Notes from the road while on tour in Europe: why the Ettes frontwoman's not eating the bratwurst in Germany this time around.

By Coco Hames

I dropped out of college after my first semester because it was horrible and I hated it, and when you do that, not only is it complicated to go back, but you lose your right to live in the dorms.  Yes, it is a privilege to live in meningitis and crabs infested hellholes with Stachybotrys being pumped through the filthy air vents so you constantly have bronchitis and insulation so poor that your bed sheets are always damp and there's a film of cold, dirty water on top of everything, AND your roommate climbs uninvited into bed with you so you punch a window and face disciplinary action from the university OR your roommate is in ROTC and needs wakeup calls from her fellows every morning at 4am, right after you've gotten home from drowning your loneliness at a bar called BALLS...

When I came back to Gainesville -- after a few months back at home, working at a boutique where, when I go back there with my mom, the shopgirls stare at me and whisper audibly "SHE'S the nastiest one", meaning, evidently, both my sisters are mean and nasty, but I'M the worst, and mind you, these are people who don't know me or my family to begin with -- I found a room open in a big brick house near campus (it's here: http://maps.google.de/maps?hl=de&tab=wl).  It had 6 bedrooms and was occupied by an art student, a library sciences student, a really strange older student whose bedroom was actually a closet, and two Cuban cousins whose nicknames were Kiki and Pipa.  Pipa was a nursing student, and Kiki was studying film.  She made a student film and my boobs are in it.  Fact.

Kiki has always been a major lover of animals (I've mentioned her before, we used to foster dogs together) and has been vegetarian for as long as I've known her.  Except when we got Jennie-O turkey corn dogs, but that was a long time ago.  My older sister was vegetarian for a long time, refusing to "eat anything that had a face" and rocking her Greenpeace AND Depeche Mode t-shirts.  And world... I have now joined their ranks.  It's been a couple of months.  I am a vegetarian.

You can read my blog a couple posts back about my issues with the factory farming of animals, and while I really don't think investigating and becoming cognizant of that terrible system pushes to change you from meat eater to veggieoid, it did heighten my awareness of my own concept and process of meat eating.  And I thought to myself, self, do you like eating meat?  And myself said "Shit yeah I do!"  I love an obscenely rare, bloody steak, I love Chick-Fil-A (who I imagine are major supporters of factory farms/CAFOs, Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations, their term, though I do hate birds, and don't care very much about chickens) and I'm Southern, so how in the hell can I possibly exist without pork? 

So I thought about it.  And I thought about how I don't cook or eat that much meat anyway, because as a wary consumer and vaguely compassionate person I am uncomfortable with the unanswered question of how the animal was treated when it was alive.  And I wondered whether my body needed meat or did not need it.  So I kind of thought, okay maybe I'll try not eating meat and see if I care, see how I feel.  So I did that, and I told my friends and fam I was doing so, and everything was fine.  And then my brother-in-law gave me Alicia Silverstone's new book for Christmas, which is a cookbook/manifesto suggesting "The Kind Diet" which would of course be totally free of animal products (that's eggs and dairy, too).  And honestly, I was totally offended, I was like, Alicia Silverstone seems like a very nice girl as far as actresses go, but she is also most likely a BOOB and has her head up her Hollywood ass, and her advice could not possibly apply to me, UMEBOSHI PLUMS ARE $18 FOR ABOUT AN OUNCE.  But check it yo, it did.

I'm pretty sure Alicia Silverstone the person is exactly like she is in Clueless, which seems very pleasant to me actually, because I love Clueless and love her in it.  But she very passionately and enthusiastically suggests, politely, that you might try a diet free of animal products, just for a few weeks, and see how you feel.  Alicia Silverstone notwithstanding, if you asked me (I won't come at you unsolicited, not my style) I'd suggest the same.  I don't really feel like going into it, all the statistics, not just about the animals but the way animal products generally adversely affect us humans and our planet, links to cancer, diabetes, heart disease, pollution, poisoning epidemics that kill children, global warming, you name it.  I'll just tell you a vegetarian diet suits me, I feel better, the personal is the political, and there you have it.

So anyway, not like you care, but I no longer eat meat, taking it day by day.  If Poni gets that rare steak, I look at it, and it neither offends me or turns me on.  Not like it used to.  I just don't want it.  So that's me, I shant devolve into a postulating preacher man about how much better I feel bodily or how my head is clearer, my moods better, my bod a bit foxier, whatever.  Though I will tell you that I understand why people are preachy about it, just like people are (annoyingly) preachy about anything they're passionate about, religion, rock climbing, etc. 

I've never been rock climbing, though I did just stupidly (and soberly!) risk my life climbing up a giant tree on Dog Island (http://wikimapia.org/165081/Dog-Island) because my little sister's childhood friend dared me to.  What an idiot.  I was not safe.  In Phillip Pullman's epic and glorious trilogy His Dark Materials he speaks of the "grace" children have, that innocence that protects them and informs them their beautiful, poetic, prescient knowledge, the elegance of their sensitivity to the spiritual and magical world around us all.  Yeah, I do NOT have grace anymore, that shit was scary and MAD dangerous.

Off to Stuttgart tomorrow, you never know what the future might bring.

Jarvis Cocker and Air wrote that Charlotte Gainsbourg album everyone's been talking about??

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT.

The band is on a European tour currently then upon returning to the states will be headed to Austin for SXSW. After that they'll be opening for the Dead Weather throughout April. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Too far gone: friends don't let friends become nannies.

By Coco Hames

Sometimes people will ask us, "What is the worst job you've ever had?" and for each of us, the story is different, and sometimes it changes.  Worst how?  Meanest boss?  Longest hours?  Shittiest pay?  Depending on the mood we're in, we can site any of the many crappy jobs we've had.  Jem will tell you about the bloody pumps he had to clean at the hospital, Poni maybe being accidentally drugged at a club and then hallucinating that she's being stabbed to death by hundreds of small flying knives.  Maybe getting smacked in the kitchen of a terrible New York restaurant that I'd quit not for the smacking but the fact that they made you clock in with a thumbprint... But one of the most annoying, I think, is the one I never got.  

I was living in Los Angeles, I think I was working as a receptionist at a hair salon, barely getting paid, and I knew I had to get another job if I was going to survive.  Through a friend of the owner of a local music venue, I think, I was asked if I'd ever want to take a nanny position.  I like kids well enough now (COOL kids) but I've never been that great with them.  Our mindsets are too similar, they know it and I know it, so we just mostly sit around analyzing each other, scowling into each other's faces from across the room.  You with your toys, me with my books, you mind your business, I'll mind mine.

But I needed the money (oh how many stories start this way), so I said I'd at least take the interview.  I went over to these people's house in the afternoon, probably just around when school got out.  I was introduced to the parents, who seemed like nice enough people, or the mom did, however skin-crawlingly LA the dad was.  And don't give me shit about using "LA" as an insulting adjective; California has the best food and prettiest everything, makes movies and wine (two things I cannot live without), and there are a lot of great people out there, so shut up.  For my derogatory definition of "LA" please view this short documentary film: http://www.timanderic.com/laguyz1022.mov.  Regard, and then we can move forward.

So as soon as I was settled in their spacious living room for my interview, two 12-year-old girls come downstairs.  I learned one of them was the girl for whom I'd potentially be nannying (picking up from school, helping with her homework, making her snacks/dinner, maybe even teaching some guitar, piano, songwriting) and the other was the girl's best friend.  And they came equipped with their own list of questions for me.  It was really cute, something I totally would have done had I been interviewing a potential nanny at age 12.  Questions about how much trouble I'd let them get into, what kind of snacks I'd make, what my favorite movies were, who my celeb boy crush was... really cute.  And I thought to myself, well, they will pay really well, and maybe I can get these girls into rock and roll, this could be a kind of fun job!

But then, after the girls had finished questioning me and gone back upstairs, the parents asked me about school work.  How well I'd done in school, what my strongest subjects were.  And then they dropped the bomb on me: the girl needed a lot of help with her math.  I said, look, I have to be honest, with books and languages I can totally help, but math... there's just no way.  I couldn't lie to them, don't 12-year-olds these days need to know calculus?  Isn't she studying for the SATs and college placement stuff?  Wouldn't I be doing a young mind a huge disservice, pretending I knew how to add and/or subtract numbers?  I don't know, I couldn't be a bad influence in an academic respect, so I knew it was a deal breaker, but I had to tell the truth.

Sure enough, a couple of days later the mom called me and said while I was like one they all LIKED the best, there was another applicant who had experience tutoring in math, and they had to do what was best for the kid.  I understood, of course, and the job I went on to take was running a boutique within walking distance from my apartment, so it really worked out for the best.

Fast forward two years, and I'm a pretty content 23-year-old.  I'm managing a cool boutique, I play whatever records I want all day, I can read and play on the computer, I can walk to and from work (unheard of in Los Angeles) and to my favorite Thai joint for lunch, PLUS my hours were really pleasant (vaguely 11am-7pm) and allowed time for my band to rehearse and play shows.  It was all very well-rounded and just what I needed.  Until one day...

All the time douchey people would come in (not the least of which, that Bradley Cooper guy, who I always thought was someone else, and then would realize, no it's just that guy who plays mean guys on TV? TOTAL jerk to me, every time) so it never really fazed me.  What was best, of course, is when these douchey people would buy expensive things, and I'd get commission on top of my salary.  Then I can buy stuff!  Guitar strings!  Groceries!  Vodka!  Note to douchebags: spending a lot of money goes a long way with little shop girls, who will either put on really loud punk music until you're forced to leave, or pleasantly help you with your jacket selection.  Dear Adam Levine, the nicest exchange we ever had was when you bought that solid gold starfish for whichever model you were with at the time, really made my day, way more than the time you said the Kids in the Hall "weren't funny", you didn't remember the State, and that Elf "had no plotline".  

So this one afternoon, this teenager came in texting away, talking to her friend.  And I said, "Hey guys, let me know if I can help you with anything" and went back to doing my inventory, and one of them goes, "Oh my God, Coco?" and I looked up and was like, "Yeah?"  thinking, these girls are a bit old to be the kids of my friends, and definitely way too young to have come to an Ettes show?  And then one of them goes, "Didn't you almost work for me?" with this derisive laugh.  Didn't you almost work for me... um... and I was like, holy shit!  It's that kid I was going to nanny!  And I said, "Holy shit!  You're that kid I was going to nanny!"  And she was so snobby, oh, it was horrible!  She kind of looked around the shop and said, "Sooo... so this is what you do now?  I thought you were in a band or something?"  Ouch, right?  From a spoiled rich kid that I could have given cool books and records to.  It was like Veruca Salt if she had a Valley girl accent.  Only not Louise Post from Veruca Salt, she's really nice, she taught me to type properly.

I think I just gave them my best Scientological stare until they got uncomfortable and giggled off into the Silverlake afternoon, but sometimes I think about that girl, if I had been her nanny, would I have helped her at all, would I have helped her not become the LA Guyz teenage version of her dad?  Could I have gotten her into rock and roll, stocked her bookshelves with great subversive books, influenced her to replace her pink polo shirts and khaki shorts with black black black?  But then again, you never know: she always could have been already too far gone.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT.

The band commences a big European tour next week then upon returning to the states will be headed to Austin for SXSW. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Blondie got knocked up, and now it's a dog's life - all the more reason to adopt a puppy!

By Coco Hames

I have a neighbor who has a dog we call Blondie.  After The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, not Deborah Harry.  Or maybe both.  But Blondie was not spayed and went and got herself knocked up, and she had three puppies.  Blondie looks like a small yellow lab/Husky mix (she has light eyes and eyebrows, so cute) and is the sweetest thing.  So these puppies, we weaned them, and got them their shots and everything, and now they are at a pet adoption facility called Love At First Sight, in Nashville, TN.  They will be available for adoption shortly and, having housed them myself for a bit, I can tell you they are the sweetest little chubs.  I've got chubs for you (see above).

There a boy, who is the handsomest of the three, whom I called Mel Gibson VERY briefly, and then decided not to name any of them, however temporarily, because I already have plenty of dogs to sneak into hotel rooms on tour.  He is brown (a really cool brown, with a super cool pattern of black and white on his chest) and makes smiley faces and can kind of use his hands.  One of the girls is all black with brown/white eyebrows, and she is a major charmer.  So pretty!  And the other is the runt, a sneaky little devil girl with the same color markings as her brother, but with a wily cute face.  All of these puppies are smart and adorable, they all have these really cool light eyes (they're blue with green and grey) and are responding so well already to handling and training, a lucky trait you don't always see, so w00t.  Check 'em out sleepin' in a pile:

If you or anyone you know lives in the Nashville area and are interested in some super cute 6-week-old puppy babies, contact super helpful Cory at Love At First Sight (615) 297-2464, or visit their website at http://www.lafspetadoption.com/  

In other news, I had an inappropriate dream last night featuring Mike Rowe.  From Dirty Jobs.  Ladies, you all THINK you love him, because he's witty and charming and does manly things.  But in my dreams, people reveal (what I imagine to be) their true selves, and you know what he really is?  Emotionally spoiled, callous, and a SELFISH lover.  Is that what you really want?  Well, you know what you want, I'm not here to judge, I just hate falling prey to those charms.  Which are so very Cancer in nature, haven't you noticed?  TOO charming, that's what Cancers are.  And then there you are, at this cheap hotel, with Mike Rowe, feeling KIND of special, until the morning, when you're standing around and there are these models, and they look at you like, "Who's she?" and then Mike goes, "Oh, uh, this is my friend, Coco."  And they eye you up and down with disdain, like, THAT'S what he went for after us?  Look ladies, it's not all coltish legs and winsome abs for all men, sometimes they like creepy trolls who kidnap puppies and read books on keeping chickens.  And the dream I had about Paul McCartney a few years ago?  Messed me up for a LONG time.  So much so, I can't really write about it.  If you see me out (Chapel Hill, Atlanta, Nashville) this week/weekend with Jemina Pearl, come ask me, maybe I'll tell you about it.  Mayyybe.

DOGS 4 EVA!  And Mike Rowe, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but... you can still call me.  

Coco

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Worst. Nashville. Venue. Ever. - The Bluebird Café. We know, because Oscar Wilde says so.

By Coco Hames

Nashville is a land of many wonderful things, like honky tonks, good  local beer, places you can go shoot guns (NOT outside my front door  you PSYCHOPATH who yells "EINSTEIN!" at every one of your seven Jack  Russell terriers, my little sister's in town for GOD'S SAKE have some  MANNERS) and musical camaraderie... the latter being something that  takes some getting used to.  There's a line in an early episode of Dr. Katz where Dr. Katz is wearing a fragrance because he had had a lady  friend over, and his friend at the bar notices the cologne, and Dr.  Katz says, "It takes some getting used to."  And his friend  asks if that's the name of it, "It Takes Some Getting Used To". It's a funny exchange, I'm not doing it justice.  But previously on  Lost, anywhere we'd lived or run around, we've been a potentially/actively violent punk troupe, which was easy, since that takes no acting.  Gotta keep people out of my space, off my back, out my business, off my friend, etc.  It was just a safe and logical way of operating, and we're very  comfortable with that.

However, since we've moved to Nashville, we've made some really nice friends.  Fear  not, we've tempered nothing (e.g. still stay WAY too late at the bar and molest the bartenders, still play loud, still fall  down and get blood EVERYWHERE, still throw pint glasses at creeps who brush Poni's ass, still fight, still French, still play our creepy '50s and '60s beat that will usually clear a room, though we're still dancing the night away) but our behavior scares some of them, or at least alarms them.  A lot of these friends are also musicians.  Some of them punks, some of them neo-garage candy sweets, some of them singer/songwriters.  And the singer/songwriters always feel compelled to play shows at the most obnoxious venue I have ever set foot in (not to be confused with the official worst venue ever, El Corazon in Seattle), the Bluebird Cafe.

 Possibly the harrowing snobbery can be conveyed through their official tagline and  mantra, which they proudly have prominently featured at their venue, on all of their literature and on their website: "Shhh!"

 Does anyone else think this is DISGUSTING?  How DARE you?  "Shh"? The rockers I know do not LIKE rules, let alone being told to hush up when they're out drinking.  And besides that, if you're GOOD enough, you have the ability to silence a room, haven't you ever been to a show like that?  You're jabbering on and one of two things happens:

1)      the rocker on stage gets annoyed at your texting or chatting and calls you out/throws a beer at you (which I myself have done, or have had verbally done TO me by the late, great John Mayer); or

2)      your conversation gets interrupted by how good a song or sound is and you just shut up.  You shouldn't tell people they have to be dead silent or you'll kick them out of the bar!  That is so gross.

 SO gross.  Every time I pass that place I just scowl and growl like Mad Madam Mim.  (Who, by the way, is my Disney villain mascot, if anyone ever asks you, "Hey who do you think Coco's Disney villain mascot is? Ursula from the Little Mermaid?"  "Yeah maybe, she's got good songs and they kind of have the same hair..."  No!  It's Mim.) It just really makes my ass twitch.

Get this (from the Bluebird's website): "As a listening room, quiet is requested at all times during a performance - which is why our slogan has become "Shhh!" You are welcome to drink and eat with us at any time, but if you are looking for an evening of conversation there are more appropriate places in Nashville."

 Did I mention they serve food?  They are a restaurant AND a bar, and their waitstaff is cute, and large groups of friends go on, like, a friends' night out... I just don't get it.  And, I don't like it. And listen, if you do, and you're some Nashvillian who's like, "OMG, I  LOVE the Bluebird, you must have gone on a bad night or something!" SAVE IT.  It's over.

Johnny summed it up on stage once (sometimes all-ages venues have rules about beers on stage) and it would have sounded trite and whiny coming from anyone else, but then that's Johnny's charm: "Man, I got into rock and roll because I don't FOLLOW rules." Here, let me prove a point.  The only reason I know anything about this GODFORSAKEN institution is because my singer/songwriter friend Landon Pigg (you can hear his creamy sounds and see his sexy moves in the film Whip It) and my  singer/songwriter friend Frally Hynes (who does pretty much the saddest cover ever of Patsy Cline's "She's Got You" - WHICH, by the way, the tiny baby early Ettes covered in 2004 in a Dee Dee Ramone 1-2-3-4 way, OMG where is that...) took me to see our friend Lucy Wainwright perform.  Lucy Wainwright (yes, it is in her blood) writes  beautiful songs, and sings real nice, so when I was feverishly whispering with Landon at the bar, I was jolted away from my conversation by something beautiful she did.  And I paid attention. And then this really gnarly yodel-style folk singer got up and whoosh, right back to my high-voltage murmur WHICH, by the way, got us in trouble several times.  As in, we got "shushed."  Uh, and then we left.  Landon has actually gotten kicked out several times.  I'm like, uh, what do you do with your tab?  Do you have to be like, oh, okay, yessir, let me just sign my tab aaaaaaand, yep, there's the tip, okay I guess I'll be on my way, so sorry for the, you know, noise...

I'm not ragging on open mic nights, although it has been many, many years since I've been to one.  I mean, you cut your teeth there, you don't ever want to go back.  You can read a previous blog to find out the kind of places I used to set up mic and guitar... I don't want to talk about it.  But I have a problem with this place. Blech.  And no, I'll never be going there again.  I remember having a whisper-out with one of the cute waitresses because she had pretty hair, and I whispered, "Oh, do you use Bump-Its?" and she whispered back, "No, but I have extensions, see?" and I felt her hair and I whispered "Ohhhh!  They're good, do you get them done here in town? I used to get them when I lived in LA but I haven't done them in years, I wonder if I would if I knew someone here." and she whispered, "Oh, my friend does them!  I'll give you his number!" and I whispered, "Oh, that'd be great, thank..." and then "SHHH!" from some woman who I ASSUME worked there?

 Unrelatedly, just WHY should boys have all the fun?  If I were better dressed, better behaved and differently, ahem, "equipped" they'd call me a bon vivant.  I'm like Oscar Wilde in moccasins and a sailor shirt.  Basically I'm Oscar Wilde.

 See you on the television!

 coco

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Meat indie rock band The Ettes.

By Coco Hames

Has anyone noticed how hipster snobs are pronouncing Vietnamese pho "phuh"?  Is this the correct, indigenous pronunciation or something?  Because it isn't an isolated incident, I must have heard at least four hipster snobs pronounce it as such in the last month, coast to coast.  Well, whatever, I'm not playing that game.  I don't play games with my food!  I eat it!  

Now, because Obama isn't really DOING anything at the moment (he's so not busy, it's crazy...) we need to start wrangling up legislation to outlaw factory farming.  My grandparents were hog farmers, my mom grew up on a farm, and she asked me "What's factory farming?"  Factory farming is the phrase used to describe the machination of animal farming and prevalent industry (and consumer, presumably) disregard for the health and welfare of the animals we eat.

You could go to YouTube and look up "Meat Your Meat", or visit peta.org and see pretty much anything they have documented there, and you could get an idea of what factory farming is, and why we should not do it.  It's bad for the planet, it's bad for the animals, which is bad for us (H1N1 anybody?) and it is cruel and inhumane.  You don't want to eat a sad pig do you?  I don't.  I want my bacon happy and healthy.

Jonathan Safran Foer FINALLY gets to the point in his new book I won't recommend at all to anyone, Eating Animals.  PS - nobody informed me this was a glorified collegiate essay, I.  Cannot.  Stand.  That.  Shit.  Hey alla y'all Susan Sontags, listen up!  If you are an academic writer, please fall off your high horse and just deliver the info with simple, elegant, educated panache, will you?  There is nothing I dislike more, NOTHING, than playful academia.  Who do you think you are?  Take all of your English classes and your grammar classes, learn and use proper Latin and the Dewey Decimal System, that is all important, but do not wag your academic finger at me from your ivory tower of reference books, get to the effing point.  Which, like I said, Foer FINALLY does (seriously, second to last page in the book), ahem:

"It shouldn't be the consumer's responsibility to figure out what's cruel and what's kind, what's environmentally destructive and what's sustainable.  Cruel and destructive food products should be illegal.  We don't need the option of buying children's toys made with lead paint, or aerosols with chlorofluorocarbons, or medicines with unlabeled side effects.  And we don't need the option of buying factory-farmed animals."

As Foer mentions, it really SHOULDN'T be the consumer's responsibility, I know how crazy my aunt and uncle (farmers) think I am to even worry about this stuff, and I admit, it's exhausting to go into a grocery store and put on my Terminator laser eye beam and scan and scowl at the food being offered.  Do we elect these government agencies to protect our food and drugs?  Are they appointed?  Is it more of a quorum really?  See, I'm not being preachy, I don't know that much, I cheated off of Wilson McDowell (so dreamy) in government class, though I did really like the teacher and felt a little bad about it.

This band is making every effort to eschew factory farmed meat, at home and at restaurants.  Although if Poni has to eat a chunk off of a live factory farmed cow that just happens to be walking by, she will, she is a bloodthirsty monster chupacabra and I have no control over her.  Although evidently we can eat at Chipotle?  Google that, see if I'm right, I think I read something about that.

The sentient beings argument is for another time.  Don't ask me "If not now, Coco, when?" you thoughtful, intelligent, ethically responsible vegetarians and vegans!  I don't KNOW when, okay??  I'll pull my aunt's Judeo-Christian standby about man in God's image, or else the Darwin that fits my meat-eating agenda, or else published studies on brain evolution in tandem with meat consumption!  And don't think it stops with the meat, there need to be judicious, legally enforced practices of safe, responsible farming in all aspects of the agrarian world, from taking care of the people who pick your oranges to demanding transparency as to where all that corn is going and why.

And yes, there ARE other things to worry about.  For instance, the stir fry I just made came out all one color because I forgot to pick up greens at the Turnip Truck.  Aha!  My parsley plant is still alive, you'll get greened up yet stir fry!

Forensic Files,

Coco

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores Sept. 29, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in our new print issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Another creepy bloggy story... remove all pets from the room before reading... and happy Halloween, from the Ettes!

By Coco Hames

I'm raising my kids on a farm.  My kids will be John the Savage.  I'm going to make them chop wood.  If I am unable to completely block the crazy world from impacting my smart, sensitive kids know this: I am a big proponent for after school activities, if I ever have kids, I'm going to make them do something.  Sports, piano, woodworking, whatever.  Something mentally and physically involved from about 3pm to 6pm.  Then you come home and eat dinner with the family and go do your homework.  You can go out Friday or Saturday night, not both.  Until you are 17.  Your curfew increases in increments of 30 minutes every year.  When you are a freshman it's 10:30, sophomore 11, junior 11:30 and senior midnight.  Nothing good happens after midnight, not for you, future imaginary teenager of mine.  I know you're an angsty, self-absorbed teenager and you think I don't know anything, but you need these restrictions, trust me, because for the brief couple of weeks my freshman year of high  school I got up to SO much no good.  Breaking into construction sites, smokin' cigarettes, stealing road signs, tying boys' bikes up into trees, taking out all of your parents ski clothes and putting them out on the lawn, dyeing cats...

One boring afternoon my friend Jennifer and I decided it would be a good idea to dye her black cat blonde.  We walked up to the drugstore, purchased some blonde hair dye, and just to be safe, called the helpline on the back of the box, since there weren't any instructions for coloring cat hair, and we sagely figured there were probably some differences worth considering.

"L'Oreal helpline, this is Debbie, how may I help you?"

"Oh hi Debbie, I just have some questions about the Excellence Creme hair color."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Well, it doesn't say anything on here about cat hair, and I'm wondering if it's safe or not safe, or if it's going to have the same effect, you know, as what's on the box, 'cause it's different hair?"

Once she understood what I was planning to do, she's all "Oh no no, I do not advise using this product on a cat, no no, that's not what this is for..."  But she was boring me and we did it anyway and that cat was very unhappy, probably because the color came out WAY brassy.

Shhh, I don't ADVISE this, I'm just saying it happened and the cat was FINE, he just looked a bit strange for a while... Well anyway.

Then we found a baby squirrel, named him Kirby (like the video game) and trained him up, carried him around in our shirts.  Then I was forced to join a sports, so I did.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop y'alll.

PS - Officially: no one pays me for my creepy bloggy stories.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores Sept. 29, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in our new print issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

The Ettes Present Their Touring-Band Food Tips: How would you feel about bathing in some baked beans? You'd feel really good about it, that's how you'd feel...

By Coco Hames

Part of the justification for living in a van -- with three other people and one-to-two dogs, constantly driving around the country, not doing laundry or sleeping -- is 1) we get to play rock shows, and 2) we get to eat exciting, awesome regional treats! 

The best Chinese food in the country is in New York, though Poni and Jem assure me the New York Chinese diaspora has created a good pocket of Chinese food in south Florida.  New York DOES have the best pizza (and bagels, they say it's the water), and do not even try to engage me comparing Chicago deep dish with New York pizza: there is no comparison.  Like what you like but don't compare apples to oranges; they ain't the same fruit.  Same goes for California-style fancy pants thin crust gourmet pizza with figs and prosciutto; give me a break.  That is delicious but it's not the same species as a wonderful, perfect, regular old slice of New York cheese pizza.  You may only compare pizza slices within New York City and Brooklyn.  Thanks. 

We get cheese steaks in Philly, and most people will tell you (if you ask them whether Pat's or Gino's is the best) whichever has the shortest line at the time you go is your best bet.  That's good advice.  Philly cheese steaks are hard to mess up, long as they gots the gooey cheese and onions ("whiz with") and you also should use the granular hot sauce and chuck on some chilies!  Also I hear Tony Luke's is good.  But Italian beef in Chicago is a whole new world.  Get it dipped (in au jus) and with peppers (spicy or sweet, it's up to you) and you cannot go wrong. 

Seafood is always best nearest its home, and we've had memorably killer seafood in Rhode Island, California, Louisiana, South Carolina, Maine and Florida.  I'm partial to Floridian seafood, especially the kind you can get at J.B.'s Fish Camp in New Smyrna.  You sit outside (it doesn't matter how hot it is, you're on the intercoastal) and drink cheap beer and eat oysters they harvest on the side of the dock and watch dolphins cavort in the water. 

Nashville has meat-and-threes, which means a meat (roast beef?) and three sides (mac and cheese, collard greens, black eyed peas, green beans, mashed potatoes, etc.) but I usually get a meat-and-one because my eyes are way bigger than my stomach.  And you get you some sweet tea.  At Arnold's. 

In St. Louis they have a special creepy pizza, which we call the ketchup gravy pizza, but evidently they mean to make it like that and we're supposed to like it, and we kind of always do.  Johnny likes ribs (who doesn't?) but the rest of the Ettes are divided on their favorite barbeque style.  Poni and I prefer North Carolina barbeque, in which you will find a vinegar-based bbq sauce (other common ingredients often include ketchup, onion powder, garlic, and sometimes grape soda!) but Jem likes Memphis-style, specifically Payne's (suggested to us by Greg Cartwright) where you will find coleslaw on the sandwich and no decipherable sauce, which purists insist puts emphasis where it belongs: on the meat. 

Green chiles (they're not hot) in Arizona and New Mexico find their way into everything, and even though clever Trader Joe's sells them canned now, you can't beat them fresh.  All the chiles down around them parts, mmmm.  The Mexican diaspora in this country over the last ten years or so is indeed extensive, and so, so welcome.  Mexican food is so good.  You would assume Boise has potatoes, but how would you feel about local potato vodka and a potato burrito?  You'd feel really good about it, that's how you'd feel.  In your mouth. Texas is #1 for breakfast tacos and its own style of barbeque, but Austin just wins all around for best city in general, food included. 

We used to be very serious about the best Mexican food being in LA (not, as you might think, in El Paso, a city that is a stone's throw from Ciudad Juarez, Mexico) though San Francisco's taquerias (not the same thing as a Mexican restaurant) are pretty much the bomb.  Seattle has a real gift for rock-and-roll diner food (Hattie Hat's), as does Atlanta (the Earl).  Every city needs a rock-and-roll diner. 

A rock-and-roll diner is a place that typically features a highly tattooed kitchen and wait staff, and should be run by an ex-touring musician or skater.  The decor is casual and kitschy, there should be skulls and motorcycle stuff everywhere, there should be good local beer on draft, and the food should be structured as American comfort food (burgers, tater tots, meatloaf, fried chicken, etc.) but done in an inspired new (and usually more healthful) way.  More of these!  Everywhere! 

I'm obviously not mentioning everywhere we've ever gone or want to go (and eat), I'm just excited that we're headed to Wisconsin and Poni and I are looking for cheese, and Jem says he heard of a good local beer, yessssss!

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores Sept. 29, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in our new print issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Kings Of Pain: Running afoul of der Golem and der Kings of Leon's psycho handlers, with your friendly, neighborhood Ettes. Whose frontwoman, of course, is actually... SATAN!

By Coco Hames

I have never had much luck with authority figures.  Anyone can tell you.  Whether it's my first grade teacher or the man checking my passport at the Swiss border: they just don't like my face.  I'm aware of it going in, and I try to compose myself, but it's very frustrating, and sometimes I blow my stack.  Once, at an airport in Berlin, the ticket agent didn't like my face.  He looked at our previously-approved gear and said, casually, just because he felt like it, "That will be 300 Euros."  It was really early in the morning and I was hungover, which works to my advantage sometimes, because I'm too tired and nauseous to fight.  But it didn't cost 300 Euros and anyway, I didn't have 300 Euros.  And I informed him of as much.  Well, one thing led to another, which led to me kneeling on the concrete floor, tearing apart all of our luggage, screaming about fascism as police officers closed in on me.

 
The point is, I have a real, visceral problem with people who abuse their authority.  I understand the need for order, I sympathize with the necessity of certain social constructs, I respect the people who help maintain the structure of our seemingly functional matrix, I wave at crossing guards, I do.  What I cannot accept is the wicked impulse that invariably takes hold of a person in a position of authority.  Whether it is a temporary glitch, corrected as soon as the person realizes their folly (like Boromir handing it over in Lord of the Rings) or a cognizant, ongoing, coked out desire to gain and abuse power... either way, it's bad news. 

And I'm not sure which form took hold of the manager of the Kings of Leon while the Ettes were on tour with the band earlier this year in Copenhagen, but it Really.  Was.  Something.

 
Backstage at our first show together, everyone was very nice and spirits were high: the King boys had just won a Grammy, and were soon to attend the Brit Awards, for which they all (correctly) had great expectations.  Everyone was in a good mood, everyone was nice.  I'd noticed the red plastic football helmet fastened to the drummer's kit and asked, "Who's the Sooner?"  They said they all were.  Gulp, right?  (I'm a Gator, the Florida Gators beat the Oklahoma Sooners last year in the National Championship, and the band had even attended the game, owitch!)  But no, everyone was friendly and we got off to a great start.  The show was sold out and we had a blast, and afterward, the boys invited us out for drinks.

 
This was all very pleasant; it was really fun to be at a posh hotel bar in Denmark chatting about pleasant things like where we go to drink in Nashville, where we all live.  The juxtaposition of a 6,000 capacity sold out show and chit-chat about local traffic amuses me to no end, truly.  It's what I love most about what I do, the absurdity, I just love the absurd.  Roald Dahl, Hunter S. Thompson, Dali, politics, names of crayon colors, you name it.

 
Now, either we got too close too fast and their manager didn't like it, or they actually did think we stole that bottle of champagne, but something happened.  Everything was fine, everyone was drinking and talking and having a nice time.  Caleb asked if I wanted any champagne, since the label had sent over four bottles in congratulations to the four boys for their Grammy.  I demurred, since I actually don't care for champagne, but he left the bottle all the same.

 
Presently, the boys departed, and by the time we were heading out of the bar, a British friend asked about the bottle.  Oh, I said.  That was theirs, from the label.  I waved my hand dismissively, as if to say, take it if you want.  Poni went to the restroom, I stepped outside with a couple friends to get them a taxi, and as I was headed back to the bar, I saw Poni in full run with fury on her face.  I looked to where she was going, and there were Jem, our British friend, and a couple of guys I didn't know, in full brawl.  One of the strangers threw my British friend up against the wall.  Not okay.

 
I remember yelling, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" as I ran into the melee, prising bodies apart alongside Poni.  The strangers were yelling, howling, at Jem, "You know what you did!  Now you're going to get a kicking!"  Jem looked bewildered, and Poni and I were foaming mad; as Poe says, no one insults me [or my band] with impunity.  I can imagine, it must be really annoying to have two tiny girls fly up into your face, spitting and cursing, and this is in public, mind you, so I'm sure we weren't afraid of much.  These guys looked at us imperious, slackjawed, like they could not believe we had the audacity to yell what we were yelling (which was remarkably colorful, to say the very least).  One of them sneered derisively, "First night of tour, good job."  Poni tossed them a final comment (she can be so inspired sometimes) and we gathered our friends and left the bar.

 
Once outside, we got the lowdown:  Our British friend had taken the forsaken bottle of champagne and was walking out with it, when two guys blew raging into his face.  Our friend said, oh, I didn't think it was a big deal, and put the bottle down.  But these men said, no, he'd already taken it, the damage was already done.  Our friend, being British (and did I mention, a rocker?) said with charm, "Okay, fuck off then."  And I believe that began the rustle Poni and I fell upon a few minutes later.

 
"Who the hell were they, though?  What did they care?" I asked, totally hassled.  We were standing outside the hotel, smoking and waiting for a taxi.  Jem said, "They said they were the Kings of Leon's management."  I widened my eyes and laughed, "Yeah, right!  What a bunch of psychos, no manager would behave like that, you'd get arrested with shit like that in the States, what a bunch of lying weirdos, God!"  This incredulous laughter and bashing of the pugalistic lunatics we'd left upstairs continued until our taxi arrived and took us to our hotel.

 
The next day in the van, we had chalked it up as just another night and forgotten about it, when we got a phone call from our booking agent.  He asked to speak to me.  I said, oh hello!  He said, "What is this about a bottle of champagne?"  My jaw dropped.  I started laughing, and asked "Why?"  Our booker then proceeded to read me an e-mail the Kings of Leon's manager and tour manager had written to him, evidently just after the incident, which had occurred around 4am.  The post-incident ranting (chock full of insults and interesting theories) against the dubious character of these strange men?  Oh, that took place conveniently right under their hotel room window.  Sound travels so clearly in the cold Copenhagen night air... Certainly I won't make any criminal accusations, but gosh, I wish I was able to stay up all night after an international flight and a very busy concert, you know, starting fistfights, spying on people and furiously typing scathing (and untrue) tattletales, you know, without having employed any egomaniacally rage-inducing powdery chemical enhancement...

(pictured above: Kings of Leon w/tour crew and management, circa 2009)

 
So.  We were in big trouble.  It is indeed a marvel that we weren't kicked off the tour right then and there, I suppose.  It seems someone stood up for us, though I still don't know the magnanimous who.  But as the wheel turns, neither were these men to be insulted with impunity, and it was time to take our medicine. 

 
They took away our rider.  They took away our guest list.  They took away our sound check.  No one was allowed to speak to us, and no one did.  Gone was the cajoling, open and energetic atmosphere of the first night, replaced by drone-solemn performance of duties and many tightly closed doors.  It was of course a bit embarrassing, and a bit of a hassle, but what could we do?  We stood by what we did, and we'd do it again.  All Poni and I saw were guys going after our friend and bass player.  Any such action would spur us to the same equal and opposite reaction, anytime, anywhere, no matter who you think you are, or who you work for.

 
If they didn't know then, they know now, that we are a punk band; as used to smuggling booze as a bootlegger; as accustomed to solitude as monks; as comfortable as, well, a punk band, to not having sound check.  Infuriatingly to the management, of course, their punishments made no impact.  And it was of course only our pleasure to display it.  We played by all the rules, kicked ass at every show, and got the crowds crazy amped.  The management avoided us like the plague, and we saw neither hide nor hair of them for most of the tour.  Our punishment was finally lifted in Paris, where it was clearly in the air what had happened, but everyone was kind of over it.  We played ping pong with the boys (don't let Jem's long pants fool you, bit of trivia: he went to the Junior Olympics for table tennis) and talked about Michael Pollan, dismemberment, the Beatles.  We walked into the tour manager's office and he so generously welcomed us: "Hello, sober people!" and we hugged and laughed.  Oh you silly, we are never sober...

  
Thus far, nothing has been mentioned of this incident, and I've wondered whether I should put it out there.  Should it just go undocumented?  Should I just keep quiet and resume lurking in the shadows, pretending it didn't happen?  Should I keep my head down, yes sir, no sir, what do I do, sir, where do I go sir, what do I say?  It would be par for the course with my polite southern upbringing, not wanting to cause a fuss.  It is expected that I would keep quiet. 

Because, you know, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world I didn't exist.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power hits stores Sept. 29, and you bet we're gonna have a big feature on the band in our next issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

This is your brain on compassion. Any questions? (PS - support your local animal shelter.)

By Coco Hames

Since I spend a great deal of time out on the road, I am able to report with some accuracy the general and nebulous state of the nation.  I see it in the daylight, the nighttime, uptown, downtown, outskirts, above ground, underground, the denial, fury and/or apathy in hoity toity wine bars and the denial, fury and/or apathy of the griping dives.  And right now, what I can definitely say, is something most people already know: it's pretty rough out there.  Jobs are really hard to come by and, if you're fortunate enough to have one, your money is tight tight tight.  The need to save (instead of spend) shows up in lots of ways, and it doesn't just affect us human people.  In the past six months, I've seen an absolutely unprecedented amount of stray animals on the roads, and I don't just mean back alleys and city streets.  I mean packs of emaciated, mangy dogs trotting aimlessly and insanely through the medians of highways.  And I'm pretty sure we all know what the odds are for those dogs.

My mom said she read an article recently that the financial crunch is just so strong that, among other things, people are having to get rid of their dogs.  And while I am not in the mood to preach the "if you can't afford/take care of a dog, don't effing get one" sermon, I am in the mood to remind you -- if you are so inclined -- to visit your local shelter.

When I was in college my roommate Kiki and I used to foster dogs from the local kill shelter until we could find them a home.  We were the pain-in-the-ass bleeding heart dog savers, and yes, we were very annoying.  Especially to our other four roommates.  But I am glad for what we did, because when a dog has been at a kill shelter for too long, they euthanize them.  That's the way it is.  And while no-kill shelters are a nice idea, the fact is many of the dogs they get are sick, infirm, badly behaved and extremely unlikely to find what we in the biz cloyingly call "a forever home". 

Once, I made the mistake of visiting the Gainesville shelter without intent (you need to have a plan or you WILL go home either extremely upset or with a dog, and FYI the two states of mind are not mutually exclusive) and saw a little crazy guy (he looked like part terrier/part-squirrel) and noticed his euthanization date was the next day.  I didn't really have a choice.  So I took Jarvis home, and while he got along with my other dog, he was totally crazy.  I won't go into details.  He was just crazy.  But I cared for him and he even moved with me to New York.  That pushed him over the edge, all of the people and smells and sounds.  Jarvis was very unhappy and I didn't know what to do; I just knew I couldn't take him back to a shelter.

So I did some research and found petfinder.org.  If you are ever in search of a furry friend, I recommend it highly.  It's a free service that helps list the available rescue animals in your area.  I wrote a clear little bio of Jarvis and put up some pictures, and within a week, a nice lady called me from Maryland explaining her situation.  That their family dog had just passed away, their children were grown, and it was just her, her husband and some horses on a farm outside of DC.  We arranged for Jarvis to have a "visit" for a weekend, and he was so happy.  I still get e-mails from this lady, about every year, updating me on what a blessing Jarvis is and how happy they all are together.  Sometimes she sends me pictures.  Sometimes he's wearing a sweater.

The point is, I had shown petfinder.org to a friend here in Nashville who is beginning her search for a dog.  And I was looking at the available rescue dogs at our local shelters, when I came across a picture.  And yes, I am a sucker, okay?  Just put it out there, yes, Coco is a sucker and a major sucker for matted, emaciated, forgotten bag-o'-bones dogs, okay??  I drove down there and said, you, sad matted stray, you're coming with me.  She was all bones and butchered hair, what was left of her hair was matted and she had a sinus infection.  I'm happy to report that a week later, she's all juiced up on her shots, the sinus infection is nearly gone, and she is as sweet as can be.  She's really funny, really smart, and that is that.  Here's a picture of Lenore.

But Coco, you say, I have allergies/spacial issues/a really nice couch/a cat; I need a special kind of dog, I can't just go to a SHELTER.  To you I say, I am a major snob and have a purebred dog because I had excuses too (lifelong major allergies, fo realz) but if you do your research and know what you are looking for, you WILL find an animal in your area that meets your needs.  I gots needs!  There are of course a lot of things to consider, but if you make a checklist and give it time, you will find a friend you can rescue from a sad fate or situation, while filling your pet needs and enriching your life (BOTH of your lives) immensely.  You can have your cake and eat it too, I promise.

That's all.  Just a reminder.  If you like animals, and you figure you might want one in your life, don't forget your local kill shelter, or your local fostering and adopting facilities.  Petfinder.org, y'all.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power hits stores Sept. 29, and you bet we're gonna have a big feature on the band in our next issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Garlic and mustard and linens and face creams - these are a few of my favorite things...

By Coco Hames

My friend always sends those quizzes around, you know the ones where it's a bunch of questions about you?  Whenever I've worked in offices, and been stuck at a computer, they're really fun to fill out.  You know, stuff like...

When's your birthday? May 4 (same as Audrey Hepburn and Julian Barratt).

What's your favorite color? Black or white or grey or a combo.

What's your favorite place?  Either the south of France or western North Carolina.

Who would play you in a movie? Alan Rickman or Jeanne Moreau.

Favorite sport? SEC football, but that's about it.

What word or phrase do you overuse?  I say "Oh..." when I don't want to answer something, in a scornful but playful way, like my Grandma Max did, which she may or may not have gotten from Agnes Moorehead in The Magnificent Ambersons.

Beach or mountains? Mountains.

Dogs or cats? DOGS.  Goddamnit I hate cats.

On and on it goes.  But they never give me enough room.

I like all-white linens because they are aesthetically pleasing (in that they are not aesthetically disturbing) and because you can bleach them.  Only partially because color towels look gross and it's gross to get pilly little red or black balls in your armpits after you've just taken a shower.  All-white linens are good for lots of reasons.  I've been known to fall asleep with a glass of red wine in my hand.  Bleached that right out.  No one's the wiser.  I've been in bed with someone who scratched a bug bite on their leg WITH THEIR TOENAIL and sliced it open, bled everywhere.  Bleach!  Also bleach just makes things SEEM cleaner, smells all bleachy.  Bleachy clean.

A good gift for me would be a seltzer maker because I drink a lot of seltzer water.  They have some Swiss machine at Williams-Sonoma that makes seltzer.  FYI - Christmas is coming eventually and all I'm saying is, it'd be a nice gift for me.

I love books and spend all of my money on them.  If you gave me $1,000 right now, I'd go directly to Amazon and buy all the books I want.  I love books and expensive cosmetics.  I don't see anything wrong with that.  I like things to feel luxurious, if I ever am able.  Just things.  Like the fabric on a sofa or clean hardwood floors underfoot.  I like high thread count sheets and exorbitantly priced face creams, but I wear clothes until they fall off my body and haven't gotten a professional haircut in like five years.  When I used to wear extensions.  Those were the days!  Actually I can't have hair touching my neck, it freaks me out.  I shaved my head in high school and pulled out all of my eyebrows and eyelashes.  

I compulsively touch my face when I'm talking, which I imagine is annoying to look at.  I hate things that taste sweet or smell sweet.  I don't like candy or ice cream.  I came around to ice cream briefly in Devon (of the famed Devonshire cream) where I had the most freakishly delicious fresh strawberry ice cream.  On the beach, in winter.  Nothing is more civilized than walking on the beach in winter.  Anyway, I'm lactose intolerant so anything with milk is just not going to work for me.

I like red wine very much, and believe I'm one of those "New World" people who like wines from California and South America better than wines from Spain or France.  But I do like Italian wine.  And you know what, sometimes I just like any old red wine, because I like tannins.  I like vodka because it tastes clean; I do not like rum or tequila or anything like that, retch.  My dad likes Scotch, which I do not like.  I like Irish whiskey, but only now and then.  My friend Christian gave me Irish whiskey in London in the middle of a party because that's what he was drinking, and I really liked it.  But it borders on too sweet for me, so I water it down a bit and take it on ice.

I didn't like ketchup when I was little, which doesn't make any sense, because ketchup is awesome, but maybe it had to do with the fact that ketchup has a surprising amount of sugar in it, and I don't like sugar.  I LOVE yellow mustard, probably one of my top five favorite things in the world.  Fancy candles, dogs, books, lemons, yellow mustard, those are my top five favorite things in the world.  I also love spicy food, especially vinegary spicy food, like hot sauces and things like that.  I like chiles; I grow some right now on my stoop.  I like many herbs, but not cilantro because one time in Gainesville someone put too much cilantro in the salsa and that was it, it was OVER for you, cilantro!

I like some movies but I hate horror movies because they give me nightmares.  I can be persuaded to watch a horror movie from time to time, but I will never, ever forget it.  I never, ever forget anything.  The difference in the color of several leaves I saw while driving in Georgia fifteen years ago, I will never forget that.  I don't like to think it's useless but sometimes it feels useless.  I get very upset if people talk in a movie theater.  I went to see Harry Potter and four stupid girls sat in front of me chatting away like it was hen's night at Applebees and I even said, "Shh!" TWICE!  But they didn't shush, and then the guy next to me started texting and his phone was SO BRIGHT, so I just started crying.

And it is not that I don't like coffee, it's just that you seem to have to do so much to it to make it palatable, so probably you shouldn't drink it?  I don't know, I mean because of the lactose thing, I HAVE to take my coffee black (unless there's soy, but a creepy actress in LA told me that it makes you gain weight in your womanly parts because it has something in it that mimics estrogen, but taste-wise soy's never strong as milk anyway) and so my only recourse is to add sugar?  Gross.  I like tea okay.  Yorkshire Red tea with soy milk.  But then again with the estrogen.

Anyone who shares a bed with me has to have their own blanket.  My body temperature is at a constant 105 degrees and I simply cannot stand to have that raised at any point.  Not while watching television, not while napping, and definitely not during a full night's sleep.  I don't like to touch very much at all.  I have a synapse misfiring or a general subconscious misunderstanding of what touching means, sometimes it feels like we're dating, and that is super confusing.  I am not good at holding hands, especially with friends.  Or linking arms or hugging or doing any of the things girls do together.  It freaks me out.

If you take your clothes to the cleaners and get them pressed, they look brand new.  Fear birds because they can make tools; they even use the bones of other animals - such as cuttlefish - to sharpen their beaks.  Every time you slice a piece of garlic, it breaks a cell wall in the structure of the garlic, which releases the enzyme that tastes so garlicky.  This is why garlic is milder sliced than whipped up in a food processor.  This is why you really only need one clove of garlic when you're making pesto, but you need to chop up a lot to make a pasta sauce, which is what I'm going to do right now.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power hits stores Sept. 29, and you bet we're gonna have a big feature on the band in our next issue. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates - a tour kicks off this week, in fact, on August 13.

Photo of the Ettes: Heidi Ross

Hungover and shoppin' in  Disneyland with Thoroughly Modern Minnie.

By Coco Hames

I don't know how I could get so drunk sipping wine with civilized adults at Jem's dad's 60th birthday party in California.  Everything is fine, I am behaving and engaging in fine, normal conversation with the elderly, and then, bam.  Black-out drunk.  I woke up on the couch.  Not where I belong.  I am hungry, but all I can do is scowl at the refrigerator, and think vaguely of fish tacos.  I had some Sprite and am now fadoodling around the Internet, Googling Macau, and pretend shopping.

Pretendshopping is going on fancy websites and selecting everything I think should be in my wardrobe.  If I had a wardrobe, that is, and not a battered rolling suitcase which acts ascloset, medicine cabinet, library and general store (Oxford commas... I don't use them, I don't think).  One time I so thoroughly pretend shopped that the total was $22,000.  It was a lot of stuff, but stuff I'd use.  Really good boots, high quality sweaters, etc.  And then, you know, a puce Alexander McQueen ball gown fashioned entirely out of feathers.  

I do not enjoy shopping, as in regular-style shopping, as in going to the mall or trying on clothes.  I get VERY tired, very quickly.  I am far too sensitive for shopping.  All the marketing ads, the colors, the shapes, the chaos.  Pass.  I do my shopping safely from my computer.  And then, bonus, stuff arrives in the mail for me!  Christmas! 

There is a song that always pops into my head when I must consider replacing worn out sailor shirts and ripped up jeans.  I'm pretty sure the song is called "Shoppin'" but I'll have to look it up.  It's from 1987's Totally Minnie, a piece I remember being a television special?  Not a movie, not a series, just a one-off Disney thing?  I guess it's pretty obscure, but I think I remember owning a VHS copy of it?  Or one that we'd taped from TV?  Here's what I remember: the main character is the lead nerd guy from Revenge of the Nerds, Susanne Somers is involved, and Elton John does "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" with an animated Minnie Mouse.

Here is how Totally Minnie writer Joie Albrecht describes it on imdb.com:

"This live action film features a Nerd who, in desperation, goes to the "Minnie Mouse Center for the totally un-hip". There he learns how to dress, dance, and most importantly - be himself. The film features an original music video with Minnie Mouse, in new animation, integrated into live action footage with Elton John singing "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart."

Anyway, the number that goes down in "Shoppin'" (which I'm watching on YouTube right now) is exactly how I feel if I ever have to go shopping.  Insane.  Stuff and stuff and crazy girls going crazy everywhere.  And the song, by the way, makes no sense to me.  It didn't in 1987, and it doesn't now.  Not lyrically, not musically, not structurally, no way, no how.  "Shoppin'" helped me learn how to shop like "Donald in Mathmagicland" helped me learn math.  In that, it didn't.  At all.

Interesting piece of trivia: It was during the recording session of this special that Wayne Allwine (Mickey's official voice since 1983) met his wife, Russi Taylor (Minnie's official voice since 1985).  That's cute and you know it.  Aw, Wayne Allwine passed away just recently, in May.  R.I.P. and sincere condolences to Russi.  Oh my God, Russi and I have the same birthday!  And Wayne's is the same as my mom's!

Now I'm just clicking on everyone who was in Totally Minnie.  People are so weird.  People, not me.  This is a perfectly acceptable way to fight a hangover, a completely reasonable expenditure of my time.

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose album Look At Life Again Soon and EP, Danger Is, were released by Take Root. Their new Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power hits stores Sept. 29, and you bet we're gonna have a big feature on the band in our next issue!

Not exactly an Ozzie & Harriet childhood...

By Coco Hames

Ricky Nelson's creamy version of Gene Pitney's "Hello Mary Lou" was one of my mom's lunchbox 45s, and that worn little case took up residence next to the bunk bed I shared with my little sister for a good portion of the '80s.  Tom Jones' "What's New, Pussycat?" and a gospel "One More River To Cross" were in there, too.  But I digress.

I liked Ricky Nelson's songs with the same ambivalent tolerance in the way I liked Davy Jones' slow numbers: inoffensive, playful singalongs.  Children like these things.  So when my older sister told me that Ricky Nelson had twin boys, and they had a pop song out, you can imagine how excited I was!  Then she showed me a picture of them, and I was just flat out confused.  I believe we all remember Matthew and Gunnar.  Gunnar.  However, this family name obviously carried some weight in the world, so when I was desperate for a parakeet, and my parents finally relented, I named him Nelson. 

Nelson was a bird.  And I have a long history with birds, and not a good one.  Basically they like to die in my hands.  Just last summer, whilst repairing my parents' porch after a Nor'easter tore through some of the screens and chucked patio furniture willy nilly, I lifted an overturned chair to find a little hummingbird, sitting very still.  He had to have been trapped under there for several days.  I didn't know what to do, or how to help him.  I picked him up and tried to take him outside, and his little heart was beating so fast in my hand, it was not a good sign.  I think he had a heart attack?  Well anyway, he died and I buried him and gave him a little grave marker from a potted plant.

And another time, we ALL heard the chirping in the fireplace, it was quite clear that a bird had her nest up in there somewhere, and the eggs had now hatched.  And I said, "Mom, you'd better take care of that."  And she said, "I know, I know."  But when we came back from tour a few weeks later, my parents were out of town, so Poni and Jem and I walked our luggage into the living room, exhausted, only to find DEAD BIRDS EVERYWHERE.  And if they weren't dead yet, they were SCREAMING.  And then WE were screaming!  And we had to get a GARBAGE BAG and pick them all up, and then the mama bird hid out in the upstairs bathroom for a day and spooked Jem big time!

One tried to live.  But he didn't have eyes.  Or a beak.  I named him Phoenix and tried to feed him Capri-Sun and saltines, but HE died, TOO!

Anyway, Nelson didn't die, but evidently you're supposed to get parakeet's wings clipped every so often, so that they don't fly away, and I think we were remiss in this maintenance activity, because one day, I was walking around the house with Nelson perched on my index finger (as I often had him do, because I love that scene in Disney's Sleeping Beauty, "I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream...") and all of a sudden, he immediately flew up into the air (he wasn't supposed to be able to fly, you see) and into the bathroom!  I chased after him, but he was so high up there, so I climbed onto the counter-top to try and reach him, but right as I got him in my hand, one of my feet went into the sink and I tripped, smashing Nelson against the mirror! 

He did NOT die, but we had to built a splint for one of his birdie legs out of a toothpick and medical tape, and then my mom gave him to our babysitter, because I obviously couldn't take care of him.

I also had a pig named Elvis Pigsley. 

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single. They recently completed recording sessions for their third full-length with Greg Cartwright (Reigning Sound) producing. Look for a release this fall.

In which our heroine goes through the looking glass...

I GAVE ALL MY DRINK TICKETS TO BATMAN!

On New Year's Day, I said to Jem
"I won't get out of bed,
Unless you find a video,
a story I once read.
Animated, and with sound,
specific length of time."
For I could not be bothered
To rise without this rhyme.
(Poni would not wake off the floor,
common from time to time)

The Walrus and the Carpenter
was what I did require
as staying in my bed all day
was then my chief desire.

"What is it called?" asked Jem, annoyed,
and eager for his lunch.
"As for the lines of this fair tale," said I
"There are a bunch."
"Silence, get up, you drunk!" Jem cried,
Unwilling to play games
But there I lay undaunted
And offered him two names

"Cabbages and kings!" I called
"See now what you can find!
Neither pics nor text will do!"
(I'd had the film in mind)

Resourceful Jem (what's wrong with him?)
Immediately found
A clip from Disney's Alice
(In Wonderland - with sound)
My hopes of lying in all day
All dashed to the ground dead
When Jem cued up the video
And placed it on the bed

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking down the beach
The very clip I had demanded,
there, within my reach

Jem's end of the deal was now done
I had no choice at all
I had to get up and get dressed
Shirt and shoes and shawl
"The time has come," the Coco said,
"To talk of other things.
Of ibuprofen, Diet Coke,
dark sunglasses and swings!"

And while the sea was boiling hot
(and whether I had wings)
Caloo, calay, hangover day!
Of cabbages and kings!
(Or eggs and toasts and sausages,
of grits and onion rings)

It would carry off objects of which it grew fond, and protect them by dropping them into the pond,

coco

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root on April 7 and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single. They are currently ruminating upon their next full-length, but meanwhile, overseas fans can spot ‘em right now on their European tour - dates at the MySpace page.

Life's a drag, er, a gas, when the Ettes are touring Europe...

By Coco Hames

Well, Poni and I stayed up way past our bedtime in Leipzig at a gay bar across the street from our hotel.  Some people think it's amusing, but personally, I feel awful when I exit a bar when the sun is up, it's so disconcerting and no one likes to look back on the night in the light of day.  Well, at least I don't.  This is part of why I tour so much.  I really can't be held responsible.  Also I am a vampire.

The bar was fun, it was one of those with numbered stations and telephones, so if you spotted someone across the bar that struck your fancy, you could pick up the phone and call them for a chat.  The venue we played was a bit square for our taste, so we did what we always do, which is go wandering in search of some like-minded troublemakers.  I mean, I don't know how alike we are, us and drag queens.  But there are some similarities that bind us. 

We dress up and perform, that's one.  We often live on the other side of the clock, and are considered a bit (or a lot, depending on where we're living) strange by the mainstream, which can get lonely, so there's that.  Poni used to be a go-go dancer in Miami, so they can talk about dancing or costumes.  And I remembered, I had a tour revelation once (they're common, lots of sitting time, lots of silence, lots of opportunities to let your mind creep off on its own) that lots of people are another person inside, in their minds. 

In Poni's mind, she is a 7-foot-tall supermodel-cum-fashion designer (non-gender specific, career peaked in the '70s), with a well-appointed studio apartment in the East Village.  She spends her days dashing from meeting to meeting, fueled by New York street coffee, and her nights hopping from gallery to launch party, clinking martini glasses with the who's who of international artists and designers.  Whereas, inside, I am an older, friendly but quite stodgy gay man.

Maybe in his late-'40s, financially established, well-read and generally a private individual, possibly with his party days behind him, possibly he seldom felt inclined to indulge in the wild nights out that his friends were always talking about, the clubs too crowded or the music too loud, maybe.  Maybe he is a professor of literature, or an architect or even a functioning novelist.  Something where he gets a lot of time to himself, where he doesn't have to pretend to be glamorous or sexy or special even.  Just a nice, quiet man, maybe he has a trusty dog (a retriever of some sort, possibly a spaniel) and lives in a small house on a lake, maybe in the mountains of western North Carolina, maybe in upstate New York.  I do know that this man has a secret indulgence, one that his friends chortle about and think is just SO him... he TOTALLY has one of those $2000 hotel-grade Miele linen presses!  In his house!

This is the shit that I spend hours thinking about on drives.  Though I did pick up an English language book on the English language, a linguistic travelogue investigating English dialects.  But I should have thumbed through it a bit more before I bought it, because it was an ENGLISH English linguistic travelogue, and while I realize my English came from the English English, really I am more interested in American English linguistics, because of all of the different languages spoken in America, and how quickly so many different languages and cultures got together and spoke the same language.  Another study for another time, perhaps.

Backstage at a club now in Wolfsburg, Germany, home of the Volkswagen automobile.  We played an in-store today in Braunschweig, which is evidently the enemy town of Wolfsburg, so much so that the promoter threatened to cancel our show HERE if we played THERE.  But we managed to pull it off.  So far.

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root on April 7 and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single. They are currently ruminating upon their next full-length, but meanwhile, overseas fans can spot ‘em right now on their European tour - dates at the MySpace page.

Presbyterian guilt and random ruminating...

By Coco Hames

I can outdrink everyone in the Casbah like Marian in Indiana Jones.  But what does that mean?  What higher level have I reached?  Is this an accomplishment?  Should I be proud?  Sometimes I am proud.  But the resulting hangovers can keep me in bed all day.  All day.  Today, for instance.  All I was able to do was slowly read a pamphlet on cooking classes.  And that's it.  All day.  Because yesterday I got up really early to go to church, a feat I accomplish once every year, usually at a different church in a different city, which invariably results in a night of heavy drinking.

I was raised Presbyterian in the south, and that's pretty good, because I can roll with it.  My best friend was Catholic, and I was fascinated by the differences in our churches and prayers and ceremonies, but I never wanted to go with her to her church, because I thought it was totally creepy.  I hate ceremony.  I hate dressing up and performing creepy rituals, especially with other people.  I've even been married, and made sure that went down with little more than a handshake in front of our parents.  I just really can't be bothered. 

So yesterday, I went to a church in Nashville that was supposedly "cool people church", a term I throw around to represent everything from liberal theological studies in Los Angeles to various Unitarian services around the south.  And I ended up with this really nice group of people at a chapel, shined up with a cold biscuit, prepared for some cool people churchery.  And it started fine, I wasn't too fidgety, even though nowhere in the program did it mention "Christ the Lord is Risen Today", the best Easter hymn ever.  My mom even said yesterday, "I was humming it while I was brushing my teeth this morning!"  But then I noticed that that wasn't the only difference from what I was used to. 

I looked over the program some more.  There were words.  Catholic-y words.  Ceremony-y words.  "Eucharist".  "Communion"... It was about to get real ceremonial, real quick.  So I shuffled out of my pew as quietly as I could (which was not at all quietly, because nothing is quieter than church, and no one is more clumsy and accidentally noisy than me) and totally bailed.  Bailed!  On Easter!  The one day of the year I try to behave and do anything moral and normal! 

But then I went to the zoo, which is way more my kind of church, especially the petting zoo, where I chatted up the keeper on Nubian goats.  They'd be good goats for me.  And then, this sheepie pulled a trick on me.  I was petting this sheep, and he started breathing really heavily and quickly, like he was overheated.  He was of course covered in wool, and it was sunny out.  So I thought, oh no, is he sick?  Should I go find somebody?  And I put my head up to his body and listened.  I heard gurgling.  Loud gurgling.  And of course I knew it right before he did it.  Sheep are ruminants and he was just ruminating, and he burped in my face, it was fuuuuucking gross.

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root on April 7 and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single. They are currently ruminating upon their next full-length, but meanwhile, they  head overseas later this month for a European tour.

[Ettes photo by Heidi Ross]

With friends like these...

By Coco Hames

Some might say I am bossy and controlling.  To those people, I say "duh".  Basically, I just know what I want and I go and get it.  I like to think of these traits as "resourcefulness" and "gumption".  We moved to a new neighborhood when I was two years old, and I found myself in the market for a new best friend.  As it was, I currently employed a best friend, albeit an imaginary one named John Provost.  John Provost was the name of the actor who played Timmy on Lassie.  He was a good friend, and everyone treated him with respect.  But one day, you know, he had to leave, so he hitched up one of those long sticks with a handkerchief (you know, tied up on the end with his travel victuals) and hit the road, so I found I had a vacancy in my limited friend space: anyone can tell you, I can kind of only handle one at any given time.

So my mom had gone over to introduce our family to our new neighbors, and it turned out they had a two-year-old little girl, too.  Mom came home and reported this to me, and so I walked over there and knocked on the door, and a man answered.  I said, "Yes hello, I believe you have a little girl?"  And the man said, "Um yes we do, would you like to meet her?"  And I said, "Yes please, just bring her on down, I'll wait."  Then I knocked over his bike.  Twice.  But eventually a tiny Lebanese/Serbian Catholic mute appeared, and I said to myself, yes, this will work just fine.

Her name was Midge, and we had a great time.  Or I had a great time, and she did a good job and pretending to have a great time.  Yes, I always made her be Ken when we played Barbies.  Yes, I stole her clothes.  Yes, I kept her from doing her chores, therefore getting her grounded.  But we were best friends, and that was that was that.  Until grade school.

Midge went to private Catholic school and I went to the local public school, so while I assumed general social pleasantries were expected whilst AT these separate institutions, it was well understood that the friend position was filled, for both of us, in terms of serious friends stuff, like sleepovers and play dates.  Until one day, when I noticed a strange girl playing with Midge in her front yard.  So I quickly devised a totally plausible excuse for strolling over there (I piled my little sister's dolls into the Radio Flyer) and made my visit.

I said, "Oh hello MELISSA [which was her real name, only to be used in very serious situations, Midge was a family nickname] who is your little FRIEND?"  And Midge said, "Oh that's just blah-blah-blah from school."  And I am not kidding, this girl gave me a REALLY snooty look, I mean REALLY snooty.  And Midge saw it and said to me, trying to change the subject, "So, what are you doing today?"  And I looked at the dolls in the wagon and said, "Oh, I'm just walking my sister's dolls for her, you know, afternoon stroll."  And Midge's little friend goes, "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard, walking your sister's dolls?"  And so, I pounced on her.

I swung that girl around Midge's front yard by the hair on her head, like the Trunchbull in Roald Dahl's Matilda: I shot-put that sassmouth clear over to the mailbox.  And then I left the dolls and scooped up Midge's cat (a little crosseyed Persian named Velvet) and marched home.  There were windows alongside the front door to my house, and both girls came running up to my front door, banging on it and saying "Give back Velvet!!!"  And I held Velvet by the scruff of her neck in front of one of the windows, swayed her gently, and said quietly, "Send her home, Melissa.  Send her home, and I will happily give back Velvet.  Or..."  Then the mafia thumb-drawn-across-the-neck gesture that was very clearly understood.  Midge sent the girl home (who I never did see again) and of course, always true to my word, I gave Velvet back, just as sweet as could be. 

Some might say that is not a story representing a very well-adjusted third grader, but let me ask you this: if I'M the crazy one, why is Midge still voluntarily and actively best friends with me?  Hm?  Stir that into your cup of coffee and just think about THAT.

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root on April 7 and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single this month. They tore it up at the Hold Steady showcase At SXSW in Austin, by the way. The real Austin, not the Sims-world Austin.

...for those who want to be extra-afraid of Coco....

By COCO HAMES

The computer game The Sims was released in the spring of 2000, the same year I left for my first semester at the University of Florida.  I am an unapologetic Luddite, so when I received this game for my birthday, I figured I'd never play it.  How very wrong I was.  Nine years later, it is still the only game on my computer, and I am still involved.  With the original.  I've been told new versions have come on the scene, but they don't interest me, mostly because I can't be bothered to learn new technology.  I barely use a telephone.  These "apps" you speak of intrigue me, but I wouldn't know the first thing about using one.

When I write songs, as I'm currently expected to, as we're working on our third album, I have to have complete privacy.  I have to be completely alone.  So everyone knows, when Coco gets her Sims out and nestles down into bed, she'll be infuriatingly impossible to reach for a day or two, but my time in the Sims k-hole will yield, usually, about two or three new songs.

It's not just that I enjoy building houses, furnishing them, designing landscaping, and controlling everyone's every move.  It's not just that I have all of the original expansion packs, so my Sims are wizards, animals, and movie stars.  There are stories.  There are lives!  There are long running undercurrents of love, loss, frustration, anxiety, and despair.  Sim neighbors gaze upon Sim neighbors and lament never making a move before the mustachioed doctor got married, etc.

One of the most intriguing story lines running through my current Sims world is that of Rome Bidgert.  And yes, part of the fun is naming them.  Rome is a simple, time traveling conduit of magical energy, placed in these modern times, currently in the form of a big black guy with an eye patch.  Luckily, there exists a magical village where the magic-at-heart can get away from all mod cons and go shopping for dragon scales and participate in wizard duels.  It was in this very magical village that Rome heard tell of a strange cat, a stray that had wandered into town and been picked up by -- who else! -- the Sim community's most powerful wizard, Charles Moribund.

Rome made his way to Charles' home and knew, from the very moment he laid eyes on the cat, that it wasn't a cat at all, but the age old time traveling spirit of the legendary witch Minuit!  Rome convinced Charles to cast a spell on the cat, a spell which would restore it to its true form, that of a tall, pale mocha skinned woman.  Charles was reluctant, but cast the spell, and lo and behold, the cat turned into an elegant, bespectacled lady: Minuit!

Initially, Minuit was confused and cagey; she didn't know where she was or who the people were around her.  Rome left Charles' house discouraged, but hopeful that Minuit would return to herself in time.  But Charles -- being the experienced and resourceful Sim wizard that he is -- brewed her a strong potion that inverted her personality, and Minuit instantly remembered who she was!  BUT THEN!  When Rome returned on a visit to check up on her that she recognized the soul of the love of her life, deep behind Rome's eyes, the eyes that had of course instantly recognized his beloved Minuit in the guise of a stray feline.  Um, eye.  Because of the eye patch. . 

So now Rome and Minuit live together in a compound on the edge of the magical forest where they raise children and send them off to magical "military" school one by one to form a dark army in preparation for the battles they know are coming.

Poni says I can't go near the World of Warcraft.

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item-but look out for a new EP, Danger Is, on April 7 (already out digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single this month. They tore it up at the Hold Steady showcase At SXSW in Austin, by the way. The real Austin, not the Sims-world Austin.

Stop her if you've heard the one about John Mayer and the red umbrella before....

By COCO HAMES

Once in New York, at Mercury Lounge, we played a show with our friends the Friggs, and during soundcheck, the engineer goes, "Oh, by the way, John Mayer is doing a secret set after your show."  And we were like, "Why?" And the always friendly engineer said, "He does that sometimes."  So we said, "Okay, well... he'll be saddling up on the butt-end of a raucous punk rock night, but whatever."

It was an awesome show, Debbie Harry was there, Little Steven Van Zandt was there, and we brought our new album to the mean streets of the LES. And I say mean streets because some punk ass teenagers decided to use some Bond-level pneumatic lock exploder to break into the van, but guess what, morons?  If the band is in the venue, PROBABLY so is their gear.  Idiots.

As it goes, I didn't MEAN to heckle John Mayer, but it kind of, like, happened.  I mean, for the most part, I don't really have a problem with him or people like him. They suck and are super boring, but I don't, like, sit around fuming with hatred for them. I just don't listen to their music. I carry on with my struggle-to-get-up-in-the-morning-demons-are-out-to-get-me-trichotillomaniacal-Franzia-soaked-punk-rock life, etc.

But what a douchebag! He just kept telling these boring twatty stories, and I'm like, dude, you are on another planet, no one here has a sailboat, what the hell are you talking about?  What is this? 

Back in my solo country days, a boyfriend once told me not to tell boring twatty stories up on the mic, and while he was a total dick and READ MY DIARY, it's advice I've pretty much adhered to, because I don't know about everybody else, but I don't go see a show to hear your holy boring self-important stories unless you're Bob Dylan. And John Mayer is not Bob Dylan.

So he gurbled into the mic, "Let me give you some advice..." and I couldn't help myself, it just slipped out, I said, "Please don't..." and I was cracking up. I was like, whoops that was loud, that always happens to me, I am always that guy, we should go back downstairs.  And he got totally flustered and was like, "Yeah, well... You're, like, you're a red umbrella in, like, a bunch of black umbrellas..." And this guy behind me shouted, "What does that even mean?"

I was just dying laughing. I was like, we gotta get out of here before I engage with John Mayer, I don't even care! Because you know, if I HAVE to fight someone I will, trouble and I are just good friends, but in general, I'd rather not.  Or I would... I just thought it was so funny!  I'm like, dude, if what you're going for is, like, a red umbrella in a bunch of black umbrellas means I stand out because I'm not like your fans, or anyone else in the room, I mean... you're right?  Thanks for the propers?

Anyway, my friends kept egging me on to keep hassling him, but I -- being super smart and savvy -- said, "Y'alls, I know people like him, and they ALWAYS travel with bodyguards, especially when they go slumming, and I really can't deal with bodyguards." 

So they called me a wimp, but as John Mayer slummed his way out past my merch booth -- big black bodyguards fore and aft -- I still win!

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item-but look out for a new EP, Danger Is, on April 7 (already out digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single this month. And catch ‘em at SXSW, too.

¡Eso Si Que Es!: On Gloria Estefan and wearin' someone else's socks.

By COCO HAMES

Almost Anything for You

When I first moved to LA, I got a job singing backup vocals on karaoke tracks. I'd go into the studio, the guy would tell me which track we were doing, and I'd sing the song.  We'd record one side of me singing all the vocal tracks (lead and backup) and one side of just the backup. When you sing karaoke and some random ghost harmonies come out of nowhere, that's the backup vocal track. 

So one day, we were set to do Gloria Estefan's "Anything For You," and it was completely out of my range. I tried singing it low, and then high, and I just couldn't do it! I didn't want to lose the job, so I kept asking to start over, but the killer part was the "...you know you made me strong!" I absolutely couldn't hit it.

And so, I did lose the job. But next time you're singing karaoke and you hear some prerecorded vocal accompaniment coming in, it could be me, singing along.

Socks

Because we don't have a lot of time or money on the road, and because Poni and I wear almost the same size shoe, we get our socks in bulk. Usually at Target, usually just functional white sports socks. And invariably, when we do laundry, whether at a friend's house or in a hotel bathtub, the socks will get mixed up. Same socks, same amount of usage but, at the same time, we always know when we're wearing the other's socks. 

It's not a good feeling. It's disquieting and disconcerting to know, in your heart of hearts, that the socks you have on are not your socks.

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item-but look out for a new EP, Danger Is, on April 7 (already out digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single this month. And catch ‘em at SXSW, too.

Get Rhythm... and Get the Fuck Out: A long black night of the soul.

By COCO HAMES

I got a scholarship to the University of Florida, a big state university where I felt like a total freak and was so overwhelmed I'd get panic attacks, so I took solace as resident sad sack country singer at a small dive bar near campus. There were never very many people in there, and if there were, they were just the kind of run-of-the-mill creeps you'd find at any north Floridian shithole.

One night, after my set, a guy came up to me and asked if he could buy me a drink. I was 18 and took every opportunity not to have to show my weak fake ID, so I accepted. The guy was small, tiny even, and was on crutches. He had a scraggly beard and a cowboy hat. I figured his age to be somewhere in the early 30s.

 
We sat down, got to drinking, and talked about country music. He said he had an amazing vinyl collection, stuff no one else had, and asked if I'd like to come over and listen to some records. After a few pitchers of beer, that sounded like a great idea. He said I could ride with him, but I'd brought my car and would need to move it anyway, so I said I'd follow behind him.

 
We drove for about 15 minutes, way past the interstate and into what we old Floridians call "a place where nothing good happens." It was beyond rural. I was evenly weirded out by now, just about to turn around and bail, when he signaled and turned into a patch of burnt land with a tiny trailer on it.

For some reason, I turned in behind him.

 
He got out of his rusty truck and assembled his crutches, then led the way into the trailer. I was nearly laughing by this point because I was thinking, this is such a very, very bad idea. But I was kind of stuck now.

To say that the place was a mess would be an idiotic understatement. Save for a sunken-in, cushionless couch, there was no furniture in the main room. The window was broken. There was no kitchen. The floor was littered with beer bottles and newspaper, and a shower curtain hung over a doorframe that evidently led to the bedroom. That just so happened to be where he-and by default, I-was headed.

Sleeveless LPs were strewn about the floor. He produced a small record player and set it among them. I didn't know what to do so I kind of perched on the broken sofa arm. That's when I noticed the hypodermic needles all over the floor and, propped against a rickety shelf opposite the door, a small black handgun.

Before I could react to these discoveries, Johnny Cash's baritone filled the room. I looked over at the guy. He was balancing on one crutch, pointing the other at the spinning, wobbling LP.

 
"Name it."

 
"What?"

 
"Name it-name this song."

 
"Uh... ‘Long Black Veil,' I said.

 
"RIGHT!"

He knocked the arm off the record and picked up another one, setting it on the player. Another Johnny Cash song swelled up, and I was asked to name it, too. This went on for a couple of songs, all Johnny Cash, all songs I knew. I started to notice, every time he'd ask me to name a song, he'd glance at the gun. If I guess wrong, I thought, is he gonna shoot me?

At some point, he ducked into the bedroom to look for more records. I got the fuck out of there.

*****

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes, whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item-but look out for a new EP, "Danager Is," and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single in March 2009. And catch ‘em at SXSW, too.

Incidentally, we had to ask Coco what the hell was up with the photo, above. She advised us that it's of her having just won "the coveted "best performance" award at the punk rock night at the Melody Inn in Indianapolis, one of our favorite sweat boxes!  So proud!" We're proud of ya too, Coco.