We are the endearingly crazy. We are that which makes life worth living for all you normals out there.

Number one drinking a beer. This brain has no stories except the one given to it by public radio. Normal people are too normal and in trying not to be one I am one. These, except for these, are unthinking words. He is the man in the story of whom pictures should be taken. Spy cameras for art. "Right in the heart, white man." I'm afraid he'll kill the armadillo. Horoscope says keep trying. Armadillos are hearty creatures.

Soon I will destroy everything, and then it will be okay.

The Winner

The winning name is:

"little rock band"

The name was submitted to me yesterday, by me, and it was stolen from Eric's podcast, "little podcast." I think its okay though, because at the moment, Eric is little rock band's bass player. Also, the name "Jogging is Terrible" has been submitted and approved as the name of little rock band's first record, if it ever has a first record.

Band Names

The Bolders

The Bobsy Twins

The Bowlers

The Breakfast of Champions

The Band Nerds

The Brown Eyes

The Bandehos

Band Seeks Bassline

The Bevys

The Bullox

The Blumpkins

The Bodhis

The Beginners

The Boadies

The Bodes

The Brackish Boys

Ayuda Legal

The Critical Masses

Little Rock Band

The difference between generally happy people and generally sad people is that the happy people know when it is appropriate to lie to themselves.

When I was in the 7th grade, my class had a science fair. It was a big deal project that dragged on through an entire semester. At this time, I was a pretty crappy student. For whatever reason, I just didn't do any homework. There were all sorts of progress assignments that we had to do and I did none of them. In retrospect, I was a real asshole. The stuff was easy, but that isn't the point. The point is that I won the science fair. I did my entire project in the final week; research, results, and presentation. The judges were brought in from the outside, so they didn't know what a jerk-off I was. I won the science fair and for that reason got a "C" in that class rather than a big fat "F."

About a month ago I had some of my music played on "Hear, Here" a show on the illustrious killradio.org. DJ Marc asked if I wanted to play a show, and I said "Okay, I'll try to put together a band."

I never heard back from him so I figured he wasn't interested in Mr. Half Ass and his Sloppy Rock Music Ensemble. However, on a Thursday I got an email from Marc: "Please confirm your time for Sunday."

Oh...Shit.

In three days I assembled a band, had a rehearsal, and played the show. The next night we played again to fill in a cancellation. I'd been trying to start a band, basically since I was born, and up until this point I was unable to do it. I guess all I needed was a deadline.

I feel gross, useless. After a glorious Friday night I did nothing of any significance with the rest of my weekend. I can take some comfort in the thought that I may have averted a cold by staying in, but the feeling of waste remains. It is a vile feeling.

Time is the great compromise of humanity. By embracing the concept of time we leave the garden of perfection and enter the world of joy and suffering, creation and destruction. To spend one's time pursuing none of these is the greatest folly of a man.

I'm tired.

I've done nothing all day.

I need to start eating a bit better.

I need to make money.

My neck hurts.

I was running a little late, so rather than try to get to Echo Park in time to start with the group, I hunkered down on Cesar Chavez under the Hill Street Bridge and cracked a beer. It was raining pretty steadily now, and I had some sleeping bums to keep me company. I finished up my beer, took a leak, and next thing I know a bunch of little blinking lights crest the hill to my right and the ride is on. They whoop and holler like cheerleaders as I jump into the lead, but I'm cool. I don't feel like whooping just yet, nor do I feel like faking it. Red light at the bottom of the hill and some guy nearly slides into a car. With a steady pose he makes it look like he meant to do it, but I'm pretty sure he didn't.

The ride was thoroughly wet, the bright side being that precipitation tends to filter out the douche-bags on these big rides. Termination point was the little store front Bike Oven, and behold there's a real live band there ready to rock. The place is packed, of course, because it's raining and about 150 people on bikes just showed up.

"We need people to sing. We're playing AC/DC tunes and we have some lyrics printed."

Holy Crap. I know better than to be cool in this situation. This is something I definitely want to do, and if I let somebody else do it first I'll never have the nerve to get up there and I'll spend the rest of the night feeling anxious, but trying to pretend I'm fine. I grab the mic and the lyrics and stand there drinking my High Life while the band finishes getting ready. Of course, people are saying shit to me, feeling me out. I'm not nervous. The situation is far too unreal. They laugh at my little jokes and the band starts up with Back in Black.

Holy shit they sound exactly like AC/DC!?!?!

No lyric sheet for this one. Luckily, I spent most of the 6th grade listening to this song. I'm moving. I'm grooving. I'm pumping my whole body because this shit sounds good and I'm right in the middle of it. Time to sing and I scream the shit as crazy metal as I can. My voice can't do what Brian Johnson's can, and I know it, but what I lack in technique I make up for in enthusiasm. I am sincere as fuck, having a blast screaming my guts out jumping around, and the room is loving it. People are singing along and taking pictures, running video. I don't know all the words, so I freestyle the entire second verse. I know how it's supposed to sound, though, so I frame my words around the originals and man, it was a sick freestyle. I don't know if anybody noticed. The song ends and I'm shaking my whole body like James Brown in a sardine can while the band hammers on the last note. I pass the mic off, head outside, and smoke a cigarette under some awning while my legs turn to jelly.

tonight i changed my mind...

i sang in a rock band

instead of watching a rock band sing

big trash

"The nice part of being here is you really just have to worry about yourself, and the rest takes care of itself because you realize you have a bunch of teammates that are doing the exact same thing."

Tom Brady said this. I wish everybody thought like this in everything they did. The world would be perfect.

I bought one ticket to see Frank Black.

He's playing next week in Hollywood.

"Our band is scientist rock."

- D. Boon

Hash Browns!