Escape From The Mall Planet

I made it. Thank you, God, I lived through a trip to The Mall. I hate the fucking Mall. I'll come back to this in a bit.

Last night at The BAG was a blast, as always. Jeepin' Girl showed up already hammered, which was fun to behold. Many Bob Tais were consumed. Uncle Spunkle made a rare appearance. Mister Vic was in attendance. Char actually took me up on my offer to drink bourbon if I drank vodka, but I declined. Beer, Wild Turkey, Bob Tais and Jagerbombs were quite enough of a mix, thanks. Heavy Metal was played, Good Times were had, and there were even some boobies to behold. "Whip 'Em Out Thursday" in full effect.

(Speaking of which- OPIE AND ANTHONY ARE BACK ON NEW YORK RADIO!!! Unfortunately, they are on from 6 to 9 am, and I don't wake up until 10:30 am for work. Fuckshitpiss. I'll have to figure out a way to tape it without actually having to wake up at 6 and hit the REC button on my stereo.)

So, yeah, The BAG...good stuff. There was even a bit of an after-party at Club Infartos, but that's about as much as I'm gonna write about that. Heh. I didn't get to sleep until around 5am, I think.

I showed up at work still drunk. That's how I roll. I showed up, and was told to go home. Not because I was still drunk- shit, they're used to that- but because we didn't have our usual Friday lunchtime catering orders to deal with. They had enough drivers on to cover the lunch rush, and since my boss knows he'll save money by sending me home (since I get paid more per hour, and I drive their truck, which means they pay for the gas) I split. I came home and took a Glorious Nap. There's just something so great about sleeping when it's really nice outside. I feel like such a bum. I like it. Very Rock and Roll.

Upon awakening I realized I could put it off no longer- I had to go to The Mall. I needed jeans and underwear quite badly. I only have two pairs of jeans, and they're both shot to Hell. The one pair I can't even wear anymore unless I also wear a long t-shirt, because there's a hole worn through in the ass section. The other pair has a gaping hole in the rear pocket, and blood stains on the right leg (don't ask). My underwear situation is even more dire. So, like all rugged, manly men, I went to Sears. That's where I buy my clothes because I am, indeed, a rugged, manly man. Raised by bikers and hicks, I'm a t-shirt and jeans guy for life.

I bought two new pairs of Lee jeans (rugged and manly), and a few pairs of boxer shorts. Plain, old boxers. Except for the Batman pair. Yes, I bought Batman boxers. They were right there at the front of the rack, the last pair, in my size, shining like a beacon in the darkness. Or something. Fuck off, they're rad. Don't judge me.

After insuring that I won't need to buy jeans or underwear for the rest of the year (rugged and manly) I decided to brave the Mall. I have some extra money this month between all of those gigs and the loot I won on that scratch-off ticket last week. I felt like purchasing things. What things, I had no idea. I usually only shop for booze, porn, comic books, or guitar strings, and I have plenty of all of those things on this day. I ventured into The Mall without a plan, walking amongst the scabrous, unwashed masses. Ugh.

The first thing I noticed was that the Hot Topic was gone. Gone? Hot Topic? Oh no!!! What will the ignorant youth of today do? How will they know what's "Cool?" Dear God, will they have to go out in the world and actually discover themselves, form their own opinions based on experience and a sense of identity independant of what Corporate America deems "popular?" How are they supposed to dress just like the different people without one convenient location providing instant identity?

Have no fear, my children. My sad, sad children. I soon learned that Hot Topic had simply relocated to the upper level of The Mall. It's much larger now, you can actually walk through the aisles without having to turn sideways when someone wants to walk past you. I know this because I entered Hot Topic. I had to. I need to know what's Cool. Feh. I know I'm getting old, because the staff at that place gave me a look like "What the Hell is that guy doing here? He's not Cool. He must be shopping for his daughter." Laura used to always drag me in there, and I always felt uncomfortable. Old and uncomfortable. There was Laura, young, hip and sexy, saddled with The Guy Who Buys His Clothes at Sears. I suck.

I made a hasty retreat from H.T. and hit the Waldenbooks, because that what old people do. We read. You kids with your baggy pants and your Hip Hop and your new-fangled camera phones don't appreciate a good book like we do. Why, back in my day...



...just kidding.


I bought the new Stephen King hardcover, "Cell." I didn't know that King had released a new novel, and I was happy to see it. I was just thinking the other day that I haven't read any novels in awhile, just comic books. I love a good novel, especially by King. I grew up reading his stuff, and I dig his style. Plus, I got 40% off the cover price. It was 30% off already, but I joined the free discount club card thingy, and recieved an additional 10% off. Groovy. Books is good for my brains.

At that point, I had had quite enough of The Mall. I made my escape and came home to drink Sparks (now sold in convenient 12 packs!), blog, and listen to the album I bought yesterday, Kaada/Patton "Romances." It came out in 2004, but for some reason I never picked it up. My mistake, because it's fucking great. Patton rules. He's got his "Peeping Tom" album coming out soon, and it shall not disappoint.

My gig in Vernon on Saturday got cancelled due to improper use of power tools, and I find myself with no plans. Good. After last week's schedule, it's nice to wing it. I'm hitting The BAG tonight, and probably tomorrow, as well. The band tonight is supposed to be pretty good, and tomorrow Kelly's cute cousin from Boston will be in town. I met her back in Februrary, and she's a cool gal...

...speaking of cool gals, if you're reading this (you know who you are, Blanket Monster), Go Devils! I know you must be thrilled that they're doing so well, and I'm happy for you. Even though everyone at work has been busting my balls about it all week. Jerkoffs, one and all. That's why I show up drunk half the time...

...okay, most of the time. Piss off.