Ok. Karaoke is tonight for real for real. Here's how it works: The throwdown is upstairs at the Pontiac (3rd and South. You should know what city). $7 cover with an open bar from 9-10. There's a band (Snack Flag) who plays pre-1990 punk covers. They know a ton of stuff ranging from Fugazi (I know, I know) to GG Allin and the Dead Boys. I will most likely be singing some Black Flag and some Descendents. The singers get up on stage and front the band for their song(s). The first hour of karaoke is a contest, with prizes such as gift certificates to tattoo shops and bars given to the top 3. After that it's just drunken debauchery with door prizes awarded from time to time. It's immense fun. Find me if you show up, I'll be rocking a 'no cure, no peace' tshirt. Make sure to wear clothing that you don't terribly mind getting beer, spit, and/or blood on.

I could alter your mind or you could alter mine
as long as we was in the same mindframe.

They could frame time or change your time frame
and the landscape and things would be the same.

Punk Rock Karaoke is next week - Feb 22nd. Upstairs at the Pontiac Grill (3rd and South). $7 at the door. Open bar from 9-10. Fun and madness all night. Be there, fuckers.

Are you fucking kidding me? A Missy/Le Tigre mashup?!?

Punk rock karaoke is the funnest ever. For those of you who may not know, here's how it works. This band plays old punk covers and the karaoke singers get up on stage and front the band for their song(s). There's an open bar from 9 to 10 and a pbr special all night (of course. This is Philly we're talking about after all). The first hour is a contest, with Zipperhead gift certificates and Tattooed Mom's gift certificates and Philadelphia Eddie's gift certificates and other random assorted swag from sponsors such as Ammo and Emerica given up as prizes. The next one will be the third Tuesday of February (the 15th for those of you too lazy to check). It's only $5 in advance from Zipperhead and all you fuckers should show next time, as they're taking 2 months or so off. Expect beer to be thrown and/or spit on you while you sing. Oh soooooo much fun.

Oh, as the heavens shudder, baby, I belong to you. They said you get what you deserve and all they said was true.

Coolest shit evar. At my grandfather's viewing a few months ago I ran into an aunt who I hadn't seen in a long time. She and I got to chatting and it turns out that she has a son (my cousin, for my slower friends) who is into many of the same things that I am. Apparently we were great friends when we were four or so and haven't seen each other since. Said cousin is a bartender at the illustrious Tattooed Mom's on South Street. A couple of nights ago I happened to be in there and remembered this juicy tidbit. I sought him out, found him, and proceeded to reform bonds with him. He's a fucking utterly chill cat and I've been thoroughly enjoying his company. I went to a tree decorating party at his house last night and had a blast. Yay for redisovering wonderful family!

Oh yeah. And I've been hanging out with Liz some too. It's good, believe it or not. We're not getting back together or anything, but it is really lovely to have her back in my life in some capacity.

So I got kicked from the phone tag board for some mysterious reason. Strange stuff. I have two theories:

a) Someone set me up. It's only paranoia if they're not really after you.

b) I called a hippy and they took my joke as a death threat.

Seriously, the only women I talked to were Fenchurch and Sarcastic Menace, both of whom I'm still on good terms with. So I don't *think* I was creepy with anyone.

I'm more curious than anything. Far be it from me to get all butthurt about this. But I sure would like to know.

Ah well. Now is not the time for pondering. Now is the time for sushi.

The Phantoms beat the Baby Pens, but it was a GREAT time nonetheless. Ah, the good old hockey game. It's the best game you can name. And the best game you can name is the good old hockey game.

I used to think that people who killed themselves were reincarnated as trees to learn a little serenity and patience. But I don't anymore.

Mitch Hedberg SUCKED. God DAMN was that a bad show. Stephen Lynch was a lot of fun, though. I ended up shirtless at one point during the show. Twice, actually. But it's ok, as DodRaibeid was without his as well. Then I got all maudlin at the bar and cried. Cried at the bar. What a tool. Ah well. You would cry too if it happened to you.

I made out with someone I shouldn't have last night. No, no, don't worry. It wasn't Liz. But I still shouldn't have done it. Now I owe someone flowers. Hopefully it'll make up for what I did. The card says 'sorry I'm a big old asshole'. I figure that should about do it.

I saw Sideways the other night. Good flick. I would recommend checking it out.

Now that I've broken the proverbial seal on my kissing celibacy I've reawakened the monster inside. I want more. Interested in stealing some smooches? Let me know. I, in all of my characteristic modesty, must say that I'm pretty good at it. I don't know that I want to do much fucking, but I believe I may be entering a kiss/cuddle slut phase. Wheeeee.

I've come to a sort of revelation. I'm going to kill myself. Not today or even within the next 30 years most likely, so don't go getting all worried and calling an ambulance on me. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Lots and lots and lots left to do first. But when I go, that's going to be how. It's not a depressing thought. Just something that I know.