Miss Light: The dirty, sexy secrets of a rock n' roll lifestyle

NARCISSISM! At the Pizza Joint.

2005-12-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

Waking up on December 10th was like any other Saturday, right? A little hungover housecleaning, laundry, making plans for the night?

Wrong.

Bakertucky’s scene elite were beside themselves with anticipation of a visit by Fueled By Ramen’s very own indie darlings, PANIC! At the Disco. I haven't heard this much buzz in Bakertucky since the geriatric crowd purchased presale tickets to see Cher's farewell tour.

To digress a bit, PANIC! At the Disco are just infants on the indie scene, but have made waves with huge write ups in the likes of Rolling Stone and AP magazines. Apparently, these spawns of the Vegas scene initiated their Cinderella-like story by contacting Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz on his LiveJournal. Petey-boy was recording in LA with FOB, so he rented a car and drove out to Vegas to give them a look-see. MySpace legend has it that Pete was so smitten with the PANIC! quartet that he signed them to his Decaydance label on the spot. This is going to make for some great Behind-the-Music stuff in a few years…

I must admit that I fought the PANIC! At the Disco craze much like I did the Fall Out Boy tidal wave. I owned the first FOB CD, listened to it two or three times, and tossed it aside. Good kids, but I was into my Never Heard of It phase, so I didn’t give them a second thought. When the FOB’s released their sophomore album, From Under the Cork Tree, the scream was deafening. I couldn’t turn on the TV, open a magazine, or check my MySpace without hearing something about them. So I bought in. And I am not ashamed to say that I am hooked. It’s catchy. I tap my toes. I dance, dance. And it’s the same story with PATD. I heard that they were signed to Petey’s label, and they were the next thing in dance rock. Psssht. Pete Wentz is a jerk. Or, uh, so I hear from my friends in the industry. Yeah. Why would I want to buy into this? Because it’s catchy. I can tap my toes. I can dance, dance. And I do.

I made sure to secure some tickets for the show at Wavelengths, and I started on the essential- picking out my outfit. Even though the boys in PATD are just babies, it's always important to look so scene that it looks like you haven't even tried. Catch what I'm saying? I talked Jenn into driving down from Visaliatucky and seeing PATD with me. I didn’t want to beat down scene kids by myself; I needed my partner in crime with me.

It was time for me to go pick up my tickets at Wavelengths, so I popped in the PATD CD, and boogied on down to pick them up, all while singing at the top of my lungs.

"Sit tight. I'm going to need you to keep time, come on just snap those fingers for me/ Good good, now we're making some prgress come one just tap those toes to the beat."

A cute little girl was working behind the counter at Wavelengths, obviously holiday help.

“Hey, I’m here to pick up some tickets that are being held for me. The name is Jamie.”

And with a sheepish look she replies, “Oh, those were just sold. We thought you would be here by five to get them. My bad.”

My bad? Five? Who told me five? Yeah, your bad. Damn!

“Oh, okay, it’s cool. I’ll just get them at the door, thanks.”

“I heard the show was sold out.”

Double damn. Jenn is on her way from Visalia, and we have no tickets to the biggest indie show to hit Hicksville in forever. How am I going to swing this?

I call my friend Tanya, who is heading over to Montgomery World Plaza to see Dreams of Reality, Divide the Day, and InMemory, and begin to whine to her.

“You can always just come to this show at MWP with me.”

Bless her heart….but NO! I want to be a part of the PANIC! At the Disco…well, panic.

I call Jenn in a panic (no pun intended) and we weigh our options.

Either we can brave the crowd at Jerry’s, try to get past the door jerks that hate us and attempt to buy tickets to a sold out show, all while feigning nonchalance…because we will probably get denied at the door. Denied. In front of sixteen year old scene kids in white belts that have had their tickets since they signed their scene card in blood.

Or we could just go to Montgomery World Plaza, see a show that we know we can get in to, and then just hit up the taco stand with $2 beers.

We choose nonchalance and scene.

Driving up to Jerry’s we see so many teenagers milling about, and I feel like I am at work. Taking a calming breath, we walk up to the door reassuring ourselves that we will get in.

And we do.

And it was almost too easy.

Scary.

Once in, we hit up the bar for a beer. Doormen wouldn’t dream of kicking girls with beers out, right?

The BFF's....not panicking at the disco.

BEER! At the Pizza Joint.

With alcohol in hand, Jenn and I take our regular spots next to the bar, and take in the scene. Mmmmm, yummy. Band boys with girl jeans, hoodies, and key clamps. Have we died and gone to heaven? No. It’s just the band of the moment at Jerry’s. Finally I spot some of the kids from PATD, and I mean, those suckas are kids. Fresh faced, they are all dressed the same in slacks and velvet blazers. Prepubescent girls stop them for autographs, and with sighs of jadedness, they comply.

I am over them at this point. I personally feel that if you are in a band du jour, the least you can do is fulfill the dreams of the teenie boppers that put you on your pedestal and give them a fucking autograph. Damn. Strike one.

Next up: POTTY BREAK! At the Disco.

The writing on the bathroom wall says it all...I'm suprised that shit is still there.

Why be bothered with urination...At the Disco?

Once it was time for the PATD guys to begin setting up, Jenn and I ventured down into the sweaty abyss of Jerry’s basement, and settle into a pocket of air in the very back. I have seriously never seen Jerry's this packed in my whole life, and I have been going there on the ugly side of almost 13 years. The majority of the show goers were cute little scene girls in their ballet flats, furry parkas (in the sweatbox basement), and camo thermals. There was no way that Jenn and I could even see the stage, so we parked it with our beers, made fun of the kids around us, and just listened.

While the roadies were attempting set up gear, the lead singer kept telling the poor kids in front to “calm down,” “take a step back,” “get out of our way,” and on and on. Last time I checked…there was no PANIC! in the basement. The kids were totally calm, relaxed and complying with the band’s wishes. If you need to ensue a riot to boost your eighteen-year-old ego, then that is just lame. Strike two.

Souncheck for PATD. A joke. Their music relies heavily on synthesizers and drum beats. Did I hear a drum machine? A recorded synth track? Yup. They couldn’t even bring a keyboard for synths? Lame. Strike three. I am officially over PANIC! At the Disco.

While they played a few songs that I liked ("Lying is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on" and "Time to Dance"), I couldn’t get over the drum machine. Come on, Petey. Sign a band with some real talent.

Disgusted, Jenn and I peace out from Jerry’s and go to MWP to see if we can catch any bands there. When we pulled up, the bands were already packing up their trailers. We spot my girls Tanya and Candice there, and it turns out that the bands were going back to their house for a little party.

Score. The night automatically gets better.

The boys in Divide the Day, one of the bands that played at MWP that night, gathered everyone around into a circle outside and begin to play an acoustic version of their song, “Strive.” Huddled together for warmth, three bands worth of boys, me, Jenn, Tanya, Candice, Aziah, Jenn #2, and Megan swayed while listening to this amazing song. It was a touching moment. And then we were ready to party.

Taco Bell stop on the way to the party.

We had to stop back at my apartment...I spilled bean burrito on my jeans. Damn.

Jenn likes to pole dance outside of my apartment.

My dad has always called me a tree hugger...

Back at Tanya’s insanity ensued. There were some crazy moments- most of it will remain off the record to protect the innocent. Namely, me. All I have to say is that there were drinking games, girls hooking up with girls, an amazing boy on boy make out, and me and that's where I end with the details.

Bang. BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! On the bathroom wall.

Bryan (from InMemory), Jenn, and Uncle Billy (from Divide the Day) before it got too crazy.

Yikes.

I really wish I could divulge more....but someone may go to jail.

Playlist for the night:

PANIC! At the Disco
Divide the Day
Dreams of Reality
InMemory

Ooof...I'm tired. And I'm not feeling the PANIC! At the Disco hype anymore. You shouldn't either.

How about being magically whisked away to...

2005-11-26T19:30:00.000-08:00

...Lancaster? Yeah, I said Lancaster.

I spent last Saturday at Block Jam 4, a BMX festival hyped up to be a huge fête, featuring a grip of bands, famous BMXers, and over 10,000 fans crawling all over the premises, and all to be filmed for Fuel TV and Fox's 54321. The bands slated to perforn included Eudora, Victory Within, my friends National Product, my Takeover Records buddies Stole Your Woman, and the loves of my life, American Eyes.

Jenn and I jumped in the car Saturday morning expecting a colossal BMX ballyhoo...but what all we got was a dirt road, some ditches, a parking lot, and a stage made from a trailer that once belonged to a semi.

Jenn and I walked down a dirt road into a Podunkville church carnival. There were booths set up by the local Sheriff's Reserve, a neighborhood hot dog stand, and ankle-biters scattered about, some with bikes and others with skateboards.

No American Eyes in sight.

The festival was set up in the parking lot of The Block, a local BMX supply store, and the BMX runs were in a dirt field next to the building, still under construction by kids with shovels and buckets. Talk about false advertisement. There were maybe 400 people there, tops. Where were the pro BMXers, band boys, the 10,000 people expected?

What is the one thing that would make this okay? Beer. After a glance to my right, and a glance to my left, all I see are RockStar energy drinks and a soda booth. Great. A sober afternoon in the sun with a bunch of kids. I am a glutton for punishment.

I was totally bummed. We decided to pick a spot on the grass across from the "stage" and camp out while we waited on our boys. There was a local band onstage...the boys couldn't be more than 16 years old. And they sounded like it, too. With their faithfull posse of 12 year old girls singing along below them, I couldn't help but laugh and wonder if Jenn and I look like that at American Eyes shows.

But I know we don't. First of all, we don't stand at the stage. We are aloof, play it cool in the back of the room. We also have beers, not a RockStar energy drink. Third...well, we are just cool like that. So NOT groupie 12 year olds. More like groupie twenty somethings.

Finally we spot our boys walking in with looks of incredulity and skepticism once they see the grounds of the festival. I think, "Yup, welcome to Lancaster, boys. I have a feeling we aren't in Hollywood anymore."

After nods of salutation amongst us, the boys begin to set up their equipment on the tractor trailer stage. Jenn and I take our postitions next to soundbooth across the parking lot, while the Hot Topic bus dropped off a gang of adolescent girls, clad in black and fishnets, who proceed to charge the stage. Hmph. American Eyes has now garnered the Hot Topic gothic underground, I see.

While setting up, the sound guy asks if they need to run through a song for soundcheck when Dave replies, "We don't need a soundcheck. We're awesome."

Yes, yes, you are awesome, David.

American Eyes taking the stage on a tractor trailer...yeehaw:

After their set that lasted about 30 minutes, we met up with our boys to say our proper hellos. The boys were still riding high from their show the previous day. They played on Playboy TV, and got to watch some girl-on-girl action...and they were STILL so stoked on it. Ew.

Dave's proper hello- always stealing my camera to take pics of his gargantuan mouth:

After a water bottle fight where Jenn's new shoes lost, Dave took some time out to be a shit while waiting for pictures.

Dave and Jenn- he got in trouble for making this face:

My two favorite people- Dave and Angela (aka Tittie Tokyo on MySpace). Angela is your go-to girl for band promotions or modeling. Go find her on MySpace- www.myspace.com/angiegogo.
After conquering Hollywood's music scene, American Eyes has ventured into politics. Apparently, they are starting their own American Eyes Government, and Angela is the President. Jenn and I were asked to be Senators, and we were voted in by Angela and Dave. We are legit now. Watch out, suckas.....

Dave also let me in on a little secret: Their new album is almost wrapped up and will be out either before Warped Tour 2006, or while the boys are on Warped Tour. That's right, they are doing Warped this year. And not the piddily one or two shows in California...these boys are going all the way.

I asked Dave about the new album and he said, "People are going to be pissed. It doesn't sound like us. People are expecting punk, and the hardest song we will have on the CD is 'Unfaitful." The rest is more ballad-like stuff. People are going to be SO pissed."

He also let me know that they were just asked to play the main stage during the next Taste of Chaos Tour. My friends, playing main stage at Taste of Chaos...with bands like The Used, My Chemical Romance, From First to Last, and Coheed and Cambria. Holy crap.

Dave and I...I have no idea what he is doing.

After our photo sesh we loaded up the gear, and all decided to go backstage and hang out until the next band took the stage. And by backstage I mean a sweatshop-looking room where I am sure that Tawainese kids make BMX gear for a nickel a week. There were bowls of chips, dip, and M&M's...and not much else.

Lancaster knows how to throw a backstage party.

Angie, Jenn, and I went to watch the BMXer's for about 2.5, and after the fourth wipeout I decided that I would much rather be back in the sweatshop eating M&M's and smelling gross band boys.

One of the bands that played after was Victory Within. They were a bit on the hardcore side with some great nu-metal riffs. Jenn and I took a fancy to the drummer, but neither of us had the cajones to go talk to him. Girl jeans, eyeliner, and keyclamps kind of intimidate me.

Once the sun started to set, National Product began to set up. I love these boys to death, and I haven't seen them in so long. They are five of the nicest guys you will ever meet, four of them hailing from Oahu, Hawaii. Their bassist, Joey, recently left to play for Ashlee Simpson's band, and they haven't filled the void permanently (you can even see him in her video for "Boyfriend"). The bassist they had at this show was oh-so gorgeous, but once again, the absence of cajones made it hard for me to talk to him. I am so stoked for NP because on November 16 they signed a record deal with Villa Entertainment and are wrapping up their extended EP.

Jenn and I stuck around with AE's Oliver and Brent for a few songs from NP, and then we all decided to bolt.

Block Jam 4 wasn't exactly the huge blowout I was expecting, but hey, I saw American Eyes, and it was another day (sober) with my best friends. But I think I will stay away from Lancaster for awhile- too much dirt, and sweatshops aren't that cool. And I am still a little shaken up from the grapic descriptions of AE's Playboy TV debut. Gross.

I'm Going Back To The Disaster

2005-11-17T18:40:00.000-08:00

I know, my lovelies....I've been away for a while. The trials of this dirty, sexy, rock n' roll life are getting in the way. Work, working on my Masters, and all around being haggard has kept busy and not so rock n' rollin'.

But I am back.

Been to quite a few shows.

Drank a few too many beers.

But due to time constraints and the load of rock n' roll laundry sitting on the floor, all that will be detailed later.

I do however have time to discuss my latest purchase and old found (I guess that is the opposite of newfound, right?) obsession.

My OG band (and that is "Original Gangster" for those of you who don't teach English at Vista High School) Sugarcult just released a DVD/CD combo on Tuesday, titled "Back To The Disaster."

Now, allow me to digress at this point...Sugarcult has been the one constant band in my life for the past four years. Can't get enough. Not of that Tim Pagnotta and Marko 72. Airin and Kenny Livingston feel my love, too. I love those men. I love that music. I love me some sugar. Really. The love even reached a fever-pitch last winter when I saw them play a record 7 times in 3 months (okay, okay, that's a record for me).

Obsessive.

Disgusting.

Borderline psychotic.

Shirts. Shoelaces. Framed and numbered prints. Autographs. Buttons. DVD. Stickers. Tattoo? Nah, just kidding on that one.

Watch out Timmy, I'm coming to get you.

So, obviously I was stoked when this past New Music Tuesday rolled around. It was about time for something new from my boys.

It was a sick presentation on my part. I rocked a Sugarcult shirt to work, carried my Sugarcult bag, and even had a Sugarcult button on my jeans. I'm telling you...FREAK.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang, I shooed my students out of the room with a "GET OUT!!! It's Sugarcult day!!"

I drove with a fury to World Records, the only place in town to pick up decent music. I walked in, and saw Pat behind the counter.

"Did you happen to get in the new Sugarcult DVD today," I asked, covering the obvious Sugarcult shirt with folded arms, now realizing how stupid I looked.

After a quick shuffle of papers and a phone call, Pat told me that it wouldn't be in until Thursday.

Stab to the heart.

I jump into the car and drive to Best Buy. Nearling sprinting in the parking lot in my heels, I dodged cars and Wal-Mart shopping carts. I was now on a mission. I HAD to get that DVD. Running to the CD section, I scanned the new releases. NOTHING! Off to the "S" section.....no, no, no, er....no. AHA!!! Sugarcult!!!

With the DVD in my hot little hands, I jog to the register. The cahsier asks, "Big fan, huh?" while nodding to the Sugarcult shirt that whispers "obsession."

"Uh, yeah....something like that."

Ripping off the celophane from the case in the parking lot, I realize that I must look maniacal...and begin to pace myself.

Finally, back to my apartment. I pop in the DVD, and instantly....Sugarcult overload. There is over 2 hours of footage of my guys. Tons of stuff shot backstage, the videos from their second album Palm Trees and Power Lines, "The Making of..." and so much more. Oh yeah, and Tim Pagnotta in a Hooters uniform. Rawr.

Today is Thursday. I've probably seen the whole DVD about four times. No joke.

It's sick. I know.

I just ordered tickets to Sugarcult's Christmas in California show on December 18 at the Anaheim House of Blues. Last year's Christmas show was phenomenal. This year will be no different. I'm sure. Tim Pagnotta in pleather is always a pleaser.

But first things first....I must tackle that pile of rock n' roll laundry. Then pop that DVD in and settle in for a long night of Sugarcult.

Someone call Betty Ford...please.

We are all Americanized....

2005-10-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

The latest happenings on the American Eyes front....

A killer CD release show and afterparty at the Key Club on Tuesday night...and I am still recovering. You can check it out in my last blog...

And up-to-the-minute breaking news: A new tour was announced today. Okay, okay, it wasn't announced, but it was...revealed. Just a taste to whet the whistle, if you will.

A new American Eyes tour in November and December with No Use For A Name and the Violent Femmes!!!

I will see if I can work my magic with the boys and try to snag a few dates for you guys.

While you are patiently waiting with bated breath, go check them out at www.americaneyesmusic.com or their MySpace page at www.myspace.com/americaneyes.

And after you are finished there, go to www.smartpunk.com and order their new CD, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds.

Well, what the hell are you doing? GO!! Help me start the American Eyes Revolution...

Carry on for Keepsake: The American Eyes CD Release show

2005-10-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

This past Tuesday was what I like to call my Martes Gigante, or the American Eyes CD Release show at the Key Club, for their new CD, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds.

In not-so-matching punk shirts that Jenn and I made (she wore The Vandals, I wore Rancid, respectively), we rocked it like a hurricane to the show.

Only, I think Jenn rocked it a bit too hard- she ended up getting a speeding ticket on the Grapevine.

Who knows why we were speeding; we had plenty of time to make it to the show. And we weren't even rocking out really. We were in mid-clap of Hall and Oates' "Private Eyes" when Jenn looked in her mirror and saw the red and blue lights a-flashin'.

"Private eyes (clap) are watching you (clap clap) They see your every move."

Kind of like the CHP.

Almost in hysterics, Jenn pulls over and begins to hyperventillate. "How fast was I going? You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Now this is when I think, "Hmph....I should have been driving." You see, I have a CHP sticker on my license and I know an officer that works the Grapevine.

I hate name-droppers. You know, the ones that know him, had dinner with her, blah blah, blah. Well, this was my time to be a name dropper, and use it to my advantage. "Excuse me officer, but is (insert officer's name here) still working up here?"

Ooooh, gotcha, CHP officer. He looked perplexed, asked me a few questions, and I could have sworn that we were off the hook.

Yeah, probably not.

Jenn got her first ticket. 88 in a 65 zone. Wow. Good one, Speedy Gonzalez.

After the little debacle, we were back on the road, a little shaken up, but still ready to rock.

It was an awesome sight when we pulled up to the Key Club. The line to get in was outrageous...all were there to see our boys in American Eyes.

As we get in line, we see that our buddy Ben Harper is in front of us, and there were tons of MySpace friends waiting, too.

Once we were in, we hit the bar, got ourselves a $7 Corona, and settled in to see Take The Crown. These boys have an awesome stage presence, and I think the lead singer is beautiful. Six boys total, including a keyboardist that Jenn adored, they rocked it a little harder than pop punk, but definitely some catchy stuff. There was a nu-metal moment with some choreographed body-banging in unison. Overall, I was stoked to finally see them live- a promisng group to keep your eye out for.

Next up was the British group Orange. We had seen the dummer and his mohawk at a few American Eyes shows in the past and never quite knew who he was. These boys were great! All under the age of 17, these kids remind me of The Matches.

After running into all of our guys from American Eyes, Jenn and I hit up the bar again with Juice from HeyMike!, and found a pristine spot to watch Never Heard Of It. Apparently they were filming their a new music video. They rocked it in true NHOI fashion, with DJ climbing up the walls and over the crowd. Rugan, the new guitarist from EWI. was amazing, and adds a flair to the band that they definitely needed. I was shocked because they finally played "Flowers" live, whic previously could only be heard on their MySpace page.

Jeff from NHOI...

Finally, the main event. Ding ding, I'm tappin' in. With the stage darkened, American Eyes took the stage sans David Henry. With a flsh of red lights and dramatic fog, Dave bounced onstage and led his band in the new version of Knifefight with a Girl.

A killer show followed. They tripped the light fantastic, doused the audience with fog and water, and kept the place rocking. I can truly say it was the most amazing show that they have ever put on.

Portrait of Dave in the fog...

Through the smoke and the fog....

Potty break in the girls room where I met up with Mel from the Philly season of the Real World. She can party like no other.

We met up with our friend Christa (she dates AE's guitarist Brent) and seriously partied with the guys until security kicked us all out.

Jenn and Christa...my dolls.

Dave loves Rancid, too....I think.

Oliver loves to show off his muscular legs.

Dave and Jenn are cheeseriffic....

Kissy face and Dave's trademarked smoldering look...

Oi Vey with Sean, Dave, and Jenn

Seriously, the American Eyes boys throw the best parties...and make the best music, too. Check them out at http://americaneyesmusic.com and pick up their new CD, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds. It seriously hasn't left my CD player at home, in the car and at work.

Big thanks to American Eyes for the amazing night, the awesome show, Jenn's speeding ticket, my random hook up with Nonstop Nick in the elevator, getting us shitfaced, the sick hangover Wednesday morning, all the friends I've made because of you, and just you guys in general. You make my life THAT much better.

Rock news from my neck of the woods....

2005-10-09T17:37:00.000-07:00

...and my neck of the woods is in the armpit of California. Too bad for that.
_____________________________________________________________________ Ahhhh, New Music Tuesdays. It's like Christmas...only it happens once every week. This past New Music Tuesday I did what I always do- I went to welcome the new releases into the world. There aren't that many great places in Bakertucky to go for new music, but I chose Barnes and Noble this particular Tuesday since it was on the way home from work.

There is something about a new CD, wrapped in cellophane, just waiting for your welcome. The smell that a jewel case emits upon first opening is better than new car smell. I wonder if they could add that to the list of pina colada and pine smells at the car wash- New CD. Mmmmmm.

I went into Barnes and Noble with one objective: no crappy music. I passed the new release section with just a glance: Melissa Etheridge, Nickleback, Deftones. Blech. Not what I wanted. What did I want? I'm not sure if I really knew the answer to that.

But then I noticed a new and unobtrusive package- Simple Plan’s new live CD and DVD, aptly titled Simple Plan: Live from the Hard Rock.

I remember catching this one night on MTV while I was running on the treadmill in my bedroom. There’s nothing like a little sugary pop punk to get the heart pumping, right. Well, that…and in quasai-groupie form, there is “taaa-daaaaa”….history there. Are you surprised? Probably not. And because of that history I abruptly tripped on my shoe and ate it....right there on the treadmill.

To make a long story short, there was a frisky night that involved San Luis Obispo, an "I kissed the lead singer" shirt, Billy Talent, Sugarcult, MXPX, Simple Plan (yowzers), drinks with Pierre Bouvier and Jeff Stinco at Bull's Taven, and a drunken and sloppy hour and a half in the mens room at said tavern. With Pierre.

So, with that being said, I chose the new Simple Plan Live CD/DVD. I had to. It was my duty as a quasai-groupie to support one of my....conquests, if you will.

It's a pretty good DVD. If you dig Simple Plan, any pop punk boy band, lots of boys with pretty hair jumping around, or Canadians in general, I recommend picking it up. Anytime I want to go back to that mens room at Bull's, all I have to do is pop this bad boy in and I am almost there....

Oh, and the boys in Simple Plan are finishing up the Australian leg of their tour, and will soon be back in the US. Watch out TicketMaster...here I come.

____________________________________________________________________ Speaking of Australia, my favorite band ever (among many), Goldfinger, just finished up their brief spin in the land down under in support of Reel Big Fish. They are playing a show tomorrow night in beautiful Hawaii, and will hopefully be heading home soon after that.

I want to tell John Feldmann how I have gotten rid of almost all my leather shoes...finally.

Oh, and I am still trying to convince Brian Arthur to take me to Disneyland.....sigh.

_____________________________________________________________________ Martes Gigante!! (That's Gigantic Tuesday for those of you who are bilingually challenged) This Tuesday is the CD Release Show for my band du jour American Eyes.

American Eyes will be previewing their new CD (which oddly, 6 of the 8 songs are from their self-titled first CD) at the Key Club on Sunset Blvd, which has become my second home.
They will be supported by The Century Of, The Red West, Fight From Above, Take The Crown, Orange, and my perennial favorite Never Heard Of It.

Apparently NHOI is capitalizing on the fact that American Eyes has captured the Hollywood dance rock scene, and will be filming a new music video that night. Pssht....like all those people would show up just for NHOI...

Oh, wait. I would. And I did for their last video. Damn.

I am stoked to see Take The Crown; I have heard nothing but praise for this up and coming band.

And according to Casual David Henry, the lead singer of American Eyes, there will be a ton of new merch at the show. I guess this means I have to start beating up my students and steal their lunch money. I need a new AE shirt for my default pic on MySpace....

Pictures and review to come soon!

___________________________________________________________________
You will find me in Visalia on Friday October 14. Why Visalia, you ask? I am attending a tattoo/rock festival at Visalia Oaks Stadium with Jenn. Whoopdie freakin' dooo. There are no big names on the ticket...well, with the exception of DMBQ.

Formed in Tokyo in 1988, DMBQ is a hard rock/psychedellic quartet that is just beginning to cut their teeth here in the states. They have generated a buzz in the LA underground scene, and played Austin's South by Southwest music festival earlier this year (with a brief mention on this season of The Real World).

I have heard the buzz for quite a while and I am stoked to finally see them live, even if it is in the other armpit of California. At a tattoo festival. God, I hope there is enough beer to go around...

____________________________________________________________________ My best-kept secret, Rock Kills Kid, will be stopping by Jerry's Pizza on October 18, with Drive-Thru darlings I AM AVALANCHE and Alternative Press wonderkids Paramore.

Made up of five very attractive young men (two of which, Reed Calhoun and Shawn Dailey, are remnants from the now defunct Brightlife), I first caught Rock Kills Kid at Sugarcult's Christmas show last December at the Anahiem House of Blues. I stood motionless in the second row, mesmerized by their haunting lyrics and suavity of their intentional grunginess. I met up with the guys afterwards to discuss the music (yeah right) when Reed stopped me, told me I had the most amazing smile he had ever seen, and proceeded to have a 30 minute discussion with him about friends and guacamole. No lie.

These guys have stolen my heart. Their 6 song self-titled EP rarely leaves my CD player. With a new album coming out this fall, an East Coast tour with the Plain White T's under their belts, and this current mini tour, they won't be my best-kept secret for very much longer.

_____________________________________________________________________ Instead of throwing a wild and drunken Halloween party dressed up as Crockett from Miami Vice and Jenn as Magnum PI, we have decided to have a rock n' roll Halloween instead. We will be making the drive out to the middle of BFE in Lancaster to see our buddy Kevin Clark hook up with his old band Guttermouth at Mr. Que's Billiards.

I've liked Guttermouth for as long as I can remember. With lyrics like "I wanna give you all of my footlong," how could you not like them, too? They write songs about vegan girls (Me!!!) and siamese twins skipping down Sunset Blvd. (Jenn and I). That is their mystique. In a sick way, I connect with the songs. So this should be a rockin' and rad show.

A high school hotel party after the show was promised by Kevin. High school party where we all get drunk, play spin the bottle and then I end up hooking up with someone's boyfriend? Hmmm, could be fun, I suppose. I mean, I never had a high school hotel party with a band before....
____________________________________________________________________

Banana Pants and heartbreak....

2005-09-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in my hairdressers chair as she is combing through the black, matted, dripping mess that is my new hair-do when my cell phone buzzed underfoot in my new brown faux suede purse.

Oooh, a new voice mail.

After dialing my Fort Knox code I hear Jenn’s voice, exacerbated and ecstatic at the same time.

“James, I’ve got some big news. I don’t want to tell you now; I want to hear your reaction. So call me back. I will tell you this, though- it’s about Banana-Pants.”

I slam my phone shut. Banana-Pants. Wow. This must be big.

Jenn and I give a nickname to almost everyone. I think it is our bitchy way of talking about people without others really knowing. It’s like our code. I have a Bea Arthur, Mary Poppins Boy, Jew Bro, Batman. These are all boys that I have loved at one point in time. She has Mary Poopins (not Poppins) Boy, Home Alone, Chester the Molester, Methdone. There’s Meatloaf, Same Brain, Jew Fro, The Beer Police, Hamburger Crab. And the names fit the personalities to a T. For sure. We even name girls. That’s our style.

It’s how we roll.

Back to Banana-Pants. I am about to divulge a secret that no one else can know, okay? It’s between you and me. The pants that contain the banana belong to Elmo Jams, drummer for Never Heard of It. I’ll get back to this later.

Long story short…our boys in American Eyes are having their CD release party on October 11th at the Key Club in Hollywood. Jenn and I have been planning this night for well over a month now. What to wear, what not to wear, who’s driving, what to drink, who to talk to, definitely who we won’t be talking to. It’s a big night for our boys, and it has to be just perfect. There are some great bands opening up for them like Orange, Take the Crown, and Clear Static. Corey Feldman is even hosting the shindig. I've been practicing my Mouth/Goonies impressions just for him. Definitely a night to remember.

Big. Bigger than big. This is Sabado Gigante. Only on a Tuesday. Martes Gigante.

I’m still sitting in the chair at the salon. I ask my hairdresser if I can make a quick call; it’s an emergency.

I speed dial Jenn’s number with a shaky finger. What the hell could it be? Banana-Pants? We just hung out with him a few weeks ago for my birthday at Big Wangs in Hollywood. What is up?

I hear Jenn pick up the phone. Before she can say anything I hiss, “Make it snappy, I’m getting my hair done.”

“So, guess who is playing the American Eyes show?”

A million and one bands fly through my mind like a mental jukebox. The Bled. Self Against City. Rock Kills Kid. Paperface? Ew, no. Bleed the Dream. Video Star? That would rock. Who, dammit, who?

“Never Heard of It.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I thought that shit was over?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am probably one of the biggest NHOI fans out there, but playing the American Eyes CD Release Show? Fuck.

I have…well, history there. I’m not going into specifics, but it’s time to move on to bigger and better bands. Bands that sell CD’s. Bands that are political or that make a difference in our world. Bands that my Dude Bro ex-boyfriend didn’t introduce me to. Bands that I don’t have a history with…and not in that quasai-groupie sense, either. Well, kind of.

And besides, what is with all this touring in the UK and Japan and forgetting about your hometown crowds? People that have been there since Johnny was in the band and DJ had normal hair. People that know the Stewardess Song and who is really Chewbacca on the hidden tracks. People like me. Whatever. I’m over it.

The last time I saw NHOI live was at the Knitting Factory back in June when American Eyes was opening for them. There was some tension there that evening. No specifics, but I will say that some drunken and heartbroken tears were shed in dramatic fashion at the Travelodge on Sunset in front of one fifth of Still Life Projector and Self Against City. That is the last time I cry in front of boys in bands. I was offered everything from a backrub to Valium.

Now that Jenn and I have become good friends with the guys in AE, I find it almost comical that NHOI is now opening for them. How’s that Japan tour working out for you now, buddies?

Back to Banana-Pants. He’s the only one that I really care for now in the whole band. He knew it was my birthday, and gave me drunken wishes and a hug. He knows that I am a teacher, and plays Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher.” Maybe this will be a good thing.

I came home and immediately jumped on MySpace, the lifeline to my music world. Just as I suspected, Dave from AE announced the NHOI addition to the show. Crimony. Then I check my comments. “Hey, how’s it goin’…..cute this….funny that….” Random comments make me happy. Then...”Hey Jamie, I saw you in NHOI’s new video for Stories Changing. That’s awesome.”

What? I’m in the video? Great. Just great. Film is forever. Especially film for a music video. Forever linked to them. This is exactly what I didn’t want to hear. I went to check it out. Yup. There I am. Rocking out. Like I was a fan at one time. A big fan.

This hurts. It just reminds me of all the good times I had, either with the band themselves, or to their music. Never Heard of It was such a big part of my life for so long. It’s crazy to think that something intangible ruled my life.

I end up venting to Jenn. I put it into perspective for her. I'm like an alcoholic. NHOI was the hooch. I went to rehab (met a new boy in a big band that is amazing). I left rehab a new woman (I am in love with that boy in a big band that is amazing). I am faced with stress in my life (NHOI playing the AE show), and I turn back to the hooch (lurking on NHOI's MySpace page for what seems like an eternity). Call up Betty Ford...I'm goin' back to the hooch.

All because of NHOI. And the certain NHOI-er that broke my heart.

But I will smile. And sing along. And if need be, socialize with them. Even if one fifth shattered my spirit and broke my heart. It it still amazing music. And amazing music is my life.

Who knows. Maybe they can redeem themselves in my eyes. Rugan is their new guitarist (who left EWI, causing them to break up and crush my heart again), Banana-Pants is still the most amazing drummer, there are new songs, and even some new hair-do's. These boys will always have a piece of my heart. Always.

But I don’t want it to take away from American Eyes. It is going to be their night, their show, and I am going to be their fan. I love them. They love me back. We are all friends. It’s as simple as that. They are the band, the men, that helped mend my spirit from the disaster of loving a boy and his band too much. And there are no awkward, heartbreaking quasai-groupie moments to cry about at a Travelodge. Just random, drug-induced dinners at Denny’s with Jew Fro, Same Brain, Meatloaf, Hamburger Crab and The Beer Police. And that is a whole other story....

My own Garden State and the American Eyes test...

2005-09-17T20:53:00.000-07:00

Last night I was bundled in my down throw, half asleep on my Miami Vice couch, watching Garden State for the second time. In a row. I was intently focused on Zach Braff's nose, like it is its own entity. I swore that I was in love with him, even if his nose had it's own weather system. Maybe it was his teeth...perfectly straight and obviously the product of some serious headgear. Pretty teeth make me happy. In this blissful state I started to yearn for a Zach Braff/Natalie Portman bathtub moment of my own, where, fully clothed in a porcelin tub, a boy would tell me that I changed his life and then kiss me like I've never been kissed before.

My cell phone rings to Thriller, snapping me out of this pain med-induced haze. "'Cause This Is Thriller, Thriller Night And No One's Gonna Save You From The Beast About to Strike..."

12:16 a.m.

It's HIM.

I answer with a groggy, "Hullo...?"

"Hey, babe...I miss you."

WHAT? You miss me? At 12:16 a.m.? You miss me?

"Are you drunk?"

There's that cute laugh of his. "No. I just wanted to call you and tell you I miss you. Been doin' a lot of thinking."

Thinking, huh? I guess you weren't thinking when you call me the night of the Bleed The Dream show, FREAKING out that I was going to be hanging out with other boys in bands. Repeatedly calling me just to make sure I wasn't "doing anything I wasn't supposed to" equals not thinking on your part, right? And to top it all off....don't do that and then not call me for 3 days. Last time I checked...you're not paying my cable bill and buying me expensive shoes, right? So, you aren't my boyfriend!

"Oh, thinking about what?"

"You. And me. And us."

Us? Like there is a "we" that means "together?"

"Oh. Uh, okay."

The call ends with an agreement that he is driving into town to see me on Saturday.

And then the wheels begin to turn. I love this guy. I've always loved him. Since I met him at 15 years old. My first boyfriend. My first kiss. He taught me how to surf. He was there to teach me how to drive a stick shift. He left for Santa Barbara while I was still in school. Dated other girls. Became a semi-pro surfer. Got a gravy job with Quicksilver. Made amazing friends. Traveled the world.

Still loves me.

And I think that I still love him.

But I can't. He's not what I want. At all. He's not in a band. No tattoos. No tight pants and eyeliner. Doesn't binge drink or chain smoke. Has no aspiratons to have his house on Cribs. He's not a....rock star.

My door bell rings this afernoon. I have butterflies. I know it's him.

I open the door, and there he is. My heart leaps into my throat and I almost start crying. There are stargazer lilies in one hand, and the other is holding a baby blue box.

"Tiffany!!" I squeal. He knows me so well. A Tiffany gift card for my birthday. Why haven't I married him yet? Oh, because he's not a rock star. That's right.

On our way out the door, I grab the American Eyes CD. A test. If he likes them, I can live with him for the rest of my life. Maybe. I pop the CD in and say, "These are my friends. Tell me what you think."

He listens to the first two songs. We stop at a red light. He looks at me and asks, "Does this guy wear chick jeans and makeup? Wait. This is the dude in the picture in your hallway?"

Whoa. Check please. May I rescind that "I can live with him for the rest of my life?"

"Yes. That's Dave. He's awesome, and I love them," I spit out defensively.

"Babe, they're rad. I like it...they just sound like he would be wearing makeup, that's all." And with a reassuring hand squeeze, I was over it. He passed the American Eyes test.

Dinner at Cafe Med. Great conversation. About Us. Capital U, lower case s. A couple of beers later and I want to bear my soul to him. But it's not that easy. How stupid does it sound? "I can't be in a serious relationship with you. Your pants aren't tight enough." Or, "Maybe this won't work....but you would look so great in eyeliner." How about, "Have you ever thought of learning the drums?"

Way to go, James. You are officially retarded for boys in bands. It's a disease that is so hard to get rid of. Like the clap. Or herpes simplex...and not the one of the mouth.

He held my hand on the drive home. It felt right. It would feel a lot better if he was in a band with the name that included some tense of "blood."

He just dropped me off. An amazing kiss. The kind where his hand is behind your head, and I do the little heel kick. And while it was no bathtub moment a la Garden State...it'll do. Although, he's still no rock star......but he did pass the American Eyes test.

Jerry's Pizza, the bathroom wall, and boys in bands....lame. For sure.

2005-09-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

So I get this hurried call from Jenn on Tuesday afternoon.

"We are on the list!"

Score.

What list, you may be asking? Oh, just on the guestlist for Bleed The Dream for their show at Jerry's on Tuesday night.

Our friend is Keith, the bassist for Bleed The Dream, and he wanted to hang out after the show, so to ensure this he put us on the guestlist so we would get in for free.

At Jerry's.

Where we are not allowed.

Why would two pleasant and polite girls be banned from Jerry's? Did we start a fight? Stab someone? Kill a resident cockroach?

No. Not even. Now, Jenn and I are hardcore (and not hxc, or whatever the fuck that is), but we would never do something of the sort. But I will admit this- There was a drunken night in the ladies room at Jerry's with a sharpie in which I defended my best friend's honor. That's it.

Banned from Jerry's for that?

Yup.

We woke up the next morning to find that we had been deleted from Jerry's MySpace friend's list (and we all know that MySpace determines our collective fate), and there was a buzz circulating about what I had written. Good thing I used my best penmanship, spelling and grammar. I had no idea that what was written would be spread around and analyzed by Jerry's elitist. Bitches. But I digress...

So, Jenn and I strolled up to Jerry's about an hour after the show had started and ran right into Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee who were defending the door like the guards at Buckingham Palace...only a bit slower and pudgier.

I walked up to Sean (yeah, I only use names of the guilty) and said, "We are on Bleed The Dream's guestlist."

He looked at me, looked at Lurch (aka Tweedle Dee), back at me again, and said, "Uh, what?"

Let me break this down monosyllabically for you, Ace.

"We. Are. On. Bleed. The. Dream's. Guest. List."

Lurch interjects with, "Durrdurrdurr...you not on Jerry MySpace list."

Whoa. We've got a quick one here. Someone definitely needs a little help with phonetics.

I retort with, "Oh, I didn't know that it was time for nerd jokes."

By this time I am ready to engage in a battle of wits with these two, and they were clearly unarmed.

Lurch points to a guy at the door and tells us that we need to talk to him.

Thank God. Someone with a brain that can read the guestlist, recognize the names, give us our bracelets, and let us in the door.

Look at these two pleasant and polite girls. They would never do anything to get banned from Jerry's.

Score. We are in, and head straight for the counter to grab a beer. I definitely need one after that encounter. We met up with Keith, exchange pleasantries, and proceed to dust our beers because apparently beer is no longer allowed downstairs. Who made up that asinine rule? Jerks.

Jenn and I jam downstairs to see Stutterfly and our friend Jason, the guitarist. Nice little Canadian hardcore band. I love their vocals and breakdowns. I even attempted to dance in the crowd of sweaty twelve year-olds.

After Stutterfly's set, Jenn and I went back upstairs for another beer and to hang out with Keith. While we were engaged in a discussion about medical marijuana, this kid approached us and said, "Hey, I like your style, girls."

Hmph. That takes some balls. Okay, kid. We'll bite. What's up?

"I'm in a band...blah blah, blah...and we write our own...yadda, yadda, yadda...and Thriftstore chic...dirka dirka mohammed jihad...and these shoes were way rad....and on and on and on...and we made our own fliers....when will the madness end....and are you guys on MySpace?"

Ding. The magic word. MySpace.

"Yes. Yes we ae on MySpace. Talk to us on there...sowesdon'thavetosithereandtalktoyou."

In my attempt to escape Chatty Patty with a Penis, I notice that there is a Yellowcard sticker above us and I want to take a picture of it. Chatty Patty with a Penis asks, "Why do you want a picture of a Yellowcard sticker?" Before Jenn can go into how Ben Harper is our friend and we are TAKEOVER RECORDS whores, I grab her hand and drag her into the bathroom.

Safe. Away from the freaks at Jerry's. In the women's room. With freshly painted walls. And a sharpie in my purse. What are the odds?

After a quick look around, I notice that there are no markings on the wall...and decide that I am the chosen one to devirginize it.

But what to write? Aha...the perfect wall art. "Fuck Hamster Boy that works the door...and his boyfriend Lurch." Okay, so it's not literary genius...but I was drunk, on pain meds from my recent surgery, and the bathroom reeked like ass and cheese. Not exactly the environment to foster prose.

Let me digress for a bit here. Apparently Sean (Tweedle Dum/doorman at Jerry's) showed up at Jenn's place of work. At Victoria's Secret. In Visalia. With a hamster cage. And said that he was just in the neighborhood. Random? Yeah. And to top it all off, they weren't even friends. He's just weird like that. So, case in point- Hamster Boy.

The Yellowcard sticker that saved our lives...

After the potty break, Jenn and I headed downstairs to watch Roses are Red. And we snuck our beers downstairs. Take that, door freaks. Just when we thought the coast was clear, Chatty Patty with a Penis snuck up and just started talking again.

He asks, "So, do you live alone?" What is that supposed to mean? Was he hitting on me? "Uh, yeah, I do."

"Oh, that's cool. Are you two, like, together?" WHAT? It took me a minute to figure out what he was asking, and then I responded with a resounding, "YES!" Grabbing Jenn's hand I hiss, "Be my girlfriend, be my girlfriend, be my girlfriend!"

"No fucking way. You two aren't girlfriends." I kiss Jenn. Not on the lips, you sickos, on the cheeck. But Chatty Patty with a Penis gets the hint and backs off.

By this time, Bleed The Dream is setting up, so Jenn and I, in total bitch mode, push our way up to the front of the crowd. After the first chord I feel the air being moshed out of my lungs and drag Jenn to the stairs where we can peer through the railing for a better look at our boys.

Intensity....scuuurrryyy.

I think he's playing the Johnny Rotten card a bit too hard.

Ganrly neck tattoos...

Keith is adorable clapping along Partridge Family style....

After the set we hung out, caught up with Jason from Stutterfly, rapped a bit with Keith (and he made fun of my Colgate smile), and then headed home. I can't wait to see what happens after they read the bathroom wall this time.....Jerry's Pizza is lame....for sure.

Why are there so many...

2005-08-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

...DUDE BROS here?

I mean, come on.

I moved to Rosedale, but it might as well be Corona-By-The-Sea....

It's so gross.

Take note, gentlemen....

I mean, your black socks with black shoes, wifebeaters, hat cocked to the side, sunglasses on the back of your heads. Are you kidding? Sunglasses were created out of necessity, not fashion.

Tattoos of tribal bands, nautical stars and iron crosses are lame. I don't think it's hot, nor do other girls. Well, with the exception of your Bro Hos...and they themselves are lame.

Ew. Lifted trucks. I hear them all night outside my apartment. There are such things as mufflers, gentlemen.

You are my neighbors. You go to my gym. You hit on me at Chuy's, at RJ's, and even outside of Target.

Do not talk to me if you listen to System of a Down, Disturbed, or Stained.

Dave Mira is not my hero. Nor is Travis Pastrana. Famous Stars and Straps was not created with you in mind. Hurley is disgraced by your baggy kahkis and poor grammar.

I don't want to hear "Dude, I benched 425 today, bro." Or, "Bro, I have a 67 inch lift on my truck, dude."

Do not think that you will start the revolution against my men in girls jeans and eyeliner. They will kill you with talent and witt. These men have more aptitude in thier pinky fingers than you do in your entire steriod-ravaged body.

So, no...Mesa Marin, Chuy's, RJ's, or whatever other dude bro stuff you do is not my pace. I don't like motorcross, quads, trucks, pool, lifting weights, beer bongs, or, to put it succinctly, you.

Don't ask me out. EVER. If you see me in a bar, notice that I am probably rocking a band shirt, and it's probably not Taproot. Then, just turn and walk away.

Yes, I have friends that happen to be Dude Bros, but these are the men I love because they are blood relation. They, for some reason, can tone down the Dude Broness while around me

As for the rest of you.....take the airport bus BACK TO CORONA DEL MAR.

<3 Miss Light

The JewFro Convention, otherwise known as...

2005-08-13T15:45:00.000-07:00

...an American Eyes show.

Jenn and I were invited my American Eyes' lead singer Dave to attend their CD wrap/pizza and beer party in Hollywood on Thursday night. And of course we obliged....these are our boys; it's our duty.

I made a decision earlier in the day to wear my naturally curly hair as is, to show Oliver (AE's drummer) that we, in fact, have the same hair. He swore that I didn't have curly hair and that I sold out to the flatiron. I thought to myself, "Heh, I'll show him who has a bigger JewFro." Like it's a competiton or something. God, I'm sick.

It was held at s.i.r., which is like a recording studio/soundstage on Sunset Blvd.

Jenn and I are escorted in by AE's Michael, and we end up in this room that looks like a miniature soundstage, crawling with Hollywood scene kids and record label suits. No joke about the pizza and beer party, too. There was a table piled high with every type of pizza imaginable, and two ice chests filled to the brim with crisp, cold Bud Light. Sigh. My favorite band with my favorite beer in my favorite city. Doesn't get better than this, my friends.

As we comandeered two comfy chairs from two obvious looking scene girls (I mean, ballet flats and white belts), I took notice of the music being pumped in by a DJ in the back. Tiffany. New Kids On The Block. Hall and Oates. Milli Vanilli? "Girl you know it's true, oooh oooh oooh, I love you." Nicely done, gentlemen. The song selections took me back to fourth grade....neon orange lunchbox, side ponytail and all. And the ice cold beer in my hand brough me back to the present day.

The boys in AE then graced us with a personal concert. They played some old stuff, Like Telephone Wires and Radio, and gave us a taste of the new CD with Unfaithful.

Dave getting down.

Oliver is my JewFro twin...we rock the curly hair.

Scrumdiddlyumtious....

Jenn and I met up with our good friend Rachel during the show. We actually met her a while back at another American Eyes show. That's what AE is all about: making friends. While intoxicated.

Nerds.

After the mini-show and pizza party, a bunch of us party people packed up with the band and headed down the road to the Key Club, an American Eyes mainstay, to pick up the party pace.

Me and Rachel and a cosmo...yummy.

I love this girl like no other. She is seriously my rock n' roll soulmate.

Picture time in the lobby....

Jenn and Dave. Just as I took this picture, Dave's friend Derrick said, "You guys would make a cute couple." I just looked at Jenn and winked. I think we all know this is true.

Drunk girls that adore Dave.

The official JewFro Convention pucture. We are all Jewish, and we all rock the JewFro.

After some drinking and dancing, we got down to an 80's cover band called Video Star, which played everything from Billy Idol to The Cure covers. Dave even joined them onstage for an INXS cover. I have never seen a room full of sublimely happy drunk people bopping about in my life.

Dave onstage with Video Star.

Jenn and I at the end of the night. I'm still rockin' the JewFro.

After a round of goodbyes and hugs, we bid our boys and friends adieu, and hit the road back to reality. Otherwise known as Bakersfield. Yuck.

All I have to say is that American Eyes has officially ruined my life. <3

One day we're gonna waste away, but we'll always have these moments, we'll always rock n' roll...

2005-07-31T22:37:00.000-07:00

Another amazing weekend filled with music, booze, spontenaiety, and my best friend. A girl couldn't ask for more.

Jenn and I trekked to the OC (land of the shallow, home of the Dude Bro) to see Goldfinger, The Vandals, and Flogging Molly at the OC Fair on Thursday night. We had some beer, some margaritas, some more beer, saw some goats and llamas, witnessed a near soccer riot during Flogging Molly's set, and rocked out.

We showed up a few songs into Goldfinger's set, but still rocked out. This was our first time seeing our friend Brian actually play with his band. And I almost peed my pants when they played "San Simeon," my favorite Goldfinger song ever. I still weep when I think of it...or not.

We love GOOLLDD...and Goldfinger.

I was stoked to see The Vandals for the first time. They played some Vandal mainstays, such as Anarchy Burger (Hold the Government) and Take It Back, but also paid homage to that cinematic flop Team America with a rendtion of "America, Fuck Yeah," that only The Vandals can do. I do believe that every Dude Bro in the joint was on his feet, fists pumping in the air. Lord, have mercy for they know not what they do...

Being that I am a vegetarian and all about animal rights, my one concern the whole evening was the pairing of The Vandals Joe Escalante and Goldfinger's John Feldmann. Any Vandals fan will know that Joe is a fervent supporter of bullfighting, and John is SuperVegan, aka Mr. PETA, with a cape. I could only imagine a converstion between the two...

By the time all 43 of Flogging Molly's bandmembers took the stage, I was drunk, Jenn was tipsy, most of the audience was too far gone, and I am pretty sure the band was tapping kegs of Guiness onstage. They played for what seemed like eternity in Irish hell...and I had to duck the various soccer jerseys flying through the air as I made my way back to the beer cart. Then, without warning, some guy onstage (no sure who...they all began to look and sound the same) mentioned the World Cup....and all Holy Mary Mother of God hell broke loose. It was a near soccer riot. Jenn and I had to bolt. I'm more of a baseball girl, myself....

We met up after the show at Matt's house in Santa Monica for Brian's 27th birthday. It featured tons of beer, some other illegal substance that I would know nothing about, a vegan chocolate cake, a little Fuck You Bitch, and more talk of Google. Oh, how we love Google.

Jenn and I after a few rounds of FYB...barely recovered from the soccer riot.

Jenn's winning hand during poker...and birthday boy Brian, the cheating dealer.

My FYB boys- Matt, Josh, and Brian.

Me, my lovely Matt, and Brian.

My favorite people- Josh, Jenn, and Matt.

The next day Jenn and I decide to forgo her welcome home show in Bakersfield (featuring National Product and Stretch Armstrong) and choose instead to suprise our boys in American Eyes and The Insurgence in San Diego. We had no idea that a seven hour jaunt in traffic was in store for us. We rocked it like a hurricane on the 405 and made it just in time to see them!

Jenn and I in the bathroom of the Zombie Lounge.

Both bands were so stoked to see us, especially since I had just seen them days before at home. And I am really glad we decided to drive down to San Diego...no one showed up for this show. To top it off, Dave was feeling horrible and I was afraid that he wouldn't want to play. Luckily for us there was a whole lot of hair grabbin' and ass shakin' from him.

American Eyes doin' the damn thing.

The Insurgence...whoa.

The obigatory Jamie and Dave pic.

After the show, Jenn and I hung out with Jibo from The Insurgence and had some beers. I think I may be developing a bit of a crush on the man....

The next day Jenn and I took it easy: Lunch and shopping in Newport, Spinal Tap and Hall and Oates at Amoeba in Hollywood.

Good weekend. Better company. Amazing music. That's what it's all about.

American Eyes and coloring books...

2005-07-27T22:04:00.000-07:00

I saw American Eyes at The Boiler Room this evening sans my partner in crime. I felt like I was cheating on Jenn since she introduced me to the men that stole my heart, but hey, her ass is on its way back from gay Par-ee...so, uh, there.

Word on the street is that Dave broke his thumb hitting a hooker in Vegas last night, so I thought that I would cheer him up with a little token from me and Jenn. I went to Target and found these awesome coloring books about ponies, since everyone knows that Dave is a man's man with a penchant for ponies. I even sprung for the glitter crayons that were a buck fifty more. Once the package was tied with a pretty purple curly bow, I was set to go and ready to rock.

By the time I got to the show I was ready to pee my pants. I hadn't seen the guys in, like, almost a month, and I was having American Eyes withdrawl...I was worse than a Methadone addict. Well, I wasn't scratching...yet.

I bumped into Dave in a doorway, promptly knocking the glitter crayons out of my hands. He and I heard them break, and he gave an audible gasp before picking them up and hugging me. Dave was so stoked to get the coloring books and swore that he would use them on the ride to San Diego. He's such a nerd...but so am I. I bought a grown-ass man coloring books. That he will actually use....

First up was The Insurgence, a dirty punk group from Seattle. I was really feelin' it, too.

American Eyes set was amazing, considering all they had to work with was substandard acoustics and a diminutive stage.

My boys during "Radio."

I do believe Michael stole this hat from me...

Arrrgh....

Dave is checking out Michael's skills....

Story time with the Zonshinester...

Dave is making a "pit stop" in that shirt...

American Eyes

After AE's set I went outside to catch up with Dave, where he filled me in on their recent tour with Go Betty Go, taught me some Spanish he picked up on the road ("Mi bigote es el bigote del fuego"...meaning "My moustache is the moustache of fire"), and told me stories of when he used to be homeless (a falsity) and worked in a preschool (the truth). While he and I were goofing off I ended up missing Liars and Thieves set. Ah, next time.

I also hung out with a few of the guys from The Insurgence. Jibo, the lead singer, even gave me their EP for free. Score.

Dave's sportin' a new 'do....and I am sportin' a smile.

I really wish that Jenn was there. She's stuck in LAX as I type. At least she got a voice mail from our favorite guy Dave, and I snagged two limited edition Knife Fight With a Girl EP's from his as well. Aren't I the greatest friend?