My favorite people

Today I got an oil change and tune up for $20 from my old pal at the garage down the street from work. That guy is awesome. While I am not able to be this man myself, I am relieved to see that he and his kind still have a place in this world. It just wouldn't be the same without them.

Today he wore a simple Slayer t-shirt, and, since he wore a Cinderella tshirt during my last visit, I'm led to believe that he lives in a world of perpetual 1987. He exudes the very epitome of '80s metalhead, with his flowing mane capped by a blank black hat, black leather varsity jacket, tshirt tucked into faded acid washed jeans held in place by a silver-tooled leather belt and sensible thick-soled black leather shoes. You just know that somewhere in his deepest closet there exists a jean jacket with a Def Leppard logo stitched onto the back. Sometimes a man must even hide from himself.

His wife, with her bleached blond hair teased to the sky, adjusts her off-the-shoulder black top when she hears his conversion van pull up in the driveway. Greeted with a kiss, he idly tugs on her simple polished chain belt, spinning it back and forth through her acid-washed belt loops, and tells her to put on her black Indian moccasin boots as it's time to hit the road. WASP is playing at Jaxx. "Can you believe we didn't know?" he asks. Sometimes a man has to do what he must when there's rock in the air.

But she's ecstatic.

Later, after Chris Holmes' heady guitar riffs whip their inner teenagers into a frenzy, the moonlight glints off the chromed Busch beer tire cover, dancing across the slightly swaying ceiling of the conversion van in a dangerous counterpoint to The Scorpions' "Rock Me Like a Hurricane." As you all should know, when this van's a-rockin', well, you get the point...

Snakes on a Plane, Bitches!

First off, I'll be making the trip back home to visit my River City Hoodrats next weekend (Mar. 31st.) I think right now the plan is drinks at the Purple Onion Saturday night if anyone wants to join us. I might even be staying through Monday, depending on my mental state upon submission of my final grad application.

Second. "Snakes on a Plane" starring Samuel L. Jackson. This is the dumbest yet possible greatest movie ever. Apparently, Sam just decided to make the most awful movie possible, completely tongue-in-cheek. As the story goes, the working title was "Snake on a Plane" and the producers tried to change it to "Flight 425" or whatever and Sam refused to continue shooting the movie unless the title remained "Snakes on a Plane."

Just say "Snake on a PLANE, mothafucka!" in your best Sam Jackson voice. Endless fun. I can't wait to see the promo interviews.

Catch the trailer here. "I've had it with these snakes." *click*

(I apologize for the use of improper language. However, I must say, it was definitely necessary and worth it.)

Weird, huh?

Your #1 Match: ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller! You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.

What's Your Personality Type?

I paid $100 during college to take the Meyers-Brigg test yet a poorly spelled 40 question internet quiz gets the same exact result. Actually, I took it twice. My Extrovert/Introvert score switchd exactly, 9 on E the first time, 9 on I the second. INFP is the standard for historical researchers, librarians, and missionaries; ENFP people are best suited for journalism and politics. I've done them all to a modicum of success. Scary.

This also led to the "Max should join the Peace Corp" debacle of 1999, leaving me stuck for an afternoon at Sweet Briar College in Lynchburg, Va., aka the "College for Girls Who Like Horses a Little Too Much." I guess the cute girls of the exclusive all-girls school world don't visit Peace Corp seminars, but the Nathalie's do. Peppermint Patty and Marcie too. I just wanted to work in Nepal.

Now, Top 5 things from the past week:

1. I can write here until my face turns blue. However, I cannot write more than 500 words on my grad school personal statement, which is due to GWU in two weeks and needs 200 more words and a conclusion.
2. Neil Bush's son is an idiot, but is it funny or scary? Whichever, I'm willing to bet this video comes back to haunt him, nawhaI'msayin?
3. Dan from Analog Jetpack banged his head on a stage light, almost blacked out, then played the rest of the set with only a 3-string bass. The man's a genius.
4. My car sucks. She no longer loves me. Two breakdowns in one week. What I do, Martha? Bitch... I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Here's a car freshener...
5. My St. Patrick's Day show at Velvet Lounge is going to rock. Telograph, Koshari, Deleted Scenes. That is the order. Come. Here's the Flyer:

Tigertronic is Dead

It's time for a new update. For real. I've missed writing here a lot, even if only to get my thoughts on the page while filling some extroverted need for attention. Here's an attention grabber:

I think my band, Tigertronic, is dead.

We've fallen victim to the Contrarian Virus, which endangers democracy-based bands across the world on a daily basis. Here's how it works:
1. A new band forms, socializing happens, dreams are shared, music is played, alcohol (in this case, large, sometimes scary amounts) drank.
2. A decision-making group arises in the band, democratic rules abound, compromises are made.
3. One person in the group begins to feel left out. He/she begins to disagree with everything, if only to have a larger say in the workings of the band. They are known as the Contrarian.
4. The Contrarian desires to rule the band and become the main decision-maker, causing major amounts of strife, and sucking all fun from the band. In his/her own mind, they will cause so much hassle that eventually all will simply ask him what he wants instead of upsetting the rest of the herd by proposing new ideas without Herr Contrarian's prior advice.
5. Band breaks up from non-interest due to excessive negativity and everybody goes their own way.

This has happened to every band I've ever been in where democratic rules were enforced. It's shockingly similar to Aristotle's own theories on democracy and its eventual yet inevitable decline into tyranny. Funny how ancient political theory can still relate to the modern world, huh?

But in order to save the beast, sometimes we must kill it. The three main songwriters (including me) will soldier on in a different form and the same name, but it just won't be the same. However, I'm out there looking for a new band as well, hopefully controlled under an iron-banded dictatorship. I just want to play music.

There's promise. Check these guys out and let me know what you think. They're doing the whole alt-country/indie rock Wilco-thing that I've been listening to and playing in garages since the age of 16. Maybe it's time for a return to my Southern roots? Plus, they play mah jong every Friday night. Better for the complexion, that Mah Jong. There's some other options, including some pretty big local bands I've booked before (and whose flyers have appeared here,) but I can just hear my Hammond rumbling along humbly underneath or a flashy trumpet sounding out brightly on a few of these Rosemont kids' numbers.

Last night, I was really down, losing the faith, wondering if music should mean as much as it does to me. Gazing at the black, dingy tolex of the Fender Rhodes, I figured it was time for a good cleaning. Wedged back along the wall, dust rag impossibly dirty, a batch of my old piano books were found hidden in the well of my amp. Pulling out a selection of Claude Debussy, I flipped the switch and started into "Claire de Lune," my piano masters' class recital piece from my 3rd year at UVa. Clunking through, clumsy, ill-tempered (in a clavical way), I felt that old familiar warm tingle creep up the back of my neck, raising hairs, mingling, swirling, flushing my cheeks, teasing the corners of my mouth into a smile before settling in my eyes, becoming shiny and brilliant. Last chord slowly sings its way off into the distance. There it was, lost but no forgotten, found exactly where I had left it.

Don't worry about me, I'm fine.

That Sanberg Kid

That Adam Sanberg on SNL is the only kid on that show worth watching. Natalie Portman got in on the fun this week. Gotta love that keytar at the end:



If you like ninjas, check out Sanberg's previous project, "The Bu."