Ah L'Amour!

Love is in the air. Amidst the molecules of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and even the methane that was just emitted not a second ago from my rear end, love manages to be found! I refer not to my everlasting love for my wife, nor my uncontrolable lust for Mountain Dew but rather my brother's love of his newly acquired wife. Yes, Buddy got married! And what a wedding! There were Celtic musicians, dapper groomsmen (if I do say so myself), and above all things: a 1957 Cheville classic. Dang was it pretty. A hired chauffer was dressed to the nines to make sure people got from the parking lot to the church at the end of the lane. You see the church for this wedding was unique from all other wedding churches I've attended because it is the smallest church I've ever been in. Here's a music video for reference; try to skip to the guitar solo.



Ah November Rain. The video that begs the question: "If they can afford to hire an orchestra for the video, why can they get studio musicians to play for the damn song?" Oh yeah, the church.
The church in the above video is actually one steeple larger than the church into which we crammed 12 wedding party members, 35 guests, a Celtic band, and oh yes, the bride and groom. There was no room left for any more guests (who were exclusively invited to the reception), or things like parking, and a little item known as a bathroom. That's right folks; if you had to go, you'd better find a large headstone in the cemetery outside to crouch behind. Fortunately there were no casualties and the wedding went off with a hitch. There were a few laughs, a lot of tears, and a few random utterances from my senile grandmother (whom I love dearly).

After the service, we walked down to a wharf (not the klingon) were the S.S. Playbuoy (not kidding) was arriving to take the wedding party to the reception hall. To contrast the driver of the Cheville (aka my hero), the captain of this boat was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt to show off his ugly tattoos. Three glasses of champagne later, I was not complaining. In fact there was plenty of sparkling wine and Whoppers to amuse most of the party as we floated upriver. Lindsay, who was not the biggest champagne fan, decided after one brief toast that one glass was too many and decided to throw the contents of her plastic wine cup into the Mullica River. This brilliant maneuver was thwarted only by my lovely wife and her 65-bobby-pin hairdo which ended up soaking up most of the champagne intended for Davy Jones (not the Monkees miraca player). To exacerbate matters, the shock from this miscalculation caused Liz to spill her glass onto the best man's lap. Good times. We eventually arrived at the reception dock where we were greeted properly. An angry mob who was only invited to the reception was waiting on the shore posied to throw severed mum heads at us (that was Buddy's brilliant idea). After picking a few petals out of my teeth, I was ready to get smashed.

The rest of the evening went how a reception should: whiskey, toasts, whiskey, the Electric Slide, whiskey, and a chocolate fondue fountain (mmmmm). Two words for you guys: Nutter Butters. A good night was had by all.

Let's back up to before the wedding and have a quick story. The groomsmen (myself included), were all gathered at the in-laws' cutting the heads off of flowers. For once, this was encouraged instead of forbidden by uptight neighbors so I was not enjoying it in the least. Dave, who had repeatedly been proving his incompetance as a groomsman, wandered into the yard to smoke a cigarette. He stumbled upon what can only be described as one of the coolest battles in nature. A hornet had become entangled in the web of a small spider. Normally, if an animal is too large for a spider, they simply cut their losses and retreat. This little guy, who was a little smaller than the hornet's face, was no coward and was fighting for his meal. The hornet was attached by his abdomen and was struggling furiously to break the bond. The spider was methodically running up and down this strand of web and fortifying his tether. Whenever he could, he wrapped in a leg or a wing to further enfuriate the hornet. The hornet was no quitter either, it was biting the strand and occasionally trying to bite the spider. All six groomsmen, the groom, and a couple random girls were all gathered around this battle like it was the freaking parthanon. It was even cooler that the best man happened to be a versed entomologist. In the end (which we missed), the hornet got away. I was rooting for the spider myself, but hornets are pretty resilliant.

Speaking of resilliant hornets, this next video may be the coolest thing ever. Somehow 11 hornets slay about 30,000 honey bees and take over their hive. Leave it to National Geographic to get some great slowmotion footage. And leave it to some pubescent douchbag to score it to the slap-happy sounds of Mudvayne. Your bee massacre:

Albert Einstein is a genius

The theory of releativity is a wonderful concept. According to most physicists, the faster one accelerates, the slower time passes. There are many complicated formulas to back up this claim. I've seen the chalkboards full of "numbers" and "variables". But I swear, Einstein had one lazy weekend, realized how quickly it passed, and created a "theory": .

"It's Monday already?!?! Eat my chunder cheese! Hmmm...eat my chunder cheese...emcc...E=MC2. Eureka! They're sure to buy that back at the lab. Maybe they'll give me another couple days off."

It's all relative. Out of all the quantum physics gobbledy-gook, this theory remains the most understood by the populus. The slower our lazy asses move, the faster we grow into old farts. This last weekend, for example, I slept in on Saturday and took a nap today. I can barely beleive that tomorrow in Monday. Chunder cheese indeed!

But it's not like I wasted my weekend. On Friday, I entered myself into a Magic: The Gathering tournament. It went something like this:



As annoying as these people are, it does not compare my first opponent that night. He pissed and moaned every step of the way. I'm not a violent man, nor am I one for confrontation, so it should be noted that I not only wanted to slap this man, I definitely told him that he was acting like a bratty 8 year-old and should not be playing the game. Fortunately, I kicked his ass in record time and got him to storm out of the card shop kicking and screaming. Not too many people rub me the wrong way (think goalie gloves) but this guy was worth punching.
If none of this captivated you in any way, not to worry. I am used to being somewhat of a pariah thanks to my dorky lifestyle. As Liam would say: "His tenth level Elf-wizard cast his cod-piece of power and killed my goblin-ninja." It sounds funnier when he says it because he's a complete idiot.

I got to watch The Last Kiss after that with Liz. I think she was expecting a Zach Braff romantic comedy, which most of it was. However, there was a lot of 29-life crisises going around and a few stressful moments of betrayal and heartache. Thank goodness there were boobies too. Made it all seem worthwhile. Einstein would have liked it.

Saturday was the true test of Einstein's great work. I decided that the day needed to be thoroughly wasted. I started by sleeping through much of it. Even after I couldn't sleep anymore, my scientific mind refused to give up on the experiment. I sat and watched the Simpsons for another couple hours. I could feel myself aging more rapidly than ever. My hair was growing longer, I was becoming greyer, and I'm fairly sure I wanted to play bingo very badly. Relativity be damned! This was no time to donate my body to science. Liz and I quickly left for a house-warming party. And not a moment too soon; I was beginning to think I should shop for depends.

The party itself was chock full of strangers. As our bodies had not acclimated to normal social speeds, we were still apprehensive to talk, eat, or really do anything. We paced and sat a bit but didn't talk to anyone, mostly because we only knew the hosts. Thanks to a few familiar late arrivals and a horseshoe pit, we were able to stimate our brains enough not to fall into a coma. Let it be mentioned here and now, both Liz and I SUCK at horseshoes. We were closer to killing deer than getting a single ringer.

This morning's worship service was great. We actually had many more than four people who were crazy enough to come to an 8:15 service. Good music, good people, and God who is good. A perfect way to spend the day. I felt at that moment that life according to Einstein was moving too slowly. The rest of the day was spent with my family who are brilliant physicists as well. We all spent the day speeding up time. It felt great.

Well here's a funny movie. This is a pivotal scene in the movie Zardoz when the immortal God Zardoz gives his minions guns via expectoration and tells them how evil the penis is. Look for a middle-aged Sean Connery towards the end. What awesome crap!

Boy do I love the Mountain Dew.

Back in high school, a group of us cool kids would get a hack circle going during our lunch break. While keeping it in play was our initial goal, we soon realized that our superior dexterity and aerodynamic physiques were able to attempt every footbag trick discovered by man. At least that's what we told ourselves. There was only one of us that was any good and we basically let him make us look good. But look good we did and so we had a ritual of hacking three times a day (no lie). When it wasn't a beautifully sunny day, we would try and get a pow-wow going in the hallway right outside our cafeteria. Besides a couple trophy cases, a pay phone, and the fact that it was a throughway and we could seriously injure a passerby, it was the perfect place to set up circle. We would play with our sack until we were blue in the face (inuendo? inyourendo!)



But we growing boys needed sustenence. And luckily for us, there was a Pepsi machine not four feet from our circle, hidden underneath a neighboring stairwell. Lurking in the bowels of our high school kept those cans of soda nice and cold. It was after one such of these exhausting hack sackeries that I bought my first can of Mountain Dew for fifty-five cents. I have been hooked on the stuff ever since! There is nothing tastier than an ice-cold can of Mountain Dew. It hit that spot I needed it to hit. It even hit spots I never knew it could hit. And as I would grow to learn, it hit spots I probably don't want it to.
Mountain Dew is not good for me at all. Not even a little. You should see the poison they put in this stuff. I mean, we men have been giggling over the Yellow #5 urban legend for years. For you women who have no idea, it is rumored to be a colorful spermicide. Sperm-counts aside, there are worse ingredients to consider: Sodium Benzoate for one, High Fructose Corn Syrup (they'll put this in mashed potatoes if they get the chance) and most notoriously, Brominated Vegetable Oil. But you don't have to take my word for it [du dun dun] (that was from Reading Rainbow): http://www.sdreader.com/php/ma_show.php?id=168
Bromine is bad for you kids. Just say no.

But it's sooooo tasty.

Anyway, today was a day when I desperately needed my Gummi-berry Juice. I was drooping something fierce around 10:00. I could not keep my eyes open. I drank two cans of Mountain Dew and I still needed a nap. I skipped my Celeste Cheeseburger Pizza and took a nap in the front seat of my car during my lunch hour. That almost did the trick. Now I was tired and hungry. I had very little office work to accomplish so I was also bored. And to further kick me in the crotch, management had finally blocked both Myspace and this wonderful blog you loyal readers are hating right now. It was a waiting game and I was losing. I took as many "bathroom breaks" as I could muster and eventually I wore the clock out. But what a load of boredom!

Speaking of Gummi Bears:

Mazeltov!

Well, instead of whining more, I'll leave you with this last video. These are the two lead guitarists from the Finish metal band Children of Bodom (who ROCK!!). They will be performing Vivaldi for your listening pleasure:

Didn't you get that memo?

Everybody experiences the weekdays differently. Most people side with Ziggy and Garfield on the Monday front: eyes crusted, catatonic demeanor, and a chemical addiction to coffee. But I'm not your average Marmaduke. I have my own way of perceiving the week:

Monday: Mondays are easy. No, really. I usually get well rested enough on the weekend to come into a Monday bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Bushy-tailed? What the hell does that mean? Am I like a peacock (quite possibly the funniest name for a bird ever)? In general, I can take on Mondays because I generally have great weekends fresh in my head.
Tuesday: Is the abysmal low of life. I want to kill myself and all those who in anyway become a part of my day. By Tuesday, I have shed all residual weekend energy. I have already worked a full day and still have three more whole days to look forward to. It feels like Square One TV's "Mathnet" all over again. After the first season, George Frankly's partner Kate Monday was replaced by Pat Tuesday to solve weekly mathmatical capers (as if we wouldn't notice). You could tell George wasn't buying it. He didn't love her. That's like me on Tuesday. What do you mean you never watched Square One? Just me then? Okay, fine.
Wednesday: hump day (interpret as you may)
Thursday: Most people feel about Thursday the way I do about Tuesday. They've worked so hard and still have a whole day left after this one. I, on the otherhand, see the light at the end of the tunnel. My body has finally adapted to the sleep (depravation) schedule and has gotten plently used to the work itself. I'm like a well-oiled machine (interpret as you may). I can take Thursday in stride knowing that Friday is just around the bend.
Friday: Thank God. It couldn't have come fast enought. The worst thing about Friday is that reality slows down and the clocks don't turn as quickly. A worthy sacrifice for the oncoming weekend. YAY!

So that's my average week. Until today.

Today was a full-blown GarfieldeyesglazedcomatosecoffecravingbutsinceIhatecoffeemorelikeMountainDewcraving Monday. I was BEAT I tell you. And there was no cure for it. I sat at my desk desperately attempting to escape reality. I started watching some Muay Thai boxing on Youtube.com (that's a Thai game...yuk yuk yuk). I've been obsessing over Muay Thai ever since I saw "The Protector" yesterday and I needed a fix of human violence. More than just excerpts from Van Damme's "Kickboxer" or clips of Sagat from Street Fighter II,I wanted real pain! I found MANY clips of broadcasted tournaments. After seven hours of watching people pummel each other in the arenas of Bangkok (an even funnier word than peacock), I think I finally lost my grip on reality. I started looking around the office and sizing up my co-workers to see if I could take them. After the fifth awkward look I received, it dawned on me that I work in an office building with middle-aged women. Of course I couldn't take them.

Check out this Muay Thai guy kick the crap out of the Tae Kwon Do chamion. The sweep kicks at the end are precious.



OWNED!

My escapism did not stop in Thailand. This evening, I watched "The Neverending Story" with Liz. I forgot how much I wanted to ball-gag Bastian during that movie. Every single thing he says is painfully corny and really annoying.
"No" (puts down PB&J sandwich) "we've still got a long way to go." Retarded. But I enjoyed the film as a whole. I mean, you had young Noah Hathaway as the warrior Atreyu, who later went on to star in "Troll" as a boy named Harry Potter (weird). You of course had the great Deep Roy, perhaps one of the most experienced diminutive persons in all of hollywood. What a resume!

"Well, I've been an Ewok, a racing snail jockey, and there was that one time when I played every single Oompa Loompa on the planet".

You're hired. And perhaps best of all was the bumpin soundtrack by Kajagoogoo's Limahl (that's not just babytalk, look it up).



I love this movie. I once witnessed a wonderful conversation with Liam and someone who hated the film.

NS Hater: "I hate movies like that. It was so unrealistic. I hate fantasy films etc..."
Liam: "Don't you get it? You are the Nothing! That's you!"

Classic. I've never heard a better insult in my entire life.

And now today's movie. For those of you who wanted to escape reality, here's Jackie Chan.

Yes, that was from Disney's "Mulan"

Elephants, God, and Muay Thai Boxing!

What a full day! I greeted this morning at 6:45 am eastern standard time. After last night's Pee Pee party and my addiction to this blog, I ended up in bed around 3:00 am (do the math). Needless to say (unless you're still subtracting), I was pretty tired. But God must be praised and I was the man for the job. I arrived at the church with the sole purpose of worship leading only to find that none of the lyrics we sent to the church secretary had been photocopied for the morning service. I phoned my father for a master copy to run off at the last minute only to discover that the computer that contained these top secret documents was being quite ornery about booting up. My father and I are the opposite of morning persons so we were very ill-equipped cognitively to handle this crisis. In the end, I had the pastor print some of the musicians chord sheets, complete with guitar chords. He made 15 copies of each one and we had 11 left over (do the math again). FOUR PEOPLE SHOWED UP! There were four people in the praise team for crying out loud. Pehaps they were playing it safe since the fire code for our sanctuary only allows 300 people at once. Cutting it close wouldn't you say? (you're not still using the calculator are you?) But the worship was rewarding nonetheless. I love that word : 'nonetheless' or even 'nevertheless'. I also like 'lovingkindness'. Just cram those guys together and call it a word.

After a much needed beauty sleep (didn't work, by the way), I woke to find that Liz had left for Urinetown practice. On an unrelated note, I always get Live's "Shittown" stuck in my head when I talk about Liz's play...weird. Nevertheless (yeah!), I had the house all to myself. I walked freely about the house in my underpants for the better part of the afternoon. But my machismo was not satisfied. I decided it was the perfect day to watch a manly movie. It had to be something violent and something insanely stupid because these movies don't rear they're ugly head onto our DVD player as long as Liz has anything to say about it. I made a couple calls and arranged to meet Justin and Liam in Princeton for Tony Jaa's "The Protector", not to be confused with Jackie Chan and Danny Aiello's attrocious 1985 collab-horation (I just made up a word, hooray).
The plot of this masterpiece was simple and brilliant and raises the age-old question: "Where's my elephants!". Cam, a young Muay Thai fighting elephant herder, jumps into action when his father is shot and his prize elephant plus offspring are stolen by Austalian gangsters (I can't make that crap up). At least, that's as much plot as I could glean from this composite sketch of a movie. You see, the original Thai movie, "Tom Yum Goong" was quite the box office hit in Thailand, a culturally rich nation. But apparently us 'mericans don't have the depth of understanding to appreciate the Thai culture so most scenes containing ANY character interaction and/or Thai references were cut from the film. The most that was allowed in was the intro to the movie in which they basically beat you over the head with the phrase "THAI PEOPLE THINK ELEPHANTS ARE SACRED" for a couple minutes. Very subtle (and subtitled). I'll save you the math problems this time and just tell you that they cut about 25 minutes from the Thai version and renamed this "The Protector", 'cause it's badass sounding! What remains is the chopiest piece of action movie I've seen in a while. After the plot was set up, Tony jumped from location to location kicking everyone's ass. Liam actually turned to me and asked me if this entire movie was one big action montage. I will have to buy a Region 3 version of this DVD...sigh.
But you've got me all wrong! This movie does kick major ASS! I have never seen such amazing stunt work or brutal martial arts in my entire tenure as a theater-goer. Tony Jaa is the man! If you don't believe me, watch this:



And that is just the ultra-fun Jackie Chan fight scene. In fact, Mr. Chan makes a small cameo in order to pass the proverbial Asain-action-movie torch. It's kind of like that scene in "The Rundown" when Ahnold bumps into Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson (I say 'kind of' because they actually used Jackie Chan's double, not the man...gay). Hear me now and listen to me later: it's time for a new generation of action stars. Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymoore are just not fitting the bill.
Jackie Chan impersonators asside, trust me when I tell you that this movie got way more violent. Tony actually spends an entire fight scene intentionally breaking everyone's bones. I mean everyone! It was cool and gross and kind of sexy at the same time. All in all, I recommend this movie to everyone who thinks they've seen it all in martial arts movies. I have NEVER seen anyone who can do this stuff. Oh yeah, elephants are cute.

Anyway, I'll leave you guys with a video some kid made for a great Zao song. Enjoy.

Pee People Party!

What a wonderful start to the weekend. Last night, my lovely wife and I went to see Little Miss Sunshine at the Ritz. That means we got a free date because we happen to know the manager (not in the biblical sense). I was dreading seeing this movie due to its titular subject matter. A couple years ago, I discovered a new level of vehemence when Bravo! premiered its Show Moms reality debaucle. I had no idea that my blood could beat so violently through the veins of my neck. I hate parents like that. Being a Haddonfield-bred man, I've had to deal with my fair share of soccer-parents pushing their kids to be cut-throat atheletes. But beauty pageants? I can't understand someone wanting to live so vicariously through their 9-year-old that they'd put them through the bulemia-inducing self-esteem trauma that is a beauty pageant. But thanks to recommendations of a couple of good friends, not to mention a killer cast of characters (Greg Kinear, Steve Carrel, Toni Collette, Alan Arkin...dang!), I decided that perhaps this movie would not cause my vision to turn blood red with hatred. And the movie did not disappoint as I laughed and cheered many times. But perhaps my favorite aspect of this movie was the tremendous effort it made to relate to my disdain. It's like the filmmakers understood that fury I have for o'er-competative parents. Whenever a person was out of line in this area, there were five others right with you telling them to shut up. If Greg Kinear was subversively encouraging his daughter to not be a fatty, there was an entire dinnertable full of family as outraged as I was. It was a great support group. By the end of the movie I had "All Things Go" permanently stuck in my head, occasionally being interupted by Rick James' "Superfreak". Rick James, bitch!



I woke up this morning at 1:00 in the afternoon because I had procrastinated last night's bedtime until it was 4:30 am. I spent a small moment in my bed reminiscing my former life's sleep schedule (it brought a small tear to my eye) and then I got right to business. There was quite a lot of nothing to be done and I wasn't going to waste any time. After a quick buzz cut and a shower, I hopped to it and sat on my ass for the better part of the afternoon. The most I accomplished were two loads of laundry and an hour of learning both Anthrax's "Room for One More" and Igor Stravinsky's "Firebird" on my electric guitar.

But the blissful lazing-about was not meant to last. Liz's production of Urinetown had scheduled a party this very night to watch a bootlegged copy of the play. I have to admit I was a little excited. You see, I used to be a theater geek. Nevermind the fact that I hate musicals, the theater was full of fun people and a great spirit was among them. So I was not surprised when the people I met tonight were amazingly cool. And they were just the way I remembered theater geeks: gossipers of cast mates past, drinkers of cheap and terrible wine, and above all, canters of loud songs at the mere mention of a play. All this happened tonight and it was glorious. The gossip was a bit disorienting as I didn't know any of these people: "Are you sure Matt's gay?" "That guy dressed as Aragorn is a creepy pervert" "I heard Paul McCartney was dead" (that last rumor might be 30+ years too old). There was definitely a girl drinking white merlot because it sounds fancier than white zinfandel but as we all know, tastes like Juicy-Juice. And over the course of the evening I heard songs sung from Tommy, West Side Story, and Miss Saigon...or rather my rendition of the Family Guy scene when the old theatre owner sings "la la la Miss Saigon, la la la Miss Saigon" whilst stretching his eyes to look Asain. And I got my first taste of Urinetown (that sounds gross). I wasn't too put off by it. It seems like an enjoyable satire...for a musical [retches].

All in all, a good party was had by all.

Speaking of Aragorn, my movie today is the way Lord of the Rings SHOULD have ended. I think we all thought of this as we watched Return of the King and I'm glad someone finally made this movie:

Well I finally made it outside yesterday.

I had rehearsal with my increasingly talented metal band De Profundis and I didn't want to waste a minute of the evening. As soon as work let out at 5:00 I called Ryan to make sure it was safe to come over. I was given a very reasssuring "sure, Gretchen should be home and I'll be there in about half an hour". As I was half an hour away myself, I took this as a good sign. I pulled up to the house about an hour or later and said to the cabbie, "yo homes, smell ya later." Actually, it was twenty-five minutes later and Bob was on the doorstep looking very much like Bob. I stepped out of my car I asked him very condescendingly why he hasn't gone inside (apparently he didn't have the "Gretchen's home" inside scoop). I loftily jiggled the front door handle to find it locked and rang the doorbell many times only to hear it ring many times. It was painfully obvious that either nobody was home or everybody inside was either deaf or quite dead. At least Ryan was going to arrive any minute.

An hour after I had arrived, it occurred to me that perhaps Ryan was running a little later than "half an hour". Man, we were bored. We had emptied all the sound equipment from last weekend onto Ryan's front stoop and were leaning on it wondering how uncouth it would be to break a couple of his front windows. Fortunately, the mundane was broken by a friendly passerby. This wonderful man, whose name escapes me, was the product of many years of Jersey trashitude. Somehow within three sentences he had asked us for marijuana, informed us of a battle of the bands for a local radio station, and broken almost every grammatical rule I could fathom. His one hand was clearly broken and bound and his entire outfit was coated with spackle and local sport team emblems. We nodded him on hoping he would either carry on his merry way or do something far more entertaining. He took the hint and kept on walking, but he didn't wander farther than a couple houses in either direction and continued gracing us with his inane blathering. Never have I been prouder of our dear state. Bob reassured me that this breed of person (or rather inbred person, yuk yuk) is not unique to New Jersey and that every state claims its own gutter trash. If you say so, Bob.

Ryan eventually made it around 6:45 with some dog-ate-my-homework excuse (it was really his parents' computer that ate it but whatever). We rocked a little but had very little steam. We bullshitted until 8:30 and called it a night. After everyone packed up, I got a second wind and decided to practice guitar for another 40 minutes. I was shredding! It felt great.

Speaking of shredding, here's Dream Theater's John Petrucci:



Awesome.

After I was spent, Ryan invited me to hang out and watch the Miami Dolphins butt heads with the Pittsburgh Steelers. Those who know me best can imagine how excited that made me (for those of you that don't - not very). GO SPORTS...WOO! Miraculously enough, I sat and watched most of the game. It was very reassuring that I have absolutely no interest in sports.

Unless of course there are groin shots:


Speaking of a hit to the groin, this commercial made fluids come out my nose the first time I saw it on TV.

Beware the blog!

No longer just an alternative for naughty words (I had been getting sick of "smurf"). It is now a relevant action to add to my vocabulary. I like many other slaves to the internet, have decided to write words for the viewing pleasure of others.

And what an unmomentous day to begin. It's Thursday....yup, Thursday. As far as I can tell from my cubicle to the window across the room, it's a beautiful day. As I type, I sincerely hope that people are outside playing outsidey games. In my youth, they were jailbreak and execution. I'm sure the increasingly sensitive social workers of this fine state take less kindly to large bruises on childrens' backs caused by "tennis balls" so who even knows if execution is a popular game anymore. But as long as some kid in some schoolyard is being assailed by some sports equipment, consider it a day not wasted. I'm so jealous.

I recently had a wonderful weekend full of moving many heavy things:

Saturday was spent moving Sean into his apartment during a dismal rainy day. His new hovel is quite the fixer-upper (more like tearer-downer). Luckily for us, the previous tennant left two bottles of Hogaarden in the fridge and a large piece of Antarctica in the freezer. After we were thoroughly moved, Liam came just in time to christen the bathroom with his pee-pee. Thanks for the help, Liam.
Fortunately for me, I got to sit and relax that evening over a Papa John's grease-pie, a glass of a terrible bordeaux, and a scratched DVD of "Dear Frankie", compliments of my cool friend/neighbors. From what I gathered in the scattered pixels, a deaf Scottish boy's mother has to hire a fake dad (played by the Phantom of the Opera) because the fictional letters she'd been forging placed the boy's estranged father on an obscure ship which was coincedentally coming to port that weekend. Fortunately, the hiree (played by Wes Craven's Dracula) turned out to be a cool dude with the hots for his mom. I recommend getting the scratched version as it makes your wife much more entertaining!

Sunday was the fiesta and DeProfundis was to entertain! This means moving sound equipment, drum kits, light fixtures and of course boxes of bug-ridden cookbooks to the back of a dank garage. We were certainly the sweatiest group to play that day. As the sound of our band was swallowed up by the fresh air, I was told that we played quite well. Apparently some neighbors with the police on speed-dial were not as fond of our music. Four words for the po-po: sound permits, suck it! After a grueling equipment strike (whilst the rest of the party either ditched or enjoyed beer pong), we had the next day of hauling 200-pound amps to look forward to.

Monday was our Boiler Room gig. Over 50 kids showed up and 5 or 6 of them almost came inside to hear us play! Dickheads. I am very grateful to our good friends and loyal fans who left after our set out of principle. You know who you are and you are cool. We played our asses off and I thought we rocked!
This being the third day of lifting heavy things, you'd think my back would be more than a little sore. And it certainly was up to the point it was roundhoused right in the meat of it by a 6'7'' Connecticut hardcore kid who was moshing it up to Wrench in the Works' last song (and rightfully so). I don't know why but once I regained my ability to breath, my back felt great! I felt like Stephen Chow at the end of Kung Fu Hustle (spoiler warning!) when the Beast pounds him neckfirst into the dirt only to re-align his chi!
Oh yeah, Liz beat the crap out of me (literally by hole 6) at miniature golf that afternoon. I have no excuses; she is the superior putter.

I take my cue from Liam to grace you guys with cool movies. To kick things off, here is an awesome video of Bobbie McFerrin (yes, the "Don't Worry Be Hapy" guy). Forget his one hit. This man has perfect pitch, a four octave+ singing range, and supernatural vocal skills. Check it!