Rest in Peace Sweet Baby James

The Godfather of Soul passed on to greener pastures during the wee hours of Christmas day.
Last week I stumbled upon something that I think would make a fitting tribute to our fallen funky brother, but I need everyone's help.
On my way to band practice I discovered that it takes me one play of "The Payback" to get from my front door to Dan and Monica's front door(for those of you that don't know, we practice at their house and Dan is the Sax player).
My point: the world would be a much better place if we ditched our conventional method of timekeeping and described lengths of time using James Brown tunes exclusively. For example: my commute to work this morning took "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)" and "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag" or I took a dump this morning that took three "Pass the Peas" to finish or you can brag to your friends that you had a saucy rendezvous with your best girl that lasted two runs of "Money Won't Change You," "Cold Sweat," "It's A Man's Man's Man's World," and the aptly named "Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine."
As my school motto goes, "Together We Make Great Things Happen," so spread the word.
Make Papa proud.

Twas 8 am on the day after Xmas...

when I discovered that I have a doorbell. Any God-fearing citizen w/ any bit of sense would ring once, maybe twice and realize one of two things: a. the occupants are at work or b. the occupants are trying to sleep an extra hour b/c it's their day off and they're trying to enjoy it. After the fifth or sixth ring I realized that this asshole wasn't going to leave. Turns out they were looking for Joe. When I told them that I wasn't Joe and that a Joe didn't live here they gave me a look of disdainful disappointment like it was my fault that my parents didn't name me Joe. I about slapped them in the forehead w/ my festive yule log but "tis the season" so I just went back to bed.

4 am on Xmas

I woke up not to spread yuletide cheer but to do combat b/c it sounded like someone broke into my house. I'm still not totally sure what it is, but I believe it's isolated to the roof. Maybe St. Nick had a bit too much egg nog and broke his hip on my roof. That's an interesting theory...I'll go with that one...Or maybe it's just smokin hot possum sex in the attic...
Merry Xmas bitches.

So I started my day yesterday with a wicked nosebleed and ended the day in a Hyndai(not my new car, my new rental until Monday). On top of all of that, band practice was cancelled.
Thank God for my weekend.
The Windy City was fuckin awesome. A long brutal drive followed by even more brutal weather. We played at this glorious bar called Cal's. Half of Cal's is a bar and the other half is a convenience store that can sell booze, all conveniently located in the shadows of the Sears Tower. We played to a great crowd w/ some greater bands (many thanks once again to the ladies and gentleman of Mary Tyler Morphine). I'm still having wet dreams about the bass rig that I was blessed enough to play through. I won't get all geeky and specific but the bass rig was almost as tall as me. Glorious...