The Tough Mudder

Once again, its been too long since my last entry. Im just dying to get me hands on a digital camera so I can stop having to pester all my camera owning friends for pictures of the blog worthy events. But let's get to the real blog.

Last weekend I ran the Tri State Tough Mudder in Englishtown, NJ. It was the first race of my life and probably not the best way to ease into racing, but once I had registered it was too late. On its homepage, the Tough Mudder is described as follows:

"Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ‘endurance’ road race. It’s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a city near you. Our 7-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor. All Tough Mudder sponsorship proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project."

I ran the Tough Mudder as a 4 man team with two high school buddies and one of their college buddies, including:

Will - The Team Captain and Navy SEAL in training. He runs Ironmans as a cool down from his real workouts. It is rumored that he once ran the entire length of the Grand Canyon in fifteen minutes.



Mike - Seen here sniping unwanted cats, Mike is a weightlifter and another man of the military that informed us race day that he didn't start running until 7 days prior.



Sean - The unbreakable Polack who trained with me to prep for the race. He also loves pain almost as much as trees.



The journey starts inside of the awkwardly silent Toyota Prius on rt 4 north, destination: Jersey, baby. Snookie was not seen, although she was smelled briefly on the turnpike. After about 300 miles and $0.16 in gas money we arrived at our friend Christy's to stuff ourselves with gluttonous amounts of whole wheat pasta and begin the pre race slumber. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the ceiling for about 7 hours until everyone started getting up at about 6:00 A.M. After a light breakfast we all jumped in Christy's SUV, which spent all the gas we saved in the Prius in about 10 miles, and headed for Englishtown, about 25 miles from where we were.

We get out for a stretch in the parking lot. I've already been up for 24 hours and now a little wired from the 5 Hour Energy I just drank to take the fog away. Even less to my advantage, I realize I am wearing a pair of blinding white K-Swiss tennis shoes. I will later find I am quite possibly the only person in this entire race without a bad-ass pair of running shoes. A frigid northern wind is sweeping through the lot, biting our noses and ears. I look around the parking lot to see what look like members of SEAL team 6 stretching and lacing up. I am later relieved to realize that not all the race runners will look like the Expendables. These guys were the Mudder Elites, running this race for time and trying to qualify for World's Toughest Mudder, the 50 mile version of this 12 mile race. As we approach the registration booth, a woman on a megaphone is repeating "come sign your death waver here, you cannot register until you sign the death waver".
We all sign our lives away, get our paperwork, get our race numbers and I meet a couple of in line behind us that tell me they were up all night drinking and bar hopping and their friend flying in from Nevada might not even be registered. I suddenly feel less tired and less worried. We start our warm up run.
The air temp is about 38*F with the wind chill, but the cold air will soon be the least of our worries.

November 20, 2010. 9:40 A.M. We are tightly pakced at the starting line, which lies in the middle of an empty football stadium. We are in a mob of fellow runners, some with war paint, some in costume, all gritting teeth and clenched hands. A very enthusiastic man is guiding us through the Tough Mudder creed on a megaphone,
"As a Tough Mudder I pledge that…
* I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.
* I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
* I do not whine – kids whine.
* I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
* I overcome all fears."

Sounds great. My heart it pounding, my legs are coiled springs ready to run the length of the earth. Silence.
Then an air horn goes off, they throw a smoke bomb into the middle of the crowd and everyone madly sprints towards a monster truck that floors it though the first stretch of track. As we leave the obnoxiously sticky rubber track in the stadium we see several friendly reminders:




So we were off, establishing pace at mile one, and seeing fellow racers who had left earlier coming the opposite way on the track next to us yelling "It's not too late to turn back! Quit now while you still can! You WILL die!". Quite encouraging. After a good 1.5 miles we cross a pair of ropes tied taught over a river. No problem. We all get through easily and then come to a tall wooden platform with a rope. We climb up to see that there's nothing but a drop. And water. Dozens of other racers are jumping in, so without too much thought I plunge in, right next to a guy dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.




When I hit the water, my body instinctively panics. Instant loss of breath, my skin is burning and my mind screams repeatedly "GET THE F#&^ OUT OF THIS WATER!! Im sure this is what most people were going through. To say it was cold is laughable. This water felt like absolute zero. People are being pulled out left and right by life guards and medical personal. Some people hit the water and instantly panic. One man, upon impact, goes into shock and is rushed to a nearby hospital. Water temp at the time is about 35* fahrenheit. About 10 minutes until hypothermia begins in this kind of water. This was no longer a nice jog in a cold morning New Jersey. The real race had begun. Move forward or die. Everyone, including myself, is scrambling as fast as our quickly numbing bodies allow only to find an obstacle in the water itself. Pairs of barrels blocking the way out. Can't climb over. Are you kidding? I take in a deep breath and go under. All the noises and screams of racers are muted by the water. Complete darkness. The water is so murky not even the slightest hint of light shines through to help guide the way around. The ice cold water is a piercing every inch of my face and body. Im frantically trying to feel my way to the opening and my breath is almost out after only a few seconds. I blindly take a guess and attempt to surface. My God, breathing air never felt so good. I have to do this twice more before Im out of the water.



I can hear Sean and a dozen other random Mudders screaming profanities over my own for a moment. He soon comes running out of the water, steaming and shivering with the rest of the team. Laughing at how absurdly cold the water was, we are off again. We have to trek through the water again before the water obstacles are over. Getting out the second time feels like my skin is coming off of my bones with each step. The 38 degree air felt like a warm afternoon on a California beach after getting out of the water. The course had many spots that almost overlapped itself, so we could see people who were earlier on and further ahead in the race at certain times.
It was easy to tell who had and hadn't gone in the water yet, not even by seeing who was soaked and who wasn't,
but by who was laughing and cheerful and excited



and who looked like they just left a concentration camp.



After that water, every Mudder's game faces were on. We climbed over and under cargo nets,


Ran at least three miles through waist high mud, hills, and turns



Slammed ourselves up and over walls


Climbed through cramped wooden piping lined with jagged rocks



Had to carry a car tire a half mile and then immediately run through field's worth of kerosene-soaked hay, flaming and smoking as much as the inside of a burning building.



Oh and lets not forget the 'suprise obstacle' that wasn't revealed until we were at the starting line. This last little gem was a roughly 20 square foot wooden frame with electrified wire dangling from the top, effectively named "The Jellyfish". What did it feel like? This gives you a little bit of an idea.



Then we see it. The home stretch. Right back where we started. My water-logged K-Swiss felt like Looney Tunes prison shackles with the cannonball attached. We joined arms and took one last sprint through the finish, to a massive and welcoming crowd.
After a brutal 12.09 miles, covered in mud, legs heavy, body shaking from the stress of the race and the extreme temperatures we all rushed to the post-race concessions where we ravenously ate the free energy bars, bananas and muscle-milks.



Immediately after finishing, Will went to the information booth to talk to the registrar. He had already paid for two days and since we weren't going to be in Jersey the next day like we had initially planned, he decided he was just going to get his money's worth by running the entire race over again the same day. But to raise the stakes, he grabs a 25lb kettle bell and begins the entire run over again!
Thats pretty damn tough. My hat goes off to you Will and all you other guys and gals who were carrying 30lb chains, rucksacks filled with weights and you crazy mofo's who dressed in full on suit and ties, briefcases included. The best part of the race was the overall sense of camaraderie. I saw people sacrificing race time to help strangers, groups forming human chains to pull competitors up huge mud covered hills and people pulling down the cargo net so everyone else could just jump over. Thats teamwork.



You don't see that much on the streets, but if there is a place to help that "every man is my brother" mentality, the Tough Mudder is the place where it starts.

We all were rewarded with orange Tough Mudder headbands, shirts and free Dogfish Head Beer. It was one hell of a race and I have nothing but respect for each and every one of you fellow Tough Mudders. Good racing, and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you in either PA or VT.

Dylan

Blood Sweat and Tears came to my gig!

Ok, ok, long overdue for a blog entry. It's been a bit of a crazy month. One of my best friends finally landed a winning blow on the job market and got hired as a surgeon's assistant in Kentucky. Crazy how someone with a Biochemistry major has touble finding a job. Damn economy. This month I have also been frantically trying to locate the last few pieces of my authentic Sweeney Todd costume (for Halloween, of course). There was a court date I had to worry about (suspended registration for not doing a VEIP emissions test) but I decided to fight to $140.00 fine. The MVA screwed up and reported that I lived in a county I did not at my old address. In St. Marys (my current county) you aren't required by law to take VEIP tests. I explained my dilemma to the judge, despite the state attorney's best efforts to tell me I was guilty because I failed to present a specific document. Long story short,"Not Guilty". Booya. Hit a few local open mics as well. Not to mention a decent amount of gigs this month. So with all that paired with my uncanny propensity for procrastination, I must say I am sorry for such a long delay.

Anyways.

Last week, I was playing at Obrien's again, up in Annapolis MD. It was a wednesday night, not that many people at the bar at first. Sometimes its really hard to give your set all of your energy when you have to play 4 hours 2-5 nights a week, sometimes for only 4 or 5 people. Its hard to always want to play your best because when you play for a living, the job aspect of it really pushes you down at times. Thankfully, a few of my friends showed up, which always makes me feel like the last 3 men of a losing battalion watching 100 reinforcements come rushing over the hill to help them. One of the reinforcements being Ben Bays, a badass percussionist who had played with the Naptown band "The Higher Hands", an infectious groove oriented band with Funk, Go-Go and R & B roots. He just so happened to have his Conga on him. I figured the crowd wouldn't mind a little extra power to the rhythm for the last set. So we jammed out on "Sunday Morning", "Beg, Steal, or Borrow", "Hey Jealousy", and the place started dancing. Everyone was raising their beers, laughing bobbing heads; pretty much every sign you hope to see as a performer. One of them came up to us, introducing himself as Teddy and asked it he could play on a song, informing us that he was in a band. Good enough for us. So Teddy scooted up to Bens Conga and started throwing a cow-skin beatdown. I came in with the the chord progression from "Hotel California". And we rocked out in a fiery unison for the happy patrons. After finishing up the set Ben and I sat down at the bar with Teddy. Turns out Teddy was Teddy Mulet. As in the trumpet player for "Blood Sweat and Tears" and "Gloria Estefan".



(Wahumuna!? Its Teddy Mulet!?)

After looking around the room, I noticed it wasn't just Teddy, but half of band! They just so happened to be touring in Annapolis and were playing at Ram's Head the next night. They were in Obrien's to unwind after a long drive. Teddy was a really nice guy, he was telling us about lots of great spots to play in Florida, stories about the road and how about being a young man in the audience at a "Blood Sweat and Tears" concert, obviously before he himself was a member. He told me "I never could have guessed I would be up there playing with them about 20 years later." I'd say that's about as much inspiration as you can get playing a random local bar gig on a Wednesday night, wouldn't you?

I was actually happy I didn't really know who I was playing for, that would of probably made it a little nerve wracking. They are all such high caliber musicians, and its nice to see them off the stage, realizing they are just chill people who so happen to play music. So we hung out the rest of the night, talking to the rest of the band and having a couple pints. A few weeks before, an entire minor league baseball team from California walked in the door. I guess you should always be trying to play your best, you never know who will walk in the door.

The Song for Ingrid Michaelson

So remember when I said I would write a song for Ingrid Michaelson? Well Im finally finished and I going to let you see the lyrics before I officially record it. Its called "Looking Up". It's my "shot in the dark but I'm still wishing to meet you" song.
Feel free to throw your two cents in, although Im unlikely to change anything about it since I went through about 5 drafts and Im quite happy with the way it sounds, musically and lyrically, I always like to hear feedback. Think Nick Drake, Paulo Nutini, and of course Ingrid. Simple pretty, diatonic finger-picking pattern style playing with soft mid-range vocals and earnest tone.

"Looking Up"

(verse, verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, verse, refrain)

I can’t seem to find a good beginning
That plays as well as the reel my head’s been spinning
But I figured I
At least should try

You might think I am just a little crazy
Or I’m long lost in a sea of reverie
So I’ll just say
Please come my way

I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come

Maybe we could go out for a coffee
And we could trade a few funny stories
And then from there
Who knows where

I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come

If you are weary of my intentions
And I won’t ever win your time or your affection
Just tell me I’m looking in the wrong direction
So I can get this crick out of my neck

Til’ then I’ll be holding onto my wishes
Dreaming that the sound of all your kisses
In sweet array
Will gently say

I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come


(painting by Jim Thalassoudis)

So there it is. Im realizing as iI look at the lyrics more and more this can pretty be used for any two people, so it will be open up to a wider range of listeners who are looking up as well. Since you dont know what the music sounds like I'm interested in how what you expect will differ from what I've written. Hope you enjoy it and again, feel free to let me know what you think. It's one of about 6-8 songs Im going to try and get recorded and put on a new, entirely acoustic album. And Ingrid Michaelson, although your probably never going to read this, Ill be looking up.

DC stands for Directional Cluster-f#*%

Honestly. I know Im a night owl and my job requires late hours but this is not cool.

I want to know who designed the roads and intersections in DC? Was it designed by a group of lemmings? Look closely at the time stamp on this post. Yes, 5:10 A.M. Why? Because it took me almost an hour and a half to make my way out of the intestinal track of satan that is currently known as downtown DC. Now the gig itself went pretty well (James Hoban's; an Irish pub with a really cool staff and lots o' drinks, wa woo wee wa). My Mapquest directions led me there correctly but the last tenth of a mile was absurd. Du Pont circle is pretty much the biggest shit show of city road planning you will ever see. It looks something like this:



("Welcome to Du Pont circle, please check your mental health and well being at the first stop light")

Yeah, Imagine that steaming dump of a traffic circle with fifteen side streets that all have the same name and stop lights every 12 feet that stay red for 5 minutes and green for .06 seconds. Seriously, why do pedestrians need 45 seconds to cross a 10 foot area? Is everyone in DC quadriplegic? Are they out walking their turtles? After already being late to my gig from having to circle the restaurant 5 times around figure A to find a parking spot I was a little on edge. The 3 hours of playing music to pretty girls and fellow Irish brethren helped me quell my heart attack for while. A couple of Jameson's on the rocks didn't hurt, either. However, after the gig was over and I was packed up and headed back home I pretty much had a full on aneurism within ten minutes of trying to follow the Mapquest directions backwards. On top of having to follow the directions backward and being in completely unfamiliar territory, every road sign in DC looks like this:



So you are lost in DC. It's 2:30 A.M. Everyone is drunk and seemingly a potential threat to your well being. You see a guy puking all over the road, two people are making out on corner (not romantically but sloppily and angrily), a girl gets her heel stuck in a crack and plummets into a fire hydrant. Now these sights can be amusing and/or hilarious, but not when you don't know how to get away from such an area. And just when you think you've taken every single road and you cant get any more lost you come to this little diddy:



(so do I just get out my car?)

I almost lost it after my second attempted escape was foiled by a construction detour that led me right back downtown after 40 minutes of what I thought was proactive driving. Apparently the city was not ready to let me go just yet. My nerves were tingling, my eyes were bloodshot, and people in cars next to me appeared to be uncomfortable when they timidly glanced over at me talking to myself in my seat, rocking back and forth. Just before I became Michael Douglass in "Falling Down", by some miracle, I made it out onto the interstate. I have never been so happy to see the beltway. As of this moment, I never want to go to DC again. Am I being dramatic? Of course, that's half the fun. Actually thats all of the fun because nothing else about this was fun. Getting out of DC when you don't know how is about as much fun as using a cactus as toilet paper. Probably a little less bloody, though.

If you are reading this and you, either wholly or in part, are/were responsible for the designing of the roadways in the downtown area of the District of Columbia, please contact me at 1-800-jump off of a bridge with rocks tied to your feet.

You have a blessed day.

Emergency Songwriting

My friend Sean and I were making some food at my house. His friend-girl (not girlfriend) was planning on meeting us for some Balderdash later in the evening. By some turn of events, she texts him on his new, amazing Droid that she can't make it. It's always an unfortunate time when the prospect of being in the presence of women, in all their splendor, is impeded. So rather than sulk in the corner and spend the night playing Halo and crying in a puddle of urine (foreshadowing), we decided to try and turn the events back around. He texts back "No way, you have to come, I'm making food and I even wrote a song for you I was going to play, its called peeing in your pants". "Aww, really!?" she replies hinting that there may be hope after all. I wasn't entirely sure how a song about peeing yourself would get such a response, but whatever. It's still a shot in the dark, and more likely will just make her feel guilty than actually change her mind and decide to come over. She replies "I'll be there in fifteen". Wahuh!? We look at each other. We realize a new predicament. We have no such song. Sean doesn't want to look like a huge, lying d-bag, so that means we have fifteen minutes to write a full song, lyrics and melody, about "peeing in your pants" while still maintaining a lighthearted, slightly romantic and funny tone without being too ridiculous (assuming that would be the appropriate style for this situation). I also have never met this girl, so she may hear it, be completely offended and say "You guys are dicks" and then leave. We run upstairs, abandoning the veggie burger on the stove and we get crackin'. Sean was preoccupied guiding her, via the Droid, to the house and time was of the essence, so I scrambled to crank out some lyrics as fast as I could. My degree has finally come in handy. The lyrics go as follows:

You've got the prettiest smile
And I love the way you move when you dance
Something about your hair falling in your face makes me a little crazy
But its not as half as cute as when you pee your pants

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

You shouldn't feel ashamed at all
It's something I can definitely overlook
Because the only thing that I really can be concerned about
Is the heavy beating heart you recently took

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

If it would make you feel better
I don't mind clothes a little bit wetter
I never told anyone, bit I do it too, we can pee together

So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little

Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle

Song Form (be careful, advanced songwriter use only):

Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Bridge, Pre-Chorus, Chorus

Yes, cliche lyrics everywhere, but that happens when you have to crank out a song in about ten minutes. Also I've never seen her dance, but it rhymed with pants, so leave me alone. I finish just as Sean is going back downstairs to let her in the door. He walks her up the stairs and through my bedroom door and I'm just finishing printing out the lyrics for us to read. Just as we are introducing one another, Sean goes "what's that burning smell?". Veggie burger. Fire. Death. He sprints downstairs and comes back up with something that looks like a veggie burger on one side, asphalt and charred seagulls on the other. He still ate it, though. Anyways she loved the song. Maybe we'll put up a recording of it sometime soon. In hindsight, I feel this may have been a little bit creepy to sing to a girl the first time meeting her. A very interesting way to make a first impression, but I think it was a worthwhile endeavor. I know what you're thinking. "Wow, Dylan, how much did it cost to harness such awesome skills that allowed you to write a song about peeing your pants in ten minutes!?" About $100,000 from Berklee College of Music. Dammit.

Miley Cyrus Death Metal

Usually at OBrien's on a tuesday night, there is a very, very small and quiet crowd. Sometimes an occasional bar patron will bob their head and seem to be into what Im playing. The bartenders are always great, they always give a good applause after every song. But nonetheless, its usually a quiet night for the most part, without much suprise, because its tuesday. This only one day after terrible monday, the worst day the world will ever now. The dreaded workweek is only 2/7th done, lots of pain to suffer through, so understandably, the morale of the tuesday nighters is about equivalent to the Jonas Brothers before a bare-knuckle bar fight with Jason Statham. However, last night was a little different.

A small group of my good friends came (about 10) and made OBrien's sound like a baseball game, which may or may not have been enjoyed by the manager. I'm sure he didn't mind that much when he saw the bar tab, though. I was loving every second of it. Judging by the applauses after the songs and the volume of the voices singing along, it was like playing for a family of Tazmanian devils with megaphones, every solo artists dream come true. Well, at least mine.
My dear friend Danny had a few sips of a couple beers and was Gobstoppin' (Annapolis jargon meaning "dancing") and singing opera style vocal harmonies. He's a jazz vocal major from Towson with a larger than life personality. To give you an idea, this is Danny:



(The piercings are fake)

A couple of my lovely lady friends from home, Steph and Erin, all gussied up and looking fine, made the one and a half hour journey all the way up from Leonardtown to come see me. I was quite happy about that. So they walked over and sat at the bar near the table the rest of my friends were at and began whaling away to all the lyrics of the songs also while also making the view even better. Soon after they arrived, by some strange scientific anomale, almost 30 people trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Obriens was packed with a bunch of singing, dancing fiends and it couldn't have been more wonderful.

The highlight of the night, had to be when of my friend at the table began singing along with "Party in the USA". He has a God-like volume to his voice and was screaming in death metal style "YEEEEEAAHH-EEEYAA-EEYA-EEYA, ITS A PARTY IN THE U.S. A." Now I'm aware that this glass shaking, bird-exploding, baby killing screaming (which was as loud as my voice going through the P.A.)cannot be fully described in text, but imagine M. Shadows from Avenged Sevenfold wearing Darth Vaders Helmet. Also keep in mind it was enough to make almost the entire bar stop mid- conversation in awe of what they heard.

After hearing his Miley Cyrus death metal voice, I started laughing while I was trying to sing. My attempt at trying so hard not to laugh made it even harder not to laugh, and my friends, especially Danny, whose two sips of beer had him buzzing like a neon sign, absolutely lost it and almost coughed his beer all over the table. The chain reaction spread to everyone else at the table and it just snowballed between us. I began to laugh so hard I stopped mid-song, keeled over in hysterical pain and almost fell to the floor. It was the first time in my life someone had made me laugh enough mid song to make me stop during a show. I really hope it wasn't the last, either. I finally composed myself and finished my set with half the bar singing "Wonderwall". Not my favorite song of all time, but people seem to like it.

After the show, we all headed to the famous "Double T" after an overzealous douche bag of a police officer screamed at us for standing around my car, quietly discussing plans of where to go and eating a bag of organic almonds. Then he gave Danny a stare down, as if he had just sexaully assaulted a small rodent in a public place. I guess officer douche-bag doesn't like almonds. Maybe he's having family problems. Maybe he just pooped his pants. All in all, it was a great night, definitely my favorite time at Obriens so far. Thank you guys for coming and I'm looking forward to more shows like that.



(Hey, get the hell out of here! There are no almonds allowed on this street!)

I Appreciate my Fans More and More

Although my following is still a very small one, there seems to be a slightly increasing amount of people who come out to see me from time to time. This is always a wonderful thing to see, of course, not only because it gives me a little bit of confidence in yourself (if I were atrociously, pants-shittingly terible this probably wouldn't happen) but also because (and I never really noticed this until recently) you begin to develop relationships, however seemingly minute or ephemeral, with new probably would have never known. It can be enjoyable, interesting, enlightening, maybe even strange, but I find myself sitting down during breaks or after shows and enjoying the company of my listeners more and more. It's comforting to connect with a complete stranger through a God-given medium (music)and begin mapping out each others souls over a beer and soft bar chatter. It seems to me alot of tension between strangers on the street that end in conflict seems to be linked with each person fearing something in the other. Singing along with people and then talking with them between sets gets the underlying social tension melting like snow in april.

I wanted to say thank you to all of you (every single one, and especially all my friends!) who have come out to see me at a show. I really enjoy seeing your faces in the audience and it always gives me a little rush when I see you guys walking in the door during a set.

Dylan

Wakey, wakey

So being employed as a full time musician, a.k.a. being a rockstar, I have an extremely late schedule. Waking up at and/or after noon or one doesn't make you a slacker when you work til' 1-2AM with a several hour drive back home. Anyone who says "wow, it must be nice to sleep til' noon" I would quickly reply "yeah and it must be nice to be able to fall asleep at ten P.M. and not just be just starting work.........douche". Anyways, that having been said, in the event that my blog posts are time-stamped, you may be asking yourself "why, Dylan, why would you be awake at 9:08 A.M?" If they are not time stamped, then guess what? Its 9:08 A.M. Anyways , you may be saying, "Well Dylan that's not very Rock-star of you, my grandma sleeps later than you" Well, my faithful blog reading buddy, its because I am renting from my family (which has up's-like a pool and really low rent and a living space I could never afford on my own......and down's-like being awake right now). And for the last few days and for the next few we are baby sitting some of our relatives little dog. This little dog is cute and fluffy, it is a Yorkie.



(Pwease, wuv me?)

Now before you go "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!" stop. This dog is not as nearly cute, and for some reason also seemingly less fluffy, when you are awoken at 7:30 AM for 4 days and counting because the dog begins to barking obnoxiously loud outside of your door when it's social anxiety disorder kicks in and it wants to get into your room. This repeated association (Pavlov, Pavlov Pavlov) of "cute little animal" with "extreme exhaustion and unhappiness" will immediately take the cuteness of it down several points on the 1 to 10 scale, possibly into the negatives. The rockstar schedule does not allow for the repeated waking up at a time when you can still catch the weather on the news. It is not a schedule that one should think about coffee and the sunrise and morning rush hour. This should all be slept through, like that skit on Saturday night live when Chris Farley is in a commercial for cold medicine that he drinks 3 gallons of and sleeps through the entire cold season. I should be sleeping through the morning grind; my cold season. But no, I am awash in a sea of torment, sitting next to a happy Yorkie, wagging its little demonic tail and smiling at me.

Song a Brewin'

Hey guys,

Its been a while since I've posted, I need to get into the habit of doing this every few days instead of sporadically. Well yesterday I finally decided to stop being a douche and put some hours onto a song I half completed. Its turning out great and as soon as I finish it, Im going to be recording it and posting it up on Youtube for all of you to see/comment/critique/enjoy. Its actually a song about Ingrid Michaelson. Now you're probably asking yourself why would I go ahead and do that? Well thats, simple; because I am stalking her. No, actually Im just really into her music and writing and I watched a few interviews with her and she seems like a really interesting person. I have a very distant dream of trying to date her. Of course this probably will never happen, but I think its a much better dream than trying to go for Katy Perry, since she seems secretly evil and is married to Russel Brant.


So this songs intention, of course, is for me to gain national success with it and her to hear and swoon like in Disney movies where all this crap starts orbiting around the head of the person who is swooning, you know what Im talking about, right?



(See, look at that face!? How could I not write a song for her?)

Anyways, when I finally crank this out, Ill post it up here and I hope you guys let me know what you think!

Snorkeling in Florida

Ok so the gigs went real well. Sorry to leave you all hanging for so long for that last one. But yeah, my grandfather is fine, my mom is fine, the bike is fine (he is still riding, he is hardcore) and we all had a great time down in Fl. I got to try para-sailing, jet-skiing and snorkeling all for the first time, which were three of the most exciting things I have ever done in my life. I recommend that everyone go out at least one time in your life and snorkel if you get the chance. Don't waste your time in the Chesapeake bay trying with the dead seagulls and jellyfish stinging you in the face; on top of its completely bland aquatic life, we've polluted that bay so bad its like snorkeling in a Porta-Potty. Next time you are on vacation somewhere where the water is clear and the fish are bright make sure you snorkel. We were snorkeling on the 3rd largest barrier reef in the world, so it seemed surreal the whole time having never seen blue water in my life and then seeing that. When you get to the real deep areas its a terrifying, beautiful experience. Watching the sea floor drop down about 50 feet and thinking about the sluggish leviathans that rule the deep will probably get your heartbeat going. Of course if you spot a shark that will work wonders, too. I actually didn't see any sharks, although I tried by swimming about 300 yards away from the group away from the barrier reef, but I saw a ton of fish I have never seen before and a couple monster size fish that were just wandering around in no particular direction. Maybe a song is in order? Oh yeah I can hear it now...."you're my sexy little fish lady swimming around with your big empty eyes and shaking your fin my way, oooo la la la"