This post is only two days late, but what else is a blog for other than slightly outdated information?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!!!

In an interview in today’s New York Times, the call girl behind the Eliot Spitzer scandal, known previously only as “Kristen” was revealed to be Ashley Alexandra Dupre, an aspiring R&B singer, as can be heard on her Myspace profile:

I am all about my music, and my music is all about me… It flows from what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen and how I feel. I live in New York and am on top of the world. Been here since 2004 and I love this city, I love my life here. But, my path has not been easy. When I was 17, I left home. It was my decision and I’ve never looked back. Left my hometown. Left a broken family. Left abuse. Left an older brother who had already split. Left and learned what it was like to have everything, and lose it, again and again. Learned what it was like to wake up one day and have the people you care about most gone. I have been alone. I have abused drugs. I have been broke and homeless. But, I survived, on my own. I am here, in NY because of my music. It started when I moved in with a musician during my odyssey to New York. One day, I was in the shower singing “respect.” He and his lead guitarist burst in, had me repeat it and it started. We wrote, rehearsed and toured. After recording a bit with them, I decided to move to Manhattan to pursue my music career. I spent the first two years getting to know the music scene, networking in clubs and connecting with the industry. Now, it’s all about my music. It’s all about expressing me. I can sit here now, and knowingly tell you that life’s hard sometimes. But, I made it. I’m still here and I love who I am. If I never went through the hard times, I would not be able to appreciate the good ones. Cliché, yes, but I know it’s true. I have experienced just how hard it can be. I can honestly tell you to never dwell on the past, but build from it and keep moving forward. Don’t let anyone hold you back or tell you that you can’t…because you can. I didn’t and here I am, just listen to it….

I mean she’s hot, but $1,000 an hour hot? You can bang girls like that in Chico for a couple Grey Goose and Soda Waters and a nice dinner. But whatever, guess its harder for an old ass bald dude. But seriously. PROTIP: Pussy ain’t never worth it!

For lunch today, Synthesis sales guru Cayle Hunter and myself headed down to a little burrito joint we frequent up the road called Amigos De Acapulco (highly recommended if you ever make it to Chico). The music they play in this restaurant is the type of OOM-PAH, keyboard driven Mexican polka, technically known as Duranguense, that they play in every burrito spot in California. Usually its pleasant enough but not really worth paying attention to. But today was different. Behind the usual heartfelt Spanish crooning and laughable synth-lines was some serious Neil Peart style drum fills. Insane snare rolls, fills that crossed the measure line, all sorts of crazy shit was going on. We asked the woman at the counter who the fuck we were listening to and she told us it was “K-Paz” in the same sort of tone that someone listening to rap would tell you they were listening to 2Pac. It turns out K-Paz de la Sierra is one of the bigger names currently making the rounds in Duranguense scene, and were even nominated for a Grammy last year, despite the murder of frontman Sergio Gomez. If you want to see a band with style, poise, and a badass drummer, check out a few of their videos on YouTube or add them on Myspace. Muy Caliente!

It’s beautiful outside today. So in accordance with the good weather, I took a break from the action down at the City Plaza. For a few brief moments this particular plaza—which I normally hate—seemed quite serene. The sun shining, children splashing in the fountains, and then suddenly a raspy voice: “Pink Floyd…what a phenomenal band.”

This was the voice of a roaming derelict. This crusty, leather clad, mustachioed, late 40s burnout sat down next to me and decided to recant his favorite Floyd lyrics (due to my Pulse T-shirt). “We don’t need no education…” He also sang a little Billy Preston to warm the mood. Then came the hook: “I’m just tryin’ to round up 50 cents for some coffee…” Silence. “You broke?”

“Yeah, man. I’m broke.”

“Well, if I had the big bucks I’d give you some.” A cheery sentiment, but this coming from the same man who told me last weekend that he had an invention that would make him rich, if only he weren’t worried about somebody stealing the patent.

After the vagabond skulked off into the afternoon heat, I was hit up by a second derelict, only this time a 19-ish skater punk. “Hey man, can I get some change for a handgun so I don’t have to ask the next person?”

A handgun, eh? “No, man. I don’t have any change.”

It’s not too much to ask for a little peace on a sunny afternoon in the park. What can be done? How ’bout taking a page from Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome…