I think SXSW broke my brain a little bit. When I got back and I had a show to play that week, I started brainstorming. The result was taking two pages out of the Tony Clifton playbook, one page out of Neil Hamburger’s, and a paragraph of Bill Hicks, and roll them into possibly the best show I’ve ever played.

Drunk Not Retarded by Catlike Reflexes

Half of the audience loved it. The other half was calling for blood. I don’t think I’m going to get invited back to Nick’s Night Club, but fuck it, that place is over rated anyway, and it was worth it.

As if it weren’t bad enough that every health guru on the planet decries the consumption of almost everything you’d ever want to eat as bad, but now some yokel has gone and ruined my new diet by slapping a name to drinking a lot and eating very little: Drunkorexia.

The subtle art of perfecting drunkorexia isn’t so tough, really. All you have to do is drink a ton of water during peak eating times (most of the time when you feel hungry, you’re really just thirsty. Try it out), then when you get off work or are in a dark corner of your office, start drinking. The water imbibed beforehand will hydrate you up and act as a nice base for the copious alcohol consumption you’ll indulge in for the better part of the night and wee morning hours. Once you get the alcohol hunger satiated, you are free to have a small morsel to whet the appetite: cheap pizza, a streetcorner hot dog, etc. Voila! Weight loss in extreme chunks! Just add cigarettes, some depressing rock music on the stereo and you’re on your way to heroin chic in no time!

Apparently, this new “trend” has been gaining attention in national media outlets. The report went on to mention other trends in the lexicon of eating disorders, none of which make any sense to me.

Me, I don’t like to be labeled, but let’s just say I haven’t not lost almost 20 pounds in two months by way of what experts are now calling “drunkorexia.” Luckily I now have a name to associate to my irrevocable happiness at the slender nature of my torso, but I imagine I’ll be giving it a rest now that it’s officially a “trend.” Fucking doctors…

Sit down Waldo, tonight’s Van Halen Concert at John Paul Jones Arena in Charlottesville, VA has been postponed. According to the Richmond Times Dispatch the band’s equipment trucks had already arrived at the venue, suggesting a last-minute catastrophe. Normally we would speculate cocaine/herion overdose, but the boys are getting up there in age; perhaps heart attack or stroke? Maybe Eddie Van Halen’s hair is suffering from exhaustion. Either way, countless Budweiser-fueled tailgate parties will be postponed until an undetermined later date. Same goes for Monday’s concert in Duluth, GA.

John Paul Jones could not be reached for comment. But I still think his production on Butthole Surfers’ Independent Worm Saloon was totally badass.

Whatever, you still can’t front on the drum intro to “Hot For Teacher.”

In other news, I haven’t seen how Eddie Van Halen looks in a bit. Let’s check in:

Eghad! Keith Richards he isn’t. I guess decades of rock doesn’t suit everybody well. Wicked Witch of the West over here.