Happy Birthday to Me

I think, as a b'day present to myself, I'm going to kick everyone else off of this blog. No one contributes anymore anyways. Hell, I don't think anyone even reads it. Baron von Puerco may have been here a while ago, but he's in France trying to get back together with an old girlfriend, so fuck him. I'm jealous about the France part.

But that's not half as fun as the birthday present Kendra's going to get me. You know those motorized cart-thingies that really fat old people ride around on at the grocery store? I believe two of the brand names for them are Amigo and Rascal. They rent them by the hour down at Fisherman's Wharf. I've asked Kendra to get me a fifth of good bourbon and one of those carts for a few hours.

Pictures will follow.

Lord Nasty - R.I.P.

Lord Nasty is dead. The band, not the singer. Last month we had a good show up in his hometown of Ukiah. A couple of bands rented out a hall and hired us on as headliners, since Lord Nasty has something of a following up there. It was an all ages show and the kids loved it. The Lord came out in his choir robe and they started bowing down to him. They were bumping and grinding through the whole show, even made us play an encore. Yeah.

Last Monday I was supposed to play my first show in the city with them. Lord Nasty never got on the Greyhound bus from Ukiah. He didn't even call anyone to say he wasn't going to show up. Instead he left a message on his answering machine saying that he had renounced Lord Nasty and the past nine years of filth that had been spread in his name. Singing absurd, XXX-rated lyrics was no way to thank God after surviving a near-death experience. Apparently he has some issues.

So that's it. You can still download the tunes on myspace. Oh well. Us survivors might start a funk band called "Astroglyde". We'll see.

San Francisco Moment #2

I caught the N-Judah heading towards downtown. I didn't even see the guy when I first got on. I was standing up reading my newspaper and I felt "the stare". The guy was about two feet in front of me and the train was crowded. I looked up and saw him looking right back at me. Rough looking, obviously homeless. "How ya doin?" I asked. No reply. He looked away. A good ten seconds later he says "Fine, thanks." Then he starts singing metal tunes. I couldn't tell you exactly what he sang but I knew by the high-pitched delivery and fantastic lyrics that it was 80s hair metal. He went off for a good five minutes or so, looking at people as he sang and gestured. Like I said, it was a crowded train, but people still found space to move away from him.

He kept looking at me while he was singing, so during a pause I asked him if he knew any Judas Priest. He hesitated. "You know," I said, "Hellbent, hellbent for leather!" That was all it took. For the rest of the ride downtown it was all about JP. Judas motherfuckin Priest.

About halfway through "Breakin the Law" he paused and a look of great pain came over his face. It was emotional pain, like he was going to start crying or something. "I can't..." he said, "I can't... No. No I can't." Look of pain again. "That's why I'm gonna drink this." And with that he pulled a tall can from his coat pocket and took a swig. Then he went right back into it. People kept moving and looking away. I did the only thing a person can do when a sad nutty drunk guy is singing you Judas Priest all the way to work on a Tuesday morning- I banged my head right along with him.