So Taytyme has this old high school friend from the Philly days. He went to a show his friend’s band played in Nashville last night, and here’s what two ten-dollar cab rides got him: a totally free totally badass show (the band is quite good), three Budweisers and an accidental bud lite, two shots of whiskey, excellent conversation, a case of mistaken identity resulting in more free drinks (what band was I supposedly in?), an unopened “litre” of Bombay Saphire, two thirds of a bottle of Auchentoshan, half a bottle of Appleton Estate, three St. Pauli Girls, five butterfingers, a Baby Ruth, an incomprehensible number of individually-wrapped tic-tacs, a poster, a t-shirt, and a pair of well-fitting Levis. This, my friends, is an incredible band. I also got the impression that I can shop for free at Target for the rest of my life, as long as I don’t throw away my “laminate.”

Quickie

Hey, next tyme you're in the same room as Aaron from Duraluxe, ask him about the tyme he went to Peter Cetera's house and Peter Cetera farted really loudly in the other room.

So here’s a story the Mercy Lounge guy told to Chris Crofton and me the other nyte.

This couple walks out of 3rd & Lindsley and the proverbial homeless dude comes up going, "Hey, hey, excuse me!" You know the type (Oooo, what a taytyme word!), all carrying a year-old plastic bag from Dollar General and wondering if you've seen his teef. So he's doing the "hey, excuse me" thing and the lady of the couple says, "I'm in the middle of a sentence here."

She turns back to her date and completes the sentence. The homeless dude, having waited his turn, says, "Look. Now I know you two don't want to fuck with me, so I'll just say it like it is. I smoke crack and I'm just tryin' to get two dollars."

I love this variety of crack-head.

The couple uses body language to communicate that they are not built of charity, and the dude starts getting honest. "Look. . . I'm sorry. I just told you a lie. I really only need a dollar thirteen."

The lady says, "You can't buy crack for a dollar thirteen!"

"Oh yes you can!" he replies as they continue to evacuate the scene. Now the dude gets SERIOUSLY honest. "Okay, I got to admit that I been lying to you again, and I'm sorry about that. The truth is that I already have crack and I'm trying to get something to eat." When the couple is still unmotivated to the cause, he reaches into his bag. As you've no doubt already guessed, the bag is full of dildos. "Please, check it out. I got all these dildos and they go for 60 bucks at the porno store. I'll give 'em to you for two bucks a pop."

The punch-line is that at this point in the story, Chris Crofton said, "Man, I wish I'd been there; I mean, come on. I have a dishwasher."

I'm guessing you probably remember that tyme I got kicked out of Mercy Lounge for walking up to the the owner, pointing my finger in his face, and saying, "YOU'RE fucking CRAZY." I'd just overheard him talking some shit about how Van Halen had a couple of good songs with Sammy Hagar. Fortunately, I was saved from life banishment at the last minute by a mutual acquaintance. The owner guy was like, "What the fuck's your problem?" and I was like, "you're the one with the problem." He said, "You don't like Van Halen?" and I said, "Man, they broke up in 1984 when Eddie Van Halen died of alcoholism." He bought me a shot. He did not know that Eddie was deceased. "Yeah, man," I continued. "When Eddie died and Dave went solo, Alex and Mike built the Eddie Van Halen robot and pulled the wool over every-damn-body's eyes. It was crazy, man. They built it so right with DNA and everything that it even got toungue cancer just like Eddie would have if he'd lived." The guy was like, "Fuck, man." Then he said, "What about his kid, then?" I shook my head. "Exactly. That was the one flaw in the Eddie robot, and that's how everybody knows about it. Do you seriously think that the real Eddie would name his kid Wolfgang?" The guy was blown away. He had to just sort of stare into the distance while he thought this through, which gave our acquaintance a chance to chime in. "So what's up with that kid, man? He's gotta be gettin' of age and stuff by now." "Yeah dude!" I agreed. "He's in the fucking Strokes!"

Where were you on 9/11?

Man, I was splitting my tyme betwixt Melrose Pool & Pong and the Springwater Supperclub & Lounge. (Too late for dinner, shucks.) Guess whose game didn't show up on 8th Ave? Damn, damn, damn. However, I did get to see some shit go down when somebody called out the doubles teams. Eat a bowl of dicks, nashvillezine and weownthistown!

Down at the 'Water, Duraluxe was hosting their now-legendary weekly spoken word party. If you missed it last night (which you probably did - only the six hippest dudes in town were invited) you should probably do something to punish yourself. I unfortunately can't take a chance describing what exactly happened. Its a matter of NATIONAL SECURITY. The cops were even there to make sure no bums were listening in. They caught one and kicked his ass all over the parking lot in the name of the Red, White, and Blue.

So I've seen Duraluxe a bunch lately, and have this suggestion: don't play any more songs. Throw out even your best tunes and get a strangle hold on that Jim Morrison vibe that suits you so well.

So that's where I was on 9/11. Yeah, it was crazy.

Huh?

Oh, THAT 9/11.

SV Action

Holy shit if taytyme didn't wake up at 2:30 today and hadn't yet slept off a headache. "That's how it goes playin in a band," a poet once soothed. Actually, that's how it goes when you get your shitter kicked in by fucking SPIDER VIRUS on a Saturday night. All I can say is that they were meaner than the Christ child in a bad mood and on crack cocaine. Honestly - and you know I don't say this lightly - the early era SV songs outrock anything anybody could ever do. Including Valient Thorr. Including the Jesus Lizard. Including Slayer. Including Fair Warning and Mini Kiss. Seriously. Last week two different people said to me, "I saw them in '96 and they were so fucking scary - it was insane." If you always chickened out of seeing them, you'll never understand. The machismo in a room where Spider Virus is playing is thicker than semen. They rock so hard that it actually smells like balls.

This is all I'm saying: the next time somebody tells you some bullshit about Jason and the Scorchers or Clockhammer or Who Hit John or even F.U.C.T., you tell them to fuck off. Because anyone who knows anything about the history of this scene would rather be rocking Spider Virus.