The name of the band is...

What on Earth is happening to me? Two weekends in a row and I've actually been busy? Poor Mango. Despite my best efforts to play with him a little bit each day, I feel that he's becoming a widow to something that under normal circumstances might actually resemble a social life.

This was my four day weekend and I actually spent a lot of it out of the house.

On Wednesday, I went to go get my tickets for Cowboy Mouth. I got 4 comped tickets out of it. Apparently the girl at the ticket booth wanted me out of the way so the hot guy in front of me could continue to hit on her. For the rest of the day and the next until just before the show I was trying to get rid of the extras, to no avail. By 5:00 Thursday evening, I was pretty much convinced that I wasn't going. I honestly was feeling like the kid who needed his parents to tie a slab of meat around his neck to get the pets to play with him. Then, I saw that a friend of mine, Stacy, got comped tickets as well, and she too was completely fruitless in getting rid of her tickets as well. So much for the "wanting to get me out of the way" theory.

In any event, it was a Cowboy Mouth show. Of course it was freaking stellar. I lost my voice after the first two songs and was pretty much just croaking after that. For those of you who don't know, Cowboy Mouth is a rock band from New Orleans that is pretty much constantly on tour, like 200 days out of the year. Their drummer, Fred LeBlanc, is also their lead singer, and his kit is right up front and center. Fred does not allow any emotion from the crowd other than raw unadulterated exuberance. The man knows how to work a room and Thursday night was no exception. I've been to shows where it's obvious that the band really doesn't want to be there. Every time I've seen Cowboy Mouth, it's exactly the opposite. It's so obvious that they're all having a blast that you can't help but enjoy yourself. They're a 4 piece Tenacious D that rocks 8 times as hard.

Thursday night I was wearing shorts. Friday I was in flannel pajama pants. I needed the day to recoup, and with the weather being what it was, I decided to make chili instead of the cottage pie I was considering. I don't know why, but I always fail to put enough meat in my chili and always go overboard on the vegetables. It's still good though. I went to bed early (for me) so that I could be on a day shift for the Werewolf game Saturday.

Game was okay, and I got home around 5:00 wondering what I was going to do. Every time we had game in the afternoon before, it was because of my schedule, namely because I had to be at work that evening. I was completely unused to getting home from an afternoon game and I didn't know what to do with myself. Lo and behold, I get a text from someone I've not seen or heard from in well over a year asking me if I wanted to hang out at Trinity Hall. Being that it's Trinity Hall, and how even a fake Irish pub is still pretty cool, I took her up on the offer.

It was good catching up, and the cider was flowing, but who should I run into there but Sloane Gunman of Assassination City. Small world, eh? Apparently there were a few of skaters over at the Lakewood Bar and Grill and I was invited to come. I'm not going to lie, I really wanted to go. I don't think it has anything to do with my dropping one set of friends for another, newer set of friends; I just think it's an age thing. I'm more comfortable and get along better with people who are closer to my own age or older than me. But, I didn't go as I see Ass City ladies on a fairly regular basis. Instead, Sam and I cut out of there and went to see Zombieland.

Woody Harrellson was great, and there were parts that were absolutely riotous, but ultimately, I felt it fell flat. Maybe it was becuase I was subconsciously comparing hi, to Shaun of the Dead, but I just really really did not like the lead character. Throughout most of the movie, I was hoping he'd get eaten and it'd just be Woody Harrellson kicking zombie ass for 90 minutes.

A couple more things.

Wednesday, December 9th at the Granada Theater, Less Than Jake. Be there. Go go Florida ska.

Off topic: I can now discern Mango's, "I'm not feeling so good and am about to throw up" meows. While being able to discern those meows is a good thing, his throwing up is not. Fortunately, I've been able to wrangle him onto some area with linoleum instead of having him urp on the carpet.