My Wife and keeping her happy. My Daughter and keeping her happy. Drums and drummers, and drum gear and drum accessories. And cymbals. Playing music in new and different places to receptive and enthusiastic strangers/future fans. Capitalizing on that connection to turn a quick buck at the merch table. That was a joke. I'm a touch sarcastic so bear with me. Magazines! Car ones! Girl ones! Music ones! GT-IV... I challenge anyone! When I grow up I wanna be a race car driver. I'm currently saving my pennies for my N.A.S.A. license so I can participate in the Factory Five Challenge race series. It's sick. Check it out @ ffrchallenge.com/description.html If any bored yet energetic tycoons out there wish to back me on this endeavor, please feel free to message me so we can talk numbers and timeframes.
This guy.
Everything from the crue to the cure, from miles to maiden, from the beatles to the beasties, from zeppelin to zwan, and from sublime to slayer. My favorite Radiohead song is by Muse and let's try not to forget about Mad Season, they were great. If I start naming bands I'll be here for days and have one of those huge lists that nobody bothers to read through in it's entirety. Just rest assured that I'm a huge music fan.
Move These.
Richard Hell, Richard Lloyd, Tom Verlaine and Billy Ficca.
Lots of books. I'm easy. I can read Umberto Eco and Dean Koontz with equal verve.
BONZO, and the guy who wrote this: Once I seen a human-ruin In a elevator well, And his members was bestrewin' All the place where he had fell. And I says, apostrophisin' That uncommon, woful wreck: "you're position's so suprisin' That I tremble for your neck!" Then that ruin, smilin' sadly And impressive, up and spoke: "Well, I wouldn't tremble badly, For it's been a fortnight broke." Then, for further comprehension Of his attitude, he begs I will focus my attention On his various arms and legs- How they all are contumacious; Where they each, respective, lie; How one trotter proves ungracious, T'other one an alibi. These particulars is mentioned For to show his dismal state, Which I wasn't first intentioned To specifical relate. None is worser to be dreaded That I ever have heard tell, Then the gents who there was speaded, In that elevator-well. Now, this tale is allegoric- It is figurative and all, For the well is metaphoric And the feller didn't fall. I opine it isn't moral for a writer-man to cheat, And despise to wear a laurel As was gotten by deceit. For 'tis Politics intended By the elevator, mind, It will boost a person splendid If his talent is the kind. Col. Bryan had the talent (For the busted man is him) And it shot him up right gallent Till his head begun to swim. Then the rope it broke above him And he painful come to earth Where there's nobody to love him For his detrimented worth. Though he's livin' none would know him, Or at leastwise not as such. Moral of this woful poem: Frequent oil your safety-clutch.-Porfer Poog.