Feel For You

I've been sick for the past couple of days, which is why I haven't written anything. You forget how unpleasant sickness can be when you haven't been sick in a while. Don't you?

I've got some kind of flu/intense headache thing that I've never had before. Yikes. I need to go lie down.

Ok, bye.

Gale Gordon

Longtime visitors to the The Gold State Remarks page will know that I'm kind of afraid of bees. This is possibly the main reason that you're longtime visitors, though probably not. My melissaphobia (or apiphobia if you prefer the Greek root to the Latin one) isn't the most severe possible incarnation. If a bee comes too close to me, I simply duck and run involuntarily. Sometimes, it's accompanied by high-pitched, little-girl-like shrieking.

I discovered the other night at practice that three out of the four The Gold State members are afflicted with a fear of bees (Brian's the only one who isn't), which might be useless from a marketing perspective, but I think it's really kind of useful in terms of planning or not planning outdoor events, especially ones with loads of nearby nectar-laden flowers.

Cannonball Run II

My girl-companion was browsing at the department store makeup counter yesterday as I stood by, idly, most likely fidgeting with something, distractedly. She happened to be wearing a t-shirt that said, "I (heart) Dirty Rocker Boys."

"Ha! I like your shirt," said the salesgirl to her. "That's pretty funny." My girl-companion said, "Oh, thanks," or something like that.

Then the salesgirl said to me, "Are you a dirty rocker?"

Pause.

"Well, I'm 'Dirty,' but I'm not sure if I really 'Rock' all that much...it's certainly debatable."

There ensued a surprising amount of laughter.

"That's funny," the salesgirl said.

She must have been from New York or something.

Abbondanza!

Are you a right-brain or left-brain person? I can never remember which one I am, which indicates that I'm probably a right-brainer.

I guess.

Musical Demonstration

Hot off the "Presses*," we've got a show on Sunday April 23, at Club Good Hurt in West LA. We're going on at 9:30. This'll come in handy for those of you who lament that we never play any shows up in that area.

We took the earliest available slot, because it's a Sunday and we're concerned about you getting a good night's sleep. We know you haven't been sleeping enough.

I'll remind you.

The Gold State
Sunday, April 23 - 9:30
Club Good Hurt
WWW.GOODHURT.NET
12249 Venice Boulevard, (West) Los Angeles

* Disclaimer: There are no "Presses."
(The above date and time are correct now, thanks to the alert Mighty Doctor Illusion.)

The Battle of 1814

Have you ever tried Campari? I never had, but I'd always wanted to, I mean, just look at it. It's reddish. And look at that logo. It says, "Wear light-colored pants and an ascot, sit under an umbrella emblazoned with me in a Northern Italian outdoor bistro at the foot of the alps, and cross your legs at the knee."
A bottle of Campari caught my eye at the store yesterday evening, so I brought some home, and I prepared a couple of drinks mixed with fresh-squeezed orange juice and splashes of soda, over ice, and I wanted so much to like it, but I kind of didn't. It tastes a little like evergreen trees smell. My girl-companion found it so disagreeable that she couldn't take more than a couple of sips without making a face that caused my heart to hurt, so I ended up drinking both of ours.

I slept really well, though, and I feel very well-rested and relatively sharp today, so maybe Campari is one of those tastes-like-crap-but-makes you-feel-great-the-next-day beverages, which certainly has its place, as far as I'm concerned.

Tennis Raquet

People keep asking me, "When are you going to post some really blurry pictures of The Gold State practicing?" Ready, set, go.

That's David, our "New" bass guitarist.

That's Leo. Are you supposed to put periods in captions?

Leo took this picture of Brian and me. Periods seem appropriate.

Midlife Christs

Although I don't feel driven to divulge details of my every exploit, I did something this weekend which I'd like to recommend and/or remind you of. I made a return visit to the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles, which my companions and I really enjoyed. It's one of the best things in the whole goddamn world, and I say that about precious few things. You should go, you shameless, cringe-inducing, attention starved trollop.

Ming Vase

I don't feel the need to comment on every show I attend, but I saw Belle And Sebastian with The New Pornographers last night at the Wiltern, and it was really great. I can't remember seeing a show where the opening act was such a good one. I've been listening to both of those bands a lot lately, so it was a very appropriate bill for me. I noticed a couple of peripheral things.

I was enjoying The New Pornographers' set very much, and about halfway through, It occurred to me that the faint yet distinct odor of chocolate cake baking had begun to permeate the venue at some point. Naturally, this smell had subconsciously put me in a relatively blissful state, and I had sort of flashed back to Saturday-morning-cartoon/Mom-baking-in-the-kitchen mode. I resolved to find a way to harness this smell and bestow it upon the audience at the next The Gold State show to enhance their enjoyment.

I also noticed, and this is not a good or bad thing, that there were not that many black people there.

The Truth About Ramps and Lanterns

You can make your own here.

Tilt A Whirl

I read the Bloggy-Blog post today about dogs' owners cleaning up after them, and it reminded me of how my dog never urinates on fire hydrants, and how much I wish he would.

He'll pee on blades of tall grass or weeds, or on glistening patches of ivy, but never on fire hydrants. Sometimes he'll walk up to a hydrant and sniff it, and it's obvious that other dogs have marked it, because it's rusty in odd places, and I'll think, "Yes! He's going to pee on a fire hydrant, just like in the cartoons," and sometimes I'll even verbally encourage him, but he never does it.

Can someone please help me come up with an amusing final, one-sentence-paragraph for this? I'm drawing a blank.

New Spamix

Please go here for elaboration on Spamix.

Middle of the Road Rage

People keep asking about the status of the hummingbird and her chicks that nested in the plum tree in our backyard ("patio" is more accurate), so here's the scoop.

The chicks had gotten really big (as far as hummingbirds go), and the mother had taken to roosting elsewhere at night, leaving them alone in the nest, but we saw her regularly flying to the nest to feed them. We were out of town the weekend before last, and when we returned, there was only one chick left. We'd left our cat indoors, so we can rule out the possibility of the cat having eaten it. I have the slightest bit of hope that the chick had learned to fly, but there's obviously no way to know.

Last Saturday, I noticed that the baby bird had grown to almost the size of the mother, and it seemed more or less fully feathered, so I decided I'd better take a picture before it left the nest for good. I took my camera out to the nest, but when I got close, I heard the angry staccato clicking of the mother hummingbird about 20 feet above me. She dive-bombed me, and I could suddenly hear her ear-splitting clicks and the thunderous beating of her wings right next to my ear. Of course, it freaked me out, and I involuntarily ducked and ran from the tree (similar, yes, to the way a small girl might react). When I looked back, the nest was empty!

The baby bird wasn't on the ground anywhere, and I finally spotted it on top of the wooden fence. It sat there for a few minutes before flying to the flat garage roof where the mother came and fed it several times. We saw the bird stretching and flapping its wings, and flying short distances across the roof, with the mother close by. It seemed to have a little trouble with accuracy. After a few more minutes of "practicing," the baby bird left the roof and began flying over the yard with the mother actually guiding it by gently nudging the baby with her body, until they finally disappeared together over the rooftops.

That's the last we've seen of them. I guess our work here is done, and I'm sure that's more than any of you wanted to know.

Massachusetts

The Gold State

The Harold's show on Friday was really fun, and thanks for making it special, if anyone who made it special is reading this.

CMG

CMG kind of blew everybody away, I think, and then we played really well (if I may say so), and then The Pressure rocked the joint in a very crazed manner. In keeping with the tradition of tragedy and controversy that befalls all TGS shows, one of the members of Please Don't Throw Rocks at Us had to leave or something, so they couldn't play, which was kind of lame because we didn't have enough music to fill the evening, and the Harold's folks weren't really happy and it made us look "bad." But it was really cool of the other members of the band to hang out all night. I mean, why wouldn't they, because it was really fun anyway, but still. They're really nice, and there are certainly no hard feelings or anything. Fortunately, David of Novi Split gallantly volunteered to play, and he ended up doing a bunch of cover songs that all the stragglers merrily sung/yelled along to, and it was probably more fun than another band would have been.

The Gold State

I think we played the best we've ever played, due to the fact that we were reasonably well-practiced. Also, Brian and I could both hear ourselves singing, for a change, so the harmonies were really good, I was told. We were able to hear ourselves so well, I think, because we brought two monitors this time. The extra monitor was a pain to drag around, but it was worth it, and we'd do it again, because we don't care what you say and you are not the boss of us.

The Gold State

(Amanda took all the pictures)

Way Bigger Bargain

Mike at copacetic zine, in response to my ambiguous marquee picture, posted an even more ambiguous marquee picture that I just know you'll find ambiguous.

Big Fun Show Tonight - Like A Party or Something

Don't forget; you'll be sorry. The show starts at 9:00, and the bands play in the order shown here. Attention, girls and/or boys: There will be lots of girls and/or boys there.

Bathroom Eyes

There's a new guy at my day job. He's really nice, and I like him as much as one can like someone they hardly know in a setting where everyone has to be on his or her best behavior. The new guy is very clean cut, and I overheard him say that he's a Mormon.

I've known my share of Mormons in my day, and one thing they've all had in common is that none of them ever say, "Bless you," when people sneeze. It's as if they scoff at the notion. "Hmmph. YOU blessing ME? THAT'S a good one." Jehovah's Witnesses don't say, "Bless you," either. If someone ever fails to say, "Bless you," when someone sneezes, they're either an Atheist, a Mormon, a Jehovah's Witnesses, or some combination of those three things.

The new guy (If that IS his actual name) says, "Bless you." Therefore, I think he's a spy or an alien or something. That's my theory. THE END

Singing Songs of Sixpence (in the Rain)

We went camping in Joshua Tree last weekend, and I know what you're thinking: "The desert is so 70s, but not really in a cool way."

The last of the singing cowboy/burglars

I'm not really a desert-y kind of person myself, mostly because I don't like dryness and heat. I'm more of the cold 'n' damp sort, truth be told, but it's actually pretty cool in Joshua Tree this time of year. It was a really fun and "cowboy" locale in which to camp. There are all these crazy, giant, smooth rock formations that look vaguely man-made. The campgrounds are set up so that you camp right next to the giant rock formations, and it's like having your own personal little mountain thing.

One day, on a whim, we found ourselves on a four mile hike to an abandoned mine. It was nearing dark, and we kept doing math to try to figure out if we were going to be stuck out there after dark, and unavoidably, eaten by coyotes.

We kept passing people walking back from the direction of the mine, and we'd ask them if they'd made it. At first, everyone kept saying things like, "Oh, no, that trail's really rocky, and it's all uphill," and, "We felt like we were just walking forever." The trail was really rocky, and at times, it was difficult to know whether we were even on the trail or getting hopelessly lost.

Finally, after a certain point, every person we asked had made it to the mine, and they all were really encouraging and excited. They said things like, "You're almost there, it's just around that bend," and, "You'll see it once you get up over that ridge." In retrospect, I'm not even sure that the people were using the terms "Ridge" and "Bend" correctly.
We finally made it to the mine, which was a really fun and wholesome thing to have done. I figured on the way back, other mine-seekers would ask us if we'd made it to the mine, and I decided that I'd tell them, "Nah. We got about ten feet away and said, 'Screw it.'"

Live and Let Live and Let Live

I couldn't resist linking to this LA Times article that trashes the "Painter of Light," Thomas Kinkade. Apparently, he's kind of an asshole.

In sworn testimony and interviews, they recount incidents in which an allegedly drunken Kinkade heckled illusionists Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas, cursed a former employee's wife who came to his aid when he fell off a barstool, and palmed a startled woman's breasts at a signing party in South Bend, Ind.

And then there is Kinkade's proclivity for "ritual territory marking," as he called it, which allegedly manifested itself in the late 1990s outside the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim.

"This one's for you, Walt," the artist quipped late one night as he urinated on a Winnie the Pooh figure, said Terry Sheppard, a former vice president for Kinkade's company, in an interview.

Bargain?

This:

Be All That You Can Be Or Not

I'm confident that I'm not the first person to bring up this kind of thing.

Every day, on my way to the day job, when I walk past the building's front desk, the youngish guy who sits there greets me cheerily, and always addresses me as, "Sir," which I don't like much. I think the guy is being as sincere as possible, but I can't help but think the, "Sir," thing betrays a certain degree of contempt.

Today, he slipped and called me, "Man," though, which I liked much better. I'm going to see what I can do to trip him up again.

Upcoming Show

FRIDAY MARCH 10
@ HAROLD'S
19th & Pacific
San Pedro

THE GOLD STATE
with
-CMG-
-THE PRESSURE-
-PLEASE DON'T THROW ROCKS AT US-

9:00 & FREE

A Bayonet

I experienced something entirely new last night. I had a revelation, of sorts. A thought occurred to me that had never occurred to me before. Allow me to explain.

I was in my design/advertising class last night, and we were presenting our rough sketches for restaurant billboards. A couple of times, my classmates referred to restaurants such as P. F. Chang's as, "Really expensive," but I didn't think the restaurants were all that pricey. I could eat at P.F. Chang's all day long.

Then it hit me. "Oh my god. I totally make slightly more money than most of you people."