Messin' with Texas (again)

Wheels are down. Spirits are up – emotional, not alcoholic. Groundswell had landed. Milkman had been texted. Texas was about to get messed with – Groundswell and Halearious style.

Was Austin ready?

Doubtful.

Was Halerious ready? Probably. She was still on a plane from Boston. Maybe at an airport in Houston. She didn’t fly direct like Groundswell did.

Was I ready?

Yes.

I was prepared. Or as prepared as I could be. I rolled through the airport on air. Sober as can be, but I was hopeful that would end shortly after Milkman and the boys picked me up.

It was a picture perfect day. Air was clean. Air was hot. Sky was blue. The girls were out in about in yoga pants and skirts and flowing dresses.

Was this heaven?

Doubtful.

Groundswell was still clothed.

The text rolled in with the news: Milkman had messed up the time of my flight. He’d be there in 45 minutes. Disappointed, true, but down for whatever Texas was going to throw my way.

I called Stocks Paradox and caught up with my boy. He was chilling in RI. Mending a bruised wrist. Too much man on man sex or something like that. Maybe a bike ride went awry or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.

Milkman and the boys rolled in right on time. Texas time. Not Groundswell time, but it was good to see the car full with DanOh, J Rad, and B Rad. It was better to hear I was the only sober one in the car. The trip was looking up.

We rolled through the Texas big sky and beautiful sun on our way to Mikman’s new pad.

It was a cool two bedroom spot with a nice backyard and his new a-few-months-old pup, Boone.

DanOh, J Rad and B Rad had already made themselves at home, and soon we were all drinking a Four Loko. Mine was orange flavored and I liked it. It turns out Four Lokos are 12% alcohol, 24 ounces big, and have the same amount of caffeine as five cups of coffee. This was not the last time we’d become familiar with a Loko.

We each had our own and enjoyed it to various degrees. We saved the Lemonade flavor for Halearious. She was now at the Houston airport, due in to Austin at 8PM, but drinking with her new friends at the airport. It’d been seven months since Halearious and I cruised in the J-E-T-T-A for four thousand miles, but some things never change.

The boys and I drank, and caught up. Cursed out Milkman’s neighbor’s dog. A yappy dog / rat mix or something. Loud and annoying.

The Loko was doing it’s job. We were all a buzz.

Halearious touched down right on time. We picked her up. Hugged it out, and then headed back to Milkman’s to drop off her bags and get the party started.

B Rad ordered pizza. Halearious cracked open the Lemondade Loko (which we would find nearly full the next morning) and we all settled in with our drinks of choice and relaxed.

This was a tight crew. Mansfield, MA goes deep. I was the eldest statement, but most likely the most immature.

After pizza, and some more drinks we decided to roll out to let Austin know that Mansfield had arrived in style. We headed down to 6th St for a bar. We ended up with a double-floored humongo of a bar that served Lonestar’s for $2 a piece. Needless to say all night no one refused a drink as long as I was asking them to relieve me of one of the four in my hands. This was gonna be fun.

My buddy Amal was in town from NYC. He rolled in with a beautiful blonde that all the boys liked.

We drank. We danced. We laughed. We took pictures. I stained my shirt. It was good to be in Mansfield. Err, I mean Texas.

After Halearious got her Mariah song on the video screen, we decided that $2 for Lone Star was a bit much and decided to bounce home. It was time to call it a night.

I’m awake. I’m on the floor. I’m in the closet on old clothes. Halerious and Milkman are across the room from me sharing the bed (as friends). It’s hazy. Or at least in my head it is. I’m not sure how I ended up on the floor – in a closet. There was a complete other room where I could have crashed.

Soon Halearious and Milkman were awake. We reminisced about the previous night. Laughed a lot and kept ourselves entertained. Boone was up as well. Halearious was talking ‘cat’ to Boone. Milkman and I were highly entertained.

Somewhere in the universe out there DanOh, B Rad, and J Rad were sleeping.

Sooner or later, I rolled out to find B Rad and J Rad sprawled out around the living room. Each had a couch. Shades were drawn. It was dark. They weren’t moving any time soon.

I crept into the second bedroom where DanOh had fallen on the floor. He looked comfortable.

I grabbed my toothbrush and made my way to the bathroom. I was still trying to decide if I was hungover or not. A great way to fight off the hangover is brushing the teeth. Give the old taste buds a fresh start. I brush my teeth. I check myself in the mirror. I’m still a sexy beast. Just a little worse for the wear.

I make my way back into the Milkman’s room and hit the floor again. Nobody’s moving for a while. No reason to be ambitious. Why start now?

Halerious shortly discovers she’s hungover and few the next few hours she’d excuse herself to dry heave ever so often. Nothing ever came up, but she gave it the good ol’ college try a bunch of times.

With all the commotion the other boys rose from the dead. We all shorted our shit out at our own pace and realized that we needed to head over to Zilker Park for Austin City Limits (ACL) – the music festival – that brought us all together.

The storm that was about to collide with Austin actually started to coalesce a few months back. DanOh had told me that he was going to visit Milkman in Austin for the first time, and the were planning to go to ACL. I thought it sounded like fun. I told DanOh that I had wanted to go back to Austin to see it at its best – either South by Southwest (SXSW) or for ACL. That’s all I ever thought about it for a while.

While it was silent in my mind, on the east coast the wind picked up. DanOh’s brother J Rad joined the trip. B Rad was on board. And then the four of them started to convince Halearious to come. Their timing was perfect. My eldest sister, Machine Gun, had just gotten a full time job and was going to be splitting Halearious’ rent. Halearious was RICH. Well, rich for Halearious. She was in.

Soon the silence had ended. The gust came straight across my bow. It was a text. It said: “Whatcha doing Oct 7 – 11? Coming to Austin? Aiow.” It was Halearious.

The gusts would continue to rustle in my head for quite sometime. And then in the quiet of a beautiful California afternoon, my hair stylist (I am a sexy beast) made the decision for me. She implored that I head to Austin. She “released me,” as she would say, from the decision. I couldn’t argue with that. So I went home and bought the ticket.

The storm was about to rage.

The lineup was pretty solid. A lot of bands Halearious and I wanted to see. A few DanOh wanted to see. The other boys were mostly there for the company and the party.

The first band Halearious wanted to see was the band “Girls.” She was on her own with that one. I wanted to see The Black Keys. I had seen them a week before in Los Angeles and was totally blown away. One of the best bands I had seen in a LONG time. Girls went on at 3PM. The Black Keys were on at 4PM.

For various reasons that would become our Motus Operendi for the weekend we rolled in right on schedule – 3:50PM.

Halearious was bummed she missed Girls.

We were not prepared for what we were about to walk into.

We head to the gates that say Zilker Park and announce that you’ve made it to ACL 2010. It’s good to be here. We head in and over to the madness that is the Black Keys stage. We’re caught in a traffic jam of humans on foot. It’s a clusterfuck. We can barely move. Within five minutes Halearious and I are separated from the other four boys. We won’t see them again for another six hours (cell phone towers were jammed and it was hard to even get text messages through).

Halearious and I spend twenty or so minutes fighting the crowd. I’m panicked. I’m thinking that if this is what it’s like the whole time I won’t be coming back on Saturday. Halearious suggests that we bounce from the Black Keys stage and head across the field a few hundred yards to the almost empty field in front of what will be the Beach House stage at 5PM. I’m disappointed, but I think she’s on to something. We head over. I had seen the Black Keys not so long ago and I was fifty feet from the stage and got my face melted. That wasn’t happening with our poor planning this time.

Halearious and I get a spot dead center for Beach House. She’s excited to see them. They are in the wheel house of Halearious’s music taste – female singer that sounds like a man, playing pop / emo / rock / every song sounds the same. I’m skeptical.

Halearious decides to use me as a spot saver and goes to rustle up some food and beers. I just want beer. Not hungry yet.

I chill and wait. Enjoying the weather and the soft grass. Watching the Black Keys in the safety with a few hundred yards distance. Happiness is.

Halearious comes back with two beers – each with their own ACL 2010 coozie (for an additional $2) – and a veggie burrito. It all hits the spot.

Soon Beach House takes the stage. They’re tight. And the lead singer is good. It doesn’t take long before I’m totally attracted to her. I love girls who can sing. They bang out a nice set. It’s the vocalist on piano, a guitarist and then a bassist and a drummer. They keep the beats simple, the lyrics impossible to understand, and everything fits nicely together. After the show Halearious asks me if I think all the songs sound the same. I say no. I’m lying. They do, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re good and enjoyable.

It’s time to pick the next show. We realize that we’re not going to be able to see every band that we want. Instead we’re going to have to use some strategy and pick the shows that alternate with an hour in between so that we can get close to the bands we want to see.

Luckily, for me, there are no other bands I really care about on Friday. Halearious suggest we go check out Vampire Weekend. I’d put them in the same category as Beach House in terms of sound, but add a really annoying front man and some Paul Simon influence and we’re there.

Halearious and I chill out. We’re making good use of our time taking silly pictures of ourselves doing silly poses. We’re sure our mother is going to love them. I’m hoping I like them too. We’ve posted up at a forty-five degree angle from the stage and we’re not too close. Looks like a lot of idiots like Vampire Weekend and are willing to wait. I’m having fun with Halearious. Times are good. Vampire Weekend is a solid show. The sun falls as their set continues and night has descends upon us. The band is tight, but not my style. Too much pop. Too much annoying front man. Too much Vampire and not enough Weekend. Or maybe too much WEAKend and not enough VAMPire. I’m not sure which one. I’ll let you decide when you see them live and slobber over their pop hooks. It gives me the willies just thinking about it.

We’ve made contact with the other boys. They had gone to see Slightly Stoopid and they’re holding down their spot for the Phish show. The two headliners for Friday night were Phish and The Strokes. I couldn’t be less excited for either of them. I hate The Strokes more than most bands out there. I think they’re temporary. They’re like a dream that you think is good when it happens, but then don’t remember it. It’s probably for the best that you don’t remember it. Anyways, I’m sure when the world ends and people talk about music history nobody will bring up The Strokes, and if they do I’ll vomit and excuse myself from the discussion while the drugs wear off the people talking about them. Phish I dislike less. They’re trippy. They jam. I like jam bands. I just don’t like Phish, but I’m sure that when the world ends and people talk about music history they will talk about Phish, and at least I’ll have something to say other than vomiting and excusing myself from the table.

We meet up with the boys. We’re all excited to see each other again for the first time since our first five minutes at the festival. We catch up on what they’ve been up too. They’ve been drinking more than Halearious and I.

We settle in to watch Phish. There is some drugged out dude to our left dancing up a storm. I’m not sure which beat he was dancing to, but I think he was trying to dance to EVERY beat that existed in the world at the SAME exact time. I’m pretty sure this was not his first show. I’m also pretty sure he wasn’t sober.

My legs are tired, so I sit down. It’s me, Halearious, Milkman all chilling on the blanket we brought. I’m surreptitiously eating a burrito I bought earlier in the day. I’m hungee.

Everything is cool. For a last second.

Then a FAT, DRUNK dude trips over Milkman’s foot and lands squarely on Halearious’ lower leg / ankle.

Halerious doubles over in pain. She’s crying / fighting back the tears all at once. The FAT dude is drunk and sweating; he’s asking Halearious if there’s anything he can do for her.

Halearious can’t bring herself to look at him. I’m pretty sure if she does she’s going to rip his head off.

I can’t blame her. I was PISSED. How dare he? I was eating.

I’m eating my burrito and now I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stop and ask Halearious if she needs anything. Are we going to have to go to the medical tent? Another bite. Are we going to have to get her cruches? Another bite. Maybe she’s fine. Another bite. Just walk it off I think. Another bite.

“You ok?” I ask caringly. I even reach out and touch her back. She’s going to be fine. She just needs to cry it out. Luckily, women’s pain threshold is nine times that of a man’s (hence childbirth being possible). If it had been me or Milkman we may have called off ACL. Luckily, Halearious was down to limp around.

When she composes herself (aka I finish my burrito), we decided to go check out The Strokes. Yippee.

They were awesome. I was blown away. They were everything that music should be. They were appreciative. They played OVER the hour and a half prime slot they were given. It was amazing. Most bands on Friday (other than Phish) only had an hour on stage. I couldn’t believe that the Strokes played for so much time. It was awesome. The whole crowd was going nuts. Every song they just got louder and louder. It was like music history was being written right before my eyes. I could not believe the transcendental music gods that were playing before my eyes. Once in a life time kids. Once in a life time.

OK. Everything I just said in that paragraph was a lie. They were mediocre. They sound like the album, nothing more. They left with twenty minutes left on their set time. It was musical premature ejaculation with someone you weren’t drunk enough to even want to sleep with. Are you happy when its over or just disappointed on every level? I could tell you what I was, but then I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.

We’d find out the next day that The Strokes showed up on stage twenty minutes late AND left twenty minutes early. They’re special.

We bounce out of ACL to grab some food. And by bounce, I mean walk slowly as Halearious limped along.

We’re all pretty beat and decide no big night for us. We’re going to grab some food and maybe have a drink or two.

Milkman takes us to a chill Hawaiian influenced bar. They have a fried avocado appetizer that Halearious and I can’t say no too. I get a Mai Tai, Halerious a jalapeño infused margarita, Milkman a fish bowl of rum and other good ness (thanks in part to a recommendation from me), B Rad Mai Tai, J Rad and DanOh get margaritas.

When it’s time to order food we all get some meat dishes except for DanOh and J Rad. They order salads.

After the meal, they complain about the salad quality and we start laughing. It’s Texas we tell them. They’re probably the first person to order a salad there in years. The waitress probably didn’t even know it was on the menu.

For dessert we decide to get drinks. And by drinks I mean we decide to go somewhere else.

When Milkman describes the place he’s thinking we should go as a cowboy bar – a real cowboy bar – DanOh wholeheartedly and innocently says, “Wow, I’d love to meet a real cowboy.” Well, needless to say, the rest of us can’t let this go. We are all over him, joking, laughing, I practically have tears in my eyes thinking how this is the best quote I’ve heard in a long time.

As we walk out of the Hawaiian restaurant, Halearious and I are still laughing about it.

Well it’s on to the cowboy bar. We are all excited. None as excited as DanOh. This is for sure.

The cowboy bar is called The Warehouse and much to the disappointment of us all there are no cowboys. It looks like DanOh’s going home alone tonight. We grab a table and settle in. There are a lot of pool tables. Some video games. A Juke box. Tons of space. It’s huge. And a surprising lack of girls. Boo.

We order a few pitches. Remember, we’re taking it easy. We play some silly name drinking game to keep things going. We get shots. No big night tonight. We order some more pitchers. We get some more shots. We’re mellowing it out.
We get ready to go. Milkman and I aren’t quite sleepy. We grab two more Jameson shots on the way out.

Milkman guides us home flawlessly.

They all crash pretty quickly upon settling in.

Milkman and I talk music. He’s learning how to play drums. I’m convincing him to come play with my band in LA for fun. We talk about how drummers can drive the band. It’s the first of our Music 101 sessions. Hopefully, there will be more.

We got a big Saturday coming up. I’m not sure if anyone knew how big. But, it was big. Real big.

Bands we missed on Saturday (that we would have been down to see):
Pete Yorn
The Dough Rollers
Silversun Pickups
Local Natives
The xx

What we did instead:
We woke up at our own pace. I once again had my head in the closet. This time I had my sleeping bag set up nice by Milkman.

We hang around. We slowly shower one by one. B Rad has the Bruins game on. They’re playing in Prague. We’re watching.

We are hungry. We talk about eating.

Showering continues.

We watch hockey.

Showering continues.

We talk about eating.

Showering continues.

We watch hockey.

We get ready to leave.

On Friday night, we had big plans for Saturday to get up and eat breakfast, and then all dress up in toga outfits for Saturday at ACL.

This did not happen. We didn’t leave the house until 1PM. We made our way to Denny’s for breakfast. It was solid.

The best thing about it is that we decided to go to the thrift store to see if they have anything we may be interested in.

On our way to the thrift store, we search for a store with Four Lokos. A few false starts, and then we get 6 of them – one for each of us. We pick up some herbs.

And then we hit the thrift store.

We all walk in with open minds. We look around. See what’s out there. DanOh strikes first when he finds a shiny red top and matching pants. They are perfect for him. He looks like a Moroccan prince or something. J Rad finds a pair of red shorts and purple shirt to go with his Bermuda hat. Lee finds suspenders and a fishing hat. I find my inspiration while looking at the robes and thinking about Hugh Hefner. I realize that’s what he would rock. I end up with an all white, what used to be a hotel robe for $6, and a Bermuda hat. Once my outfit is taken care of, I help Halearious pick out a shiny skirt that’s too short to be worn without her shorts on. She grabs a summer hat as well. We’re all set. B Rad decides to go without costume in the event that we get arrested, he’ll be our straight man to bail us out.

After the thrift store, it’s time for ACL. Well almost time. We hit a liquor store so that we can sneak alcohol into ACL and save some loot. Halearious and I get some Jameson. Everyone else gets their poison of choice and we’re out of there. Did I mention, that we all were in our costumes? They loved us at the liquor store.

How many times do you see a man in a bathrobe at a liquor store accompanied by a Moroccan prince? Not enough times should be your answer.

We are in high spirits as we leave.

We park the car about a fifteen minute walk from Zilker park outside a friend of a friends place and we drink our Four Lokos. It’s our thing. We drink the Lokos to start our day off, and by the end of one of the Lokos you’re generally ready for anything that comes your way.

We begin our walk and the looks we get are awesome. People love us. We stand out. Mansfield, MA is making Austin weirder than it is normally. I love it.

We make a pit stop to get some water and other things. It’s here that Milkman convinces me to buy a paper to complete the outfit. He says he’ll even pay for it. I pick up the New York Times. I gotta let the ladies know I got some intelligence to go with the sexy beast and the robe. We can’t just let them think I’m another stoner with a pretty face. That would just be a bold face lie. As we get to the cash register, the paper rings up as $2. Milkman hands me $1. It’s all he has. Halearious pays for the rest.

Outfit is complete.

We make our walk. Halearious makes her limp. The alcohol is dispersed in a few backpacks, the herb is in Halerious bra (where you could conceal a tank). We get through security no problem.

It’s near 5:15PM when we get in. We decide we should set up for Monsters of Folk at 6PM. Halearious gave us the rundown on them and we’re set for it.

We get a sweet spot pretty much dead center, say 200 feet from the stage. The herb is being rolled and gonna be put to use. The Jameson is now concealed by the New York Times in my robe pocket when we’re not drinking it, and when we do drink it we just conceal it in the New York Times.

People are loving the robe. Any place I go, people are pointing, laughing. It’s awesome.

Monsters of Folk kills it. They are awesome. They’re kind of a super band of top folk performers and they’re tight and cool. The sun’s setting as they get into their set. We’re all really enjoying. Unfortunately, we can only stay for forty-five minutes because DanOh is fired up to see Matt and Kim. He had seen them once before, and he wasn’t going to miss them. He hadn’t asked for anything at this point, so we were all down to go, even if it was reluctantly because of Monsters of Folk.

We get a solid spot for Matt and Kim and they come out with full guns a-blazing. Matt plays keys and sings. Kim plays drums and smiles with every bit of her soul. They dance on the crowd, the do yoga poses while playing piano, they climb up to the top of the stage scaffolding, they’re the most gracious rock stars ever. They’re from Brooklyn. They rock with nothing but high energy. I can’t help but wonder if Kim has sex with that much vigor, energy, and that big smile. I ask the boys what they think. They smile and laugh. I wasn’t the only one thinking it.

Milkman is uber impressed by Kim and how she NEVER misses a beat. I’m pretty sure she farts in time. I kid you not. She’s amazing.

We all really enjoy the show. People come up to tell me how they love the robe. Girls come by and start spontaneously dancing with me. I’m like a celebrity. It’s pretty awesome.

We all pretty much agree that next year we all have to get white robes, newspapers, and coffee mugs and roll tight. I think it could become a thing where everyone knows that when you go to ACL that’s what you where. A sea of white robes. It would be amazing.

Once again the headliners are underwhelming. It’s M.I.A. (not MIA) and Muse. Halearious convinces us to not see Muse as she has seen them before and was thoroughly disappointed by them. I don’t really care.

It turns out that M.I.A. should NOT and NEVER should have been invited to ACL. It was like watching someone sing Karaoke and dance on stage surrounded by other dancers. ACL is supposed to be about music talent. M.I.A. is not musically talented. Maybe with a producer in a studio with some guns shooting she’s got something going, but not at a live music event. How she played Saturday night from 8:30-9:30PM I’ll never have a clue.

Thankfully, we decide to bounce quickly. We’re going back to downtown Austin for some fun. We are going to do Saturday night up BIG.

Before we go though, Halearious suggests shot-gunning a beer. It’s a big yes from Mansfield, Ma. We shot-gun. I dance my way out of Zilker park. I have incredible timing when dancing and drunk. You should really witness it. No joke.

Halearious limps her way along keeping up. This time, she’s getting a pep talk from DanOh to breathe through the pain. She gives it a go.

We pull into a convenience store to pick up some goods. I grab a six pack of PBR. B Rad grabs a back of Tostitos and a jar of queso and proceeds to eat the ENTIRE thing by himself as we wait for the others to grab what they grab.

On our walk back to the car, I crack open some PBR and keep drinking. I’m not the only one.

We make it to the car, but aren’t quite ready for downtown. I change back into jeans, a tee shirt, and jacket. Everyone else is in outfit. We drink at the car. We smoke at the car. J Rad and Milkman disappear on a walk on the encouragement of DanOh. Milkman comes back. J Rad is nowhere to be seen for the next thirty minutes. I go looking for him. I can’t find him. DanOh goes looking for him. The rest of us wait in and around the car. After another fifteen minutes we grow concerned, and then Halearious looks out the back of the car and there is J Rad and DanOh talking on the corner of the street. We call them over. We have no idea what they’ve been up to, but at some point it involved J Rad jumping into bushes and a brick wall. Everyone is fine. We’re just drunk.

We chill in the car for a bit while Milkman sobers up. I turn the radio up. He turns it down. I turn it up. He turns it down. It goes on for a bit.

We find out that Milkman doesn’t have a favorite smell after asking us what our favorite smell is. It turns out that his favorite degree is seventy-six degrees. I bet you didn’t know that. You probably didn’t know anybody who has a favorite degree though either. You should meet Milkman and then you would.

He sobers up and drives us downtown. We end up at a bar on 6th street and it’s fairly busy. We get a round of shots. And walk away without paying for them. I chat up a girl named Faye. She’s cool. She’s drunk and down to drink some more. So am I. What are the chances?

We hang out for a bit and we all drink and chat and drink and chat. We split up into groups and everybody gets into some trouble. Halearious and DanOh are eating every taco possible from the taco truck. Milkman is at another bar ordering another shot and walking out without paying for it. B Rad is blacked out and talking to himself as he continuously looks at his phone. J Rad is off and doing things that nobody knows. We think he may have stolen a tour bus for $60, but we have no proof. I talk to Faye.

At some point, we decide it’s time to go back to Milkman’s place. We get back and Milkman and B Rad put on a session with some iPad instruments. We’re all hammered. The night ends in a fog.

Surprisingly enough that’s where Sunday begins. Thanks be to god, nobody is hungover. Everybody is alive. No police officers are at the door, and DanOh still hasn’t met a real cowboy.

The morning is slow as ever. (See Saturday description). Halearious ankle is even more bruised Sunday morning than it was on Saturday. She makes sure to tell DanOh about this. He laughs and says something to the effect of that sounds like the advice I gave.

I can’t tell you how many times on Sunday morning when we were putting the pieces of the evening together that someone says “I did what?’ or “We did what?” or “I don’t remember that at all?”

B Rad doesn’t even remember eating the chips and cheese in the parking lot. That was at 9PM at night. Mansfield was in full effect.

It was a classic night and one to be almost not entirely remembered for eternity, but one you were glad you were at.

The outfits were a great success. Nobody knows how we paid for drinks at the bar. And we got home safely. What else could you want from ACL on a Saturday night? I can’t think of anything.

Sunday is another picture perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky. We are out of the house right on time – at 2PM.

We’re all in consent that Four Lokos need to be had. We will soon find out that buying alcohol on Sunday in Austin is nearly impossible. Thankfully, there will be a supermarket that saves us. It won’t be Four Lokos but it will be some grape drink with a dragon on the side of it in the mode of Four Loko and that will do just fine.

But before we get to do that, we have to stop and have a 2 hour lunch. We end up at El Mercado – they thankfully take debit cards. We’re drinking and eating. We’re outside in the beautiful weather and having a good time. It’s a solid crew and there is never a dull moment. Bloody Marys, margaritas, mimosa, you name it, and somebody was drinking it. We laugh at ourselves for our pace, but we know that the only bands we really want to see start at 5PM with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

This it turns out will be pushing it.

We decide to drop Halearious and I closer to the venue since her ankle is bothering her. The boys will park at the usual spot and come meet us.

This, however, is just the plan. It turns out security is extra strict on Sunday, and won’t let me in with my camera (detachable lens). This fucks things up. We were almost there at 4PM.

Not a chance. I leave Halearious to go to the medical tent and I call the boys and tell them of the latest predicament. They agree to stop drinking and come get me.

We decide to pay for parking at a closer parking spot to save time.

I get to drink a grape dragon drink unexpectedly at this point. They are splitting a bottle of bubbly as we walk in.

We hit the gates at 5:15PM. This time I get through security.

We meet up with Halearious. She was given some ice and told that the Strokes are assholes in person by the doctor at the medical tent. It all comes full circle.

Edward Sharpe and his band turn out to be just something Halearious and I catch as we walk over to see Band of Horses – one of Halearious’s favorite southern bands with a nice voice. They play very somber / mellow music, but the guys voice is sick so it’s worth putting up with.

I had wanted to see the Flaming Lips but decide to chill with Halearious because nobody else is going to.

Band of Horses is chill, or at least the 30 minutes of it that we saw was. The sun was setting directly to our back and it was time to go see the band that we all wanted to see: The National.

I’ve been listening to the National since early 2005 and have loved them since. Halearious was listening soon thereafter. DanOh was a big fan, and we were all excited for Milkman to see the drummer. He’s amazing.

The boys meet us over there. They were at the Flaming Lips show, which they loved.

We have a great spot dead center 100 feet from the stage. We meet some really cool people as we set up our spot. We roll up some grass just in time, and the National is on.

We smoke and life gets better.

I love the National. They’re musicianship is so tight. The drummer is such a bad ass with his glasses on, and his black bandanna. He plays such a cool style of drums and constantly looks forty-five degrees to his left, and never varies it. He’s so awesome. As Milkman eloquently put it, “He’s very quietly doing some really cool stuff on drums.” They were so awesome. I was so into the music that at points I felt that I was conducting their every move during the show. It was glorious.

After the National, the festival was over. Technically, the Eagles still had to play as they were the headliners, but as was the case with every night, the headliners were the part we were least excited about.

We weren’t ready to leave so we decide to at least go check them out. We got within earshot and decided to camp out there. We couldn’t even see the stage, but we could hear them.

We had lost DanOh on the way. We would call out sporadically for him, but we knew he’d come back to us when he was ready, and he did just that. (He was off taking some sick photos.)

Once he comes back, we all kicked back and relaxed. We laid down in a circle and watch the lights on the dark back dropped that was the sky. At the beginning of every Eagle’s song, we debated whether it was a cover or not, and then would end it by saying “This is the Eagles?” Turns out they have a bunch of songs you know and don’t even know you know.

It was a great way to end the festival. On our backs, chill, content, and laughing. It was a microcosm for the entire trip.

When we do bounce, we decide to go check out 6th street for a mellow Sunday night drink.

The zephyr we float in on brings us to blues bar with an old blues man and his harmonica, a girl bassist, and a drummer. The girl on bass was my favorite bassist of the entire weekend, and she had nothing to do with the festival.

We had a few drinks as we took in the sounds of the blues and enjoyed the beautiful Austin night.

We decided to venture on and check out some more places. It turned out to be one more place. It was a cool spot with some live music and SportsCenter on. The bartender was a cute girl in incredible shape. I decided to split my time between SportsCenter and the bartender while sending shots to my compadres who were standing 10 feet to my left (away from the television). It was awesome. The buzz continued well into the night.

At 2AM we rolled into Magnolia’s for some good old-fashioned late night breakfast food. You may remember Magnolia’s from the blog post when we were traveling across country. It’s a solid spot. Coincidently enough, when we walked in the Eagles were on the radio, and I asked “Is this the Eagles?” knowing it was and everyone got excited.

After breakfast, we rolled home for some shuteye. It had been another great day at ACL.

Tomorrow we’d be packing up and leaving.

When we wake up you could tell nobody wanted to go. We were all bummed. To add insult to injury, when Milkman went to get his dog Boone, who had been staying at Milkman’s friends house who owns Boone’s brother, Sully, Boone had injured his back leg and was having trouble walking.

It was disappointing.

Halearious, B Rad, and I were first out. The brothers DanOh and J Rad would be flying out later that day.

Before leaving, we all went out for one last meal together. It was Mexican, and it was good. We had some more laughs. We drank soda and ate some good food.

It was then off to Milkman’s to grab our bags and say goodbye.

It was just goodbye until we see each other back in Mansfield for the holidays, and then of course, we had resolved to do it all again in 2011.

This time, however, we’d all be in white robes.

You should come find us.

Austin City Limits 2010 down, Austin City Limits 2011 to go.

Rock on,
Groundswell

P.S.
It turns out Boone tore his ACL. I heard this from Milkman when I got home. Shortly thereafter, I got a text from Halearious saying “Boone tore his ACL while we were tearing up ACL”. Maybe the storm was still going…

I left my heart in San Francisco (not really, but maybe an illegitimate kid or two)

San Francisco here we come.

Maldo and I are in the car. It’s Friday. It’s early. It’s the Jetta purring like a kitten kneading his mothers belly for milk.

A gorgeous sun-filled California day. We’re heading north on the 405 to the 101 up the coast all they way to San Francisco – a city I’ve heard so much about in my life. Most importantly, a city compared to Cape Town, South Africa. When I heard that I knew there was no way I wasn’t going to travel there at some point in my life, and quite possible may live there at some point in my life.

After 9 years of speculation, it was time for me to do my due diligence and see what this city had to offer.

The drive up was uneventful. We hit a pit stop around noon, grabbed some sodas with the biggest straws ever (seriously, John Holmes would have been impressed), Maldo takes the wheel over and I grab shotgun. He’s guiding us into SF while I try not to nap - unsuccessfully.

We pass through San Mateo, the birthplace of the great Tom Brady. I roll down the windows to let Maldo know what greatness smells like. I shed a tear. Coincidently, my mom calls me. She’s in love with Tom Brady. She must have known we were there.

As we get near San Francisco we notice a cloud up ahead. We laugh. We say that must be San Francisco. We laugh some more. Turns out that was San Francisco. We weren’t laughing.

For whatever reason, San Francisco’s weather during the summer can be pretty miserable. Cloudy, overcast, rainy, gray, cold (50-60 degrees Fahrenheit). It’s like fall back east.

Luckily, we had been prepared by those in the know, but still until you see it / feel it you’re not quite ready.

It didn’t take away from the visit. In fact, it just made for some great jokes.

We rolled into the bay around 5PM. We meet up with Kim, the girlfriend of Maldo’s college buddy Adam. Adam is at work so we’re going to chill with Kim for a bit.

She’s making some cerviche that’s delicious. We picked up a 12 pack of Dos XX and crack them open. It’s beer o’clock. We can’t argue.

Adam rolls in at around 6pm. He’s got a cookout lined up at his apartment. It’s gonna be a good time.

I invite my friends in San Francisco that I met in South Africa – Mali and Erica. Mali brings a friend. Erica can’t make it.

The cookout turns into a party. Everyone’s having a good time. Beer, liquor, wine, food, everything in excess. Someone rolls up a jay and we’re flying. Life is good. San Francisco may be cold as balls in the summer, but the people don’t let it stop them from bringing the heat.

It’s great to see Mali again. She was one of my housemates while I lived in Cape Town.

There were two type of Americans in Cape Town – those who were studious and those who knew what they were doing. Mali was able to walk both lines really well. A Princeton student who was down to have a good time she was quickly welcomed into the boys club that was Groundswell, Jordan, Simon Jay and Ross. We had a lot of good times together in Cape Town, and it’s always great to see old friends.

Mali is killing it in San Francisco. She’s a lawyer now. All grown up. Stanford law school behind her. And a bright future ahead of her…

We spend a good portion of the night catching up and reminiscing about times in South Africa. It was a great six months that we were there together. So many great stories.

We roll out late night to a corner bar and there isn’t a cute girl in sight. Looks like I’ll be sleeping alone tonight. No surprise there. It’s hard being Groundswell. ;)

We wake up kinda hungover. It’s grey out. It’s cold. We’re wasting no time. We’ve got a sick day lined up. We’re heading north out of the bay towards Hedelsburg. A college buddy of Maldo’s parents have a place in wine country. We’re using that as our base as we head for the Russian river with inner tubes and a cooler full of beer and some snacks.

Life can suck. This is not one of those times thank goodness.

It’s a beautiful day as soon as you roll outside of SF twenty minutes over the Golden Gate bridge. It takes us about an hour to get there. The house is gorgeous. It’s like a house on Cape Cod, but in wine country. Vibrant. I love it.

We get ourselves ready to head out for the river. Sunblock is applied. Maldo is to be thanked. My back is covered. J

The river is a slow moving shallow bit of water that is goodness. There is a bunch of jail bait along the coasts, but I’m not too worried about that. I’m not worried about anything in fact.

This is my first time floating down a river in an innertube, while drinking. It turns out to be something I’m quite good at. I’m like a natural. I’m a little scared about being sun burnt, but we brought 50SPF and I’m not afraid to use it.

As we lazily float down the river we can’t help but have a good time. I can’t begin to tell you what we talk about because it was mostly just random shit that was funny and time appropriate. There are some douche bags playing techno music along the river. We laugh at that.

At about 2 hours into our 4 hour float, we decide it’s time to shotgun a beer. Obviously we’re well into the 24 rack we brought with us. There’s five of us – Maldo, Adam, Nick, Kim, and Groundswell. We stand in a circle. We cheers to life and good times. We hold on to our inner tubes. We down the cold beer, and I stumble down the river for a few feet before I settle back into my inner tube and let nature take over.

If you’ve never floated down a river in an inner tube while drinking with good friends. Do it.

Life is good. Life is short. Life is fun.

We hit the finish line around 5pm. The sun is going down. It’s cooling off. The buzz is wearing off.

It’s time to go back to Nick’s parents house and cook up some food.

We get back. Play some Ping-Pong. Light the grill and cook. The burgers are good. Undercooked, but good.

I shower.

We head back to San Francisco.

We pull over. Maldo pukes. Something didn’t sit right. We head back to the bay.

My plan is to meet up with my friend Erica and her boyfriend. Erica is an old friend I’ve know since my second semester in South Africa. I haven’t seen her in years.

She’s down to hang out though and so am I. The rest of the river crew is calling it a day, but I’m not afraid. I decide to meet up with Mali and some of her friends in the Marine district, and Erica is heading over to meet us.

We end up at some random bar, and the name escapes me. It’s in a much cuter part of town. And by that I mean there are a lot more cute girls. Architecturally speaking, I don’t care.

It’s going to be a good night.

I find Mali in the crowd. We hug get drinks and chill. She’s with a group of her lawyer friends. I’m the one without the law degree.

At one point I get cornered by a girl who’s breath is so bad I can’t take it. Thankfully, Erica and her boyfriend show up just in time to save me from what could only be impending death by asphyxiation.

Erica and the man show up with beer in hand. Props. It’s great to see her again. She’s happy. She’s a lawyer with the EPA. No surprise there. She was a Duke student when we first met and very environmentally conscious. Some might even say hippy-esque. I couldn’t argue, but she was always down to have fun and explore and I liked that.

We took some epic trips together in South Africa, including one that had us drive through Namibia, on our way to Botswana. While in Botswana, we ended up in the Okavango Delta (aka Malaria Country) without a tent – it was left in the car. That was some miscommunication and largely my fault, but Erica, Tim, Jess, and Groundswell pulled through with a great story.

For some reason, I decided that it was a white Russian night. Somewhere between #3 and #4 I fell in love with the bartender. She was sexy. Had a sick tattoo and a cool style. At around #6 when she told me to chug it like I was in college, I responded “I’m still in college.” She walked away saying, “Wow, I feel old.” To make her feel better, I wrote “I <3 U” below where I left the tip. I think we’re destined to be together.

We stumbled out on our way back to Erica’s place. I had to meet her dog and her friend Mary from Humboldt county.

At about 3:30am I got a cab home.

I like San Francisco.

Hungover I was when Sunday started. Luckily, all we had ahead of us was brunch and a car tour of San Francisco – neither of which would disappoint.

The car tour just made me want to come back and explore SF more. Lots of cool things to see and to do there.

Maldo and I were back in the car at 5pm heading south this time. Los Angeles here we come.

The car ride goes smoothly and we pull into LA at around midnight.

I’m exhausted. Maldo is the man. San Francisco is on my list to check out again shortly.

Peace,
Groundswell

Pitching tents

I've been slacking on the blog posts, but I've been busy working out, and reading, and working on a short story, but thankfully someone texts me and let's me know she enjoys the blogs. Here we go.

++++++++

I woke up. It was 8:30am. This was not good. I was supposed to be downstairs in the car at 8:30am.

I looked at my phone. Text message from Maldo “Heyo, we’re packing up the car and planning to leave at 8:30.”

Uh, oh, spaghettios. Groundswell will disappoint.

I throw some clothes on. Forgo the shower –we’re going camping. Showering is never expected. Teeth brushed, jeans on, flip-flops adorn the feet, and I’m downstairs.

I head for the cooler. They were waiting for the chicken, hot dogs, and turkey burgers I had prepared for the trip.

We be camping, but we be eating and we be drinking as well.

The cooler is stocked. I wasn’t the only one who had done some precamp shopping.

My camping partners need no introduction. They are Maldo and Lu. A married couple. The picture of happiness. The reason people should travel. Maldo is a slender, fit, 28 year-old with salt and pepper hair. From New Haven. Where they invented the world. A classic east coast soul. We were friends from before we met. Hell, we’re both Red Sox fans. We both knew about the E. Coli break out at Jack In the Box in 1994 and it still scares us away. He has fast become one of my best friends out here.

Lu is Max’s Argentine wife. She hails from Buenos Aires, and she is as cool as they come. She’s the captain of the Team Mate and got some of the biggest brownest eyes you’ve ever seen. A soul full of love, and a great sense of humor.

Together they are Love.

We’re in the car. The three of us. It’s Friday, and thank God we’re heading out on the road.

Our destination is towards the north. It’s two hours outside of Los Angeles – Lake Cachuma. It’s not far from the coast and it’s come recommended by a friend of Love. That’s enough for me.

I haven’t been camping in 9 years. I had spent the first 20 years of my life not knowing camping. Boating I knew. Camping was as foreign as the vagina. I discovered camping two years after discovering vagina. I was in Cape Town, South Africa. I was with 12 of my closest friends that I didn’t know. We were by some lake in South Africa. We had a safari-like bus. Less fancy, but everything we needed. The sky was incredible. Space viewed from the southern hemisphere of Earth – it’s like you’re upside down, but you’re seeing it correctly for the first time. Amazing. We’re in the boonies. There is no light shining other than our camp fire. If there was dust on the lens you could have seen it. That’s if life were a movie, and I was the camera. If you’ve never seen the Southern Hemisphere sky, please do yourself a favor and go. Someplace dark. Someplace very dark.

Camping South Africa was the way we traveled. I shared a tent with my fellow journeymen, Jordan and Simon Jay. And the three of us saw Africa together. Many nights drunk. Many nights too close for comfort. But we were always together. It was an amazing way to see a country, to see a part of much of the southern part of the continent. It was a great way to get to know two people incredible well. And it was an amazing way to be introduced to camping.

I love it. I love camping. I love roughing it. I love not showering. I love pissing outside. I love the quiet. I love the solitude. I love tuning my soul to nature. I love the fires. I love the drinks. I love the easy nature of my fellow travelers. I love that you just relax and take in your surroundings while you mull over what needs to be mulled over.

I was excited to come back. Nine years is a long time. I have no reason for why I don’t go camping when I’m back east. Maybe I just forgot how.

We were knocking off the rust. Love and I were kicking down the door and getting back to it – getting back to nature and getting back to ourselves.

Los Angeles is an outdoor city. But it’s still a city, which means there are generally too many people around for anybody’s need. It’s nice to get out.

We arrive at Lake Cachuma at 12:30pm. We had to run errands in LA. Last minute things that add up to more than you were expecting (i.e. life). We didn’t get out until 10:00am. We hit some traffic. Friday in LA. C’mon now. I did discover the idea of having children so that I could take the car pool lane. It seemed as logical as any reason to have kids these days. Still debating merits.

I also discovered that I like watermelon. Twenty-nine years, five months, on the dot - Groundswell likes watermelon. Go figure. (I always did like watermelon Jolly Rancher’s so I should not be too surprised.)

Maldo is at the helm. Lu’s got the shotgun. I’m holding down the fort in back. The trunk is packed. We’re in an old school Volvo Wagon – La Batata. Spanish for piece of shit. But, it’s a solid, reliable, sturdy wagon and one the will easily get us over the mountains.

I climbed up over the mountain, to see what was beyond the town I grew up in.
I cast a line to see if there was something bigger than life.
There’s a voice in my head that never rests.
It says Jesus, life is bigger than death.
On a clear day you can see forever.
On a clear day you can love forever.

We live to love and we love to live.

Because I love her, I swear I can fix this.
Because I love her, I drink the elixir.
I’ll be better in a minute, yes you’ll see.
I’ll be better in a minute, yes you’ll see.

(Turns out sneezing is somewhat orgasmic for women. I’ve begun wearing pepper instead of cologne when I go out. Fingers crossed.)

We live to love and we love to live.

Because you love me, you won’t save me.
Because you love me, you won’t believe me.

I be searching for the devil in the desert.
I’m left standing, but I’m a changed man
I be searching for the devil in the desert,
I’m left standing, but I ain’t the same man

We live to love and we love to live.
No matter what you’re age.
We are the light of the world.
We are just little boys and girls.

“Sprawl II” on The Suburbs is better than anything on High Violet. I still love High Violet as a collection more.

Little, little stuck in the middle playing the fiddle – ‘Lil ‘Lil
Little, little playing the fiddle for the devil – ‘Lil ‘Lil

By and by the car trip went easy.

We arrive at Lake Cachuma excited. We pick out our camping spot and set up shop. Love helps Groundswell, then Groundswell helps Love. That’s they way it goes and that’s the way it went. All weekend long.

We take a walk and check out the spot. It’s pretty cool. Nice lake. No swimming allowed as it’s a drinking supply. We then surmise that Cachuma is a Native American term for blue balls. It seems appropriate.

Undaunted, we head down by the shore to soak up some rays. The shore is rocky. The sun is hot. There is a cool breeze, but not enough to take away all the heat from the sun. After thirty minutes of intense sun bathing. We decide it’s time to move to the pool and take a dip and continue the soaking up of the sun’s rays.

We walk over to the pool. It’s about a ten minute walk. Through the camp site. The pool is crowded with kids. Hell it’s $2 / hour and it’s a piece of shit. I was expecting some Olympic sized goodness. Not even quite.

We can’t get in because it’ sold out. Hell we don’t really want to get in. The good news is that the asshole pool attendent gives us the inside tip – he tells us to head out of the camp grounds, drive ten minutes down to San Padre National Forest – for a $5 entrance fee you can swim all day in the lake. This you see is what we’re going to do.

We execute the plan flawlessly. The river is just what we needed. We brought some beers with us and swim. It’s perfect. California rivers are nice.

After a few hours, as the sun was settling down along the lake, we head back to our campsite. It’s time to begin the fire and get on with dinner and drinking.

I love camping.

On the menu – burgers and dogs. Not just any burgers or dogs – Maldo is making up some of his own homemade burgers and I bought some organic grass-fed beef hot dogs. Oppulence. Yup.

The burgers were amazing. Cooked perfectly and oozing with flavors. The dogs didn’t disappoint. Organic leftovers ground up and put into a casing is pretty awesome. Some organic ketcup to round that shit up and you’re happy.

We’re drinking Fernet and Coke. The sunset was spectacular. The moon is nearly as full as our bellies.

Happiness is.

We play card games. We get to know each other. We move beyond being neighbors who became friends into the region of friends who become family.

We fart. We laugh. We talk about pooping. It’s like being home. Oh yeah.

My tent is spacious. I borrowed a two person tent from a friend and I am alone. It’s like owning a queen sized bed and sleeping in it yourself. I do that too.

We wake up at around 8am the next mornig. It’s overcast, which we’re thankful for since it provides some relief in our tents.

After the morning routine, we make up a nice breakfast, eat, do the dishes just in time for the sun to shine through.

Today is Saturday, and we’re going back to the river. This time, though, we’re going hiking and then we’re going to end at the river.

The hike turns out to be a six mile jaunt through San Padre National forest in the hot sun. But, the sun feels good on our skin. The butterflies are swirling around bouncing on the breeze in an unpredictable frenzy. They make me think of electrons in their shell. You really don’t know where they are going to be next.

We get back to the river just in time. We’re out of water. Lu is exhausted. We’re sweating. We crack open three beers and chill by the batata. Budweiser has never tasted so good. The cops rain on our parade. No drinking in the parking lot. Fine. We move down to the river with our beers. Horrible.

We take a dip again and swim like kids all day. In and out of the water, soaking up the sun. Not a care in the world.

Close your eyes, turn off your mind and float up stream. Oh, John.

We make it back to the campsite in time for the sunset again.

The drinks are cracking and the fire is popping. It’s time for round two of cooking an ill dinner. This time I’m we’re cooking turkey burgers and some chicken that’s been marinating for two days in an asian marinade.

It’s off the hook.

We eat and drink like kings. We play cards. We laugh. We play a few torturous games of twenty questions. We learn about the moon’s rotation and when it’s full. We call it a night.

We wake up early the next morning pack our car and head back to LA.

It’s been a great two days.

We’re tuned up. We’re ready to head back to Lala land and get back to the everyday things that we call the real world.

Groundswell and Love head home.

Until next time kiddos,
Groundswell

First Impressions (You Never Get A Second Chance)

Yo yo yo yo. I'm taking an acting class. The first one was last night. It was fun. Some cool people in the class.

One thing in particular I wanted to blog about quickly.

Our first assignment was given to us last week. We were to come prepared with a 30-second commercial spot that they assigned us. There were three different spots. I was given the Bank X spot. The idea was to be filmed close up while you were giving a break up speech. It was supposed to be personal as if you were breaking up with a gf / bf, but it turns out you're "breaking up" with the bank. That was my task, and I came prepared. I memorized it and all.

The best part about it, however, was not the spot. It was that they had us write down our first impressions of our classmates as we watched them do their spot. It was supposed to be nice, positive things that you thought about when you saw them. It could be "cute, sexy, nerdy, reminiscent of Tina Fey." Something like that.

It was totally anonymous.

We have eight classmates. Here is what they said about Groundswell upon first seeing my mug close up...breaking up with them. (We didn't get the feedback until after the class ended.)

Classmate #1
Funny man
Careless
Go-with-the-flow kinda guy
Kinda animated (animated underlined)
Intensity is in the eyes & eyebros (that is how they spelled it, and eyes and eyebros is underlined)
Commands the camera

Classmate #2
Lovable looser (their spelling)
Sweet guy next door
The guy that always gets walked on
The adorable boyfriend

Classmate #3
Player - (you playwell)
Great eye contact

Classmate #4
"Every man"
Interesting speech pattern / tone: unique
Kinda like a Chandler Bing / Joey Tribbiani from "Friends" (cross between them)

Classmate #5
Speaks with eyes
Very boyish / boy next door
Expressive

Classmate #6
29-34
Discombobulated but nice office employee. Shows up late and is messy but very likeable.
Dorky police offices?
You look like a victim to me, I can see you getting broken up with and struggling along.

Classmate #7
29-31
Lovable boyfriend
Mid-west Chicago guy
Miller Lite punch line guy
Guy who you want to see win
Young husband
Likes dogs a lot

Classmate #8
Nice guy
Pizza guy
"Luke Wilson" type
College student - office worker type

That's all eight of them, and I love it. My favorite is Pizza Guy. Seriously? I feel like I should go into porn. "Pizza delivery for you...oh shit...where are my pants?"

Is Luke Wilson the one with the big nose? Or is that Owen? Either way...

How random is "Likes dogs a lot"?

It's pretty funny to read peoples first impressions as you're "breaking up" with them on screen. In general, it's usually pretty funny to hear peoples first impressions of you when you get to know them well and you share that stuff. I've never been in a situation like this where you don't know anyone and they tell you what they think of you based on your appearance. It was pretty interesting.

The best part of the actual class came later in the night when we were given a script from a "Medical Pilot" and were assigned either the "Intern" or the "Admissions Clerk." I got the intern. We got to make up their back story. Who were they, where were they in their profession, etc.

I decided to make mine an arrogant, playboy, intern who thought he was chief of the hospital, and for the first time ever, people got it. And loved it. The teachers loved it. The students loved it. Another student actually changed the way he played it to copy me.

We just ran through it once rehearsing it, and then we taped it. We'll bring it back in the third week when we'll have it memorized and more fully developed, but it was nice to finally be able to develop a character who had some depth to it.

The commercial stuff doesn't have any real depth to it. It's always so ludicrous and unrealistic that most of the time I have a hard time getting into it.

Overall, a great experience, and I'm looking forward to getting into it more. It brought me back to when I was ten years old, in fourth grade, and playing Mr. Zuckerman in our rendition of "Charlotte's Web" (which I basically wrote for the class). I loved it back then. I've wanted to act ever since, but have never had the cojones to do it. Well, I'm doing it.

Follow your heart. You'll end up where you're supposed to be.

Remember I said that kiddies.

Peace,
Groundswell

Acting Fever

When I walked into the office I thought it would be just another meeting. The typical rat-reace meeting. I’d be advised to get head-shots. I’d be advised to take acting classes. I’d be sent chasing my tail. I was wrong. Sort of.

I was given the typical paperwork to fill out, but in addition I was given a series of papers that were stapled together. The papers contained six advertisements that I was going to have to read. I could choose whichever I liked.

The adrenaline was pumping. I was not aware I was to do this. I was excited. I was nervous. I liked this twist.

I went with a the first advertisement. It seemed straightforward. I decided that in the few minutes I had I would make a go and try to memorize it.

God gave me a good memory; it was time I put it to use.

I read it over and over. In about five minutes, I had it memorized. The adrenaline was pumping more as I got called in.

“I sweat…Oh, I used to go out to be social and perspire. But then I started to go with a fast crowd. And soon we’d go out and I’d just plain sweat. I knew I had a problem. Oh, baby, did I know. That’s when I turned to Dial Antiperspirant. It helps with odor and wetness. When I just perspired, I’d use anything. I sweat. So I use Dial Antiperspirant.”

This was the advertisement I chose to read for Felix at the talent agency. Felix is my buddy’s print and commercial agent here in Hollywood, and he was having an open casting call. Jordan, being a good friend, hooked me up with Felix, and I was totally down. I’ve wanted to act since I played Mr. Zuckerman in our fourth grade rendition of “Charlotte’s Web,” and by all accounts, I killed it. I, however, have never had the cajones to pursue acting – never in high school, not in college, and not in New York. The desire remained. Finally, in LaLa land I’ve decided to give it a go. It may be casual at first, but I can imagine that once I get some traction I will get very serious about it. I’ve always felt I could act. Actually, I know I can act. And, now, I have nothing to lose.

Felix was a nice man. Stalky, and about 5’8” he was a confident and friendly man. I liked him immediately.

He took me to the outdoors office, which was away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the office. There was no coach outdoors. This was promising.

We talked briefly about my story. We talked briefly about South Africa.

He asked me if I had ever acted before. I said no. I thought about Mr. Zuckerman. I said no. I thought about Shakespeare’s contention that we were all actors upon a stage. I said no.

He told me to give it a read through when I was ready.

I launched in with out looking at the paper..

“I sweat…Oh, I used to go out to be social and perspire. But then I started to go with a fast crowd, and soon we’d go out and I’d just plain sweat. I knew I had a problem. Oh, baby, did I know. That’s when I turned to Dial Antiperspirant. It helps with odor and wetness. When I just perspied, I’d use anything. I sweat. So I use Dial Antiperspirant.”

I almost nailed it. I had messed up the second line a bit, but I salvage it.

Felix was please. He was surprised I had never acted before, and said I had a good reading.

He did recommend that I take a brief commercial class that would teach me the ins-and-outs of commercial auditions and then he wanted me to come back and read again for him.

I was pleased with this. He gave me two recommendations of people to see, and then he told me he was going to pour over the pictures of me that Jordan had sent and think about how I could fit in with the agency and how he would market me.

This was promising. I was excited.

I got into my car and the adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. I diagnosed myself with acting fever. I got home and looked it up on WebMD.

Acting fever is defined as follows: “A mental illness that affects mainly the young and naïve. Common symptoms include vanity, self-importance, a complete lack of self-confidence, and the need for attention and positive feedback from others.”

Oh, yeah! I got acting fever!!

I then drove home on the Sunset and made my next plan. It mainly involved lunch, but it included some thought about the acting class and going on auditions.

When I turned left on the PCH to get back to Venice, I saw the ocean. It was a gray, murky day and the ocean was throwing some nice waves onto the shore. There were several surfers out. It reminded me of a winter’s day in South Africa.

I had the urge to go surfing again.

My plan now includes getting my board from Jordan in the valley, and getting a wetsuit. I should get back in the ocean. It seems only right.

Life in California is shaping up nice. There is still a lot of uncertainty and a lot of opportunities, but I’m excited by the first seven weeks. I’ve hit the ground running, and I don’t plan on breaking stride any time soon.

I guess no one plans on breaking stride, but I’m ready for any hurdles that may come my way.

(This was from a while ago. I just didn't post until now.)

I Love You, (fill in the blank)

Updates from the West Side (These are in someway, shape, or form, reminders to write about in longer form):

I'm growing my hair out. It's in the awkward stage.

I joined an online dating site as a way to get myself out of the house. By no means am I ready for the dating scene in LA. I've met some cool girls. Smoking hot bodies, and cars that are way nicer than the Jetta. No connections. I think I'm over online dating.

I may be over dating in general.

I went to the Kings of Leon concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It was slamming. They sounded great. Venue was dope. Partying was lacking.

I went to get my haircut. The hair stylist sent me home sans haircut when she heard I was growing my hair out. She told me to come back in 6-8 weeks and suffer through it.

Doing it.

I went to the shooting range and shot a gun. I don't need to do it again.

I'm starting a band. I'm going to be the singer. Wowzers. And, I don't care if you like it. I think for the first time ever I have the songs and the confidence to do it.

I produced a singer / songwriter / cellist's demo. He is on the verge of getting signed after an advertisement of his showed up in Rolling Stone. I am no longer recording his demo. He's the man though and I'm proud of the work we did.

I had my first 'all access' privilege recently. Went to see a band I had no idea about with aforementioned cellist, and he knew someone in the band, and we got hooked up. Backstage and all (no cute girls). But the band was mad cool and so humble and down to earth. You realize this can happen to anyone.

I've signed up for an acting class.

I'm in love.

No, I'm not.

But, I do love you.

My dad had a heart attack. I think he was faking just trying to get me to come home. He's going to be fine, but he gave us a big scare.

I'm one blackout away from AA.

I need to go out and meet more cute girls.

My brother came out of the closet. He couldn't find his shoes.

I spent the 4th of July in Malibu and then at a ridiculous clambake on the west side. The clambake was run by a real life chef and the food was off the hook. We never made the party with the models.

Halearious told me I'm not allowed to date models anymore. She also told me I need to date a blonde. I'm not sure I agree with either of the two statements, but I'm down to try it out.

I read "The Four Agreements." It was a good book. I am on my way to freedom. It's all I want to be when I grow up: Free. Lesson two: Love is all around and I'm not afraid to tell you that I love you.

haha!

I have found my muse. It's been enlightening.

I gave up playing music for three days. Then I had an experience that showed me how to never give it up. I went and played my first open mic the following day. I played the first song. Silence. And then a younger kid said, "Wow." Then applause. It was all I needed.

Groundswell is getting there.

I wrote a love song. The first one I've ever written in 14 years of playing guitar. That may or may not be true.

Actually, you could say that about most of the things I said in this post.

This post goes out to the girl in the Prudential center reading this at work.

I play baseball for the Minnesota Twins. My name is Joe.

When a girl says we should be friends, it's should be interpreted as "See ya."

I told my brother I was going to be friends with a girl and he said, "What's the point?"

Wisdom.

Speaking of my brother. If you have a conversation with him on the phone that lasts over 2 minutes, consider yourself lucky.

If you are saying goodbye to my brother after a phone call, and the phone isn't already in his pocket when you hit the "g" in good, then both his hands must be busy doing something else.

It's good to have good friends to get you through the good times. It's great to have good friends to get you through the hard times.

If you get dropped in Latin America there are five sayings you need to know to survive.

1) Hablas ingles?

2) Tienes agua?

3) Necessito comer

4) Me gusta tequila

5) Senorita, es una lastima que no este desnuda

When you master these five sayings you will be free.

Groundswell is free.

Peace,

Groundswell

"EpicDotCom.com"

EpicDotCom.com

If I was to start a dating site, which I promise, I never will, it would be called Epicdotcom.com. Fuck the confused masses. This is for the enlightened. Those who’ve read “The D-Word” and are frightened. For to be a member of this dating site, you’d know there was one rule – use the “D-word” sparingly, and only when you want to cause the other member of the adventure severe anxiety. The other, we’ll say hope, is that you’ll have a balls-to-the-wall great time.

And, most events would go something like this:

I pulled into the Silver Lake area around 9:30PM. It was Easter Night. Jesus had risen, and with any luck, so too would my alcohol to blood level, as well as my hormones. I sat at the bar. My lady friend was behind schedule, or I was ahead of schedule. It didn’t really matter either way.

She had suggested “Cantino Malo” a quaint Mexican restaurant with “the best chips and guacamole, and good margaritas.” I was so full from Easter dinner / lunch with my friends that I was interested in the latter. I had no room for the former. I wasn’t sure if this was a “date.” It’s 2010. I don’t think you’re ever supposed to be sure, but it was feeling “date-like.” The place was small, cozy, darkly lit. It had a long wooden bar with a ton of tequila behind it. The bartender was a robust woman, and would be of not a distraction to me as I focused on my lady friend. And, lastly, I was alone. This was how most of my dates had been spent the past four years. Namely, I don’t think I’ve been on a date in four years, and if my lady friend is reading this, I may still not have been on a date in four-plus years.

Something about the word “date” is scary. It implies something bigger. If you’re hanging out it’s simple. You say the word date and it’s like shit, do I have to bring my questionnaire to find out if this person is worth marrying? What? Nah. I just like to have fun. I’m going to play this evening by ear.

I send my lady friend a text and let her know I’m at the bar. Last time she showed up early and waited for me in her car in the parking lot. I didn’t want her to wait in the car this time. She calls shortly thereafter and lets me know that she hasn’t left yet. She apologizes. She didn’t realize I’d get there so fast. I say no worry. I didn’t’ know I’d get there that fast either.

I wait.

I hold out for a bit. I tell the bartender I’m waiting for my friend to get there before I’m going to drink, but I’ll have some water.

I wait.

I get a tequila and ginger ale. She shows up shortly thereafter. It was only a matter of ten or fifteen minutes. It was perfect.

She walks in looking tall and beautiful, and is cool, calm and collected.

We pick up right where we left off the last time we hung out. Talking. I don’t recall anything we talked about specifically. I know we talked about Geology and African studies and what possessed me to major in that. I told her it was for the look that people give me when I tell them my major. Worth every cent of the $150,000+ spent on my education. No regrets.

We talk about global warming. We talk about the earthquake that happened in Mexico but was felt all the way in LA. I, thankfully, did not feel it in Malibu. She did feel it at Easter with her parents. We talk about Easter with her parents. We talk about things that people talk about when they’re getting to know each other.

After about two drinks, the bar closes on us. We move on. We bitch about how it’s only 11:30pm. C’mon. I guess people don’t celebrate Jesus’ rise as much as we do.

We put together a plan. I’ve already revealed to her that I don’t think I’m going to work on Monday. Upon hearing this, she perks up, and mentions a bar she knows to be open quite late in the area. I’m a go.

However, it’s closed.

As she instructs me to pull a 180-degree turn, I see a place that’s open. In mid-turn, I say, “Hey, we could go there.” And as the words leave my mouth, I notice the sign “Gils, Girls.” “Oh, wait,” I say. “Is that a strip club?”

She informs me that it is.

No go on this strip club, but there is a strip club she suggests we go to: “Jumbo’s Clown House.” It’s not like a strip club I’ve even been she tells me. They keep their clothes on. It's a cabaret. I’m game. I hate strip clubs normally. I find them to be a big tease and a bigger waste of money. A place I can use my imagination and be next to a cool, beautiful woman while this is going on, well, that sounds perfect.

Having learned our lesson, we decide to call first. She gets the number from her fancy phone. I wait. I call the digits. No answer.

We’re unsure.

I suggest that we go to a convenience store and pick up some liquor just in case it’s close, and then we can go pack to her apartment and have some drinks if the place is closed.

She sees this for what it is – brilliant. All our bases are covered.

At the convenience store, we pick up a twelve pack of PBR and four pack of Sparks, an energy drink with beer.

We pay the tab. We move on.

As we pull past Jumbo’s, we see it’s open. This should be interesting. We park. She smokes a cigarette. We take a few swills of the Sparks and we get moving.

Dancing through the falling rain drops like a stripper we make it to the door in no time.

Jumbo’s looks like a strip club on the inside. Not so much on the outside. Inside it’s got a small crowd, a small bar, and dim lighting.

On the stage, is a surprisingly beautiful girl doing a surprisingly nimble dance in her underwear.

We get a drink and settle in front row and center. We’re actually the only ones sitting at the stage.

I turn to my lady friend and say, “I thought you were cool, but you just got cooler.”

She smiles and laughs.

We are both shocked at how pretty the girls are. There is a rotation of six girls who all come out one by one and do a dance for a song and then go to the back room. Sometimes, when not dancing, they come and mingle.

Me and the lady are sitting ducks. If a dancer makes eye contact with us, we put a dollar on the stage. When the dance is over, we put a dollar on stage. We pretty much are hemorrhaging money, but we’re having a great time. The dancers are pulling us in. We’re talking in between. We’re handing each other money when the other runs out. It’s quite a show that the two of us are running.

I get up and get us another round of PBRs. I come back to find her a few dollars lighter than when I left. She was all by herself and took the brunt of the attention.

At some point, she wants to go out and smoke a cigarette. I go out to join her. I’m there to be with her – not to see the strippers. We head back to my car. She pulls out a cigarette and smoke it. We pass a Spark between us. We both pick out top three dancers, which is hard because four of the six are smoking hot.

It’s at this point, that we decide it’s time to leave.

Let’s save some money we think and head back to her house.

We drive to her apartment complex and go inside. She pulls out a guitar she has and hands it to me. She asks that I play a song I wrote about a silly text message even that we had between the two of us – really just some anxiety I had when I thought she may misinterpret what I meant by a text message. It was supposed to be a nice text message, and I was overcome by fear that she would be offended by it, thinking I was saying she was dumb and hot, when I was really saying she was smart and hot. Long story. I’m not going to get into it.

I agree to play the song. I preface that it’s still evolving. I don’t know why I’m playing the song as I start it, but it gets her to laugh, and I like making girls laugh. So, it had it’s purpose.

For the next hour or so, we pass the guitar back and forth and play songs we know. Some are originals. Some are covers. Together, we play a version of Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees.” I play guitar, she sings.

At some point, we move into her living room and continue the jam session. She jumps on piano and plays some piano tunes she knows and sings. I play some more originals.

After I play an original song called “Savior,” she suggest we head to her bedroom.

I will forever love the song “Savior.”

Her bedroom is small and cute. She has a single bed there. Nothing crazy happens.

We sit on the bed and talk.

At some point around one we decide to split a medicinal brownie that a friend had given me earlier that day. It’s no more than an inch by two inches. We split it in half. I gave her the bigger half – chivalry is not dead. I’m not expecting much to happen because a girl at the party said it did nothing for her. I’m thinking half of nothing is nothing, so, no big deal.

Maybe it will help us sleep.

We start talking about YouTube and we start watching some funny ones that we know. At first, like with the guitar, we pass it back and forth showing ones we know of.

She knows way more than I do, so after about ten minutes she’s showing me tons of them. Some of the funnier ones are “The News Autotuned” and “Taretdad.” Autotune the News” is a brilliant mix of music, the news and technology. Taret Dad is crazy. Sad and hysterical. It’s during the teret videos that I notice that she and I are laughing hysterically, and it gets to the point where I’m laughing so hard I think I’m going to vomit. I actually have to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to calm down. I put some water on my face. I slow my breathing down. I realize the brownie is working.

I come back. She’s had the same realization. We continue to watch videos until we can’t watch them anymore.

She then takes me thorugh some of her acting work, which is cool to see. I’ve never seen her work before and now I have the ability to appreciate what she does.

I show her my appearance on the “Real World,” which she knew about. She sums it up by saying, “Wow, they really took advantage of you.” I agree and laugh.

We shut the computer and lie down. We’re fully clothed. We’re high. We’re snuggled on a single bed. It’s like I’m a freshman in college all over again. It’s nice. It’s innocent. It’s pure.

It turns out that for the 5’9” frame, the bigger half may have been too much. I reassure her that it’ll be fine. I get her water, and try to get her to focus on other things. She’s appreciative, and together we’ll be fine.

After a while of spooning we doze off for a bit. I wake up after an unknown amount of time and have to go to the bathroom.

When I come back, she wakes up, and is thankfully no longer high anymore. She’s glad to be back down again. I agree.

We lie there in silence. I’m overwhelmed by how good it feels to be lying next to her. My chest becomes a knot. I want to kiss her. I don’t know how. We’re spooning and she’s facing the wall. How can I make a move? I’m going to have to be super aggressive, but does she want to kiss me? Oh shit. I lie there. The knot gets tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

I can’t take it.

I hear myself ask, “Can I kiss you?”

She rolls over, and says “Yes.”

We kiss.

It’s delightful. Slow at first. Uneasy. But then we get into the swing of it. It starts to feel natural and less nervous. We like it.

The kissing goes on for a long time. On and off. We talk in between makeout sessions. I tell her about the knot I was feeling. She says that she had the same feeling.

We kiss some more.

We kiss and hold each other until the sun comes up. Time has flown by. It’s 7:45am. I call into work sick.

We kiss some more.

At around 8:30am, we slip into sleep in each other’s arms.

We’re still in our jeans.

We’ll wake up around noon still in our jeans.

We’ll lie in bed until 2pm in our jeans. Lying in each others arms. Kissing. Talking. Laughing about us residing in “Pantsville.” It’s like we’re back in college. We’re not rushing to do anything.

We’re not rushing to work. We’re not rushing to sleep. We’re not rushing to have sex. We’re not rushing to mess it up. We’re not rushing to get somewhere we’re not. We’re just rushing to stay where we are.

At around 3pm, we decide it’s time to make a move. I’m going to take her to her car, and then I’m going to go home.

When I drop her off, I make the now infamous statement of “This was the second best date (beat) The best second date I’ve ever been on.”

Although this may have caused her some panic at the time, I did mean it.

As I relive the story, I still do mean it.

It may have not been a ‘date’ when we started, but it was when we finished.

Or at least, I hope it was.

I guess it takes two to go on a date.

But, as Ray Charles said, “If it feels right, then it is right.”

This night felt right.

Epic. Dot. Com.

Rock on,

Groundswell.