Good morning, all you non-readers.

I'm sure there's a way to check how many people have read/visited my blog, but as of right now, I'm not too concerned with researching this. Since little to no people read my myspace blog that advertises this human wreckage (sorry, faithful myspace readers, I don't mean to call you 'little'), I'm sure that even my own bandmates have yet to delve into what I will freely call my 'no bullshit' zone. Matter of fact, I think that once people gain knowledge of this detritus and peruse through it, I can accurately predict that I will have no readers. Ah, so it goes - my original intent is preserved. I am still fully content with vomiting my rantings into this semiabsorbent electronic aether that we call the Internet.

Let's take a trip into my life, shall we?

(Note: this may be even less profane than the last blog. Be warned.)

Success! I have created the most perfect child humankind could ever expect! My son Tristan, as the latest example proffered by my wife regarding Wednesday's outing shows, is absolutely immune to the total anarchy that most consider commonplace amongst infants/toddlers/hell, teenagers of this current age! They were enjoying lunch at Target amongst a fairly large group of families with young'uns, and while all the others were wailing and gnashing their teeth (yes, that's a biblical quote), Tristan was content in sitting quietly on Allie's lap as he is wont to do on mine, peacefully eating some pizza and, I'm sure, introspectively ridiculing the chaotic scene around them.

This is a child that lives to, when Mommy opens the door to our bedroom, walk in semi-quietly saying, "da-da? no-fln-be-neh-fuh-da-da? be-na-na-buh-doh-fleh-buh-neh-da-da? DA-DA?" and has the most ecstatic smile on his face when I roll over and greet him in the morning. He loves his mama, but (and I feel very guilty for this), he LOVES his dada. He loves to give the standard open-mouthed baby 'kiss' at random, and is also wont to crawling up on the coffee table so he can scootch over to me in my rocking chair and lay his head on my shoulder. He sits contentedly in my lap, sitting still enough to allow me to make the most difficult drives and lay-up shots on Tiger '09, cackling freely with me when I eagle a hole and silently conceding with me that I have just missed an easy putt. Usually, after the latter happens, he crawls away to read a book for a few minutes to let me silently mouth (and sometimes not-so-silently) the expletives my wife hates so much. Ironically, I try not to say such words as 'shit,' 'fuck,' and 'goddammit' around him, but lately one of the syllables he's adopted into his vocabulary is.....'shit.' I assume no responsibility for this.

Oh, regarding the band. Yes, we did end up having practice on Sunday. Yes, Paolo was somewhat hesitant to give the usual 'homie-hug' dap that I always offer to the boys. Should I blame him? In recent weeks, I took it upon myself to trumpet a 'call to arms' to the rest of focuspoint, seeing as we hadn't practiced in months. Yes, months. Was I delicate in my approach? Absolutely not. Should I have been? No, I don't think so. Did I piss off the other three at some (or several) points? Yes, I did. Did Sunday result in a renewed interest to soldier on?

You bet your fucking ass it did.

We ran through some of the ol' comfortables, then launched into a ten-minute extended outro of Learning Curve, after which we somewhat uncomfortably agreed that that was a fucking JAM, and we killed it. Paolo came to the table with some absolutely funky shit, and we jammed on two new riffs for the remainder of practice. Expect yet another newly-revamped angle in our next release....and just as a teaser, I've been also re-exploring the 'Project O/Lost in the Sound' side that I seem to have lost since I got married. It's funny how hard it is to write bittersweet, sometimes poignant, slowish songs when you haven't had a breakup in five years. I've felt a need (and have had a push to) explore the softer side of my lyrical muse(s) lately. The 'Alright' EP was a great example of how pissed off I can get (for examples, listen to....the whole fucking CD). I even took my own stab at a political song in 'When We Fall,' though I think Paolo's 'We Came Alive' is much better. Towards the end of practice, this phrase was tossed around a lot: "So when are you guys free next weekend?" as was "When can we get together again?" Jeremy threw a great idea out there, that should make some of you faithful salivate: "The next few times we get together, we should ignore our old catalogue. Let's get together like we're a new band, working solely on new shit." I'm paraphrasing, but I am absolutely positive he used 'shit' as a descriptive word. We had been hoping for a new release this last fall, but I'm positive we'll have something, at least in the way of a few-track teaser, by spring '09.

Imagine: Watty and P-loq take your mom out to a nice seafood dinner, then to a Chili Peppers concert, circa 1995, but Five Bolt Main is opening for them. You may not hear the rest of the story, specifically regarding the three of them and a seedy motel room, but for some reason Watty decides to write some mournfully poignant lyrics alluding to either what happened, what should have happened, or what might have been, and P-loq brings the funk like that's what really went down.

There's an idea.

Ok, I gotta get to sleep, Allie bought the new Batman movie and we were supposed to watch it tonight, so I'm hoping to compromise and get up early enough to watch it before (and maybe even after) work. Bye.