You see, I'm into getting sick. I'm actually a fan of it. Through my years of highschool, I have been honing my delicate craft, and have grown to quite enjoy it. At first, it was out of necessity, a school paper was due, a big test was headed my way, wasn't in the mood to go to fucking school, etc. Over time, it became a tradition, a wonderful game of faking and purposely getting sick just to stay home. I'd have more luck with the former than the latter, but every now and again, my throat was vaguely scratchy, my nose slightly twitchy and BAM, I'm staying home. God bless my mother for believing my lies, but at least I graduated and now I have a fine appreciation for taking a step back and enjoying life. I'm treading dangerously close to "Ferris Bueller" shit right here, I know, but it's true. Why spend so much time at school? Why work your life away? Coniving and scamming my way outta class was a perfect chore is achieving a "mental health day," where I'd do nothing but play videogames and read trashy crime novels. It was pointless and annoyingly square for a high schooler, but it sorted my brain out and kept me from losing my cool. Also, I watched a ton of The Wonder Years and The Facts of Life.
These days, there's no real point in faking sick. I can do pretty much what I want, with my usual highest priorities being in "writing a new album" and "waking up before noon." But every now and then, I really just wanna escape. I want an excuse to throw my phone under the couch, I want a reason to not jump on Facebook every forty-five minutes. And I do get my reason. In a crippling, shitty flu.
Yeah, I'm the type of guy who absolutely begs and pleads to get sick, just for an opportunity to lay on the floor for a few days and not give a fuck about anything. If you're coming down with a cold, I will make sure you at least breathe into my face for a minute and if I catch wind of "something going around," I will harbor that thought until that "something" is magically manifested and is mine. I train my mind like a ninja-warrior.
Thing is, every time I've intentionally put myself in a position to catch something, it never works. As is life, it does work when I least expect it, and when I least want it.
Right now, I have the flu. In two days, I'm going to see Motorhead. I might be sick for this. Then, we will be playing a few shows. Even worse, I might be sick for that, bringing down a whole new world of shame and anger into my life. You see, we never cancel shows. The only time I can really remember was for family reasons, and another where Davey had a massive case of the shits. Seriously. It was, like, years ago, and we were supposed to play New Mexico. He must have eaten a troft of mayonaisse and pickles or something, because we had to wrap that show-cancellation up quick.
Point is, we'll usually trudge through and play while loaded with viruses and disease, not a problem. The only problem is attempting to sing decently, because when you're a three-piece band, you do NOT want to have one of your two lead singers blow his voice. Which I usually tend to do whilst sick. It's become a fear of mine, and absolute "dark place" when thinking of that possibility. I hate to croak, crack and garble on stage. I hate to think that people will walk away dissatisfied and pissed off. What will I do? How will I defeat the obstacles laid out in front of me? What route shall I take in beating the odds against a beat up throat and gnarled up singing voice?
I figure, throughout my singing career, nothing has ever worked in prevention and defense. I've tried teas, honey, cough drops, lozenges, you name it. This good ol' boy just doesn't wanna play that game no more. This good ol' boy is tired of throat tyranny and homeopathic hullabaloo. This good ol' boy is gonna get himself a delicious burrito at Los Favoritos Taco Shop in Tempe, Arizona.
Los Favoritos is a pretty fantastic place. Centered in the middle of strip mall containing a music venue, blood donating bank and an army recruitment center, you better believe the clientele is broad and unique. It's right in the middle of a college town, so yeah, it can also double as a pretty hip, Saturday night taco shack frequented by the painfully cool tattooed kids and tipsy party chicks. I know and claim that the food is good, but I'm becoming well aware that the food is even better drunk. I know, because I've been there. It's so much better.It really does go from being a youth hotspot to a decent family restaurant, raising the place's credibility and success in pleasing everyone in town with chimichangas and quesadillas, despite any sorta built-in demographic you'd imagine they'd have. Everyone likes this place. The service is quick, the food is cheap and filling and you're bound to at least see one person walk in without a shirt.
They have all the authentic, Mexican cuisine you can imagine, even upping the ante with avocado burgers, cheeseburgers and fries. Wash that shit down with some horchata, son.
But their secret weapon? The one thing that will keep you coming and your gut busting? THE LOS FAVS BREAKFAST BURRITO.Yes, yes I will try you, breakfast burrito.
Roll up, place your order, party down. Like I said, they've got it all when it comes to Mexican food. The portions are huge, so even if you order something that stinks, you can eat the barrel of rice and beans on the side. So good.
I know it's not the greatest move to eat anything but chicken noodle soup and green tea when you're sick, but like I said, there's no hope for me these days. Nothing really helps this singer's torn throat, save for a greasy burrito and a hilarious, uplifting movie. I'm going with "Animal House" tonight.
But while you wait, why not enjoy some horrendously outdated arcade games?
I haven't seen a Cruis'n' USA in years, let alone the "Exotica" version. I'll always remember how half-naked women in bikinis would wave a checkered flag at the beginning of each game, signaling the start of the race. Also, how "exotica" was amazinlgy close to "erotica." That was pretty cool. I was a perv.Killer Instinct! And Area 51! Both were always pretty decent, but I'd say Area 51 garnered more of my attention. They combined real-life actors and so many exploding oil drums you couldn't resist. At the time, it was pretty Goddamn realistic looking, and a game where your sole purpose was to shoot people in the face was all the more perfect. It satisfied your bloodlust and your extraterrestrial curiosities. I remember Killer Instinct as being like Mortal Kombat, but with more monsters. Skeletons with swords, cyclops looking freaks, oily dudes with boxing gloves, everyone was represented in a bizarre arena of pain. I recall renting it for the N64, but instantly regretting the move, because I KINDA HATE FIGHTING GAMES. See: previous blog entry.
Doesn't really matter now, though, 'cause the entire area was shut down and turned off. Kinda makes me sad. I really could have gone for an erotic shootout with boxing skeletons.
This, my friends, is what we like to call a "donkey dick."
It really is amazing, and although the picture doesn't do it justice, the weight of it alone could probably put a knot on someone's head, a true testament to it's power and glory. If you're in the area, definitely check this place out. If you're ever drunk, hungover or bored, this is the place to be. If you're trying to overcome a mild cold, with an achey back and a sinus headache, this is definitely not the place to be. But it sure does feel good. Rock and roll.:)