We were driving up to Boulder to see Cat Power last Friday. On the way was a phone call offering us tickets to Cirque de Soleil. We opted to see Chan Marshall in all her glory and pass on the circus tickets. What we got was a circus of our own.

I had never seen Chan Marshall live before but I have read enough reviews to understand that she has incredible stage fright and is prone to mini-breakdowns, rantings & ravings, false starts, rambling, and occasionally straight-up abandoning her audience. So, when she arrived on stage forty minutes late, I was just glad that she decided to show up. She sat down with her guitar and immediately tore through three great songs. Soon her mic started making a low rumbling sound… and then the wheels fell off.

Chan wondered if the rumbling that was coming through the speakers was buffalo or thunder, and quipped it must be buffalunder, and then stated that she wished that was a word someone would use to describe her ass. It was moments like these that made the audience laugh. However, much of the night the audience was unprepared or unwilling to accept Chan’s blunt personality and stretched-beyond-limits character and ended up wincing, shifting uncomfortably and often simply leaving because of how uncomfortable they felt.

Chan then proceeded to stumble through a half-dozen songs unable to actually complete any of them.

She continually complained about the sound but complimented the theatre. She said that, had she still been drinking, this show would probably prompt her to commit suicide. She wished for a “psychedelic sound button” on her piano and across the elementary classrooms of America. She talked of having her period, picking her crack, butt-crack, and “all her cracks”. She talked about getting sober and the vices picked up from becoming straight, all the while ashing her cigarette into her shirt pocket. She talked about old friends, and her childhood, and politics (feebly). She slammed her hands on the piano in frustration, left the stage for a little bit fuming with dissatisfaction, asking for the magic to return. She sat in silence for extended periods, and had the audience in silence , wondering if any sort of shouting or clapping would send her shattering into pieces. When the audience did scream, it was usually words of encouragement to, “keep on going!”, “it sounds great”, and “don’t worry Chan, we love you”.

Having no back up band to push her though finishing any songs Chan was free to stop in middle of songs, start in the middle of songs and just mash up a bunch of songs together –and she did.

She eventually finished her two-and-a-half hour set by singing an a capella version of “You Are The Sunshine Of My Life”, tinkling on the piano trying to decide what to play, then announcing to the audience thanks for listening and that she is going to leave us alone now. She then walked off the stage while pretending to moon the audience.

G described the show as though she were watching a train wreck and couldn’t pull her eyes off craziness on stage. I loved it. I thought it was raw and real, and yes – crazy. But it was so fucking honest that I couldn’t help but root for her every painful minute of the way.

This is not to say every minute was painful. Chan sang beautifully and her piano and guitar playing were superb - when she’d give herself a chance to play them. I loved hearing “Good Women” (Otis Redding cover), “Satisfaction” (Rolling Stones cover), “The Colors And The Kids” and “I Don’t Blame You”. This is a show I thoroughly enjoyed but judging from what others have said, and how many people left the theatre mid-show, my opinion is not a popular one.

If you’re curious, you can dowload some live stuff here (not the Boulder show).

Did anyone esle go to this? Does anyone have a set list (somehow I think that may be impossible)?

Despite my earlier experiences I participated in a karaoke night again. This time is wasn’t nearly as much of a disaster as last time. Not to say it wasn’t a disaster though. I rocked out AC/DC’s (I wish my keyboard had a lighting bolt symbol on it) “Back In Black”. It’s a great song for karaoke because you can basically scream the whole thing. I had always thought that I had wanted this song as my theme tune. A theme tune, in my ideal world, is the song that plays behind me anytime I enter a room full of friends, family, or strangers. It doesn’t play when I enter toilets, funerals, or hospitals.

I haven’t decided if it’s necessary for one to be able to at least sing along to the entire song before it is allowed to become your theme tune. Or maybe just knowing the words should be enough. If either of those requirements are put into place, I have some work to do before I can claim “Back In Black” as my theme song.

I think I brought the house down though, despite my screwing up what I thought was the “daddy loose mama goose” line. My apologies go out to the old man in the front row who was so horrified by my performance, and his experience, that he refused to look me in the eye during the entire song.

On a not-so-completely different subject, I have a new book review up.

I’ve never been afraid to talk about my favoritism toward the “reality” style of television. My interest in them has spanned all genres and styles. So it may come as no surprise that I would actually try out for one. Well, I never thought I would, but it might not surprise you.

Yesterday, G and I went down to the Teatro Hotel to try out for the travel channels new “1000 Places To Visit Before You Die” show. Both G & I are well traveled and have few serious responsibilities, so this looked like a great opportunity for us. You know, quit work and travel the world for four months on somebody elses bill. This was right up our alley.

Now I am well experienced with casting calls - I went through two very arduous tryouts for the Littleton Children’s Theatre at the tender young age of six or seven, where I proved my talent in order to win demanding roles as a goober pea in Brer Rabbit, and a punk-robot-type-thingy in some play I have nearly no recollection of (Thank God). Despite my expansive experience in “the industry” we bombed yesterdays casting call.

I don’t consider myself ugly really, but I didn’t know that the casting call went out to all the modeling agencies in Denver. Yikes. Everyone waiting around in the lobby was so perfect it made me want to puke. These were all actual TV type of people with headshots and “representatives”. But the best part is when we went in for the interview.

“Sit closer, take off your coats, we want to see what you look like” I was just hoping they wouldn’t make me spin around.

They asked us a series of questions that were relatively easy to answer and then they stumped us with this one, “What do you guys have to offer the show? You know, you would be the hosts, why would people want to watch you?”

G and I just turned and stared at each other blankly. Finally I blurted out something about being smart, and quick witted, and able to think on our toes. It was one of my worst displays of “thinking on my toes” ever. I continued to blab for what seemed like forever. It was more like my toes were doing the thinking. After jammering-on for about two minutes too long, G said something that finally shut me up. I can’t remember what she said because I was so dumbfounded I have blacked it out from my memory.

Then they got us with this one, “Where would you guys like to travel?” G said Africa and then started talking about some sort of Angelina Jolie type of stuff about culture and saving the world type of crap. Then I said, “Well my answer would be something of the opposite.” Here, they seemed to light up, thinking there might be some sort of good dynamic or drama that our relationship could add to their show. I quickly deflated their hopes by following up with, “I would like to go to Malaysia or Indonesia cause I just want to lay on the beach the whole time.”

I could just imagine what kind of ratings they would get by broadcasting my skinny, pasty body laying awkwardly in an uncomfortable beach chair occasionally dipping into the ocean to get the sand off my ass. 30 minutes of that. That’s what I told them I wanted.

For the rest of the interview I babbled incessantly while G tried to recover from how horribly everything was going. Not surprisingly, it was a short interview. Expect to see us in the very first episode where they show all of the idiots who tried out but are laughably under-qualified.

It’s been an eventful week. I’ve been up to a lot but don’t really feel like writing about any of it so I’ll just type out some quick highlights. Thursday evening was spent having cocktails in the old neighborhood - it was great for that reminiscing part of my brain. Later we headed over to the Oriental Theater (nice blog, great venue) for this “420″ thing that was a bit of a dud, but a decent cause.

Friday was rough but after work I rallied and met friends over at the Funky Buddha for a bit and then went home to watch movies.

Slept in Saturday and did tons of yard work (hmmm I guess that’s not a highlight). I then went off to a birthday party at Ogden Street South. It was a complete blast. Highlights include karaoke and the soon to be infamous “Nobody calls her that you fucking bitch!” episode. I’m beginning to determine that me and karaoke don’t mix well.

Sunday consisted of a 24 hour long headache (not hangover induced), another birthday celebration at the West End Tavern, and some serious couch time.

If you have read this crap for any length of time, then it will come as no surprise to you that I’m an incredibly efficient procrastinator. That should be on my resume. Efficient procrastinator. Knowing this little tidbit about me, it would also come as no surprise that it has been seven plus years since I have been to the dentist. Seriously, that is how efficient I am. I’m such a good procrastinator it’s almost embarrassing. Actually, it is embarrassing. But not too embarrassing to tell the whole internet world.

As my dentist will attest, a lot of plaque can build up when one has the implausible procrastination skills that I have. It made for a loooooong visit to the dentist yesterday. A gas free visit I might add too. My old dentist was fast and loose with the gas. I miss that.

Despite my supreme skills of postponement, I somehow walked into the dentist cavity-free. The bad news is (and don’t let them fool you kids - there is always bad news) I was told I’m a grinder. I thought that was something cool at first. It’s not. G has been well aware of the “strange mouth noises” I make throughout the night. I gnash my teeth as I sleep and I have no idea that I’m doing it. That, my friends, is not cool. It’s ruining my teeth. They’re being shifted around, worn down, and physically abused by my stress and dreams. What a team stress and dreams make. They’re kicking my teeth in (very slowly but it’s still happening). My grinding has worn my molars flat and thinned my enamel and cracked one of my fillings. That filling needs to be replaced within the next few weeks. Finally, I might get some of the oh-so-wondrous-nitrous-oxide! That is, if I can put my procrastination aside.

It�s true. I�m an asshole. We have already established that I�m a terrible friend, a lousy brother, and a dreadful son. I�m also now an incredibly horrible ex, and a worthless boyfriend. I have no right whatsoever to have what I�ve got. I suck. Bad. I handled myself poorly when I answered Sabrina�s drunken call at 12:30 last night. Me with my �sweet dreams� right in front of G. I suck. And Sabrina shouldn�t have called five times afterward but I shouldn�t have called back.

Sabrina? Hey have you just been calling a bunch of times?
Um�.well�.yeah.
That�s gotta stop.

And then an abrupt hang-up. No goodbyes. Thank God no sweet dreams. And no regard for feelings, for anyone.

***Update Below***
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Seriously. I’m tired of talking about myself. How are you?

I took Monday off early to go a golf tournament with a bunch of the guys. Now I�m no Chi Chi Rodriguez (I�d prefer his name to his golf game personally), but I did all right last year. This year was a different story. I hadn�t yet golfed this year, I hadn�t even picked up my clubs and gone to the driving range this summer. I don�t know what I was thinking when I figured I would try and play a straight 18 holes right out of the gate, no warm up, and over a year cold. Oh, wait, yeah I do � I was thinking, �Fuck it!� Well my fuck it attitude cost me dearly. As it tends to do. Blisters, a sunburn, and last place makes for a rough round. I�ve got about five blisters on my had that began to develop at around hole 4, were burst by hole 6, and rubbed raw the reminder of the holes. My nose is once again a drunk shiny red. Winning the princess jacket has scarred both my pride and respect. Yes, those 18 holes cost me dearly. But you know what, I�d do it all again tomorrow for another sunny afternoon off of work, in the park, with a white ball, free beer, and battery operated transportation.

It’s been a fairly nice weekend. I kicked of Friday night with a rum and coke at the Warwick Hotel bar because…. well because it’s fun to drink at hotel bars sometimes.

I spent most of Saturday in sweatpants watching movies, reading and catnapping. A couple of walks around the neighborhood inssured that couch-rigormortis didn’t set in.

Today I went to go return some christmas gifts at the mall. And it may seem late to be returning gifts, but it’s actually pretty early considering some of the gifts were from christmas 2002. Surprisingly, I didn’t have many problems with the returns seeing as how some of them didn’t even have reciepts. It has been nearly a year since I had been to a mall and it kinda wigged me out. It took about twenty minutes before I actuallly started to feel comfortable. It was a bit overwhelming and I thought everyone was looking at me so I didn’t know where to place my eyes. It was real interesting when David Byrne was talking about shooping malls in true stories. How shopping malls have replaced the town square as a meeting place for modern society. Shopping malls are happy, muzac laden, centers of economic certainty. A place where you can bump into a friend while purchasing the latest fashions. And there is always plenty of parking.

I’m over at my moms now, doing laundry, fucking around on the computer and watching the grammys - which is probably the worst produced awards show I’ve even seen. The sound is terrible. Many of the acts were all sonically screwed up. Celen Dions “mike check” episode was hilarious. But over all the sound is just so meesed up it’s hard to enjoy.

And not only that but I missed a spot about the size of a quarter on my neck shaving this morning. It�s disgusting. I saw this program on TV this weekend where they got some guy and tried to teach him how to date. I can�t remember the name of the show, but the lady that was trying to teach him got to telling him about people who are motivated, and what their body language is like. How motivated people, people who like to accomplish things, have good posture, act interested, often leaned forward and get wide eyed. I want motivation. Man my endorphins are low today. I need to do something that�s gonna make me feel good about myself for a change. What is that gonna be? Don�t tell me to do something nice for myself, like go to the spa, or buy something, or go out to dinner. I don�t deserve it. Oh shit, what am I writing here. Lets talk about ways to make yourself feel good about yourself. Where should my worth be coming from. I�m gonna eat lunch at my desk, that�ll provide me with a good sense of false productivity. Maybe if I make money on the stock market I�ll feel like I�m intelligent again. It�s funny how when I feel proud or accomplished it feels like bragging when I write it down, but when I�m in the dumps it feels like the whole world should feel sorry for me.
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Last night I re-met two people. I went to my old haunt and to have a couple of beers. As I was talking to the bar tender this guys sits down next to me. We end up shooting the shit for a couple of hours. About an hour or so into the conversation I realize that I had met this guy before, sometime earlier this summer. It was something about his political views and his knowledge of literature that started ringing bells. I brought this up to him � that I thought we had met before. He wouldn�t confirm it though. After talking for another half-hour or so, and after I brought up Ayn Rand, he agreed, and said he remembers having met me. But it was real foggy for both of us and could have been psychosomatic. I really feel like I met him before though.

Afterward I went over to the hippie bar. The bar was full, so I got a drink and then went and sat at a table in the corner and people watched. A girl came up, tapped me on the shoulder and said, �Hubs?� I acted like I knew who she was but couldn�t put it together. I thought that maybe she was a friend of my brothers. So, I faked it. She said that she saw me sitting alone and that I should join her. So I followed her over to her table and she introduced me to another stranger (this one I wasn�t supposed to know). As soon as we sat down she mentioned a funeral that she just went to recently. That�s when it hit me that I had met her at the haunt just before christmas, right after she had found out a friend died. I tried to cheer her up a bit and we hit it off pretty well. She looked a little different though (and I was a little drunk). It was cool of her to invite me over to there table. I couldn�t quite tell if the other guy was her boyfriend or just a friend but I felt like a bit of a third wheel when she once came back with just two shots. Anyway, it was nice to have the company. We ended the night with one of those awkward handshake-hug things.

A funny thing happened at lunch today. I was sitting in the little fast food restaurant eating my naked burrito. To my right, on the other side of the restaurant about 30 feet away were an EMT and his girlfriend (poor girl, doesn’t she know her man’s gonna get all/is all fucked up on human tragedy and access to free pharmaceuticals). Now the EMT and his girl were really enjoying each others company - feeding each other, reaching across the table and caressing each others lips and faces, and eventually leaning across the table for long soft kisses. And they did it with no shame, aware that everyone knew what they were doing.

Next to the couple about 15 feet away were three girls in there early twenties. The one in the middle could not stop staring and the affectionate EMT and his equally affectionate girlfriend. I couldn’t quite tell from her face whether she was revolted, turned on, or simply intrigued by this display. So I stared at her.

As soon as I got her attention (which took a while cause she was so involved with this other couple) I made a little smirk. She stared at me for a second probably ashamed/wondering about how long I had been watching her for and thus knowing how long she had been watching the couple. I made a quick glance at the couple and then back at her and flashed a big knowing smile. Meanwhile the EMT realized what was happening. She then shyly smiled, blushed, and kind of flustered her hands around trying to find something to do. Her two friends who had noticed the couple and me, but hadn’t been blatantly staring, then caught on then and started laughing at her. With embarrassed giggles they quickly picked up their stuff and left.

The EMT the leaned over to his girlfriend. Having her back to me, she turned her head over her shoulder to look in my direction. When she realized whom her boyfriend was talking about she made a big smile towards me and the EMT leaned over and gave me a huge thank you smile. I laughed out loud and then buried my head in my book wondering how six people had such a full and awkward conversation without actually saying a word.
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