Thanks to all of you who helped me with ideas for my girl’s b-day song. I carry the High School Musical b-day party theme through to the song, except I make the distinction that HSM is not real and sing about how her life is so much more fabulous. I played this song live for her b-day (just removed the guitar and vocal tracks) as Crash Lightning (http://www.crashlightning.com) and the performance was a hit. I never actually got around to making a decent recording with a bass track, but here’s my “demo” with first take vocals singing into my MacBook’s built in microphone. Stick around for the Euro dance groove at the end.

Click here for the MP3: this-is-real

I got up today
I thought about all my dreams last night

And though they were nice
My real life is so much better

On film it looks great
But it only just keeps repeating

It’s just a storybook tale
It’s only something that I’ve been dreaming

Sorry Troy, sorry Gab
This is my life and it’s way to fab

Tonight, you’ll be dreaming all about me
Look at my life, I’m as wild as the sea

It’s just like they say
Except I’m more fabulous this way

This has just begun
And I won’t stop rockin’ ‘til I’m done

‘Cause this is for real
I’m turning seven yeah that’s the deal

And I got the style
And all the moves that you’ll want to steal

Sorry Troy, sorry Gab
This is my life and it’s way to fab

Tonight, you’ll be dreaming all about me
Look at my life, I’m as wild as the sea

When it’s said and done
I’ll be as bright at noonday sun

So stick around with me
I’ll take you higher than the bourgeoisie

‘Cause this is for real
I’m turning seven yeah that’s the deal

And I got the style
And all the moves that you’ll want to steal

Sorry Troy, sorry Gab
This is my life and it’s way to fab

Tonight, you’ll be dreaming all about me
Look at my life, I’m as wild as the sea

Any Rush fans out there! Woo hoo! Rush rocks! But that’s about it. They rock. I know that. Neil Peart is a super bitchin’ drummer. I know that. Getty Lee is a radical bass player with awesome hair. I know that. And that guitar player dude is cool too. Even though I was never super into Rush (never owned one of their albums), I go for long periods thinking that Rush is cool. But then the coolness is shattered when I remember the rap in “Roll the Bones” or hear the lyrics to “The Trees.” See exhibit A:

There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples,
(And they’re quite convinced they’re right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can’t help their feelings
If they like the way they’re made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can’t be happy in their shade.

That is cool… if James Taylor wrote it. Sorry to say, but Rush’s supreme dorkiness far outweighs their coolness. Hardcore Rush fans will of course disagree since one great Rush moment for them can erase 20 lame Rush moments.

But that’s not what this post is about. It’s about the big man on the little drums rocking out to Rush’s “The Trees.” My broham to the max and ex-band mate, Bill McClintock, was in town for a night, but didn’t have any drums to rock out on. That’s where I step in by providing my 3-year-old’s Christmas present for the extreme jam sesh. Yesh, I said jam sesh beeyatches. Don’t forget about D-Rock on the bass either. Props for remembering that crap from high school. Enjoy:

When my boy had his third birthday, I thought I’d forgo hiring an entertainer and just do it myself. I procrastinated and procrastinated until there were just 10 days left. I finally sat down and realized that it wasn’t too hard to write songs for a three year old boy. First off, I wrote a song about my musical persona, Crash Lightning, with just two lines of lyrics. Piece of cake. Then I wrote a song about my kid and how he likes to poop. No brainer. The I wrote a Halloween themed song. Not too hard. Finally, I ripped off Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” and made my own version, “Master of Mischief.”

Okay, now I’ve got my daughter’s seventh birthday in just five days and I told her I would write some songs. Dude, seven-year-old girls are way more complicated than three-year-old boys! There’s the “High School Musical” obsession, the clothes obsession, the art obsession, the new earring obsession, and the draaaama. Gotta step up my game. My problem is I only have time to write one song, but I’m having trouble narrowing down the subject matter. Can anyone give me some advice? There’s something in it for you if you help.

You know how a lot of blogs have “photo of the day” posts? Screw that. I’m doing photo of the night. I do all my blogging at night anyway, so it makes sense. People might think that it’s actually a photo of the night, like I’m really into planets, stars, full moons, and UFOs. It’s not, and I’m setting the record straight right now!

So, my old lady was checking herself out in our bedroom mirror and noticed she had antlers. She didn’t want to be photographed, so I took one for the team. I know, it’s a lame first “Photo of the Night,” but it reminds me of this book my grandmother had when I was a kid. It was all of these crazy happenstance photos, like a guy playing soccer, but the soccer ball just happened to be right in front of his head, so it gave the appearance that his head was a soccer ball. And what about the picture of the two cows standing parallel to each other, but their heads are in opposite directions giving the illusion that you’re looking at a two headed cow.

I was surfing for the SNL skit “Astronaut Jones” on YouTube the other day and came across a couple of dudes doing this parody.

Nothing extraordinarily special about the video, but for a second I thought the guy with the beard was me, only his hair was a little too short. Seeing this almost look alike, and the fact that someone commented, “clown haircut” on one of my videos, got me thinking that maybe it’s time for a haircut. Then I started reading the comments on this video and realized that johnny07652 is NOT a fan of the hipster-style cut (or the beard).

johnny07652
What’s with the beard? Is it supposed to be funny? Because it’s not. It just looks like a hipster douchebag with a fake beard trying to be funny and failing. Really lame.

twopoint0
What crawled up your colon?

johnny07652
You must be a giant hipster asshole. Newsflash - matted down hair is not stylish, it’s fucking GAY. Go fuck yourself, hipseter douchebag.

blakelovesmebest
you r such a horibel person

johnny07652
Fuck you, Hipster asshole. People with hair styled like yours should be burned at the stake, fucking stupid sheep following whatever MTV dictates you should have for a hairstyle, faggot hipster Motherfucker.

That settles it. Now I’m on a mission to try to get johnny07652I to like that haircut. I’m getting a haircut like that tomorrow and then I’ll take a sexy photo of myself and send it to him. I’m sure his next comment will be “I’m so sorry foundmyrosebud01. I feel like a different person today. You see, this gentleman emailed me a picture of himself with your hairstyle. All of a sudden it was like a light bulb went off in my head! I got in touch with my inner self and realized that my true identity is concealed in that haircut. Peace and love to all. P.S. Have you seen the video of the fawn cuddling with the cat? Sooo precious. P.P.S Hey blakelovesmebest, you’re a fucking GAY douchebag motherfucking hipseter faggot speller. Asshole.”

Suck on this johnny07652.

So yeah I know, the recession is bumming you out. You used to kick back in your office swigging Old Raj martinis and talking on your fancy PBX phone system, but now those opulent days are a distant memory. What do you do when you can’t lounge in the lap of luxury at work anymore? You get resourceful. That’s right! You get the best quality that no money can buy. Introducing Hiram Walker’s Kirschwasser and the GE Slimline corded telephone. You can get both of these office essentials for a total of $12.

This is the first of many recessionary tips to beat the bearish blues. You’ll have so much damn cash piled up in your underwear drawer from my money saving tips that you won’t know what to do with it. Plus, you’ll have tried things that you never thought were possible, like drinking Kirschwasser (say it with me now) by Hiram Walker straight out of the bottle while taking a business call on your $6 telephone. Erect the middle finger right in front of the DOW & NASDAQ tickers and jump on the money saving wagon with me.

This is a still shot of me trying to say “Kirschwasser.”

When I was 11, I was a pimp for one day. If I could have blogged about it then, I would have. This memory somehow just resurfaced, so I’ll tell my story now.

It all started innocently enough with a prank phone call. It was a late summer afternoon and my friend Justice and I were hanging out. Yeah, his name was Justice, which is ironic because I never had so much injustice happen to me when I was with him: getting bit in the ass by his dog “Lugar,” getting almost sent to juvi for hopping a fence to “look for his cat,” almost having to be hospitalized for being trapped in the cab of his mom’s Chevy Luv with the windows up while she was smoking a pack of Marlboro Reds, getting pelted with his BB gun “don’t worry it’s not loaded.”

On this particular day in 1981, we were bored and looking for trouble. Too lazy to leave the house, we decided to pick up the phone to get our prank call on. I thought about the classic prank “you just won a trip to Hawaii,” but that was sooo 1979. I was thinking how people thought I was a woman 90% of the time when I answered the phone. Apparently Justice had the same problem too. Yeah, we’d be girls, ha ha! I know, comedic geniuses at age 11, right?

First call and I was up to bat. Ring, ring, a man with a gruff voice and some sort of Spanish or Middle Eastern accent picks up.

Man: Hallo?
Me: Hi, howa doin’ today? (my girliest voice)
Man: Good, who’s this?
Me: My name’s Leila.We were bored today, so I just thought I’d call to see how you were.
Man: How’d you get my number?
Me: Oh, you know, we heard you were cool from someone and thought we’d check in.
Man: Oh nice. Yeah, I like your voice. How old are you?
Me: Uh… I’m 19.
Man: You sound like you look good. You cute?
Me: (Starting to panic) Yeah, sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Hey listen, you probably don’t want to talk to me anymore. I just wanted you to meet my friend. I think you’ll like her a lot. (Pass the phone to Justice.)
Justice: Hi there! I’m Ginger.
Man: Hi Ginger. So, you heard about me huh? How old are you?
Justice: 16
Man: Don’t you think that’s a bit young?
Justice: No, I’m already in college and I’m pretty mature.
Man: College, wow. You must be smart. What do you look like?
Justice: I have red hair, I’m tall, I have a nice figure and a beauty mark on my cheek. (I’m guessing this dude didn’t watch Gilligan’s Island as much as Justice did.)
Man: Nice, okay. I like to meet you. Can you come down here?
Justice: Well, uh, not right now, I don’t have a car at the moment.
Man: Okay, I can come get you.
Justice: Um, just a minute. (Whispering to me with his hand over the receiver: What the hell!? What should I say? Me: I don’t know… no tell him to screw off. Justice: No, let’s tell him to come up here and we can pretend we’re Ginger’s brother’s and threaten to kick his ass! Me: What? No, wait…)
Justice: Yeah come up here. Meet me on the corner of Albion and Dupont.
Man: Okay, I be up there in 10 minutes. I drive a white Cadillac and have mustache.
Justice: Great, can’t wait!

“Dude what the hell! We can’t kick his ass!” I cried.
“It’s cool,” said Justice calmly, “we’ll get a couple of your old golf clubs and scare him away. He probably won’t even show up. He might have even been pranking us back.”
“You better be right, or I’m gonna kick your ass with a golf club.”

Regardless, we headed off to the corner wielding a four iron and a pitching wedge (I didn’t have any drivers). We were going to run up to his car with our clubs in the strike position and start screaming all sorts of expletives at him.

We waited, and waited some more. No creepy dude. My nerves started to calm down a little thinking he wasn’t going to show up, then purring down the street came this white Cadillac just as the guy described.

“Holy crap, he’s here,” muttered Justice. We both backed away from the corner and checked him out. He sure was a slimy looking bastard, all discoed out with coiffed hair and thick black mustache. He had one of those macho shirts on with the top 92 buttons undone and a gold chain that said “I like little girls.” He was driving a white late ‘70s Coupe deVille with red leather interior and a little Christmas tree smelly thing hanging from the rearview mirror. He was cruising at 5 mph. craning his neck every which way looking for sweet little Ginger.

“Look tough,” Justice told me, and I tried, but couldn’t muster up a convincing face. I looked to Justice to see how he was faring and he just backed up a little with a blank look on his face. I turned back to look at the Caddy and the creepy dude was staring right at us. I panicked and took a practice swing with my pitching wedge like it was totally natural to be golfing on a street corner. Justice followed my lead and there we were, two 11-year-old kids out for some fresh air just golfing in the street.

We waited for the dude to turn the corner and then I just gave Justice this look like “You stupid idiot.” “What,” he exclaimed, “You totally pussed out.” I just looked at him, shook my head, and said “Dude, take some golf lessons, your swing looks like shit.”

In this candid interview, my father reveals what his greatest regrets and accomplishments were, what he did when he found marijuana in my bedroom, how he dealt with my alcohol abuse, his relationship with Bob Dylan, and how he feels about his daughter-in-law. I mean, now it all clicks. I’m soooo excited that I can save $800 a month on therapy! I recommend every son sitting down with his father, turning the camera on, and having a good ol’ fashioned heart-to-heart conversation. There’s nothing that heals wounds better than words. You know, you don’t see this because I cut it out, but we’re actually sobbing and holding each other at the end of the interview. Plus, I learned who Jules Feiffer was.

Dear Anton,

I am truly, truly sorry for posting this video on the internet when you were three. I had no idea it would still be floating around after all of these years. And how it made it on that new social networking service “Alldatcrap.com” that you youngsters use is beyond my comprehension. Yes, I realize that your friends are pranking you with acceptance letters to the Disneyland Princess Academy Hip Hop Center for the Arts, but if they can’t accept who you are, or once were, then maybe they’re not your friends. I really hope you can patch things up with Tallulah. She is such a lovely girl. But I understand that after she called you “Sweetie” for four months, “Lil’ Bitch” is hard for you to take. Look on the bright side of things. At least you know some fierce hip hop moves and can color coordinate your outfits better than any other 16 year old punk that used to call themselves your “friend.” Am I the only one who appreciates how you stood up to your sister at the end of all this? “Pissssss, I pee in your eyes and hair”. A brilliant comeback for a three year old! If only your sister hadn’t shut down production so quickly. I would have loved to hear your next strike! Listen, even though you tried to get foster parents by wearing that fake bruise makeup and calling the cops, just remember that I will always, always love you.

Sincerely,
Your Father

Nico: Stop copying me!
Anton: Stop copying me.
Nico: Stop, I mean it.
Anton: I mean it!
Nico: Okay, try to copy this – Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Anton: Shoobie, boobie, doobie, roobie
Nico: Ha ha, tricked you. You know what the longest word in the English language is?
Anton: Flakmakdaktrakpaklakhakapakadookieyaya
Nico: Nuh uh, you don’t even know.
Anton: Butt frack… poop!
Nico: [laughs hysterically]

Nico and Anton

The gardeners are tearing up our backyard right now. What? Why not me? Because I’m stimulating the economy, that’s why. Anyway, great guys, but their English is a little shaky. I was talking to Pablo:

Pablo: You know, the beef (showing me his head)
Me: Huh, what’s that?
Pablo: The beef, it’s very bad (pointing to a corner of the yard)
Me: Yeah (pretending I know)
Pablo: Yeah, the beef (now showing me the back of his neck and his elbow)
Me: Wow, huh. It can be bad, yeah totally.
Pablo: Yeah, too many beef.
Me: Wait, what?
Pablo: You know, like not honey, but beef.
Me: Bees! Oh man, you got stung up bad.
Pablo: Yeah, I dig over there and the beef they all come up.

I’m lucky on three counts: 1. Pablo is a tough S.O.B., 2. the yellow jacket nest was just on the other side of our property line, and 3. I was stimulating the economy instead of digging in my backyard.

Pablo and Marta tearin' it up yo.