1/29/04

Dear Diary,

Alright, I’m going to start this by talking about what is on everybody’s mind. I know that there has been a lot of talk in the media concerning the fallout between me and the ruffian Ryan Adams-wannabes known as “The Diggs.” I know that there has been a lot of mudslinging and fingerpointing. I really don’t want to go into the details of it, but I will say this much: it’s not my fault that more girls show up to “The Diggs” shows to watch me watch the band than there are girls there to actually see the band. I can’t help it if I have a sweat ass, all right. I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do about it.

I’d be lying if I said to you that my horrible row with the band that ended on a cold March night with my fists dripping with Sheppard’s blood and a drum symbol where David Scales face used to be hadn’t affected my desire to be the premiere rock journalist of Southern California. I mean, if I couldn’t review the live performances of “The Diggs” why should I bother reviewing live shows at all? Why would one who has tasted the sweat nectar of life through music ever want to eat any false-fruit that was simply an imitation of that flavor? After months of shying away from my true love in life—making fun of my friend’s music—I decided it was time to start seeing live music again. With a deep sigh, I opened my LA Weekly and searched for a live band worth seeing.

After thumbing through the back pages of the LA Weekly, I came across an ad for a band that was playing at the Molly Malone’s on the night of Thursday, January 29th. The band in the ad called themselves “82 Unlucky”.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself. ‘Sounds like a Blink 182-wannabe. Might be fun”.

“Blink 182-wannabe”: Have more famous last words ever been uttered? Find out the answer at the end of the diary entry.

I arrived at the Roxy at 9:30 p.m. As I was in line to buy a ticket, I noticed a girl standing outside smoking a cigarette. She had a beautiful dark eyes and a smile I found both inviting and intimidating. As she tilted her head in my direction, our eyes connected and, well…that was it. The skies ripped open and the heavens fell. Suddenly everything in life made sense.

I felt myself in a trance, abandoning my place in line and walked right towards her.

“Hi,” I said with the confident authority my readers have come to know and love. “I don’t know you or why you are here, but God, I sure would like to know.”

She looked at me with a somewhat bewildered frown as she put out her cigarette.

“What?” she retorted.

Zing! This girl was going to keep me on my toes!

“Who are you and why are you here? Or should I say, what brings you to Molly Malone’s on this chilly January night?”

Apparently I was winning our duel of wits, because she looked around, a bit panicky, almost as if she was looking for a way to excuse herself out of this conversation, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.

“Um, well, my name is Erika and I’m here to see my boyfriend’s band.”

Right it the heart: that’s where it hit me. Fuck, does every hot girl in this city have a boyfriend? Find out the answer at the end of the diary entry.

“Yeah,” Erika continued, “he’s the lead singer of the band 82Unlucky.”

Erika pointed to a man walking up the sidewalk. “That’s him, right over there.”

I looked towards where Erika was directing. The moment I caught sight of the man who had a claim in Erika’s heart I let out a sigh of relief – I knew I still had a chance.

“Isn’t that the fashion guy from Queer Eye for the Street Guy?”

Erika rolled her eyes at me. “No, that’s my boyfriend, Kyle Thomas.”

“Kyle Thomas?”

If I were drinking a Mia-thai, that would have been the moment I would have spat it out. Sure enough, as the long-haired figure approached it became clear that the man whom had stolen the beautifully exotic Erika from me was none other than my former friend/nemesis, Kyle Thomas. K-T for short.

When Kyle caught sight of me he froze in his tracks. He shook his head in disbelief as a smile came across his face.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jarrod Nesbit,” Kyle said in a way that was reminiscent of Karen Allen’s reaction to Indiana Jones walking into her bar after oh so many years – you know, right after she drank that fat guy under the table. Like Indiana Jones, I was looking to take a valuable object away from this reunion, but instead of priceless medallion that, according to legend, told of the location of the lost Arc of the Covenant, I was eager to find out how to win the heart of Kyle’s girlfriend. Or at least figure out a way to get into her pants.

“It is good to see you, Kyle” I said. “Actually, I’m proud of you. It must have taken you a lot of guts to quit The Diggs and start your own band, ‘82Unlucky.’ It was something that needed to happen, though. I mean those guys were holding you back”.

“The band didn’t break up,” a familiar voice from behind me said. I turned around to find Eric Wensman, drummer extraordinaire, loading his kit in through the band entrance. “We just changed the name.”

“Awesome!” I said. “You guys can totally sneak me in through the band entrance and hook me up without paying a cover!”

“Yeah we can,” Kyle said as he reached his hand out to me. “That’s what friends do.”

Awe, shit. We were friends again. Me and “The Diggs” were friends again! And as a symbol of the rebirth of our friendship, apparently the band had changed their name. Why they named it after what sounds sure to be a Turkish bathhouse, I don’t know, and I don’t care – the team was back together!

Suddenly I felt remorse for all of the horrible things I had done. I felt bad for using Sheppard’s toothbrush as toilet paper. I shook my head in disgust as I recall airing out Scales’ left rear tire. And yes, I really was a dick just now, hitting on Kyle’s girlfriend. Though, I must admit, I wasn’t all that remorseful for smoking all of Joey and Wensman’s heroin.

Kyle, Erika and Eric snuck me in to the show, and sure enough everyone was there. I had a great time. The band played music and I got drunk. Yep, glory days had returned…just as long as the band swore to never again cover my favorite Springsteen song.

**Answer #1: Yes. God, yes.

**Answer #2: No, but if they don’t that usually means they’re some sort of nutcase or an actress. So, yeah, a nutcase.