Dear God.

It’s 11am, and I just woke up. Anyone who knows me would understand how completely “not me” that is, since I’m usually up at the crack of 8:30. But after nearly 3 long months, Nonetheless FINALLY had a show! Oh yes. After our completely successful New Year’s Eve gig, we were geared up to really hit 2007 hard and play some shows in different venues, and basically create more havoc on more stages, but that plan got derailed when our lead singer was arrested on an old felony charge. I won’t get into details, but it involved a kidnapping and grand theft auto and other scary-sounding charges that really just amounted to a colossal misunderstanding, and as a result, he had to cool out in the cooler for a little bit. In the end, it worked out pretty well for the band (although not so much for him), because it gave us enough time to write 3 new songs. But 3 months is a LOOONG time between shows, and we were getting pretty sick and tired of looking at each other in rehearsal, you know? After our drummer threw several drumsticks at me, I knew it was time to gig.

The show? Fantastic! We didn’t display any signs of rust, and this was the first show longer than 40 minutes where we didn’t play a single cover song. We played a solid hour and 15 minutes of our own material. This may not seem like a big deal to many of you, but it take a very long time to create that much original music. About a year ago, we played a gig with another local band. As we began unloading our equipment, the headlining band came up to us and asked if we could play an entire hour because one of the other bands had canceled at the last moment. We couldn’t. We only had about 35 minutes worth at the time. So to finally get to a point where we can play a headliner’s minutes (50 -75 mins) worth of NTL music is very rewarding. We wrote one song especially for the ladies. It’s an ode, a tribute, a request to that particular demographic to actively participate in our show. The song is titled “Show Me”, with the other two (hidden) words being “your tits.” Oh yes. We went there. We’ve had several shows where certain drunk as hell liberated young ladies decided, during the course of the performance, to graciously display the beautiful gifts the good Lord gave ’em, and without even being asked. So we asked ourselves, “How many MORE sets of loveliness could we convince to come forth if we ask nicely?” The answer is “Not as many as we’d like.” The crowd seemed to love the song, but the overall reaction was one of shock, as if they were saying “I KNOW they did NOT just sing that song.” At any rate, we kicked som major ass at the show, and can’t wait to get it going again. Next weekend we go into the studio to record, my favorite thing to do of all. I’m kidding. I hate recording. It’s just about the most unnatural way to play music, except for anything that Micheal Jackson or R. Kelly do when they play music. I’ll keep you posted.

Today, I woke up around 11am, which if you know me personally, you know that’s unusual as hell. Ordinarily I can’t sleep past 8, on account of my adorable hellbats thinking dear ol’ Dad is some sort of man-shaped trampoline. However, DWW let me snooze, which I appreciate. My first task of the day (after cooking some bacon, of course) was to go buy a new lawnmower. I have bad luck with lawnmowers, people. I have a riding mower (which doesn’t work) and a regular push mower (which doesn’t work). I was tired of the bullshit, so I went to Home Depot and bought one of THESE puppies:

lawnmower1.jpg

HELLO, 1957!! Minus the segregation. Yeah, I went all retro and bought an old-timey spinning lawnmower, straight outta “Leave It To Beaver”. While DWW cut the grass, I got a malted from the soda shop and dropped my cousin off at a sock hop. It looks like it does a good job, and it’s environmentally friendly – no gas, no emissions. Don’t think for a second that I won’t be out there, iPod firmly in place, using this converted slingblade like Billy Bob Thorton. Erm-hmm. Seriously though, is this thing not bad-ass? And it’s not any more difficult to push than a self-propelled gas mower. Not that I’d know, since I only pushed it far enough to see if the bitch would work. But that 15 feet I pushed it?

Sweet.

A’ight, I’m outtie. Somewhere there’s a bed with my name all over it. I hope that shit’s in Arial font and not Times New Roman, ’cause those sharp corners on the K in “Dark” could cut a brotha.

Peace.

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