All Caffeinated And Prepared To Be Awkward

Uh oh. I'm having a work party with a couple of friends in a coffee shop. We're all typing away on our laptops, jamming out to the Queen they're playing and generally minding our own business when in walks this guy I haven't seen in about three years. Were we friends back in the day? Totally. I think so. We worked on a lot of student films together. I thought he was cute but he always had a serious girlfriend. Anyway, he's sitting in the shop now. I think he saw me? I have no idea if he recognized me. I think he did? He's with that girl that he's now married to. I don't think she ever liked me. Probably because I spent a lot of time with him during the production of our various films. Gah, at one point I was going to hang off of a cliff with a camera for this boy. I wonder if he remembers that. I think he's one of the few people who actually got jobs in the film industry after college. He graduated a year before I did so it's been an eternity since I've even thought about him. He's sitting at the back table with his wife and some other chick. I'm being so neurotic about this. I should just go say "hi"? I want to say "hi." But I don't want to have to talk about what I've done since college. Heck, I'm probably not even the same person I was in college. Maybe he didn't recognize me. After all, my hair is longer. And here I am on a couch between The Fonz and The Poet next to one of the Hipster Gnomes in the comfy chair. I'm completely out of context. Maybe he really doesn't recognize me. He's sitting next to the bathroom. I sort of have to pee. Okay, that's a lie. I really do have to pee. I just drank a bunch of coffee and now I legitimately have to pee. Do I walk to the bathroom and casually say "hi" on the way? What if he stops me and we have a conversation and by the end of it I almost pee my pants? I'm being way too neurotic about this... The Fonz told me to just do it and get it over with. "In my experience, it's always awkward running into people," he said. "You just have to acknowledge them and move on." The Poet came late to the party so he doesn't know what's going on. I feel like I've already over-talked it so I'll tell him the story later. Hipster Gnome is engulfed in his headphones. Gah. I wish that guy would just recognize me and approach me. But I probably look intimidating over here with my menagerie of artsy fartsy friends. And he's married. "There's no reason for him to talk to you very long if he's married," The Fonz stated. He does have a good point. Though it's not like I'm going to proposition him or anything. I just want to be like, "Hey, we went to school together..." Maybe I don't need to do that. Maybe it's time to leave all of that college stuff in college. Besides, I can't for the life of me remember his wife's name. I could probably find out by Facebook-stalking him right now, but what if he walked by and saw his Facebook page up on my screen. I'm sitting against a wall, he can't possibly see what's on my screen. But still. It's the principle of it all. Which leads me to the realization that if we are friends on Facebook we should probably at least wave at each other in real life. I assume we're friends on Facebook. I've deleted a lot of people post-college but I don't think I would delete him. Maybe he deleted me. After all, I have been known to get carried away with band-promotion and that's totally grounds for deletion. Right? I should check and see if we're still Facebook friends. But that involves looking at his page while he is in the same room. I refuse to do that, as I mentioned earlier. In other news, I still have to pee. I have to pee with increasing urgency. It's a long walk home, I'm going to need to use that bathroom. Maybe I'll just awkwardly walk right to the bathroom and then greet him on the way out. Pop out of the one-person unisex stall and announce that we went to college together...DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME??? This is ridiculous. He's going to leave with his entourage soon and then I'll just have to feel really awkward. Yep, there he goes...he's getting up, clearing his table...scratching the back of his head, walking to the door, opening the door... The Fonz is leaving too. He's talking to me just as this guy exits the premises. Now The Fonz is laughing at me. "You missed your chance! How awkward! There he goes!" The Poet is clueless. I told him he can read all this when I'm done typing it. Ack. Sometimes, I feel like the female reincarnation of Woody Allen. Except he's not dead yet. But still. I'm too neurotic for my own good. Maybe I just need to move to another town and then I won't have to deal with these kinds of scenarios.
Okay boys and girls, I still have to pee like a race horse. I'll post this first. Wam BAM!
*End transmission*

New Music Video And A Free Song For YOU

So it's been a busy but exciting week. I've been slowly getting my act together in the rock and roll department. I'm not really sure what happened, but somewhere in there I realized I needed to stop waiting for things to happen and start making things happen.

That being said, I spent the majority of the past week immersed in a music video project. It was designed to be a fairly simple shoot, but it quickly evolved into hours of filming myself singing the song in various outfits and settings. I covered myself in blue face paint and rode the community elevator up and down in the middle of the night. I borrowed an old button-up shirt from someone and wore it backwards like a straightjacket. I recruited a few friends to be in it (including The Mad Scientist, who's performance as The Mad Evil Doctor is unbelievable). I put on a flashy dress and we all danced around in the basement..

I also met a few of my new neighbors while tromping around the hallways dressed as a crazy person. I really know how to make a good first impression sometimes.

But anyway, after spending three days meticulously editing the whole thing together, I'm ready to show it to you guys. I'm pleasantly surprised with how it turned out (it looks like it actually had a budget behind it!) and I hope you guys like it.

Here it is, just in time for Halloween...



To celebrate the release of the video, I'm giving the song away for free on Bandcamp! To get the song, click here, then click "Buy Now." It will ask you to name your price. There's no minimum so you can snag the track for free! I think you just have to put in your email address and join my mailing list. Anyway, I encourage all of you to grab the song, load it on your iPod, jam out to it in your car, get your friends really drunk and make them listen to it, etc. Basically, just enjoy it. And spread the word.

That's all for now. Peace and love.

Attack Of The Bad Art

I'm angry.

Somebody took down my "Poop In A Bucket" signs.

I'm sure it was someone from The Management. They've been showing the place to a lot of new people lately and it probably looks bad for business.

Honestly, I'm surprised the signs lasted this long.

Ironically, a new show opened up in the gallery tonight that is really just two steps away from being "Poop In A Bucket."

This is a show about eggshells.

This is beauty.  

This is art.  

This is the product of someone who had to eat a lot of omelets.  

Eggshells.  This is about eggshells.  

I will end my commentary before it becomes too scathing...  

Instead, I will show you pictures of my other favorite art show... "When A Friend Is Sometimes A Stranger."

Now, I feel bad making fun of this one because it was created by someone I actually really like.  But there's no denying the fact that this exhibit is nothing but large Sharpied outlines of hipsters on butcher paper with a pretentious title slapped onto it.  I'm going to state the obvious and say that I made that kind of art in the first grade.

The question is - if these things can pass as legitimate art, why is The Management so quick to hate on "Poop In A Bucket"??? 

I guess the title isn't artsy enough.  I should have called it "When A Bucket Is Filled With Excrement."

Contacting The Living

So things have been quiet around this blog lately. I've been out of my normal blogging routine and all the hits I've gotten in the past week have been from electronic cigarette companies wanting me to write reviews on their products because I hang out with a bunch of smokers. Even though these cigarettes can be programmed to taste like everything from pastries to cocktails, I just don't think my blog is the right place for that.

I also think that it makes more sense to just eat a pastry, drink a cocktail, and smoke a cigarette than to mess around with a nicotine-dispensing gadget that supposedly tastes apple fritters and margaritas. But maybe that's a very twentieth century mentality.

Plus, I don't even smoke, so the whole issue of electronic vs. real cigarettes is fairly irrelevant on this blog.

But I digress. I am in my favorite cafe with a large piece of pie and I did not come here to write about the evolution of smoking equipment.

Funny how I was invited out to two different clubs tonight and I chose to wear a turtleneck and update my blog in a coffee shop while stuffing my face with chocolate espresso pie instead. I don't know if this means I'm growing up and becoming more responsible or if it just means I'm suddenly a really boring person. It probably doesn't mean either of those things - it just means I wasn't in the mood to stay out all night at some scuzzy dance club and end up having to be the sober one that drives everyone home at the end.

Gah - I am the boring/responsible one. When did that happen and how do I make it stop?

Responsible or not, I did partake in some interesting shenanigans last week. I have an alliance of sorts with The Night Manager Nerd (my mother always told me to make friends with people who have keys...I don't exactly know if she meant go talk to girls at Pizza Hut for them when they're too shy to do it themselves so that they end up with a hot date and are forever indebted to you, but whatever), so I cornered him when he was outside my window drinking beer and asked him for a favor.

Me: This is going to sound weird, but I'm going to ask you for a favor...

Night Manager Nerd: What's up?

Me: Can you let me into The Chef's old room?

Night Manager Nerd: Uhhh...

Me: I know he moved out yesterday, but they haven't rented the room again yet and he asked a few of us to go in there after he left and perform a cleansing ceremony. You know, with candles and all that crap. But there will only be a few of us and we'll clean up.

Night Manager Nerd: Well, I suppose I can unlock the door and then pretend not to know about it if anything happens...

Me: Cool, thanks!

The cleansing ceremony was a story that The Poet had helped me make up before I went to talk to The Night Manager Nerd. The Chef did not leave a last will and testament that involved hosting a seance in his old room. But we were bored and we missed him, so we decided to say goodbye to him the Blue Mountain way.

Let me back up a little bit.

The Blue Mountain Institute was founded by The Chef and The Fonz last spring. Inspired by The Big-Haired Feng Shui Lady (who made color-coded maps of the building for everyone in an attempt to get us all onboard with Feng Shui), The Blue Mountain Institute was an ongoing joke that threatened to become a reality at various public events. It mocks the new age movement and is just downright absurd. For example, different branches of The Blue Mountain Institute include Eye Contact Therapy (where The Fonz stares at you for ten minutes) and Rebirthing In The Shower Room (a ceremony involving a slip 'n' slide and a lot of ketchup).

There is also a branch for Contacting The Living.

This was The Chef's favorite. He used to make us laugh so hard by sitting at the kitchen table and pretending to contact someone who was in the next room. Maybe you'd have to be there to appreciate it, but it was always hysterical.

So there we were - me, The Fonz, The Fallen Nun, and The Poet - armed with our candles in an empty room that once held an eccentric painter. We passed around a single can of Pabst and solemnly stared at the candles.

The Fonz: Can you hear us, Chef?

Me: I'm getting a reading...

The Fonz: Me too...ohmmmm...

Me: He's somewhere...

The Fonz: A train...a plane...

Me: He's somewhere and he's drunk!

The Fonz: He's drinking a six pack of Rolling Rock!

The Poet: Why do we only have one beer???

The Fallen Nun: *obnoxiously plays an accordion*

I feel as though The Chef would be very proud to know that we attempted to contact him.

I have contacted him in a more reliable, traditional way (email) and learned that he made it to Finland. He's done painting and is going to concentrate on his musical career.

An image of him screaming "LOVE, LOVE WILL KEEP US TOGETHERRRRR" out the window through a cardboard tube immediately came to mind with the words "musical career," but you've got to give him credit for going out and doing stuff. I spend a significant amount of time daydreaming about foreign countries and rock tours and spontaneous leaps of faith, but I am yet to actually make these day dreams happen.

Someday. Things will happen.

Gah. And the award for the weirdest blog post goes to... (drum roll) this lovely thing that you are reading.

Ah well. At least it's not about cigarettes.