffers from hallucinations--the most common being a black cat disappearing around a corner. I'm chased home by a witch on a broom who looks like Barbara Streisand. Freaky.

With my lovely wife's support, I've made an effort and have already succeeded to cut my intake in more than half to a more acceptable 400mg a day. I've noticed a deeper sleep at night. Of course, my energy during the day is less, but that's probably better. I've managed to curb the troubling frothing at the mouth and my focus seems much stronger. Add to the mix an hour of good cardio (jogging is my preference) and I can feel my body reaching a new norm. Does it mean less early morning posts? Yep, you bet. I'm just going to have to find a better time for that.

Caffeinism is no joke, kids. Ask Jessie Spano.

Today is People Under the Stairs day. Get it on.

Monday, September 15, 2008


When it all goes down in the history books and they talk of hip hop in the same way they talk of jazz and Elvis shaking his hips today, it's possible that talented groups like Cypress Hill and the astounding contributions to the game through their first two records might easily be overlooked. The truth be known, though, that Cypress Hill was probably the most highly-discounted but incredibly sick crews of the early 90s. Peep those bucket hats, yo. They're like the Kinks of hip hop. "Lola" and "Apeman" were dope, but you never hear them anymore. You hardly hear anyone even mention the Kinks anymore. Same goes for Cypress. Led by Mellow Man Ace's brother Sen Dog of Cuban decent and east LA's very own B-Real of Mexican decent, Cypress was the first (and only, some may argue) Latino powerhouse in hip hop. Their music blended blunted imagery, calculated acts of violence, humor and the Latino heritage under the watchful and infinitely funky guidance of classic producer DJ Muggs who was in the best form of his career. Their first record was a proclamation that the new style had arrived. Led by tracks like "How I Could Just Kill a Man" and "Hand on the Pump" and lesser-played "Light Another" and "Hole in the Head," the self-titled effort was a spectrum of perfectly looped funk breaks laced with the shenanigans of B-Real and Sen Dog and a tidal wave of horns and wah-wahs. And what the self-titled record achieved in putting Cypress on the map, Black Sunday would take them off the map and into the stratosphere. Shamefully, it would be one of the most unlistenable track on the album that would vault its success, "Insane in the Brain," but nonetheless, it provided fuel for an album that would only follow the acclaim of their self-titled debut. It took the tasty recipe for the first album and doubled every ingredient making a poignant and powerful musical blast. When B-Real and Sen spat about weed, it was less a party and more a religion. When they were violent, it was less the jokery and more believable. Black Sunday was darker, louder and lower.
The albums that would follow (specifically III and IV) were strong efforts, but came no where close to the achievements of their first two records. There's no touching the first two albums. I've been jamming them endlessly for the last two weeks and decided that they would make the perfect platform for my next mix. I found about thirty breaks used to make the material on the first two records and have begun work on a mix that will seamlessly mix the roots and the results off of Cypress Hill's first two records. Yeah, Kool and the Gang is in there. So is Parliament, Chuck Cornish, Five Stairsteps, Willie Hutch, James Brown, Black Sabbath, the Music Machine, Pazant Brothers and, of course, Cypress Hill. I'll keep you posted.

Sox are tied for first place with the Tampa Bay Strays. Let's see if we can restore order in the East and pull this thing out.

Thursday, September 11, 2008


Really, what good is a dog if it can fulfill the simplest of tasks required of him for occupation of a residence? I mean, I got a dog for companionship, sure. Absolutely. But sometimes, dogs gotta pull their weight around the house. F'real. I work my ass off to keep these guys healthy, fed, exercised. They act like they're due it.

I get a call from my lovely wife yesterday asking if we can order pizza for dinner. It's not common that we do, especially on a weeknight. I ask, "Why?" She says because she's hungry, tired and there's a mouse in the kitchen. Security breached.

I run to the store to pick up a six pack for the ball game and half-priced "mouse glue boards." Not sure if you all have ever seen these so let me school you on the concept. Basically, it's a disposable board about the size of a large note card. You peel off one side and expose a super-sticky surface where you place a small piece of food to "increase the effectiveness." Then you put it in an area where you have seen a mouse or droppings. Buying this thing was like buying triple-X porn (not that I really know). I felt like, "Yeah, I'm stupid white trash and I have a mouse in my trailer and there's only room for one of us!" I prepared a few quick comebacks in case the person ringing me up said something like, "Mice, huh?" The first was, "Yeah, it's for my storage shed," or "I'm pulling a prank on my roommate." No one asked. I bought the goods and was on my way.

When I get home, my lovely wife is in the study and has no plans of going near the kitchen. I go straight to the kitchen and begin opening the glue boards--keeping a watchful eye on the corners for my furry friend. I put one on the floor and one on the counter top where he was spotted. We're taking the power back here. Roaches and rodents are unacceptable in our household. I pulled Tux and Jax aside and reminded them of this. It's inexcuseable that two hounds can spend all day inside and outside, but restricted to the kitchen and not notice that security had been breached. After scolding them, I block off the kitchen and let the glue boards do their magic.

I walk into the kitchen about an hour later and BOOM there he is! Dashing across the counter. I freak out, yelling, "There he is! There he is! I'm-a get you, you stupid bastard!" The dogs look on to see how you take charge of a situation. He disappears behind the fridge and I carefully and studiously reposition the glue boards.

Now, the idea of these stupid things are, essentially, the prick will walk onto the board, stick and struggle until eventually he dies. There's no estimate on how long that will take, but there's no poison or chemical which slows him down to his death so, as far as I know, it's a waiting game once he lands on it.

The evening crawls on as I watch the Sox. I check back periodically, but nothing. Despite their neglect, we decide to pull the dogs into the bedroom for the night because I had feared that the dumbass mouse would step on the glue board, struggle and fall off the counter into the mouths of two now eager beagles.

The Sox game went late--14 innings to be exact. Afterwards, I drift off quickly into slumber, but it would be short-lived. I wake up at 2:30 to my lovely wife's horrendous snoring. It was so loud that the dogs were stirring about the bedroom. Sorry, babe. I shove her a little to see if I can shift her to a position less-snoreful. Hey, y'boy's gotta sleep too. About 3:00, Jax begins whining. Usually, this is a cry for water. He can hold pee for 17 hours, but the second he gets thirsty, dude's like a three-alarm fire. I try to ignore him because, well, to be honest, I don't wanna go to the kitchen.

But as I'm reminded of constantly, it's the man's job. Hosed. I try to pass it off on the dogs, you know, delegate it, but my lovely wife's right. It's my job. Okay, so I'll take Jax to the kitchen to get water. Tux, because he has no brain other than Jackson's, follows closely. I turn on the kitchen light and there he is...


And wiggling about. Obviously in distress. So what next? I check the package to see if they offer any counsel. It reads, "After use, dispose of properly." Yeah, well...okay. So when do I know I've reached the "after use" stage. I mean, if the things still alive, wiggling and twitching, is the pad still in use? I stand there at 3:00 in the morning on the opposite side of the kitchen watching this thing struggle and emitting an occasional squeek. What in the hell am I doing? I should be sleeping.

I have to admit that I took great pleasure in watching him on that pad. It's probably not the most humane way of putting a mouse out, but I don't care. I stood there thinking that if someone would actually touch the mouse for me, you know, pick it up. I'd let them pitch it to me so I could take a hack at it and see how far I could hit it. I was paralyzed. I really hate mice.

I stood there for about five minutes just waiting for it to die. Again, sleep would be nice. I decide I'll go back to sleep. I grab the dogs and we head back to the bedroom where my lovely wife continues to buzzsaw through concrete. I turn on the TV, leaving the closed captioning on and muting the sound. I found that her snores were not only distractive to sleep, but I couldn't even read the captions it was so loud. I sit there trying to read captions on the TV, but I can't because my lovely wife's snoring is too distractive and I'm thinking when the mouse in the kitchen will die. This is what I do in the middle of the night. At 4:00, I decide that, to hell with it, I'm up and I'm gonna go get me a mouse.

I devise a plan because I'm an old scout. It involved a broom stick, a rolled piece of cardboard and a garbage bag. It took me about fifteen minutes to get up the nerve to approach it and, once I did, it took about five seconds to execute. I walked him out to the dumpster and let him spend the rest of his miserable death out there.

My lovely wife and I really do run a tight ship. I'm not sure how this breach happened, but trust me in this, it will be resolved. This is no pig stye.

I just heard a soundbyte from a guy in Texas saying he was going to stay at his house while Ike makes landfall saying, "These posts here are buried in four feet of concrete," and then smiling, "I don't think they're going nowhere." Man, those sound like famous last words.

Hip hop heads, I got a killa package from Mr. Matt at EMI with three CDs--all which were noteworthy: the new People Under the Stairs (a band you can trust) called Fun DMC, the new Madlib mix through BBE and then the Mighty Underdogs record starring Gift of Gab, Lateef and Headnodic from the Crown City Rockers (dope, dope). The record features, among others, a reclused MF Doom and DJ Shadow. A notable recording after one listen.

Roundhouse plays one tonight. Already tired of this election. Palin's accent is mad annoying.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


Today marks the end of a complete week-long whirlwind.

Thursday, I left work in a complete blur to play an unprecendented triple-header for Roundhouse. Yeah, that sucked. 6:30, 7:30 and 8:30. We took the first two in grand fashion, but really had nothing left in us for the third game and dropped the 8:30. Had that game been first, we probably would've given them more of a fight, but, whatever, no room for excuses. We did all we could. I racked a first baseman on a close play at first. My knee, his nuts. His knees, the ground. After completing the 8:30 game, I went back to work at about 10:00 and worked until 12:15 on a project. Ugh.

Woke up at about 5:30 to get ready for a flight to Albuquerque for our Ice Cube event. Angry Tim, Serge and I flew out to ALB at about 8:30 and spent most of the time driving around visiting competition. Met some ultra-nice guys at a few spots. All day, we hear the radio station mentioning the Ice Cube signing and I start thinking we might have our hands full. We ended up with a request of 10 police officers, four security guards and then Ice Cube's personal guards. We were expecting about 800 people tops. Turns out, 1,500 people showed, we had 15 police officers, still about 4 security guards, 10 armed guards and about when we drove around the block, they had 5 horses ready for crowd control. It was like Gangsta Clause showed. Cube had done in-stores in Seattle, Salt Lake City, Chicago and San Diego and we beat the turnout at all of those events combined. We're lucky it didn't turn into a full-scale riot though as he only signed for an hour out of the two he agreed to. I was so starstruck that I really didn't say anything to him except, "Here," when he asked, "Where are the Sharpies?" Whaddya gon' do? Got back in town about 10:30 or so and packed for my weekend in Dallas.

Left at about 6:00 the next morning for D-Town. Saturday night, we found ourselves in attendance for the Sox and the Triple-A Texas Rangers. Turns out, Tim Wakefield's knuckle was like a softball because he was fooling no one. We lost 15-8. In what was like a social experiment though, my lovely wife and I were sitting between one dad who was drunk from about the 5th inning on (we called him "Drunk Dad") and some girl who was drunk and, turns out, was the girlfriend of a father of two, both in attendance. The girl looked the same age as the daughter (we called her "Girl Mom"). Betweent the two, we had enough soundbytes to get us through the game. Drunk Dad kept slamming beers and then hugging on his son who was visibly repulsed by his father. He also taunted nearby Sox fans (which actually surrounded him and notably outnumbered him about 40-1). What an assclown. He began taunting us in the late innings with the mocking cheer of "Let's go, Red Sox!". Just start chanting back to him, "Let's go, playoffs!" and watch the stupid Rangers fan shut up. Girl Mom, who was busy teaching her soon-to-be step daughter how to smile using her teeth and take the head off of her beer, took a break to inform Red Sox fans that when you're in Texas, you root for the Rangers. Wow, could've fooled me being that about 85% of the fans in attendance were Sox fans. I heard only 1,500 people showed for a Mariners-Rangers game a week earlier. We matched that number with Ice Cube in Albuquerque. Hell, if it weren't for Sox fans, they wouldn't be able to play night games in Texas. In the ninth inning, down 15-4, we managed to string together a bit of a rally and the Rangers manager yanked the pitcher with 2 outs and a 7-run lead. That's a team with a serious loser-complex. Hey Ranger fans, there's a Nascar race on somewhere. Go away.

The next day, my lovely wife and I hit up Six Flags. It must be my age because I get "stomachy" immediately on these damn rides. We started with the Toni Hawk ride and that went over like a turd in the punch bowl. I staggered around dizzily, wondering who kneed me the belly. We then hit up all the big rides. My lovely wife, as usual, was a champ. She can't stomach milk products and marinara sauce, but she can't get tossed upside down multiple times at about 50 miles an hour and skip away. I don't get it. Oh, people still pick their butts at Six Flags. They do it all day long. There's gotta be some mechanism or device that subliminally instructs people to use their thumb to pull their wadding panties out of their butt every twenty feet. When I see it happen, I can't help but imagine the stink of that thumb. Okay. Sorry. That was not very professional. Stop picking your butts.

Sox are on a pretty good run, although they got beat last night by those pesky Rays, 4-5. Tonight we put Beckett on the mound to bring us to a .5 game back of the Rays. Tux is ready. He told me that his favorite player is Jed Lowrie. Yes, he speaks to me. His voice sounds like George Burns. And, yes, Jed Lowrie.
Sox win tonight's game 5-3. You heard it here.

Friday, September 05, 2008

I DO BELIEVE... was a good day.................(fading out with Isley Brothers' "Footsteps in the Dark")