Even if it isn't true

Apparently, (according to my sources at On Tap), this incident has already been debunked, but even so, the mere concept of a bombed up David Hasslehoff demanding entrance to Wimbledon yelling, "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM...I AM THE HOFF!!!!!!!" deserves some recognition.

Those whacky British. Tidelair, a feather in your cap sir, truly.

In a finger injury/upcoming gig update we had a really not solid practice last night. I was seeping blood and associated gore from my finger, Ben had a fever and was about to pass out and Philito was preoccupied with concerns about the newly crowned Mrs. Philito's impending surgery. Best wishes to lovely Jennifer Mrs. Philito as she goes under the blade today.

It should be a great show tomorrow as awful practices usually precurse (is that a word?) good shows and vice versa.


In microburst news another tree just fell over up the street today. I guess it did the delayed death due to stress, sorta like Ken Lay. I find it kind of odd that folks feel that old Ken cheated the system by dying before getting incarcerated, but that's because I believe in Hell, not Christian bible Hell but my own special version of Hell where he had a pending reservation. The VIP list in my Hell is lengthy, even with him scratched off but there's plenty of room. Shit, there are extra special BlingHell areas reserved for folks like Swingin' Dick Cheney and that asshole from Blink-182 that started an emo band.

I forgot to report on my trip out to see some local bands the other night. I suppose it would be interesting to write about if I had actually been able to stay to see the band I came to see, (late start times the bane of my being caused me to miss them. Their guitarist said my hair looked great though so I figure the cover charge was well spent). I could write about the one opening band that I did see, (for about 106 seconds), that was so boring I felt my blood start to calcify as I watched them but I don't feel like going comatose thinking about it. I think the first band that played, (missed them too), is the band the lovely Mrs., Philito and I saw a few months ago that is fronted by a hyper-kinetic smelly hobbit. Very strange, not very good.

One notable thing about that night, as I was sitting at the bar ignoring the bands I was watching the James Spader movie, "Crash". It's not the Crash that won the Oscar, this one is about people that like to crash their cars and then screw each other. It was pretty stupid but entertaining to watch with closed captioning. At one point Spader is canoodling nude with some skanky lady and she's asking him if he wants to go down on the movie's protagonist, Elliot from Law and Order - SVU. Reading stuff on closed caption like "Do you know what his anus looks like...do you want to touch his anus....does his big car smell like penis....do you want to touch his big penis in his car" while drinking a Budweiser in a bar is pretty comical. Knowing that she's talking about James Spader having sex with Elliot Stabler just adds to the mirth factor. If only Ice-T was involved in the plot I would buy that DVD in a nano-second.

Velvet Lounge tomorrow night. Plenty of parking for your big smelly cars of penis.