Music and Maturity

Now on the mainland with my Hawaiian tan fading, I quite handily have settled back into my regular routine.

On Thursday, I headed to the East Bay for my weekly singing lesson with Best Friend. After vocal exercises followed by a rendition of Kirsty MacColl's "They Don't Know," complete with harmony (thank you for the extra voice and good ear, Best Friend), we wrapped up the lesson and proceeded to spend 45 minutes playing Nintendo Wii. That's right, Nintendo Wii.

I have never been a video game fan, not even when I was a kid, but I can see why this little contraption is so incredibly popular. Best Friend and I delighted in games of tennis, baseball and bowling. We even created a profile for me on her system. I think a little Nintendo Wii time will likely follow every voice lesson from now on.

Oh, yes, Best Friend and I are serious grown-ups.

After my singing lesson was Fake Band rehearsal on Thursday night. Then a super early morning work shift yesterday left my afternoon free for some power napping. Once well rested, I met Carolyn and Dima, along with two friends of theirs, at 12 Galaxies last night for a live show featuring the Extra Action Marching Band (pictured.. at least some of them... above). The opening bands were a little dull, so we went to the bar next door for cocktails and rejoined the good times at 12 Galaxies just before midnight.

The Extra Action Marching Band really was a lot of fun, but I was reminded that my recent commitment to only drink alcohol two days a week has done a number on my tolerance. (By the way, I suspended my two-day a week drinking rule while I was on vacation, but I think most of the cocktails I had in Hawaii were pretty weak.) To put it bluntly, after four drinks over almost three hours, I was pretty much over-served. Admittedly, two of those four drinks were glasses of Chimay, so I really should have known better. I did nothing whatsoever to embarrass myself, but suffice it to say I was glad that 12 Galaxies now serves pizza, as I was in need of a stabilizing snack. I also realized not long into Extra Action's set that I needed to put myself to bed, so I found a cab and was home well before the band was done playing, I'm certain.

Apparently, the older I get, the more of an amateur I become. Although, it's probably healthier to have an amateur tolerance for alcohol as long as it keeps me drinking less. Better for the waistline and better for the liver.

The End of Paradise

Here I am back in my little hilltop apartment in the City by the Bay. I decided to post this photo to remind myself how much I love living in San Francisco... So I won't get too sad I'm no longer in Hawaii. It is a little surreal to think that just this morning I was basking in the sunshine on Waikiki Beach and playing in the warm waves of the Pacific. As wonderful as San Francisco is, the beach in this city means a wool sweater and a decided hesitation to take a dip in the drink, unless you want to be swept away by a strong rip tide.

Not quite the same thing.

In the cab on my way home from the airport tonight (yes, I could have taken BART, but by the time my plane landed, I was over travelling and just wanted to be home), I heard our local "Smooth Jazz" radio station play "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. On a smooth jazz station? Yes, The Police were/are brilliant, even though that song sucks and is a little creepy, but maestros of jazz, they were not.

Okay, anyway, back to the 50th state in the Union. I said this six months ago, but seriously this time, kids... Group trip to Hawaii later this year; who's in?

Oh, and P.S.: Huge thanks to Gretchen and Paul for checking my mail while I was gone. They are tremendous rock stars.

Brilliant Idea

I have formulated a plan to finance my move to Hawaii. I'll form a band or duo to perform at the hotels here. I know, that's a bold statement from someone in Fake Band who has only been taking singing lessons for a few months. However, early yesterday evening I learned that you don't really need to be good to be employed as hotel musical entertainment. Admittedly, most of the musicians I've seen here have been talented, but the band yesterday evening was not. I can sing as off-key as those singers did. And unlike them, I can sing on-key sometimes, too. By the way, the band in the photo is not the bad band. I just found that online for illustration.

Should I not be able to find employment as a hotel singer, I'm thinking I could maybe work in a Hawaiian hotel spa. Doing anything; I'm not picky. The spa I visited today was lovely and would make a great employment backdrop. Now, you may find yourself asking: "Um, Sassy, you have a career that is not geographically specific; in fact, it's in demand everywhere... So why not just do the same job in Hawaii?" Well, because my current occupation would command about half the salary in Hawaii, even though the cost of living is comparable to San Francisco. So if I'd have to be poor anyway, why not be poor by being a "professional" (in the strictest sense of the word) singer? Or by working in the tranquil environment of a spa?

Do you like my idea? If so, and you'd like to be in my Hawaiian hotel band, just let me know.

By the way, Don Ho last night was positively surreal. He's about 1000 years old and sang "Tiny Bubbles" twice. His act is also kind of like a variety show with two teenage winners of "Hawaii Idol" and various members of the audience singing songs, as well. (For the record, they also sang way better than yesterday's bad hotel band.) But don't take my word for it; if you find yourself in Waikiki any time soon, you must take in Don Ho.

Only one full day left. Can you hear my sniffles and sobs from where you are?

Paradise Burns

I am incredibly diligent when it comes to sunscreen. The Scottish, Irish, English and French side of my ancestry years ago claimed victory over the Jamaican, Native American and African side, and the prize is my relatively fair skin and tendency to burn very easily. I have my uber-Anglo father to thank for that. Anyway, I have learned to do everything right regarding sunscreen: I slather on a generous layer before leaving the safety of an enclosed building; I re-apply after about an hour and a half; I use spf 30. But I suppose I should say I do almost everything right. However diligent I am with my sunscreen, I am inept at its application.

To that end, vibrant patches of bright pink now grace my skin. A long streak along my left arm, a tiny bit just above my collarbone, a patch that fills the space between my breasts (that's the most attractive one, let me tell you). I'm armed with aloe for my post-sun skin care regimen, but I might want to get better at the sunscreen application thing. Or at least request assistance.

That tale shared... After three hours at the beach followed by an hour by the hotel pool and hot tubs this afternoon, I'm going to see Don Ho tonight. Just because I can. Did I mention I am going to cry huge alligator tears when I have to come home?

Tourist Is As Tourist Does

Conventional American wisdom holds that anything worth doing is worth doing big. Well, since Fabulous Patti's arrival here in Honolulu yesterday afternoon, we are doing the tourist thing big.

Unlike the elegant but actually rather understated W Waikiki, where we stayed on our last visit, the Hyatt Regency Waikiki Resort and Spa (pool pictured above) has everything its guests could possibly want... no understatement necessary. In the 21 hours we have been guests here, Fabulous Patti and I, at times with Diva Mommy in tow, have indulged in poolside cocktails at the Elegant Dive while a completely cheesy cover band serenaded us. They were actually good musicians, but their song selection left a little to be desired. We have also filled our tummies with snacks from the complimentary breakfast buffet and, after a spell on Waikiki Beach across the street, sat poolside and sipped rum drinks this afternoon. This morning, I took advantage of the small but very efficient hotel gym. After some resistance training I got on what can only be described as the cardio machine of death. It looks deceptively just like the elliptical trainers at my regular gym, but this is the devil's elliptical. 28 minutes on this machine yielded me the hardest won three miles and 300 calories of my exercise career.

However, I believe I'll have to pay many visits to the devil's elliptical while I'm here. Given how I seem to be eating and drinking, I am going to get happily fat during this vacation.

Last night, it took about 15 minutes for me to get hit on while Fabulous Patti, Diva Mommy and I took residence on the bar stools at the Elegant Dive. Well, it took more like 45 minutes, but that's just because the gentleman in question was waiting for the seat next to me to become free before he pounced. But he had been very obviously staring at me up to that point. Now, the good news is this guy was only 35; usually I am the target demographic of the 70+ set. He was also kind of cute... and a contract security guard at the U-S Embassy in Iraq, a job he chose after his tour of duty there ended. Given that I know... well, no one in the military, this could have been really interesting. But all I could think to ask him was, "Is it just ridiculously scary over there?" That's some well thought conversation right there, Sassy. For the record, he told me that life for him in Iraq is fine most of the time, but when things get bad, they get really bad. To say the least, I imagine.

His choice of workplace (that's how he described it) may have served as just a short conversation piece, but then he found out what I do for a living. The fact that I live in evil, liberal San Francisco was not at all question or opinion generating, but my profession certainly was. I answered his questions the best I could and never once got defensive, despite his occasionally ill-informed opinions. Frankly, however I feel about the war, I have great respect for the men and women willing to put themselves in harm's way because our government, lead by a moronic Commander In Chief, insists we continue to occupy Iraq (I guess you now know my feelings on the war). Besides, I'm on vacation; why cause trouble?

The down side of this gentleman's attentions? Well, first of all, he was throwing back cocktails like nobody's business. I let him buy me one, but it was the only one I consumed, compared to the five or so I saw him drink over the course of an hour or two. Also, he was dumb as a stump. Let me be perfectly clear, I am not denying that many intelligent people join the military, but this particular guy was dumb as a stump. And for me, that's one of the biggest turnoffs. As the evening (or two hours, I should say) wore on, he told me his room number and said I should swing by so we could sit on the balcony, talk or watch a movie. While the sex clearly on his mind was not on the list of approved activities, I'd say we both knew where this was going. I replied to his offer with a vague, "I may take you up on that," and then promptly retired to my own room with my mother and sister in tow.

Afterward, Fabulous Patti declared that had I taken him up on his offer, she would have been forced to openly mock me at many a family Christmas to come. I told her that had I wanted to go, she would have been welcome to mock away. After all, I would have been the one who had gotten lucky. But there will be no mocking because it wasn't to be. At the end of the night, sex with a dumb guy is still sex with a dumb guy. Not to mention sex with a complete stranger, but that's another story. There was a cuter, somewhat funky looking dude wearing a fedora at the bar last night as well. I may have welcomed a chat with him, but he didn't bite before the other dude moved in. Ah, well. I didn't exactly come to Hawaii to meet boys, although I'm not limiting my options. But the beach is my primary lover while I'm here.

Tomorrow we venture to the North Shore, but I may actually skip that trip. Although it's the North Shore, I'm not sure I'm up for a long car ride so that I may visit the set of a television show I don't watch. On Monday I'm going to get a mud wrap at the hotel spa. And on Tuesday I predict there will be a lot of pouting and crying while I anticipate returning home on Wednesday.

But luckily for me, Wednesday is still several days away!

Aloha!

What are you doing this afternoon? I have just returned from Ala Moana Beach Park (pictured to the right), where I spent a leisurely hour soaking up some sun and dipping my feet into the cool water. Diva Mommy lives about six blocks from this beach for incredibly easy access.

Since my arrival last night, Diva Mommy and I have done all kinds of fun things. She met me at the airport with lei in hand, and then we hopped into a cab and took off for her apartment. After a lovely evening in (it was 11 p.m. San Francisco time when I arrived, and Diva Mommy is not exactly a partier... anymore... so we stayed in), I got up this morning and took a run along the aforementioned Ala Moana Beach Park. After my run, Diva Mommy made us smoothies for breakfast, and then I washed up, changed into my bikini, and much like Frankie and Annette did in the mid-80's, headed back to the beach.

In just a little bit we are going to Waikiki to listen to the acoustic guitar players at Duke's Canoe Club. Yes, Duke's is completely touristy, but we love it, especially on a weeknight. I imagine we'll indulge in a few snacks and drinks while we're there. When in Rome, after all. My sister, Fabulous Patti, joins us from L.A. tomorrow, and then the fun really gets going. We'll be heading to the North Shore because, television fans take note, there is talk of visiting the Lost set with a friend of Diva Mommy's. I've never even seen Lost, but Fabulous Patti likes it, so I can get behind this plan. We also may puddle hop over to another island. Plus, I intend to indulge in the spa at the Hyatt Waikiki, which is where we'll be staying once FP arrives.

Or we may just relax on the beach.

The good news is that Diva Mommy has computer access in her apartment building, so I should be able to update this space a few more times while on vacation. That way, it can be like you're here with us. Or something like that, anyway.

A Hui Hou!

And Away We Go

In less than 30 minutes I am going to make my way to the airport, where I will be whisked away to Honolulu. Yippee! I have managed to do laundry (actually that task was tackled after work yesterday), go to the gym and get packed. So I'm ready to roll.

I was a little more tired than I should have been this morning because I went out last night with Carolyn and Denise. We first went to this new fancy restaurant, and while a sizable lunch had left me without an appetite, their champagne was delicious. We then swung by Favorite Bar where the frustrating but entertaining Mr. Gowdy was spinning one "last" time before he moves to L.A. for two months. He played 60's surf pop and soul music while Carolyn, Denise and I chatted and, of course, got hit on by some ridiculous dude. Whatever. We unintentionally stayed until the music was all done, and then Mr. G. and I ended up chatting for a while as I wished him in luck in Southern California.

But all of that is in the past, and my future holds nothing but tropical beaches and 80 degree temperatures. Gotta love that.

Three Days and Counting

In less than 72 hours I leave for Hawaii! Can I please tell you how excited I am? Apparently, it's been a raining a bit in Honolulu, as this is the end of the rainy season, but I don't care. Cats and dogs can fall from the sky every day I'm there, it will still be Hawaii. (Okay, maybe pouring rain wouldn't be so much fun, but I am very much looking forward to my vacation, regardless of the weather.)

I was going to go shoe shopping this afternoon for the perfect strappy sandals for my trip, but I got completely sidelined when I stumbled upon Wuthering Heights on Turner Classic Movies. I hadn't seen this movie in years, and I was immediately sucked in. It has everything: intense love, dysfunctional families and marriages, alcoholism. Were these characters real and alive today, they'd all be making appearances on "Oprah." Or, more likely, "Jerry Springer." I have to admit, I dozed off a bit in the end when Cathy died, but I knew what was coming.

My friend Mindi was in town this weekend, so yesterday she and I got together for the first rehearsal of the newly reformed Blo Pop. Well, it was a rehearsal of sorts, anyway. Mindi and I learned that we approach music in slightly different ways. She likes to get a grasp on just a few chords of a song and then jam without stopping to see what happens. I like to learn a song as its written, and once I've really got it down, tweak it to make it my own. It didn't take us long to realize these styles don't exactly go together, and we're going to have to meet in the middle. We kind of worked out part of one song and then just decided to appropriate another one I've been singing with Fake Band for the last five months.

So I'm thinking it may be quite a while before Blo Pop graces any stages near you.

Sex Talk at Val's

Beware the Ides of March, my friends. This day could lead you to the counter at Val's Burgers in Hayward spilling tawdry tales of past dalliances.

Yes, gentle readers, it was that fate which befell me this afternoon.

If you've never been to Val's, let me assure you, it is worth a trip to Hayward. This morning I met Best Friend for my weekly singing lesson, which always happens in the lovely town of Hayward, and afterward we indulged in quite the lunch at Val's. We'd been planning such an excursion for weeks, but little did I know it would be soooo good. We got the smallest burgers on the menu (Baby Burgers, they call them), shared one chocolate malt and one order of fries, and that was still plenty of food.

But the size and deliciousness of Val's portions are only a small part of the experience. You see, once you walk into Val's, you are back in the 1958 South or Midwest. I swear the menu signs on the wall are that old, and the atmosphere is pure Americana. What this restaurant is doing in the Bay Area, I will never know. But then, why question such a wonderful discovery?

Over our burgers and milkshakes, Best Friend and I soon fell into a conversation that would have made the geriatrics all around us blush... with delight, most likely. A couple of weeks ago, I discovered Best Friend had done a play in 2001 with a man I had quite the little tryst with in 1997. Yes, that was ten years ago, and yes, I have had many a tryst since then. This just happens to be one of my best sex stories, made all the better by the fact that Best Friend knows the fellow in question in a totally different context.

I'm afraid I can't go into any details, as my mother reads this space (although I seem to recall telling her all about it back in the day). But I spared no details in my lurid play by play for Best Friend. All while sitting at the very innocent counter of Val's! Kids sit in those same chairs, I'm sure. Not to be outdone, however, Best Friend enthusiastically shared the details of her first date, and coincidentally first time, with her now-fiance.

I'm certain Val's will never be the same.

And after that lunch today, I know I'll never be the same. I can't say it was the wisest choice to have a burger, fries and chocolate malt six days before I have a date with a bikini, but whatever. Fat or thin, I'll be in Hawaii, so who cares? Now I'm off to meet some co-workers for drinks (likely just sparkling water for me), and then I have Fake Band practice. Ick. Isn't it nice that my attitude about Fake Band is improving so much?

Credit where credit is due: a shout out of love to jatbar.com for the lovely photo of the Val's sign. You can go there to find a more comprehensive review of the Val's dining experience.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 28

iTunes and the juke box at 15 Romolo

When I was younger and far more sprightly, I used to spend many a weekend evening at 15 Romolo, a bar neatly tucked into the Basque Hotel in North Beach. However, I fast grew weary of the mob scene created by the weekend mating crowd, and I haven't been back in years. Well, little did I know that the very same bar that's overrun with Marina and Pac Heights denizens on Friday and Saturday nights is delightfully dead during the week. This is a wonderful discovery because 15 Romolo actually is a lot of fun, especially when you've been freed from the advances of superficial dudes who all look alike and have the same money-grubbing but otherwise totally uninspired occupations.

Gosh, Sassy, judgmental much? Apparently, I've grown a little cynical in my old age. With an attitude like that, is it any wonder I never met the man of my dreams in this joint?

Anyway, last night I met Debbie, Emily and Carolyn at 15 Romolo, and it was much fun. We were four of eight people gracing the place, and I got to program the juke box for free! I thought I was getting some sort of special treatment until the bartender told me that the juke box at 15 Romolo is free every Tuesday and Wednesday. I'm sorry, but a free juke box every Tuesday and Wednesday? Not that I needed any more convincing that I like this bar, but you know how I feel about a free juke box. The free tunes at Casanova are a little better, but I was able to create quite the soundtrack featuring The Pixies, The Jam, The Supremes, The Clash, Blur, Massive Attack, Frank Sinatra and The Kinks, just to name a few. I'll take that any Tuesday or Wednesday.

Ans speaking of Emily, she just got engaged! Who knew? Well, I assume Emily and her fiance did, but I've been a little out of the loop. I'm so happy for her.

In other good music news, back in December, Emily gave me a $20 iTunes gift certificate for my birthday, and I just started using it this week. So far, I have procured selections from The Killers, The Shins (whom I am going to see next month at the Warfield with Ann Marie and Paul), Penelope Houston and Earth, Wind & Fire. Yes, you read that last one correctly; "September" is a delicious guilty pleasure of mine. All that music, and I still have $13 of credit left.

This may be the best birthday present ever.

Long Days, Cool Nights

It's the first day of Daylight Time! As you well know, that means longer and... in most parts of the world, anyway... warmer days. Here in San Francisco, summer rivals winter for coldest temperatures of the year, but whatever. No amount of fog can take the extra hour of daytime from us. Daylight Time also arrived three weeks earlier this year, much to the consternation of techies worldwide who feared the consequences of computers automatically programmed to switch their internal clocks the first weekend of April. Everything seems fine today, though.

Anyway...

In addition to being granted extra daylight, I'm also working during the day this weekend, as opposed to my usual Saturday and Sunday night shifts. So last night I found myself in possession of a rare Saturday evening off. I celebrated the occasion by going to see the always exciting Chris Sams in his latest show, You Bet Your Improvisor. Normally, I leave sir names off this space, but game show host extraordinaire Chris Sams is too big a personality to be held to simply one name. Regis, Howie, Wink; they all need to watch out for Chris. He's the one in the fabulously sparkly green jacket in the above photo. The improvised game show high jinx were most amusing, and after the show, Chris and I took off for a post-game cocktail.

Believe it or not, we actually ended up at a bar in my neighborhood. While a lovely place to hang your hat, my neighborhood is not exactly known for its dynamic nightlife. That's actually a large part of why I like living there, but last night found Chris and me sipping pomegranate martinis (yes, we're that trendy) in a watering hole not five blocks from my front door. Who knew? The bar itself was okay. The music in the juke box was a little... common, let's say, but I heard a couple of gems over the sound system.

The best part of the bar for me, however, was the rather cute bartender. An attractive bartender is this Sassy girl's best friend. Our relationship results in the bartender working some nicely inflated tips, while I practice my charming flirting skills. Plus, once I get to know the gentleman in charge of the liquor a little better, I usually get a free cocktail or six. It's a great system. Last night's specimen was named Mike, and he was adorable. Plus, he made a mighty tasty pomegranate martini. Bartenders offer a great flirting opportunity because there's no fear. It's all fake and only good for keeping business moving; no real emotions involved. Waiters are also perfect candidates for fake flirting sessions.

Yes, yes, I will address you readers who know me well and acknowledge that, in the past, I have developed sizable, genuine, hope-filled crushes on a bartender or two. All I can say about that is: I've lived and learned. Now, bring on the free drinks.

My weekend would have been perfect, were it not for the bad combination of daytime work shifts and a Saturday night that was an hour shorter. I didn't stay out terribly late, but 9 a.m. Sunday morning comes awfully early the weekend we move the clocks forward. I managed to take a decent run before work today, but I've needed a bit of caffeine to keep the pep in my step. Nothing wrong with that, except that I'm trying to keep the amount of caffeine I drink to a minimum. I spent about six or seven years blissfully drinking nothing but trace amounts of caffeine until I reintroduced it into my life in 2004.

But then, for the last month and a half, I've been limiting my alcohol consumption to only two nights a week as I combat my recent weight gain. Who needs all those empty calories? (And yes, eating less has occurred to me; it's just easier to cut the booze.) Even though it was only two cocktails, I nonetheless fell off the wagon on that one last night, too. I blame Daylight Time.

Screening Process

Last night, mere days before Fabulous Patti makes her big move to Los Feliz, she and I hit the town. Our first stop was Favorite Bar 2, where a very polite young gentleman offered to scoot over one bar stool, so we may have room to belly up.

The polite young gentleman turned out to be rather friendly, as well, and we soon fell into an enjoyable patter with him. His name was Marty, and he told us all about how he's looking for a new job; he lives across the street from FB2; he's lived in San Francisco for 6 months. He's even applied for a job at my place of employment, but he couldn't remember for exactly which position. If he can't even remember the position, I can't say I think he'll exactly be a shoo-in for the job.

Regardless, Marty was actually quite cute. He was working a sort of Buddy Holly-Rivers Cuomo thing. In other words: he was precisely my type. Now, I've spent countless hours I will never get back chatting with and being chatted up by men in bars, and over the years I've learned to cut to the chase. I could easily ascertain that Marty was single and straight, but I needed more information. So in no relation to anything we were discussing, I asked the third most important question.

"Marty, how old are you?"
"27."

And with that, I threw him back. Not that a man being a decade my junior will always serve as a deal breaker; after all, what's ten years between soul mates? However, I don't think Marty was my soul mate. Honestly, he was a little on the dumb side (see previous sentence about him not knowing which job he's applied for at my workplace). There may be room for movement where age is concerned, but intellect is not negotiable.

In the end though, Marty was nice, cute and a pleasant conversationalist. Should I run into him again at FB2, I'll talk to him. Perhaps I'll even help him find a more age appropriate young lady who doesn't mind if a man is dumb as a box of hair.

After just one drink and our nice Marty chat, Fabulous Patti and I took off for the original Favorite Bar, where we caught up with Sheela and Helen. For reasons I have previously explained, I haven't been spending much time at Favorite Bar lately, but last night was very fun. My favorite bartender was working, even though Tuesday night isn't his usual shift, and there was hardly anyone in the place. That's my kind of Favorite Bar evening.

Tonight I'm going to wander across the street to the residence of my friend and neighbor, Laino. She switched jobs about two months ago, and I want to hear all about how her career is going. Then tomorrow it's back to the grind. There was a tiny hole in the schedule at work, so I had yesterday and today off instead of today and tomorrow. So after an earlier than normal singing lesson, the work week begins once again.

Face the Music

Fake Band had its Los Angeles debut this weekend, and I have but one thing to say: thank goodness that's over. We played an industry party at a restaurant in Universal City, and there were some technical problems along with a dwindling crowd as our set progressed. However, all those concerns were eclipsed by what has become typical Fake Band drama. It probably wasn't that bad, but to be completely candid, the experience of Fake Band is starting to wear very thin on me.

While in the Southland, however, I got to have coffee with my friend Mindi, who moved from San Francisco to L.A. in 2002 and will be moving back here in May. Back in the day (also known as 2001), Mindi and I formed a band with our friend Adam called Blo Pop. I sang; Adam played guitar; and Mindi handled drums. There was talk of me also playing bass, but I wasn't terribly interested in that, so we went bass-free. Anyway, Blo Pop had precisely two rehearsals. My lack of self confidence when I sang, combined with a bit of collective A.D.D., stymied our efforts to arrange even one full song, but we brilliantly worked through bits and pieces of about 15 stellar numbers.

The very best part of Blo Pop's halcyon days was the point during our first rehearsal when Mindi played drums and guitar at the same time. And she did so quite well.

So, as Mindi and her fiance Matt sipped lattes and chatted with me, we all decided Blo Pop has to reunite. Actually, Mindi and I had made this decision over email a few days earlier, but the plan was fleshed out Saturday night. Mindi will start on guitar until we recruit more players, and then she'll move to drums. I will once again sing, but this time with significantly more confidence and gusto (thank you very much, Best Friend School of Music). And Matt will act as technical advisor, marketing director and fan club president. We also plan to cast our friend Chris as our mascot, and somehow I don't think he'll resist. Be ready for Blo Pop 2007 to explode, kids.

Now, realistically speaking, it's possible Blo Pop will only exist in the confines of Mindi's and my respective living rooms where we'll play and sing to entertain ourselves. However, you should keep in mind, dear readers, that Mindi and I both know several musicians in town who might be in need of an opening act one day. So you never know; when you least expect it, Blo Pop could turn up at club near you.

And that would be pure charm and comedy.