I have a penpal. The good ol’ fashioned kind. We don’t even TYPE our letters, we write them. By hand. He writes me wonderful things about atheism and pagans and life in a Texas prison. Yup, he’s in tha slamma. He’s a cool dude, tho. Here’s the latest from him… it’s a lovely letter and I encourage you to read it…

Though this post is semi-masturbatory in nature, I still can’t help but be stoked that the best radio station not on Satellite, NPR, picked local yokels Surrogate’s song “15″ as their Song of the Day. Check it out on the NPR web site, like it, then go to Amazon and buy the damn CD so that I can spend my summer vacation rocking Saddam Hussein’s ass back to Russia like I did last year.

Photo by Harland Spinks

Better known as Matt, but there’s too many Matt’s here so we just call him Fletch.

Fletch likes to party and recently just got back from Rosarito for Spring Break where he drank the mysterious rattlesnake tequila:

Says he…

“it’s a diffrent kind of drunk, like you’ve been poisiond, and then you realize you have. my shot had a scale in it. It tasted like old meat”

What’d you do after?

“ran around like we were on fire, tried to talk to some girls, but I think they were 12. So we went to a taco stand and drank a 5 dollar beer”

Aside from partying in Rosarito, Fletch also likes to host spoon parties, dress in suits that are too snug, and make random songs about ham (?).

I think it’s safe to say we found someone crazy enough to rock the groundhog suit for next year’s groundhog day crawl. It’s going to be tough to top me, though…

This post is only two days late, but what else is a blog for other than slightly outdated information? So here goes nothing.

My green day was mellow, giving thanks for that pace. No bars, no frat parties and no drunk tank or pelting police officers with beer bottles for me. However, I did humbly attend a kegger at some anonymous location with some old high-school friends. You know, took a walk down no-memory lane, into the past, all the stupid shit I got away with in my first years of puberty. Those dimmed-memories disappeared again with the sound of an amp and a full cup of beer.

The party featured live hip-hop, lyrical talent courtesy of ViBE TRiBE. Dupre and Judge Jojo lived up to their name while delivering strong, positive lyrics accompanied by bouncy beats and smooth tenor vocal back-ups. Hit up their MySpace and listen to their tracks, send them a word, try to catch their next show and catch the vibe, it’s contagious.

cover by DRSELKIRK

Not done. Before Dupre disappeared magician status, I managed to trade bat whiskers and gargoyle sweat in exchange for Dupre’s vocals on my handy personal recorder. If only I weren’t already 5 drinks under and a wee-bit dehydrated, I may have remembered the wind/spit cover, hence a little better quality and more bang for my trade (Gargoyles Sweat is some strait black-market shit).

Dupre A Cappella to You
direct link to mp3

Photo by Meester Photography

This article seemed appropriate after being on the SXSW diet (booze, booze, and more booze)… and the Zynthesis wine post I just did.  I’ve made the decision to drink rather than eat many a times, but it’s usually because I’m broke and I’d rather spend the money on getting a buzz.

With pressure on young women to drink but also remain slim, many are now swapping dinner for a large glass or two of wine.

I was pretty clear on what I was about to write until I got back on the dock and realized that my 24 hour $11 internet connection had prematurley expired, so we are free balling this one.

First and foremost, however, BALLS. Bollocks, if you will.

Sadly, Jill (whom I mentioned from a previous post) never made it to the dock for our tentative cigarette/wine date. The pleasant news, however, is that following Saturday night’s Spin/American Spirit SXSW after party featuring my new band I’m in, Soundtrack of Our Lives (I hope to get more into that bit later…), I ran into Karen (formerly indifferent) and Al (formerly cunt-y) outside the venue. Karen was far more warm, and Al was absolutely chagrin about his behaviour the night prior (”U” intentional, they’re from the UK, after all). Al was sweet, sheepish and apologetic for his caustic discourse. I gave him a bit more good-natured ribbing and once Jill appeared from the closing venue, we all walked back to the hotel together, quickly figuring out we were staying on the same floor. I was drunk….very drunk….and decidedly less charming than the previous night. Still, Jill asked if I was married, so I took that optimistically as a good sign. We made tentative plans to repeat Friday’s late-nite dock circle.

I feel a bit sick at the moment. My Synthesis compatriots have left me by myself on the dock hours ago, a slave to insomnia and the hopes of a brief snogging encounter with one leggy British heart-thief. Regardless, I still just had a rather cathartic ending to my SXSW, 2008. No, not the bats underneath the bridge (though they were pretty spectacular), but the crashing destruction of a former life.

Way back when, I used to own and operate a car windshield repair service, GlassMan out of Sacramento, CA. I fixed rock chips and installed new windows on cars and trucks. As I lay on the hammock behind the 8.5 Weeks Hotel (formerly the 4 Seasons Hotel…we really trashed the joint and brought the place to an all new low) I watched on as a dozen men manipulated a 15′ x 12′ glass window to its new home. As I chatted with one of the glass workers operating away from the action, I heard the thunderous and sadly familiar roar of hundreds of pounds of glass shattering to the concrete. Though unfortunate for the glass company, that Shiva-approved demolition of clear, perfect glass proved to be the perfect capstone to the most prolific (personally) SXSW I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. And that shattering destruction wasn’t even caused by me, though I had momentarily considered launching my mostly empty bottle of Japanese plum wine through its flawless double-planed beauty.

Victory or Death my friends, victory or death. I am sure I had more to talk about, but the post is long and mainly without original pictures…fucking broken camera.

Oh, and for the record, Shannon at Touche bar on 6th street is the radest provider of libations I’ve ever met. Sorry Duffy’s, you’ve been served. /pun

OOOh, I just saw a bat………. And I just puked. First time during sxsw08. Glad Jill didn’t make it after all to see me in this state. Drunkorexia!!!!!!!!!!!!1!111!!!!danieltaylor!!!111!!!