Mike Brainard Made A Movie

and he wants you to see it:

go to www.independentfilmforum.com

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click on "Lookin' For Some Posse"

nuff said, pard'ner

Sex Bomb Baby

http://www.trouserpress.com/entry.php?a=flipper

Yeah.

What he said.

And Yet Still More Flipper!

Living For The Depression Lyrics
We're living for life to be the way we feel Not living for life, but the Death appeal Who wants a cancerous boring end when you can die from misery and following the trend? I say "Who cares anyway? Who listens to what I say?" This song rhymes and we play it in time And if you wanna live in Super Market Isles And take your vacation by flying for miles Take a day off and live in the lies While others work and capitalize I say "Who cares anyway? Who listens to what I say?" This song rhymes and we play it in time We're living like cockroaches in this place Sprayed with insecticide that leaves no trace And if we could crawl on you at night You could be sure we'd love to bite I say "Who cares anyway? Who listens to what I say?" This song rhymes and we play it in time I'm not living life to be A really cheap fucker like you Copout

Someone Say Flipper?

The Way Of The World Lyrics
There are eyes that cannot see And fingers that cannot touch That's the way of the world There are dreams left empty and blank And legs that have ceased to walk That's the way of the world There are kisses undelivered Sighs and moans unuttered That's the way of the world There are hearts no longer beating And there are entrails spilled on the floor That's the way of the world

Moonshadow, Moonshadow

We had the moonshadow tonight.

I am an Aquarius, I get the fever sometimes at full moons.

Like real insane, howlin' shit.
Werewolves of London and shit.
Fucking moonshadow.

A shadow cast by the moon?

Do you know I almost went blind tonight from that shit?

[CAN YOU SAY SHIT ONE MORE TIME. GREG?-Ed]

Got the [CHEESEY] telescope out, the one Gramps gave the kids years ago and tried to peeps me some astrology. I'm into horoscopes to some extent (www.freewillastrology.com), so, so, so, so.... so I almost lost mytrain of thought but lookin' into a telescope aiming for moonshadows is almost like bringing a magnifying glass to an eclipse.

[WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS KID SAYIN?]

[HE'S NOT TALKING VAN MORRISON IS HE?]
[NO, MAYBE THE PROMISE RING?]

Who is Ed? And why is he in my head? Get him out. I don't want him there anymore.

[GREG, IT'S ME Ed. I'M JUST WONDERING, WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?] 

In Through The Out Door

The door to Spencer's room. Replete with the prerequisite punk rock show posters. He's a flyer artist in the making. Most of the white ones are for his band Sharks & Lions. The stickers under his name represent trips to the doctors' office over the years (7 stickers, 5 and a half years; unless he pinched two at one time which wouldn't surprise me).

He's probably behind that door listening to Thin Lizzy's Live And Dangerous, a drum set made out of old powdered Gatorade tins and a couple of shoe boxes for floor toms.

This is the kind of shit that spooks the moms on play dates.

That and the number of empty beer cans on top of my fridge. I store my empties there. When the top fills up they then are placed outside in the recycling bin... speaking of which, it is time to curb those empties.

This Is Cole's Room

My wife felt it ideal to repaint the room from the set-up we had for Spencer which was, uh, I forget but different.

So crazy Martha Stewart girl that she is, she made the curtains, did the "trains, planes, and automobiles" border (she wanted to do the whole room Thomas The Train - I objected), and got the big boy mattress.

Not that the kid ever sleeps in his bed. He's one of those that falls asleep on the floor trying to stay up with his older brother and then gets moved to mom and dad's bed after he passes out.

I object but there's no arguing with a mom. Especially a working mom who finds comfort in sharing a bed with her toddler. If he would just piss in the bed one more time maybe she'll see the light.

And that lamp? Hell yeah, that's some shit I cribbed from my parents and is total real deal '70s shit. Used to be olive green until Mrs. Martha Stewart Barbera got her hands on it and transformed it into some Trading Spaces room essential.

Hello

My name is Cole.

Please to meet you. 

I Mean C'mon!

Look at this kid in action! 

Go Gnomes!

So Spencer had his last soccer game of the season this past weekend. I missed it of course because I was working some bar mitzvah in Durham but my wife snapped a bunch of awesome pictures of our boy in action. Here he is jukin' some opponent enroute to a scoring the third goal of the day and sealing his umphteenth hat trick of his soccer career. As much as I bitch about my boys and rigors of being a parent, things like magic marker tattoos and little league soccer make it all worth it. 

Dean Smith Has A Posse

I worked a catering gig at the chancellor of UNC-Chapel Hill's house last Friday.

Carolina's legendary basketball coach Dean Smith was in attendance. Smith is like a deity around these parts.

So I was walking past him with a tray full of spent wine glasses and empty dinner plates and he said, "Excuse me."

I stopped. His voice is very nasally. Like the antithesis of Bobby Knight's.

"Can I get some coffee. Black," he asked.

I looked at my tray full of empties and then gazed over at the two girls who were making the rounds in the room with coffee and dessert, then returned to the Dean'er not saying a word.

"That's your job isn't it?" he said.

I wished I had some witty b-ball retort.

I didn't.

I went and got a cup of coffee from one of the girls and placed it in front of him.

Tattoo You

So my boys have decided that in order to fulfill their rock star fantasies, they have to be tattooed. So in recent days they have taken to drawing on themselves with these Crayola (washable I might add) magic markers.

Spencer has had a cough for the last few days and had a coughing jag so bad last night that he puked twice. So today I took him to the doctor's office. You should have seen the look on the nurse when she pulled up Spencer's shirt.

"What have we got here?" she said.
The turned to me and said, "Kids get to have all the fun. Don't you wish you could sit around all day and draw on yourself?" Little does she know.

Then Spencer's doctor comes in. Same thing happens all over again. He asks about his cough. "Do you have any chest pains?" he asks.

Spencer turns and looks at me with a smirk then mouths the words "chest pains!"

Kids.

The Studio

Here's a picture of the studio we recorded in. The studio - Track and Field Recording - is nestled upstairs in the GO rehearsal space. Essentially, one of the room is wired for recording. Upstairs houses the boards and computer with Pro Tools and Rockets & Mortor's Nick Pedersen at the helm. It's amazing how long it can take to record something. We did most of our songs in one or two takes with the exception of "Action!" which took about five takes before we got a version we could live with.

Now we're going to take a week or two to sit on the rough mixes we got and see if there are any parts that need to be redone or if we want to add anything. The we'll mix it down and master it.

Fuggin' A.

It's a dream come true.

Now if we could just find somebody who wants to put it out on 7 inch vinyl... 

Punk Rock

So my band went into the studio last sunday.
We recorded 10 songs.
Set up at noon and went clear through to about 9pm.
Got some good shit if I don't say so myself.
One day I'll figure out how to post audio tracks...