The wonderful, glorious Ellie Maybe asked me (fuck that, allowed me) to host Humboldt Gong at LBK last Saturday night out in the 'burbs. So I threatened all of my friends in the suburbs with desertion and forced them to come out and watch me pretend to be in charge of something.
Hosting is fantastic, because it gives me a chance to accomplish four things I enjoy:
1. Singing loudly with a band
2. Drinking Sam Adams (this is like getting two birds stoned at once: getting drunk and upholding exhaustive patriotism)
3. Proving my boundless musical knowledge (which is prolly more "bound" than "boundless) by name-dropping the band whenever someone signs up with a song title. So, when that feathered-bang chick with elastic-waist jeans signed up for "Live Wire," I said, "Oh, Motley Crue," and she got very excited. See how I did that? I just proved my Crue cred to her, insinuated that I gave a shit about Motley Crue, and endeared myself to a paying customer. I'm like Oprah.
4. Making lists. After karaoke, we headed over to the House Of Expensive Cat, which is the imaginary name of Ang and Dainon's house because they paid lots money for a mean ass cat that just sits there and looks squooshed. They prolly could have found one that got hit by a bus or something just wandering around my back alley.
But that's where I headed, nonetheless, and drank endless shots of "Blue Lava," a shot they "invented" that night, consisting of some awful blue liqueur mixed with Ketel One. Then I got in an intense conversation about...fuck if I know. Ask CrazyLiz's sister and Little Guy Ryan.
Either way, that liqueur was monstrous, because after a series of leaping chest bumps with Tyler (whose fucking idea was that?) and falling on my ass over and over and over again, I fell asleep and woke up surrounded by leopard print and muppet pillows, with a shattered brain and cross expression.
Didn't even have the courage for Sunday Funday.
OH. And I need to let this out:
Mark Verheiden is writing for Heroes now. Thank god, because as much as love that show, the dialogue has always been fucking awful, and Verheiden? After My Name is Bruce and Battlestar Galactica, I would have his children.
THEN: Seth Green. On Heroes. If they pull a Sark/Weevil with Seth Green, I AM DONE. Sigh. Celebrity crushes are so lame. And the Real Life friends know how I feel about gingers.