Weekend Update

Hey kids, it’s another Monday morning, and, in the spirit of nonacknowledgement of a full week’s worth of work to look forward to, I will instead spend the morn looking back at the weekend just passed. Saturday night was the annual Corporate Express Christmas party, the third one of these things we’ve attended. Jodi got a killer haircut and looked smashing in her new dress. My hair was shaggy and unruly, as usual, and I looked, well, okay, I guess.

Anyway, by now we have a routine with these things:

4:00-5:00 – Drive to hotel, check in, get dressed, prepare room for onslaught of tequila-maddened CEXP employees and equally mad sig. others.

5:00-6:30 – Others arrive to room, festivities begin early. Bottles of champagne, Crown, and tequila are quickly opened and passed around. Let the consumption begin!

6:30-7:00 – Head downstairs for appetizers, photos, and more drinks. Two-per-person drink tickets are history within 15 min.

7:30-8:00 – Eat.

8:00-9:30 – Transition phase. Some sit at table, others mingle, many dance, a few take off for a smoke break.

9:30-? – Back up to the room for the remainder of the evening. Traditionally the craziest and most fun of the time slots, it is also the one least likely to be recalled the next day, and 2004 was not the year to break tradition. (THIS JUST IN: Jodi just called to tell me all the things that I supposedly said during these hours….none of which rings anything like a bell...uh oh...)

The next day we shoot back over to the hotel room to clean up and grab the stuff we left behind the night before. One is always a bit nervous as to the room’s condition; fortunately, it is intact and free of major wine stains and cigarette burns.

Sunday afternoon. After nursing a mild hangover, I made the trip across greater Denver to southeast Aurora and the home of the O’Donnell family: Gared, Brandy, and Lux. Gared and the PMFS crew returned from yet another successful tour last week, and it had been too long since I’d seen either my Best Man, his little man, or his little lady. We polished off a 12-pack of PBR and caught up for several hours. Gared’s always such a great guy to talk to, full of eternal wisdom and sound ideas and good humor. Plus, he's just Gared. I turned my brotha on to Comus, while he returned the favor by kickin’ me a little Burl Ives. Funny how every time I go over there, G-Rod’s raving ‘bout ‘ol Burl. Oh, and he gave me a Fever Tree record that I’ve been looking for. Thanks dude!

From there, I swung by Dave Paco’s house to chauffeur him up to the 15th Street Tavern for the Ghost Buffalo show. Pac is one gutsy SOB, having recently returned from bumming around India and Southeast Asia for three months. One day this guy just decided to do it, and he bought a ticket to Delhi. Imagine yourself flying into India for the first time, an American in this day and age, not knowing a single soul, without a clue as to where you’re gonna stay or what you’re gonna do, and without the pursestrings of a benefactor to fall back upon. Utterly fascinating. Someday I gots ta check out those photos, Dave!

So we made it to the Tavern in time to catch Pena's last few songs (pretty cool stuff) and then the GBs, who, despite some technical problems, blazed through a tight set. The guys (and Marie!) really seem to be hitting their stride...their onstage rapport is palpable, and everyone looks like they’re having a good time (even when they’re being zapped by live electricity!) The first song they played, an instrumental, kicks ass and really sets the mood for the rest of the set. Another thing—more and more I’m lovin’ Tom’s background vox. His voice really blends well with Marie’s and has the effect of kicking up the emotional ante a few notches, esp. on "Stars Fall on Our Town."

Mikey made my night when he told me how much he loves the Dungen record, and how he’s been trying to turn people on to it. Sweet success! Zed and I had a great talk on blogs, ‘70s rock, reissues, and the many ways in which Akarma Records is a godsend (Gared had actually said the exact same thing several hours before…). And Tom hooked me up with a copy of the new Liz Phair CD, a disc that charted on his recent list of guilty pleasures, so that I could judge for myself the relative merits of this much-reviled record. (And the verdict? Well, it’s certainly no Exile in Guyville, and neither does it touch the cool indie-pop sounds of Whip-Smart or even Whitechocolatespaceegg, so disappointment is perhaps inevitable for longtime fans expecting more greatness. Yet there are a few songs on here worth hearing, and the 0.0/10.0 rating on the Pitchfork scale seems more than a tad harsh. I’ll give it a 3.5. I can see how this record might become one's guilty pleasure.)

Finally, home, to catch Bobby D's captivating, though much too brief, interview on 60 Minutes, and to fall asleep. More soon.

N/P The Late Great Daniel Johnston, Discovered Covered, disc one.