Well, I must say it was a hell of a weekend. Haziness is a constant for me, but the excessive haziness has only just now worn off, sort of. At any rate, Leftover Cuties, Scattered Suns, News of the Fire, Johnny Ringo TX, Irontom, and Vanaprasta, y’all all kick ass, we had a blast. All you devoted lovers of our ish, stay dialed in, big headyness’a’comin’. Now, to the umm, meat of the matter (huh huh dude said meat).

While I had a phenomenal weekend (quoteth Jack) meeting all our new band friends and new non-band friends, and of course reminiscing with old friends, I had a bit of a stressful weekend meeting all of my new fuzzy friends. You know the fuzzy ones, they roll up with their flashy lights and their puffy chests. They’ve got names like Rodrigues, Robbins, Bronson, Reyes, Berdet, fuck man, I’m just listing the dudes and dudettes I met the last two days, I’ve got loads of other names, but you get the drift, they’re a fuckin’ pain in the arse unless they’re helping you out.

Unfortunately, when you run around in the ovals that me and my band of buffoons travel amongst, the percentage of time the fuzz help you out vs. the percentage of time they annoy you, is like, the percentage of times I passed a high school math test without back-pocketing some number-efficient Asian kid (or I actually also had a real on-point with numbers cracker friend, he was a preacher’s son. Shame on you Chris, wherever you are, I hope the acne situation dissipated, I hope your wife has birthin’ hips and double d’s, if that’s your thing).

Oh Christ I digress.

So, the actual knuckle in the weekend, was that this being the first weekend that we didn’t have a working outdoor speaker system (true bummer), was also, ironically, the same weekend that one of my neighbors decided to get a Jam up their Can. Apparently, APPARENTLY, music in broad daylight, in an enclosed space, on the weekend, is something that can be considered “cop-callable” and on top of that, the LA P.D. will respond, multiple times.

Now, if you live in butt-crack you can’t empathize. However, If you live in Los Angeles you might know that if you call the LA P.D. and you tell them you’re shit got stolen by some hoodlums the night before (Like hoodlums actually walked up in your domicile and punk’d you like a fool who can’t have nice shit). If that actually happened, the L.A. P.D . would show up to your spot two days after the call when you were face deep in your bong (“water-pipe, cool out)and had already forgotten all about your broke-ass laptop and the snowboard that you used twice a year. That’s just how they do, bless their soft-ball playin’ hearts.

However, there is apparently a loop-hole that insists that every-time someone calls the station to alert them to a noise situation (“noise” being all those bands I mentioned earlier) the officer in the area has to respond, regardless of whether or not they are face deep in a Subway sandwich (sponsor me, I’ve seen other shit you rep, it’s destroying the youtes, write our check to cash), or breaking up a gang fight. So basically, long story funky, I met every mah-buggin police officer in my area this weekend. Officer Robbins, you’re cool, officer Reyes, I dig your style, officer Bronson, let’s kick it and play video games like I did with the security guard that wanted to bust me for some silly MacGuyver business in college (she looked like you). Officer Berdet, you need to cool out and look people in the eyes when you talk to them. The rest of you I don’t remember your names, but you were decently chill (sans the guy with the accent who came in way too hot with the pad and shit).

So now that all of us are on a first name basis, I feel that we can kick it (strictly on a totally “legitimate” substance abuse level, of course). So let me address the dildo-trout who keeps annoying all of my new fuzzy friends.

Guy, I’m not in any way trying to intimidate you, or tell you what to do with your time. However, I feel you should be made aware of my spectacular track-record when it comes to conversing with the fine men and women in the poorly cut dark blue uniforms. If I was a college basketball team, I’d be dancing every year, top-5 ranked. I’d have much prestige.

Maybe one day I’ll teach you how to tickle their fancy the same way that I do, but for tonight, I’ve far surpassed the word limit in the blah-gosphere. So I’ll just say, that if they like Led Zeppelin, they fucking like Led-Zeppelin, and you play to that. So guy (or girl, or old wankster), wherever you are, just know that I went 6-0 this weekend, no tickets, a lil sweat.

Keep upping my B.C.S. numbers if you want, but jamming will continue as scheduled.

Good night, and good luck.

Jam Van

Los Angeles, these are our selected shows for the week of 7/11 – 7/17.
– 7.12 – The Melvins (Lite – Featuring Trevor Dunn) at the Detroit Bar in the LBC

– 7.13 & 7.14 – PEACE, LOVE, PANIC – At the Wiltern, sold out, respec.

– 7.14 – Jerry Jopeph at the Mint

– 7.14 – The Soft Pack at the Hammer Museum. They open for Hanni El Khatib, whom we know nothing of, but sh-it’s free.

– 7.15 – Reverend Horton Heat at the El Rey 7.15

– Urinals at the Blue Star. Their name is Urinals, nuff said.

– 7.15 – Music in the Zoo – Music and Monkeys, solid combination. Beware the Gorilla cage!

Links for the Day:

– They should not raise the amount of this.

– If only they had the word “box” in their name instead of “fox.” Aaah well, I still done-dug it.