Don't call Ultimate Frisbee a sport

-I am currently at home, drinking granola like water, and washing it down with more granola, like milk. I may have a cupcake in a few minutes. Not having a day job is amazing.
Today, I played FIFA 06 on PS2 for a while. Then I played real soccer for about an hour, until I realized that real soccer and video game soccer work completely different sets of muscles. Real soccer: legs. FIFA 06: more fingers than anything else… less aerobic. When I finished, I played more FIFA. I expect to be back at my middle school video game levels within weeks.
-I was in NY last week, doing shows, having meetings and being ignored by potential future roommates. No one will reply to my craigslist emails. Is there a pass code I’m supposed to give them or something? If you or someone you know is looking for a roommate, let me know.
The shows were okay, but I have yet to have a show in NY that I’ve felt good about. For some reason, I’m really tight on stage there. I’m not sure what my problem is. So, if you’re in NY reading this, I will be better next time.
I think I had some NY stuff to write about, but I forgot.
-I took the Washington Deluxe bus to and from NY. On my way up, a guy who had 26 teenaged Russian girls with him had bought 27 of the seats. That had “future prostitutes” written all over it. I can’t think of any other possibilities, unless it was a school field trip on a public bus, for a school that specializes in young Russian girls. What I’m saying is, I think I should have called the cops. My bad, Russian youth.
On the way back, they played two movies. The opener was that Bernie Mac and Ashton Kutcher movie. It didn’t go over very well, except with a few people. Then, after the rest stop, the driver put in the Chris Rock of bus movies, “Hitch.” It killed. I’m not making this up. The entire bus, other than myself, was whipped into a frenzy by Will Smith and Kevin James’ antics for 90 minutes. It was bizarre. If the studio had limited Hitch's release to Chinatown buses only, I think it could have been the most succesful movie of all time.
-I did a show at the Bethesda Hyatt on Saturday… talk about a shit sandwich. It was a weird, old, white crowd, and we took an intermission right before Jon Mumma’s set, which was right before mine. The intermission probably was a good idea, because no one I know can sit down for a full 90-minute show. If they did, we’d have to call the Guinness people about possibly getting into their little book.
Marriott rules!
-If you’re in a cover band, first of all, you shouldn’t be. However, if you insist on making me angry and remaining a member of “Gideon’s Last Paradise,” or whatever stupid cover bands are called, please do me a couple favors.
1. Don’t play any songs by the following artists, as it is too predictable: Jimmy Buffett, Sublime, Dave Matthews Band, Tom Petty, Neil Young, Bob Marley or John Mayer. And don’t even think of playing a Spin Doctors song. That even annoys the Spin Doctors.
2. Don’t tell us stories about the songs you’re playing. No one cares. They aren’t your songs. It’s one thing if Bob Marley is playing “Redemption Song,” and prefaces it with what the song means to him. It’s completely different when you tell your shitty story about how you were playing Ultimate Frisbee the first time you heard “Redemption Song,” and you stopped in the catch-zone (or whatever Ultimate Frisbee terms that exist) and said, “Whoa, this song is… whoa man… It’s… ummm…I just love it, and I have to play it on my Casio keyboard for a group of people who wouldn’t have came to the bar if they knew they were going to be forced to listen to a cover band.” No one cares about how the songs relate to you. All you are is a means for bars to avoid paying ASCAP royalties.

More tomorrow…