Email grab bag today. First things first –

We’re not just all about the rock here at the ivory towers of Launch Day Headquarters. We’re also all about the snacks. Which is why the astro weenie christmas tree sent in from Piano Steve is going to be topping the mahogany boardroom table at this year’s LD christmas party. did i say christmas? I mean festivus, duh. charles pheonix, we salute you.

Also. Let’s not forget that Monday is Danceday. The usual monday morning routine of whats-that-smell and find-my-pants-somewhere-outside gets sooOOooo stale. So we’re mixing it up today and pulling in a little choreography. Time to clear the cobwebs and celebrate the start of the workweek. We’re all about the exercise. And you’ll know the real LD fans out there cuz they’ll have nailed the “burst both hands / up punch / shoulder shoulder / double dream hands / jump” move. Thx for sending this in, John de Juan. We salute you … and we salute Planet Rock!

We are men of the renaissance here at the ivory towers of Launch Day headquarters, able to discuss nearly any topic, any time, with depth and perception so uncommon amongst the, ahem, “working class,” bless their little give-us-this-day-our-daily-bread hearts.

So up at 5 am this morning, as per usual, trying to figure out which end of the boardroom table to sit at today and why, exactly, my pants were on backwards, and just before embarking on my usual strict daily exercise regimen of kayaking, marathon running, breath holding and cramming myself into a small, one-foot box, I found myself discussing something called “calvinism” with a friend, which is some sort of ancient religious cult, apparently, started by Ricardo count Von Calvin in Paraguay in the 1500s — yes, the same Von Calvin who, oddly enough, perfected the art of brewing mead in the large, slightly used flower pots so commonly found in the slums of Paraguay. Originally intended as a 5-point reference guide for the cheap, safe brewing of mead in the aforementiond flower pots, “5 Point Calvinism” has been twisted by the well meaning populace over the centuries into more of a code of ethics — guide posts, if you will, along the road of self-flagellation leading towards the pearly gates of deep, self-righteous smugness. One example of this twisting : the first point, now (incorrectly) referred to as “total depravity” according to its wikipedia thingie, was originally “Totally Deprived,” as in, “Before using the flower pot to brew mead, first determine that the pot is totally deprived of all remnants of top soil.” Just an example. I’m not making this stuff up.

I was directed towards something called ‘TULIP’, which is an acronym for the “five points” upon which a good little calvinist’s hopes and dreams rest, and it occurred to me, right then, right smack dab then and there, what exactly it was that I really needed for the religion I had just decided to start:

An acronym.

I think you need an acronym to truly be successful in this life.

So I posit:

B.E.E.R.

or perhaps the less funny (to SOME):
L.E.M.M.I.N.G

Yes, so just in case you forget what it is you believe, you can refer to these handy little acronyms to remind you, and give you a sense of power over everyone you ever have a conversation with, which let’s face it, is the entire point. Let’s give it a shot:

B. – Something that starts with “B”. “Be funny”. “Be Serious.” Be Seriously Funny. Works for me. A carrot noone can ever grasp. Perfect!
E. – Enter through the narrow gate. It means nothing, but sounds so important. Perfect!
E. – Enjoy Your Life. Such a nice platitude, sure to captivate thousands – no, millions — of practitioners over the coming centuries.
R. – Relax! No, too soft. Revolt! Perfect! Against what? Revolt against laziness! Perfect!

B – Be seriously funny
E – Enter through the narrow gate
E – Enjoy Your Life
R – Revolt against laziness

There you have it folks. Did I say “folks?” I meant — beerists! No – Beerytes! No – Beers! There you have it, beers. A handy acronym, and let’s not overlook its most important quality — it’s only four points, or one point less than the demanding, unpopular Ricardo Count Von Calvin’s.

Perfect!

Yeah I’ll keep this short and sweet and just express my bitterness at the worlds most famously-logo’ed karaoke band, Dead Kennedys. We caught them this weekend in Ventura and man, it stunk. We walked out. I want my twenty bucks back. The only redeeming quality of the evening is that now i can serve as a warning beacon to others.

HEY DEAD KENNEDYS — I WANT MY TWENTY BUCKS BACK.

Nostalgia night is a scary night. Stay away. I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into. From here on out, if you don’t have new material you’re touring on, I’m not going ANYWHERE near you. You smell of death.

First off, your openers, the Angry Samoans — good grief, someone get that singer a chair, would you? He had to take a knee the whole set. I could not believe my eyes. That brand of goofball cartoon-character punk rock I guess might kind of worked when you were 17, but dudes youre like, what, a wheezy 50? Hey I’ve got NO problem with age, man, but maybe try playing something that reflects your life as things currently stand, or do the world a favor and stay retired. (Oh one sidenote — your guitar player is GREAT. He’s the only reason I didn’t shoot myself in the face during your set.)

That put me in a sour enough mood, then out rolled the Dead Kennedys, and all I could think was, “who’s that singing Jello’s songs?” And, “is that really a 40-year-old singing about high school football?” Weird. The singer was like Jim Carrey doing a Jello Biafra impression. Just too weird a night for my blood. Nothing new, nothing relevant, no point, smelled of death, left early. I supposed if I had thought about it enough ahead of time I could have figured it out and saved myself the nausea.

How’s that for chipper?

So call me when there’s some new material.

Speaking of which – individually, these guys in DK are great musicians, for what they do. Even the singer, who’s name is “Im not Jello”. I’d absolutely love to hear what they could come up with in this century. East Bay Ray looked pretty cool up there, he’s aged pretty gracefully and I wouldn’t mind hearing what he has to say about … well, about whatever he wants to say. The bass player Greg Reeves at least _appeared_ intelligent and you could tell he really enjoyed what he was doing. Though I’m not sure why. Look — these are the people that wrote Frankenchrist, and now they’re wheeling out a Jello impersonator to sell 20 dollar tickets to 12-yr olds and their middle aged punk rock dads. This is wrong, right?

So as far as Dead Kennedys is concerned, punk IS dead, man. You’ve got a really recognizable logo and a really famous ex-singer, but for the here and now, you got nothin’. Except my 20 dollars. Which I want back.