Larry Survives a Room Full of Chicks

It must be Larryday in Larryland, and it's likely to be that way for a long time, since he kicked so much butt in our Absolute Body Conditioning class. On his first visit, no less. Sure he could have used his charms, his subtle conversation, his flowing golden locks, and his sexy shoulder moves to distract the room full of pros and take it easy on himself. But he didn't. He showed up early, stayed to the bitter end, and played fair the whole dang time. They say no man can surviive Wednesday ABC for long, that they sneak out the backdoor shaking their heads and go lie around in the stretching room where they can cry and pretend it's sweat. Larry is no longer just the manliest man in all of Bratpackdom, he is now the manliest man in Downstate Illinois! After class he went back to work too, hauling speakers up ladders until the break of dawn when he headed back to his other job. Wow. May Larry jumprope, sprint, bound, sumo-squat, plank, high-knee run, tricep-dip, scissorjack, and lungewalk with the fine asskickers of Wednesday ABC forevah!

King of Pop Turns 20 Today!

Here's to you, Michael Jackson, on your actual birthday! We made you a cookie, but we ated it.

The Week in Review

Minimal Injuries, Great News for Custom Virus
I ushered in the weekend (Sixteen Kendells' huge birthday celebration weekend, BTW) at the White Horse beer garden by crushing my thumb in the backdrop stand, but then nothing worse happened for three entire gigs, making for a pretty lame Injury of the Week. On the other hand, Josh of Seagulls has announced that, using his own lungs and sinuses, he's gotten a head start on our respiratory gunk for the coming winter. Thanks for kicking it off earlier than usual, Josh! We look forward to the long drives home.

That's Our Larry!
Tommy Tubular has reason to suspect that beneath Larry's happy sexy fun exterior, there beats a lonely, complicated heart. TT played us a voicemail he'd received late one night, when we were each busy with post-gig gaieties, leaving poor Larry all alone in a strange town. His words slurred by bare emotion, Larry pleaded for companionship as well as money, to be deposited in his checking account at 1-800-BIT-CHES.

Puzzle People Coming Through
I begged and whined, and finally one of the puzzle winners sent me a teaser. You can try it too. The grand prize is TBA; Deanna and Melissa will vouch for our prompt payment. Oh Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind! Mickey and his fine family all live on Wham! Street. Mickey's mother, Vicky, lives at 2005 Wham! Street. Mickey's cousin, Lucy, lives at 1150 Wham! Street. What address does Mickey live at? Solve that!

Lesson in Love
We've been schooled in why bass players are so totally awesome. It's not their good looks, smooth moves, excellent minds, interesting hobbies, or toned calves. The flourless chocolate cake with homemade raspberry sauce is what makes them irresistible!

I'm Waiting

N vowed revenge for the hoof-tapping brain-teaser below, but she hasn't sent a thing! Even worse, Deanna (the crossword and conundrum Champion of the Known Universe) offered to write an 80s puzzle and then promptly solve it for two hundred bucks, but I'm not seeing that in my Inbox either. Come on peeps! Don't force me back to sudoku.

New Feature: Injury of the Week!

Thanks to modern technology, someone in the Brat Pack gets clobbered in an unexpected way just about every weekend. We think this is darned newsworthy. Sure there are injuries which persist far beyond a week and are way more serious than the rest, such as New Wave Dave's flattened thumb or Guido's almost-gig-related fracture. Those would be better named Injury of the Month, Injury of the Quarter, or Injury of the Indefinite Period Beginning July 4.

Guido went to the Bahamas, and all he got was this lousy broken toe.


For about six months out of the year, we take turns hosting and mutating at least one virus, but we'd have to dedicate a less regular post to Disgusting Plague of the Season because no one would have the energy to write it.Josh, a scientist but more importantly a gentleman, says it's polite to share.


I'm thinking more of the indescribable agonies we wake up with on Sunday and forget about by Thursday. Last week it was the sensation of a hammer smashing my shin.
Artist's rendering of someone else's shin hit with a hammer.


A few weeks ago, I fell off the stage just in time for shorts-weather.
The bruise "resolving," a fancy term used by nurses and investigators.


Jesse chuckles thinking about our hilarious version of Hurt So Good when the light tree toppled over onto Guido's head! When he was dressed as Mr. Miyagi! And Kendell, running to the rescue, tripped and fell!Thank goodness for the helpful ladies of the front row.


And who could forget Tommy getting punched in the face FOUR TIMES by his own microphone at Marly's? Or the time I walked into a bolt and stood in the street with blood spurting from my head?

If I got this for Tom for his birthday, would he let me borrow it?


You get the idea. Having missed the deadline for proper tribute to all of the above, we'd better announce this week's Injury of the Week, and quick. May I present the unique, inexplicable, and unprecedented ankle twist!

Artist's rendering of someone else's ankle all messed up.

I Almost Forget

Have I mentioned that we played in the Bahamas? It seems like I meant to tell you but got distracted with something else such as WE PLAYED IN THE BAHAMAS!












But seriously we did.

The DeLaupers Sure Wanna Have Fun!

Uncle Jeff, Noted Astrophysicist, sent me a fabulous activity last night. I know you guys think I'm always at the mall with Guido Menudo, but really I like puzzles and dead languages as much as the next guy, this next guy being Jeff de Lauper, Noted Astrophysicist. You can try cracking the code too, and if you want help, click on the links for hints - I know you're going to love it (especially Deanna, crossword puzzle champion of the world.)


There is a fictional horse that will listen to a number you say and tap its hoof a certain number of times in response. This horse's answers follow a rule so that if you say the numbers on the left below, the horse will tap its hoof the number of times on the right below. Can you figure out how many times the horse will tap its hoof if you say 33?

1 -> 1
2 -> 2
3 -> 3
4 -> 2
5 -> 1
6 -> 2
7 -> 3
8 -> 4
9 -> 2
10 -> 1
11 -> 2
12 -> 3
13 -> 4
14 -> 3
15 -> 2
20 -> 2
25 -> 3
33 -> ?
50 -> 1

How DOES One Do the Jitterbug, Exactly?

This looks very hard. I think we need some practical advice, since time seems to be running out.

P.S. Could we find shorts tight enough and white enough for Tommy on ebay?

Management Checks In, Joliet Jen Cries Out

Management here. I've been silent on this and related matters for many months, the priorities of Management being less blogworthy than, say, whose hairstyle screams "Devo." In addition, a failure to use various time shares spanning the globe might have cost me fluency in several languages.

Speaking of the weary traveller, I was treated to a magnificent act of vandalism upon return to my modest three story, nine bedroom bungalow this weekend. Inside every major appliance, taped to every wall and precious work of art, stapled to the Bichon Frise, and balanced on shelves and doors throughout were photocopies of Wham, George Michael, and Rick Springfield. Many bore handwritten pleas for the Brat Pack to add music by these artists. Obviously this was the brainchild of my idle maid and her illegal cousins. In distress I consulted the fabulous Joliet Jen for technical support on the removal of adhesive from mahogany. I happened to ask her opinion on crossing the Wham Line. Below is her reply, along with a seriously sexy shot of her (the redhead.)


"Really? You're even bothering to ask? Wham is possibly one of the greatest bands of all time, and one half of Wham is probably the greatest singer of all time, Andrew Ridgeley. He's probably the most under-appreciated as well. Oh, and then there was that George guy. Whatever happened to him? Wham is the best. I grew up with Wham n George Michael, my mom is the biggest fan ever. So I say yes to Wham. 'Wake Me Up Before You Go Go' is a super classic. However, I did win a trivia game by knowing the Wham rap video in about 3 seconds."

Point maid.

(That was a pun.)

Besides, who doesn't want to see Tommy Tubular in one of these outfits?

Is it Fate?

Some members of the Brat Pack, influenced by the dark arts and cumin, are ready to take the biggest step of our career - across the Wham Line - breaking the band's most enduring and important rule.

The Bass Players Union threatens a boycott.

Short People Keep Winning at Hoops

Prince has confirmed that he did kick Charlie Murphy's butt on his home court, though he wasn't wearing the fancy Revolution jacket and boots like Charlie said he was.

In related news, a short person known only as N has been scoring points against our very own gifted athlete, Jesse Van Halen, who has a one foot height advantage and a history of clever ploys AND is a robot. How does a woman no taller than Prince himself accomplish this seemingly impossible feat without the use of milkshakes to distract Van Halen? Same as Prince! Speed.

Operator, This is an Emergency!

A hair emergency, that is! It's been so hot and humid these last few days that we're almost out of product. Can you pick some up for us along with a million bottles of water?

Attack of the Ten Foot Pants

As usual, Tom will be sporting a pair of pants at the State Fair tomorrow night. I'll be there!

A Very Funny Joke About Lead Singers, At Whom We Must Not Laugh

What time did the lead singer come over for ice cream?

7:30

UPDATE: I must have misunderstood the punchline because it was NOT 8:30!!! Get it?

Do We Not Bleed?

Apparently, Blogger decided the entire Brat Pack was a robot and locked us out of our account (now we're unlocked so the truth can be told.) This doesn't really seem fair, but I can see how it might have happened.

First we let the drummer hide out in his vast yet hidden underground laboratory for several months designing a reasonably humanoid droid who can make it to all of the gigs without the high degree of bitching you expect from a primate who plays keyboards. Then we boldly posted one or two pictures of it here and even gave it permission to comment. Before you know it, Blogger sniffed out the cyborg and concluded that we're all a bunch of circuit-boards and hinges and bionic limbs and toenail polish.

One bad apple might have spoiled the whole bunch girl for a week or so, but our clever consulting pediatrician was able to persuade the cuties at Blogger of our humanity with polaroids of the foot-sized bruise on my leg and x-rays of Guido's broken toe, both gig-related injuries, except for Guido's which was a recreational injury just before a gig.

Why Them and Not Me?

Some people might be wondering how, at a recent Downtown Champaign Streetfest, certain people were able to join us onstage with ease while others were hauled away by the brutish Mr. Kendells.



These hot chix actually ASKED first. How clever of them! One thing they had to offer that many others could not is that I know where to find them if they happen to steal a guitar on their way off the stage.


And then we asked this cutie to come up, probably because she appeared just when we needed a virgin.

I hope that helps to clear up any confusion!

P.S. Thanks for joining us out in the streets. You rock.

We Went All the Way to the Bermuda Triangle, and All We Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt

OOPS! Did I say "lousy t-shirt?" I meant kick-ass gig plus vacation!

P.S. Happy Birthday, Jacob. You rock!

Things to Do

No overpreparation is complete without a checklist! Here's what we have to do before we leave for the Bahamas.

1. Make list.

2. Call airline about power. If we don't have 1.21 gigawatts, we may not make it there on time.

3. Fire up the TRS80 and make lists of things for the housesitter to do.

4. Get tans. With two full days left, this should be a snap.

5. Get in shape. The Absolute Body Conditioning class on Monday ought to get us good and buff for the beach.

6. Pack.

7. Label all of Guido's clothes with a permanent marker.

8. Leave a voicemail for the Brat Pack of North Carolina, just to make sure they know where we're playing.

9. Solve the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle so this doesn't happen to us.

The Only Way to Fly

I was getting nervous about our trip next week, but we might still have time to switch to a gentler form of air travel. Sure there's less altitude and a lot less room for checked luggage, but it's so soft and sweet, who cares?

You Got a Permit for that Thing?

Hey Guido! It looks like you may need to apply for a license to wear that cute kilt when we go on tour in Scotland! It's got something to do with the endangered badgers and otters (no, not beavers!) they use to make the little purse that hangs provocatively across the front. We wouldn't want to get a ticket for unlicensed apparel, so if you need any help filling out the forms or petitioning the King, just give me a call. I love that stuff.

Oops!

Guido explained some stuff to me this weekend. I was under the impression, because I think Jesse Van Halen said something about it, that we'd be doing our Fourth of July show on the Atlantis Space Shuttle, currently docked at NASA. Apparently that was wrong. Guido laughed and said "No no no, it's docked there so that the computers can be fixed not so people can party! You silly!"


Then he told me that we're actually playing the lost continent of Atlantis in the Bermuda Triangle. It seems a little scary really, but I'll bring goggles.

Power of the Pack, Part I

The magical powers of Mr. Burns have caused all other Brat Packs to vanish as mysteriously as a plane over the Bermuda Triangle!

What are You Doing this Fourth of July?

I heard that we're going here:



To perform here:









P.S. Recently, some have inquired "What's up with the bananas? How is that 80s? What's wrong with you people?" Let me point out that if you change just a couple of the letters in "bananas" you get "bahamas." Better now?

We're So Grateful to our Photographer

It was our photographer, Brad Daniels (shown here in various shots you can find with a simple Google Image search just like real journalists use,) who broke that hot story on the chaos over at The News Gazette. Brad would know us from other Brat Packs - he has seen us in person before! This made it fairly simple for him to take a look at the photo in this weekend's paper, compare it to his MEMORY of what we actually look like, count the number of people in the band, compare that to the number of people he thinks we have in our band, and, once confident in his conclusion, send us a simple email message checking his theory! Awesome.

Taking Our Hometown By Storm!

This is the News Gazette, a cornerstone of our community.


This is Frank Pieper, Entertainment Editor of the News Gazette.


And this is Kirby Pringle, longtime writer for same.



In spite of our efforts to be in everyone's face all the time, Frank and Kirby and the News Gazette think this is us:

As millions of readers will recall, that was the Brat Pack of North Carolina, who got to know our lawyer just after he made the Brat Pack of Ohio cry.

For anyone else who might not know, this is what we look like all the time even when we're waiting in line for latte.


And this is not us.

Behold Our New Look!

Wow! We finally made it into the local paper! Thankfully, they were able to use a brand new picture showing our new, non-80s, serious artist, extra-people-in-the-band image! We sure hope everyone likes it, because we were thinking that maybe we can develop the "bland" approach more fully in time for our gig in the Bahamas.