im glad im older.

ive learned a lot of things in my 109 years. ive just started to learn not to take things personally. that was a tough one. i still do sometimes like when semi-super models pull down my sweatpants and then point and laugh and try to stop themselves but then errupt into uncontrollable laughter as they put their tight sweaters back on and laugh right out the door.

ive learned to be more patient. but not all that much. i guess thats the one i need the most help with because life is fragile and time flies and between my reckless bus drivers and my penchant for greasy foods, my days walking this crust are few and far between and while im here i wouldnt mind meeting more people and spreading good will towards men and better will towards women.

speaking of which, last night at the tsar show, a very nice young woman introduced herself to me right in the middle of tsar rocking out. she said, hi, i read your blog all the time. i smiled and said, wow. thanks! then she told me that she had just moved out to LA and i clinked glasses with her but the magic of my favorite band was luring me away from any conversations, sweet as they might be.

anyway, nice young lady, thank you for saying hi to me, im sorry i didnt see you after the set, but i looked for you and then was rushed out the side door to my waiting limo. say hi to me at the next tsar show and i will be sure to buy you a welcome-to-hollywood shot of booze.

where was i? oh yes. major disappointments. i mean lessons. ive learned a lot of lessons over the centuries and one of them is how to deal with disappointments and failures. the hippies may scoff at sports, but if sports teach one thing it’s how to handle defeat.

some blow their stack and make a big sloppy mess after they dont get what they were shooting for, but nobody likes those people and that sort of energy rarely helps you win the next time. me, i prefer to shake hands with everyone afterwards and buy a round of drinks.

when i was younger i might have held a grudge or decided, ever idealistically, that if someone said no to me once that i wouldnt want anything to do with them ever again because they obviously didnt “get” me. ive learned over time that you should never burn a bridge unless its a terrible bridge that might already be on fire. and seriously, how many bridges have you seen lately that are on fire? outside of iraq, not very many.

what else have i learned over the years? always bet on black. never send a woman flowers unless shes your mother. and wear condoms every, single, time.

ive also learned that grammar and spelling are over-rated. always ask for exactly what you want. be super polite at all times. pray every day. be grateful for everything because in an instant it can go away. if some lame ass wants to blog war you, state your case, dont link them, and then move on.

and by all means, never bore your readers. ever.

reward people for reading your shit, and if you cant do it with your words, do it with your links.

my second favorite shirt on my favorite redsox fan + sk smith + popie

tsar came down from the heavens last night in eastern hollywood

tsar live to deliver the good news and layeth the smackdown and they cranked their shit to eleven and pretty much busted the eardrums of anyone within the first fifty rows and i just stood there like heston infront of the burning bush turning grey overnight and i have seen the light and its letters flash t s a r, for the big bad wolf is knocking at your door modern rock alternative radio and he has dyed his hair shit brown and hes coming for whats his and you better give it up or he’ll spin that fckr to twelve.

opening up for the epoxies and the starlight vocal band, tsar did rock and roll a favor last night by being the last minute replacements and sacrificing their good names by accepting the 9:30p chump openers role. didnt matter, they still blew the lights out. they still kicked ass and took names. they still passed the dutchee on the left hand side, wild eyed and crazy like maidens eddie, they still gave us our what for, they still didnt ask for an encore and were pleaded to give one but refused cuz theyre punk rock and powerful and tight like a youknowwhat and meaty like a hamhat.

defying all possible sensibilities and laws of gravity, tsar blasted through their newest material so as to beat it into our collective unconsiousness, hardly taking a break to chew ones curd, the brunette lead singer songwriter flopped around the stage cocksure and righteous pissed at the world for what it hadnt done for it and poised to take what is owed to them so lock up the lockers and lay down the liars cuz justice isnt blind, its bitter and it has a message from another time and it wont be brought to you by budweiser.

despite talking hella shit about weezer back in the day, tsar apparently got hollywood records (disney) to break open the marketing department vault and spend a little money (little being the key word) on some weezer-esque lights (pictured) which may or may not have blown out the stage lights of the sparse spaceland stage and which may or may not have been made on the floor of the tsar practice room with construction paper, spraypaint, and ninety nine cent store lightbulbs.

long live the mouse.

and my ears are still ringing and its almost lunch time. and my hearts still exploding and its months till the cd drops. and if you dont see these masters of the the midway within these next six weeks in hollywood as they get their shit together before going on their world tour then you really dont love rock music. its time to stare into the sun, friends. and this is the music you’ll melt to.

sea of angels + van mega + splinkie

theres lots of ghosts in this machine.

lots of creepy crawly spirits and spooks haunting every line in this woven tale. and today is the birthday of one of our favorites. mr. ken basart.

os runs the backbone, the ladies inspire the heart, and ken tidies up the huge glaring fuckups left behind from the parade of elephants.

im a lazy writer. on kens birthday i wouldnt soil his good name with lies. im lazy as it gets.

im also not a fan of myself, so i barely re-read what i write unless i get in an extremely narcisitic mood, which isn’t often. so its good to have a fresh, unspoiled mind, educated in what doesn’t suck, to waltz in after the major work is finished and smooth out the rough edges. and that’s where basart earns his keep.

and the price is right.

when basart asked for the job i inquired his rate and he told me that he wanted to make whatever magic johnson got in his last laker deal, so i set him up with a 25 million dollar contract over 25 years.

to play point guard for the lakers.

since editing the busblog doesn’t pay shit.

i first met ken basart outside a seven eleven on haight street when he asked me for spare change and i stepped on his birkenstock.

a huge fan of old school hip hop, basart not only can recite most of the def jam catalogue circa 1985, but will, endlessly, especially if a tumbler of whiskey is in his hand. so be careful.

devastated when jam master jay passed away recently, ken turned over a new leaf and began volunteering on skid row in los angeles’s historic downtown district.

a master at trivia, you may have seen ken on the comedy central game show win ben stiens money where he not only shook down the famous character actor, but beat his ass in the greenroom and stole the hosts bow tie.

even though he’s one of my closest friends, i have no idea where he lives.

although i understand its less than a mile from where i reside.

so lets take this moment to wish a happy 67th birthday to my close personal friend and organizer of the now-infamous coulter klassic bachelor party and theme park, my pal, ken basart, managing editor of the busblog.

coulter klassic + drunks + ken writes about ken