Musician, Freak, Dayjobber, Etc.

Honestly, is there anything in the world more stupid than the concept of Skoal Bandits? I didn't think so either. Well, the hell with it -- welcome to my shit-stained weekly blog, the Official Blog of the 1984 Winter Olympics. My name is Uncle Susan, and I'll be your host for this episode of "That's My Spleen". So, did any of you tune into the Abe Lincoln Story broadcast last Monday on KXLU's Neuz Pollution? If you did, I humbly thank you (and I apologize for my extremely thin guitar tone). If not, you can dial it in and listen online here. I do thank you so very much. In other Abe Lincoln news, we have a gig this Saturday, June 26th, at 8:00PM sharp (the early show!) at the one, the only MBAR (1253 N. Vine Hollywood, reservations recommended 323.856.0036). Why don't you drag your skanky ass down there and check us out? I mean, come on, how many times have I gone out and supported YOUR band? I thought so. See you there -- don't be a squareback. And -- wait for it -- there's MORE Abe Lincoln Story news: we recorded the basic tracks for no less than seven songs yesterday. SEVEN SONGS! Of course, it took us eight hours, but, by criminey, we done did it. I'm certain that we nailed keeper drum, bass, electric guitar and acoustic piano tracks -- now for the overdubbing sessions! All of this is, of course, for a new ALS album, due out whenever the hell it comes out. Now, the last bit of Abe Lincoln Story news: we are playing a Fourth of July party on Saturday, July 3rd, at a house in Highland Park; email me for all of the gory details. This will be a fun, crazy party -- you won't want to miss it. Be there and watch me blow a finger off while I shoot off my illegal fireworks.

Last weekend was pretty tame; Nipper and I pretty much stayed home all weekend. We took a six mile hike in the Santa Monica's on Saturday; Saturday night, I was too burned out to go to the Adam Marsland's Chaos Band show at Brennan's, much to Nipper's disappointment. Sorry, sometimes you gotta take care of #1 first, even if it means not hanging out with your friends for a night. Overall, it was a nice, low-key weekend, and I enjoyed it very much.

This week I should be receiving -- via US mail -- the brand-fucking-new Mike Keneally album "Dog", so I'm looking more than forward to listening to it -- headphones on, bong in hand -- when it arrives. Of course I will be reviewing it as soon as I have time to absorb it -- which, frankly, could take weeks. Hopefully.

Also this week, Nipper's new band "Gee, My Pee Smells Teriffic" (website pending) is playing their second gig at Zen Sushi (2609 Hyperion Ave., Silver Lake 323.665.2929) on Thursday, June 24th. Dunno what time. Just be there. Listen to the raw power, the raw RAWK, of "G,MPST". You'll wet yourself with joy (or, perhaps, agony; is there blood in my pee?).

Lastly, you all know I'm a bit of a trout-o-holic, a nature-boy, a tree fugger, right? Well, this coming weekend, my trusty pal (and fellow fish fanatic) Bernard Yin and I are donning our backpacks, packing our tarps and sleeping bags (and Bacardi 151), and hitting the trail for a two-day overnight trip deep into the lower Piru Creek drainage. It should be about a 12-mile roundtrip backpack -- all trailless boulder scrambling -- following the creek deep into some crazy-ass wilderness. Don't laugh; even though, as the bro drives, we'll be within a few miles of Interstate 5, this is some seriously remote territory, seldom visited and teeming with wildlife (and, reportedly, large rainbow trout). I haven't been backpacking in about five years, and I am soooo looking forward to this trip -- it should be a blast! So, wish us both a little backpacker's luck and here's hoping it all works out fine.

Okay, kids, that about wraps this message up. Thanks for reading this! I appreciate your kindness, your support, your heroin. Until next week (I'm off in the woods on Monday!), remember: architecture is frozen music, so pitch a tarp in the brush today, and enjoy a good night's sleep under the milkyway tonight. xoxox kErrY xoxox

Hey ya'll, thanks for tuning into my weekly blog. I didn't write an entry last week -- I was down and out with a cold for a few days, missing some work and just staying home and resting, getting caught up with things around the house, taking it easy, etc. So, after a few days off and a full weekend of relaxing, I'm back. Nipper and I did basically nothing over the weekend, except for hang out around the house and relax. We did have a really nice dinner on Sunday in celebration of our fifth anniversary; I can't believe it's been five years!!! Oh, Nipper bought herself a cool blue flower Telecaster; I wish I could play it!!! Damn this left-handed-ness!!!

And that was the weekend.

So what is it lately with me and dining-n-dashing? There's a bagel shop right near my day job, and for some reason they generally neglect to charge me for my morning bagel and coffee. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to skip out on paying; they just seem to forget that I owe them money for the bagel and coffee. I've found myself walking out of the shop with free food on more than one occasion; it just happened this morning. I have my coffee, they hand me my bagel, and say "Thank you, have a nice day", letting me go without paying. How often am I supposed to remind them that I owe them money? On at least three separate occasions, I've reminded them that I owe them, apparently to no avail. I refuse to feel guilty about this, considering it's basically the fault of their incompetent staff, and not mine. Until they bust me, I'm going to continue to ride 'em for all I can get. Yum, jalapeno and cheese!

Here's an example of a real dining pet peeve of mine.

Last weekend, after a band rehearsal, I stopped for dinner at a well-known local mexican restaurant. This place is located in the Hollywood area, near one of the many studios, and it's walls are lined with autographed celebrity photos and such (I sat under photos of Burt Bacharach and Ted Nugent, of all the crazy things). I'd been wanting to try this place for a few years; it looked like a classic old-school family run restaurant. My expectations were high.

I went in, was seated fairly quickly, and proceeded to have myself an astonishingly bland meal. I'm a big fan of mexican food, and the food at this place just wasn't up to snuff -- it was pretty boring, actually. The salsa was really plain and watery, the rice had a weird tobacco taste to it, and the enchilada was actually leathery and tough to cut (note to restaurant owners: flour tortillas stuffed with melted cheese should not offer resistance to a knife). However, the service was fairly attentive and the food wasn't all THAT bad, even though, for mexican cuisine, it was fairly pricey (my dinner was $15.95, plus a large margarita which was $9.00). Before I had finished with my meal, I'd pretty much decided that I wouldn't be returning any time soon -- I'm a picky snob when it comes to my mexican food. Don't mess with my mexican, Jack!

I finished my boring meal, the servers cleared my table, and I waited for the check. And I waited. I waited some more. Then, just to be sure, I waited awhile longer. The waiters (I had had several different waiters at various times during the meal) kept passing back and forth, back and forth, ignoring me, and still, after close to twenty minutes after having my table cleared, I still hadn't received a bill -- major pet peeve of mine. Once again, I was being offered a free meal -- I mean, they wouldn't even give me a bill for the food I had just consumed (close to $30.00 worth), so I decided to quietly leave.

This place has a couple of different dining rooms; I happened to be in the small, front dining room, along with about a dozen other diners. My car -- if you can call it that -- was parked right out in front. I had about ten steps between me and the front door. I wondered if I should put a cash tip on the table just to give the illusion that I had already paid (I decided against it). I watched the waiters come and go; they'd often disappear behind a wall after they'd taken or delivered various orders. Several times, all of the waitpersons were completely out of the dining room, off hiding behind their little wall. Several times -- my heart racing -- I thought about walking out. It was kind of fun, feeling the rush of knowing what I was about to do. Anyway, the next time all of the waiters were out of the room, I grabbed my things and calmly made my way to the door. I nervously fumbled with the front door; it seemed locked. Damn! But I was just nervous. I messed with the doorknob; the door opened. I thought I felt several other diners watching my every move, but, then again, I'm paranoid/delusional. I stepped into the sunlight and slowly made my way to my "car". I stopped on the sidewalk and stretched, emitting a foul belch, the acrid, gaseous residue of tonight's meal; I deliberately took my time, half-expecting someone to come out of the restaurant and demand payment. I had planned to say "Si, senor, I was just coming out to get my wallet, mi amigo. Here's your pesos."

Predictibly, no one came out. No one came after me, demanding payment. I think what happened was that no single waiter had served me; I was attended to by no less than THREE waiters. I don't think any of them felt accountable for me; they all probably thought one of the other waiters had taken care of my paying the bill. Dumbfucks. I unlocked my "car", got inside, fired up the willing engine (responding with a roar), and took off. Yes! I had escaped paying a $30.00 dinner bill, all because the staff couldn't figure out a way to place a check in front of me. I was elated, but also somewhat slightly disappointed -- I was really hoping that I was going to discover a really great mexican place, and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.

Okay, so, tonight the Abe Lincoln Story will be gracing the airwaves in the Los Angeles area, performing a very special show: KXLU's Neuz Pollution. We go on at 11:00PM, so please, do tune in (or listen online if you prefer). I'll be the fool playing electric guitar. Thanks in advance for tuning in! Also this week, the Abe's will be going into the studio to begin recording material for a new album, so that will be fun. We also have gigs coming up on June 26th (at M-Bar, where-and-whatever the hell that is) and at a party on July 3rd; details will be posted here, of course. Busy, busy. Meanwhile, the upcoming Tribeca album is being mixed as we speak; from what I'm hearing so far, it's sounding incredible. We're still hoping to get the album out before the end of summer, for whatever that's worth. Trust me, no matter when it comes out, it's going to RULE.

And that's that. Thanks again for tuning in -- week after boring week -- and reading my stuff. I appreciate your kindness, your support, your love. Until next week, remember: architecture is frozen music, so build yourself a saltbox on Martha's Vineyard today. May all your Ted Kennedy's. xoxox kErrY xoxox

"Hi, I'm kErrY, and I'd like to thank you for reading my blog. So, how was your Memorial Day weekend? That's great, so did we! What a coincidence. Okay, catch you later."

And so it goes. Last weekend was pretty awesome, a nice mix of partying and mellowing out. Friday night found Nipper and I partying with everyone's favorite prog-surf band The MiGS; good times were had, even though we left pretty early (I was starving and half-raving drunk). Saturday we stayed in bed literally all day; I never even left the house, changed clothes, or showered. How is that for luxury? It was nice, hanging out in bed all day, watching TV, and reading the incredibly fucked-up biography of "Papa" John Phillips. Man, that guy did so many drugs it's unreal; at one point, he was shooting coke every 10 minutes. Anyway, we stayed home Saturday night even though our good friends The Andersons! were playing right down the street. We just didn't feel like going out and socializing.

Hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now. Okay, there.

Sunday found us taking a nice drive to the Palisades, driving around the canyons and looking at awesome old houses, the air sweet with sunshine and the intoxicating scent of jasmine and jacaranda. The weather was insanely gorgeous, quintessential Los Angeles. We drove up the coast then up and over the Santa Monica mountains to Troutdale, a "fish farm" where I wanted Nipper to catch her first trout. The 'woman' running the place was an absolute bitch from hell, instantly chastising us for our choice of parking spots, then demanding the non-refundable $10.00 admission fee, storming off in a huff after I paid her. The trout ponds were an odd, pee-yellow color, and murky, too; the fish were not visible at all. Also, the action was SLOW -- virtually no one was catching any fish, at least not while we were there. Yawn. We went to rent a fishing pole, but all they had were bamboo sticks with no reels at all, just a 5' line with a hook attached. A small plastic garnish-sized container filled with corn kernals (the bait) went along with the pole. We laughed at the stupidity of it all, then told the creepy 'woman' to fuck off. I believe Nipper told her to buy some Prozac. Then we split for the valley, where we did some antique shopping in Agoura before heading back to town.

Hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now. Okay, there.

Sunday night found us at the home of our good friend Aron O. (aka Laffypants the Clown) for a birthday party for one of his friends, a kid named Joe. We had an awesome night, with Nipper and Don Bolles trading licks on Aron's acoustic guitar, treating us to all kinds of old punk rock covers and generally cutting everyone up (not literally). We hung out until fairly late, playing music, BBQ-ing, and just having fun. Aron's lovely girlfriend Rebecca Lynn (of the Centimeters among others) played hostess and made sure everyone had a grand old time. Thanks you two!!!

Hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now. Okay, there.

Monday morning found Nipper sleeping in while I did some yardwork around her house. Later that day, we went to our good friend Marci's house in the Beverly Hills flats, where we spent a HOT afternoon hanging out at their giant pool with it's awesome cabana. We soaked in the sunshine, went swimming, read the paper, and relaxed by the sparkling blue waters. After that, we went to the grocery store and bought all the fixin's for a BBQ steak dinner, which I dutifully prepared; it was very, very good, indeed. We both went to bed early and that was our Memorial Day weekend.

Hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now. Okay, there.

This week finds me with various things to do: tonight, Tuesday June 1st, I am going to try to catch a guitar clinic by the great Mike Keneally over in Canoga Park. I also have an Abe Lincoln Story rehearsal tomorrow night, and I might have to blow off Keneally tonight and stay home and practice instead. Decisions, decisions. I'm also considering an offer to play guitar for a couple of theater performances here in the Valley, a play called Forbidden Planet; the setlist is all rock-n-roll oldies. I'm not sure I have time for this gig, but I'm mulling it over and fooling around with some of the material. There's also a Jupiter Affect show on Wednesday that I *might* go to after rehearsal -- we'll see how much energy I have (hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now; okay, there). Then, this weekend marks Nipper's and my fifth anniversary -- five years!!! I can't believe how fast it's gone. We just might sneak away this weekend to Palm Springs and check into our favorite little low-key motel, the El Rancho Lodge (yes, Mike Simmons, we're staying there in spite of your kickass tiki oasis recommendations), and just relax the whole weekend. What do you get your mate for your 5th anniversary? Coke?

Off on the horizon, I am planning my set for my upcoming solo gig at the 6th annual International Pop Overthrow, as well as planning late summer trip to the western Sierras, for trout fishing, hiking, and hot springing. I'm also -- I SWEAR -- going to try and complete the music and vocal overdubs for parts 3 and 4 of my prog-rock epic. I've been playing all 4 parts in a row lately and it's sounding cool. I just need to somehow find the motivation to finish it.

Q. What would Papa John do?

A. Coke.

And that, my friends, is all for this week. Keep your shorts clean and your needles sterilized, and remember to wash those exploded veins out real good with Clorox bleach to get rid of those pesky coke bugs. Until next week (hold, on, I've gotta shoot some coke now; okay, there), remember, architecture is frozen music, so build yourself a mid-century modern in a sycamore-studded Palisades canyon today. xoxox kErrY xoxox