Okay, who gave this asshat the password?

It was me. I did. I mean, I have it now, obviously, but I shant reveal my source. Is that a proper use of shant? I digress. I am Brent, the drummer and generaly late annoyance to Things to Ruin, and one of the four O.G. members. The others being Jason, Badia, and Pettry. Crazy, right? We've come a long way since those dark days in the summer of 2006. Holed up in our aunt's basement, sleeping on those foam bed pads. We barely had enough money to buy new laces for our chucks. Soon after Joe lost his job at the dry cleaners and had to live out of his car before we made it. Wait, that's not us, that's Nirvana. Sometimes I get my fantasies confused with the accomplishments of others. No biggie. My mamma loves me just the same.

The real reason for this post is just to say that we're now a week away from our show, and I couldn't be more excited to get back on a stage with these goofy bastards and lay it all out there for an audience. I mean it. I love playing, and I will play with pretty much anyone that asks, but I never, ever get the feeling of satisfaction I get after one of these shows. All of us pouring our all of our energy into the music and letting it fly free into the cosmos. it's just out there, for everyone. And the government can't touch it man! Cause it's ours, you know? You can't just run around with your "labels" and "rules" just to try and contain us with your mind nets. But how can you contain something that powerful? Tubes? Hah, nice try Mr. Scientist. Not this time. Not this time, indeed.

Back in January, I was so looking forward to having 8 Friday nights knowing that I'd be creatively satisfied, and then be able to hang out with each other, at least until Simpkins leaves. Bastard. And I was truly crushed when the Zipper closed. Although, of all ways to have a show get pulled, that's probably the best way to go. It still blew dead bears though, straight up...you know, because of rigor mortise. Typing really ruins a good boner joke. Make sure you read that with the proper beats. I'll come off as less creepy, but still a little disturbed. Healthy goals.

I think that's enough faking some form of mental instability for the sake of comedy with the result of possibly alienating half the people that read this.

So spread the love, kiddies. Go buy some used records, and then go buy some tickets for our show. Or at least the new Wilco dvd. Pretty sweet stuff. But still come a show of ours or two. And bring your friends. And then bring them to Dalton's. Eat some wings. Then go home and get it on, a real nice and slow cordial screw. No excuse to be unprofessional. Thank your partner afterward. Politeness is always appreciated. Then go to sleep without saying another word. Yes, sleep....sleeeep. Shhh, sleep.

That reminds me, I just watched Synecdoche, New York. I've never been more confused in my life! Like, I understood and made sense of what was going on, but then my brain would go "Wait, what the hell is going on?" Also, someone onced asked me if I was Philip Seymor Hoffman's brother. I'm not kidding. What an idiot. I'm way paler than that guy.


Ok folks, it's taco time.

Blood and Pheromones,
brent