Nepenthe

Yah, so...I don't BLOG much lately, do I? I just haven't felt like it. So there. I only ever BLOG when I'm buzzed, and lately, when I'm buzzed, I'm with Rad Lass. And when I'm with Rad Lass, the absolute last thing on my mind is BLOGGING. (That's my ever-so-subtle way of saying we fuck a lot. And it's really, really good...)

I have today off. No work. No QKF rehearsal (Todd's sick). No money, so, no going out to purchase things I don't need. What to do? WHAT TO DO?!? Oh, I know...I'll start drinking early! Yay for me! There's just something cool about drinking before sundown. It makes me feel all nasty and bacchanalian and free. And drunk. So, here I sit at 3:30pm, sipping Wild Turkey and typing about nothing.

I would like to take a moment to give "props (or "a shout out," or "big ups," or a "holla")" to my mailman. Or mailwoman. Mailperson? Postal carrier? Whatever. Anyway, whoever (or is it "whomever?" -fuck it) delivers my mail rocks. See, we've had a bunch of snow lately. By the time I finish clearing my driveway, I never feel like digging out the mailbox. Especially since the snow is always deeper there, thanks to the plows. I honestly don't give a fuck whether or not I receive my mail in a timely manner. It's all bills I can't afford to pay, anyway. Bills, and catalogs for Guitar Center and Sam Ash, showing me all of the cool gear I can't afford, and pissing me off in the process.

So, I never clear the mailbox. It turns out, I don't have to. It seems that, after a few days of not being to reach the mailbox due to excessive snow blockage, my mail carrier gets bent and plows right into/over the snow with the mail truck. I don't know what kind of engine or tires are on one of those little trucks, but they seem to be able to take a beating. (Fuck-I just spilled bourbon all over my keyboard-fuck.) It snowed on Monday, and I hadn't dug out the mailbox. I haven't gotten my mail all week, so today I resolved to actually clear a path to the box. Imagine my surprise to discover that my mail carrier had decided to blast through the snow bank, and deliver my mail. Kudos, angry mail person, kudos.

Anyway, on to other shit of no import...

Last week QKF played two shows: Thursday at The Continental in NYC, and Saturday at Connections, in Clifton, NJ. The Thurs. gig was a bit of a pain in the ass. It snowed like a motherfucker, thinning the crowd, and making the trek to and from the venue a bitch. Plus, I was sick as hell. But, being a "professional," I rose above my cooties, and played my best. The whole band played very well, and a few people commented that they thought it was one of our best performances. Cool beans. The crowd was good, even with the snow, and we had a respectable little mosh pit going, thanks mostly to Rad Lass and BirdHouze.

I didn't really check out the other bands, because I spent most of my time sitting in the communal dressing room downstairs, feeling like ass, and watching members from the other bands trying to pick up my girlfriend. That's the price you pay for dating a hot chick-other guys are always trying to kick it to her. It's actually pretty funny to watch these guys act all cool. Rad Lass is a friendly gal, and will chat with almost anyone. Unfortunately, guys are stupid, and think that just because a chick is talking to them, she wants their cock. It's great to see the expressions on their faces when, after chatting her up and thinking they have a shot with her, Rad Lass comes over to me, sits on my lap, and gives me a big smootch. It's like the look a child gives you when you tell them there's no such thing as Santa Claus (C'mon, we've all done that at least once, haven't we? No? It's just me, then? Shit.). In summation: Guys are stupid, Rad Lass is hot, and we are in love. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

The Saturday night gig was also pretty good. I was feeling much better. Two of the five scheduled bands cancelled at the last minute, but we made do. Sideshow went on first, and they kicked ass. I hadn't seen those cats in a while-since the Meadowlands Fair gig almost two years ago, when both Sideshow and QKF got in trouble for drinking, cursing on stage (at a "family-oriented" show), and generally causing a ruckus. Sideshow was great then, and they're even better now. I've been listening to their CD over the past few days, and it rocks. Their bass player has some really cool shit going on in there. Check out http://www.sideshow-band.com and tell 'em I sent you. This way, I can guilt them into buying me shots at our next gig together.

I don't remember the name of the band that went on after Sideshow. Honestly, I was in the front room, and wasn't paying attention. Sorry.

By the time QKF went on, I was pretty buzzed. Yeeha! I think we played well... We had a good size pit going, thanks to Rad Lass, Steph, The Cope, and others. BirdHouze wasn't at the gig, and her rowdy presence was missed. There was some after-show drama that I didn't even see or know about till the next day. It seems that one (nameless) member of QKF owes everyone at Connections an apology. No biggie. We'll fix it.

After the gig, Rad Lass and I went to The Grasshopper Too to catch the end of the Menthol Box gig. "What? Aren't you in Menthol Box? I'm confused, and I just made a doody in my pants." Calm down, Corky, and I will explain... I was double-booked that night, and since QKF always comes first, I sub-contracted a bassist to take my place in "The Box." His name is Art, and he's a kickass player. Actually, he is the new bassist for Chump. His first gig with them is on Friday night (check out http://www.chumpband.com for info-I ain't their pimp, yo). If you go to the gig (or any Chump gig from now on), frown at the band all night, and ask them repeatedly "Where's Shawn?" When they explain how I couldn't join the band full-time, say "Yeah, but he's the best bassist ever! He's so handsome and talented! He's the only reason I ever came out to see Chump!" Shit like that. Trust me, they'll love it. Or, they won't. Fuck 'em. Heh.

Where was I? Oh yeah, we went to The Hopper, and I got up and played a few tunes with the band. I don't even remember what songs we played. I was hammered. It was fun. Then, Rad Lass, myself, Danielle and Rick (no, you don't know them) went to a diner and ate food. Hooray for food!

Side Door Wednesdays are still kickin' ass. Some weeks are packed, some are light. Sometimes excellent musicians come up to play, and sometimes complete, talentless morons torture the crowd with their atonal flailings. It's different every week. Come on out, and try your luck.

This Saturday, I'm sitting in with a band at The Boonton Ave. Grill (In Boonton. On Boonton Ave. Should I draw you a fucking map?). I don't even know the name of the band, but they're good musicians, and they play a lot of Reggae, which is fun for me as a bassist. Come on out, and suck my dick.

What else? Ummm... I got nothing. I'm going to go read some comic books...piss off.


p.s. I just ran a "spell check," and it seems that I use the word "fuck" a lot. The spell checker keeps suggesting I change it to "Fuji." Stupid spell checker. It can go "Fuji" itself...