Random jonx, in honor of the glorious return of my friend and bad-ass blogger Fyrchk. Welcome back from hiatus, mama! Missed you much.

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The gig Friday night went really well! We rocked the spot, and have been invited back to play again sometime. And for those of you who wonder about the glamorous rock star life style, here’s a little peek into the reality of it – for our headlining gig, we got paid, as an entire band, $125. That’s not a typo. We got something like $5 for every person who said they were there to see Nonetheless, so that’s our mighty haul for the night. We don’t even split that money up – we apply it directly to band rent. And it doesn’t even cover half. We’ll be a-gigging again in a couple of weeks to make up the difference. Other than that (and our lead singer arriving approximately 5 hours later than expected), the show was so cool. At one point, when we were playing our signature song “Show Me (Your Tits)”, I glanced to my left, where the stage steps were, and there were 2 security guys just standing at the top of the steps. Generally speaking, seeing the beefy security guys all up next to you isn’t a good thing, so I eased over to them during the song and said “Is everything ok?” They looked at me and said “Hell YEAH, everything’s ok! Wouldn’t you wanna be up here, if you were us?” Turning back to the audience, I realized why – there was a sea of breasticles, lovingly displayed to us by our wonderful crowd. God, I love being in a band. Check out the marquee:

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WE’RE ALL UP ON THE MARQUEE, PEOPLE! This was so damn nice, I nearly wet myself as I pulled up to the place. The venue is a converted theater, and still has many of the elements from that day and age. See the room?

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This is about an hour before the show started. For those of you who don’t get out to rock clubs often, this place is HUGE. HUGE.

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This is what it looked like, via crappy cell phone picture, during the show. Hopefully I’ll soon have some semi-professional looking pics of the event, maybe even some of us onstage. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and I got pulled over by the cops at 4:30am as I was trying to get my black ass home. Fortunately, I didn’t get a ticket…he was a music fan, and I played up the band angle hard core. A fitting end to a good night.

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On Saturday, 8YO wanted to go to the local baseball tryouts. He’s been wanting to do this for over a month, and has been on his best behavior since I last posted about him. He’s counting the days like a prisoner up for parole. At any rate, he and I went to the ballpark Saturday afternoon so that he could see where his skillset was, compared to other kids. He’s never played baseball before, and even though we had worked on throwing, catching, and hitting, I wasn’t certain where he’d line up, with other kids having played for 2 or 3 years already. Naturally, he ran into some kids he knew and immediately left ol’ Dad to wait in line with a tiny baseball bat and a very hung-over expression (remember, the gig was the night before). I watched as the coaches threw high-arcing lobs for kids to catch in the outfield; hit grounders so that the kids could practice throwing to first base; let them pitch a bit, and then allowed them to bat and run the bases. And I know these are little kids, but honestly – they could’ve all tried a little harder. One kid threw the ball clean over the fence and into the actual baseball game taking place one field over. He’ll not be pitching anytime soon, methinks. After an hour of watching the competition, it was 8YO’s turn.

Outfield: Coach threw five lobs, and 8YO caught four and flung them to 2nd base. Well, one went to the dugout, but the boy was nervous. And so was the guy in the dugout.

Infield: Coach hit 5 ground balls, and 8YO used good technique (taught by yours truly) to scoop the balls and throw them to 1st base. This he did without an issue.

Pitching: 8YO threw 5 pitches to home plate. Now, the first pitch went so high, I think it scraped the bottom of a cloud, but the other four were pretty level and over the plate. He looked like Roger Clemens, only without the steroids syringe sticking out of his buttocks.

Batting: OK, here’s where my boy did it up for real. 5 pitches from the coach. The first one, he swung and missed.  I was holding my breath. The second pitch, PING! He sent it to left field, and started running like his shoes were on fire. The coaches called him back, telling him that they only wanted him to run on the last hit. The third pitch, PING! Right back to the coach. And he ran like goats were eating his pants while they were still on him. The coaches called him back, and told him to run on the last hit. The fourth pitch, PING! Hard to shortstop. And he ran like midgets were throwing lightning bolts at his neck while sliding down an oiled ramp. The coaches called him back, and told him to run on the last hit. The last pitch, PING! Foul to left, but the coaches yelled “RUN!” And he ran like NASA attached afterboosters to his Heelies, going so fast that he didn’t hit ANY of the bases except for home plate, where the coaches waited to high five him. It was magnificent. The other kids? They made contact with the ball once or twice, and jogged around the bases like they had just hit home runs. My boy shut it DOWN. I even heard the coaches murmuring to each other, as though they were saying “My God, the talent this young man has! I’ve never seen such raw speed!” Or something like that.

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8YO, getting last-minute instructions from the soon-to-be awestruck coach.

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8YO, right after hitting pitch #3. I need to work on his stance, but he’s got Wii-influenced hand/eye coordination.

I got the phone call today…he made it! He’ll be on a team called the Beavers or the Barons or something, and we’ll meet up tomorrow night to see what’s what. I’m so proud of him. I just hope he keeps on counting his good days.

Peace.

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