(for all the free lagoon tunes you can possibly digest and not get sick on: www.lagoononline.com)
Before I get down to the normal band news I want to take a moment bring everyone’s attention to a great cause.
Tomorrow, September 29th is going to be an ALL DAY tweet-a-thon to raise money for the charity Doctors Without Borders starting at 12am: http://12for12k.org/events/
@HennArtOnline will be tweeting for 24 hours straight to try to raise $12,000. You should definitely add her, and help spread the word! Also, check out the page and see what you can do to help and possibly be a part of a Guiness Book Record!
(A very special congrats to @mickeyGomez and @ramartijr for bringing this is our attention and helping make this work!)
As you know, Lagoon is dedicated to bringing love and attention to the right causes. Take a moment and see what you can do.
So, lots of stuff ON THE MOVE already. Our 4th song is currently in LA being mixed, our 5th song is almost done. We are planning to get a single released very soon, and we are all extremely excited about how it is turning out.
Also, my good friend Jeff will be headed out to Boston in early October to help finalize some stuff regarding our recordings. We will have much more news coming out quickly regarding the Tucson Arizona show on Saturday October 24th. Be excited.
To tide you over, here is a cool picture of @lagoonpmac
Tickles and Peanuts
Say hello to my 16 year old self:
I figured for today’s Lagoon Update I would treat everyone to a little bit of my horrible past with women. I have not always been the ladies man I am today (HA HA). Lets go back… way back… all the way to 1999 in a Subway Sandwich shop.
(At this point, please imagine a Wayne’s World type flashback, complete with cool hand dancing, wavy lines ands whimsical music).
“Extra Tomatoes please,” I said as her fingers loosely separate the juicy slices. She took such care in removing the ones with green spots. “Is that all,” She said with a smile. “Yes, that’s perfect.” Everyday, I would drive an extra 10 miles and wait 10 minutes in line just so I could have one or two lines of meaningless dialogue with this girl. She was my Subway obsession.
One day in the spring of 1999, or in Arizona we like to call it February, I arrived early to find that no one was making sandwiches. Actually, it looked like no one was working. I wandered around awkwardly for a few minutes before I finally looked around the corner and said, “hello?” I heard a rustling from the kitchen, then a loud bang followed by an intense yelp.
“Are you ok?” I said leaning over the glass. For a few moments there was no response. Weird noises continued until finally my lady’s head popped around the corner. “ I’m fine. I am just the only one here… And the lettuce… The lettuce is everywhere. Would you mind just coming back in a few minutes?” I paused for a second and sucked up every bit of 16-year-old balls I had and said, “Well, how about I help you?”
Before she could respond I had grabbed the broom from the corner, and whisked back into kitchen where it looked like 50 heads of lettuce had just thrown up. I started on the floor, and she focused on counters. We worked so frantically that we didn’t even talk, and magically, fatefully, not a soul walked in the front door.
When we got done I said, “Well miss, I will take a sandwich please, with…” “Extra tomatoes,” she said finishing my sentence. I started to say something, but stopped mid-sentence letting out an awkward squeak instead of words. I again watched her meticulously build my sandwich, as at least 8 people walked in the door and piled up behind me. She bagged my sandwich, rang me up, and before I could even say goodbye she motioned to the next guy in line and said, “What can I get for you?”
I was so dejected. My golden opportunity lost. My one moment of chivalry wasted. Then I realized I had forgotten to buy a soda! I got back in line. I waited 10 more minutes, got a soda, opened my mouth and…. “Ok who’s next,” she said, cutting me off. “Fuck!” I thought to myself. Maybe it was my new found level of testosterone, or my lack of caffeine, but I then just blurted out, “Lets go out sometime.” There was a very long and unnerving pause by everyone in line. “I mean… You know… How about I just get your number?” I said playing it off. The girl looked at me, smiled, and wrote her number on the back of my receipt.
I remember thinking “Stephanie, what a great name,” but I don’t remember leaving the store (it is my belief that I literally floated to my car). I called her that night and we had a long and wonderful conversation. We even set up a date for Saturday. We were going to meet for a day of fun at CrackerJacks, the local putt-putt golf and arcade.
By the time Saturday rolled around I knew exactly what I was going to wear, what I was going to say, and how I was going to act. I had it planned down to the very moment that I would move in to kiss her. We would embrace in passion, our lives intertwined as one person. I knew in my heart that I could love this girl forever.
We played Putt-Putt, and went to the batting cages. We even got some ice cream and sat on a cement block outside. We talked about life, school, which classes we loved, and what things we hated. The only hiccup occurred when we started playing in the arcade. In a moment of passion I smacked her in the face with one of those mallets used to bang moles. “Are you ok?!?” “I am fine,” she said laughing and holding her face. I touched the small of her back and moved forward to see if she was bleeding. At that moment she squirmed violently and said, “I am sooooo ticklish.”
By this time it was after 4pm and my heart sank as I saw the silhouette of her mom’s car pull in front of the large clear entrance doors. The carriage to take my slipper-less princess away had arrived. My moment was now or never. We both stood up, and hand-in-hand we strolled slowly through the crowds of people bustling in. About 10 yards from the door I said something sarcastic. Stephanie turned and gave me a light punch on the arm. Out of instinct, I went for a tickle… And I was about to learn how ticklish some people really are.
The moment my fingers touched the side of Stephanie her entire body flexed. Every one of her muscles convulsed, her arms pushed inwards, and her knees bent. What I did not realize would happen, but what was the result of my tickle, was the loudest and most disgusting fart I have ever heard in my life. The sheer volume of it baffles me to this day. It must have been stored at incredible pressures in her gut. It came out in three or four waves of rushing air, as I believe the embarrassment of the first one just made every thing even tenser.
People stopped dead in their tracks to see what was going on. At this moment, as horrible as it sounds, I was laughing hysterically. With My eyes watering, I could barely stand. The smell was awful. It was like a mix between roasted peanuts and rotten baby food. The whole gaseous event lasted at least 10 seconds, as waves of the tremors from the initial quake rippled through the crowds of now laughing people.
The last I ever saw of Stephanie was her running through the large glass doors out towards her mom’s car. I tried calling a few times to no avail. All I will ever have is my memories, my memories of the smallest girl with the loudest… uh… laugh?
Don’t forget to come visit us on facebook: www.facebook.com/lagoonband
If you like our band, and you like what we do, all we ask is that you talk about us. Come say hi, download our tunes, tell a friend. That’s all it takes =)
(For all the glory make sure to visit http://www.lagoononline.com/)
First of all, I have to take a second and wish @davidtornado well. He cut his finger slicing a bagel. I know what you are thinking “HOLY SHIT BAGELS ARE SO AWESOME,” but now is not the time for such things. His finger is fine, but he unfortunately missed our Lagoon outing to go whale watching =(
Touched by a Whangel
A year ago, when Lagoon set out into the sea of Boston, we took a pledge. We wanted to keep it as a sort of unspoken band “theme,” and gear our creative energy to color our songs.
When we created the song White Heart, and subsequent video, we wanted to help raise awareness for the murdering of whales (for those of you who haven’t seen the video: www.lagoononline.com/html/video.html)
I have to admit I was somewhat mentally removed from the breadth of the concept. It’s hard to grasp what you are doing without seeing the animal behind the song. This weekend I went whale watching, and I found myself in one of the most touching moments of my life.
@Lagoonpmac, @lagoonmarisa, and ME
As I stood at the edge of the boat gazing intently on the sea surface through the light salty spray, I watched blue turn to green, then to white, as the back of an enormous leviathan stretched into the air. I found myself choking back tears. I could not believe how amazing it was. Here was a creature, 40 feet in length, curious, intelligent, and gorgeous.
Since we released our video our band has gained in popularity, especially with our online community. I feel like it was necessary to remind everyone that Lagoon will always been a band that makes music because we love music, and will always gear our intents to the betterment of life. This does not stop at raising awareness. We are hoping to really make a difference.
The studio version of the song White Heart should be out very soon. We intend on donating a percentage of the profits from that song to both local and national charities.
How to Defend Oneself with a Cane
To show you how personally committed I am to the betterment of mankind, I have put together a self defense guide to help you. Have you ever been traversing a dark alley with your cane when a nefarious figure approaches you and attempts to manhandle you? Well, I have some Cane defense tips that will surely help.
The Killer Crotch Flip
How to do it:
Wait for your opponent to make his move with his stick/weapon/cane. He will go for your jugular. Bend at the knee like you are praying, then stab your cane into the attackers crotch. Trust upwards with your legs, and flip your opponent by the sheer pressure on his genitals
Why this works?
If you did not know, your crotch is a very sensitive area. Hitting it with a cane will hurt. I do not recommend you try this, just take my word for it. In fact, any pressure by any blunt object in the crotch area is going to result in immense amounts of discomfort.
Tip # 2
The High Attack Stabby Block Stab
How to do it:
I know the name of this move is pretty intimidating, but don’t let that fool you. Since you have a cane, I know you have great intelligence or a slight limp. Chances are your opponent, who also has a cane, shares these same weaknesses. First you must parry your opponents cane with your own high up into the air. Then, say something insulting as you move forward, such as “Your Blazer looks like a Sack Coat you scallywag!” With your opponent stunned, choke him and threaten to jam your cane down his throat.
Why This works?
Insults are the greatest way to distract your opponent. Make sure to stay away from insulting a man’s family, or the rage from such an insult might provide him with extra verve.
The Bowler Hat Fakey
How to do it:
This is an advanced move and requires superb footwork and deception. With your cane held up high in your right hand, fake like you are going to strike with it. Then shriek loudly like a yak, turn your body the OTHER way, and flail your left hand over the top of your opponents outstretched arm. Hit that prim ass in the face.
Why This works?
The Hook-Leg Deck Shoe Trip
How to do it:
This is one of the most effective cane defense moves developed by modern science. First, you must have patience. Taunt your opponent by telling him you see urine stains on his knickerbockers. When he lunges with an abnormally long stance to punch you, step across his body and grab his limp arm with your left hand. At this point you will be very close to your opponents face. Whisper something nice so he lowers his left hand. The second you feel like your words are calming him slice your cane with great speed into his leg and trip him to the floor.
Why This Works?
Humans have legs. These legs keep us upright. When you use your cane to pull a leg out from under someone, they will fall. When someone is on the ground they are a far less effective fighter.
Until next time!
Follow us or the Llamataur will kill you.
Well look who finally decided to show up… Sheesh. I thought I was going to have to yank your arm. YANK.
Lets get down to business shall we?
Defining ‘Modern’ Malay womanhood… what!?
So out of boredom I googled myself. Don’t lie, I know you’ve done it, and I know that’s not the worst thing you’ve done to yourself today. Oddly enough someone with my name co-authored an article called “Defining ‘Modern’ Malay Womanhood and the Messages of the Veil.” Pretty awesome. Lol.
(They really are a stunning people, aren’t they?)
So what about BAND related stuff… well let me tell you, we’ve been doing a lot. @davidtornado has been slaving to finish up some parts as well as write some pretty awesome new stuff. The greatest thing about recording is being able to realize and bring forth all the subtle nuances. 4th song should be done very soon, then it’s off to LA for another round of lovin.
For our Boston fans, we booked a show in November at Copperfields near Fenway on the 6th (it’s a Friday) at 11pm. We also now have a show booked at Alchemist Lounge in Jamaica Plain that following week, November 12th. I love the Alchemist shows for a few reasons; they are free, intimate setting, lots and lots and lots of drinks. Expect the string of shows to continue through the winter, we are here to warm your cockles.
For our Arizona fans, we’ll see you in Tucson October 24th at Plush. Now that’s going to be insane!
So, as you know, I love to making friends, networking, chatting with wonderful people such as yourself. What you thought I forgot about you? Never. I love you. Healthy love. Ok crap, totally off track. So, a good friend of mine (@DJ_Aphrodite) is going to be putting our tunes on her internet radio show over at www.krushradio.com, it’s a really awesome program so make sure to check her out Fridays 10-12am.
“So, are you broken or just BROKE?”
Thanks to everyone who offered me support while I had my brief stay in the hospital. Turned out to be a badly sprained shoulder, and a deep cut in my elbow, as well as a nice bruise on my hip. Better to be on the side of caution though. Time to buy a helmet; I realized how easily I could have murdered myself. Tree roots are evil.
Here are some pretty injury pictures (if you are squeamish or just a pussy I would skip this part).
Instead of going to the hospital, I thought it would be smart to just come home, wash up, take a shot of whiskey and go to bed. I woke up to blood soaked sheets. I should have gotten stitches. Alas, it was too late:
I am a little excited to watch the colors of this bruise to heal. This is on my hip bone.
So my friend Jessica told me about something fun…. Reviewing products on Amazon.com. I know what you are thinking… “what the hell, that is not fun…” Well it is when you do fake reviews. Mwhahahah.
So the product I chose to review was a nail gun:
The Factory-Reconditioned Bostitch U/BT200K-2 5/8-Inch to 2-Inch 18 Gauge Brad Nailer
I bought the Factory-Reconditioned Bostitch Brad Nailer for my boyfriend about 2 weeks ago for his birthday. I thought it would be a funny joke because… well… I’ve been nailing Brad for a few years now. But let me tell you something, this is NOT a toy.
Brad is a “go getter” person, and the same afternoon he went out and purchased the “air blower upper thing” you needed to power the gun. After fifteen minutes of arguing, Brad decided to use the gun to nail together a piece of unassembled IKEA furniture. I found this sort of amusing, and to be honest, it is far more stable than any dining set I’ve ever seen.
The next morning I found that Brad had nailed every piece of clothing I own to the walls around my house. Even some kitchen appliances were suspended like hanging tree fruit from the ceiling, each one with a single nail and the cord meticulously wrapped around it. I later found a note… Yes… Nailed to the door that read, “Taking my new friend for a walk.”
That night everything got a little worse. Just as advertised, this nail gun is WHISPER quiet. So quiet that I never heard Brad powering it up when he decided to jump on my bed and discharge nails into my pillow around my sleeping face and head. This gave me quite a fright, but Brad told me the gun had told him to do it, and that he couldn’t stop.
In the first week of having this, we went through 4,000 dollars worth of nails. Brad was consumed, and nailed together many things he called “wigwam statues.” He said the Nailer liked them, and needed them to consume the souls of lesser men. Part of me was happy for Brad, he finally found a creative outlet, and I even brought one of the statues to a friend of mine who is an art dealer. One of his “pieces” will be on display September 22nd, at the Center Street art festival.
Unfortunately, the good luck came to an end just a few days ago when Brad purchased 3 more Bostitch nail guns. He had planned to tape them to his feet and climb up the side our neighbor’s house. Amazingly, he made it up about 20 feet before the air hose got caught on a tree branch and broke his spider-like stride. In frenzy, he discharged at least 200 nails in all directions shattering windows and lodging into trees as he fell to the ground. The doctor spent 4 hours later that night pulling nails from Brad’s white fleshy body.
It is not that I wouldn’t recommend this product, for all that is happened it truly has functioned really well. I am just unsure whether or not this “reaction” is commonplace. Brad and I have since grown apart, well, relationship wise. I still visit him often and even bring him his unpowered Bostitch gun to the hospital where he will be taking his extended stay, pending a psychiatric evaluation.
Again, I really wish I was there to see this person read this. Ha. Feel free to check out the review on Amazon at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00066N884/ref=cm_cr_mts_prod_img (It takes 48 hours for them to post the review, so it might not be up just yet)
Until next time kiddies….
Make sure to say hi on twitter: @lagoonband
Or find us on facebook: www.facebook.com/lagoonband
Or come visit me at my home address: 1199 Yafuckingright avenue
(If you were looking for all the great song downloads, and graphics and stuff, it’s here: www.lagoononline.com)
A little bit everyday, says the Empress
So, @LagoonMarisa and I (Jake, you know, the bass player, the one in the band that has to write stuff since my instrument is the most dispensable) headed home to Arizona to visit our parents. It seems we left just in time, because tropical storm Danny came by and smacked Massachusetts. This allowed @Davidtornado to get a ton of work done on one of our new songs. Everything else “band related” is going really well, but nothing specific really to report.
So what I got for your entertainment is a story. Yes. A story. It is story time. Go grab your milk, find a comfy spot, and enjoy. And then after story time I’ll give you some pictures from the trip.
Ricardo, The angle of Sky Harbor
It is amazing to me that most airports do NOT have free wireless…
Boston’s Logan airport? Nope, gotta pay…
Chicago Midway? Nope, gotta pay…
The only airport that was kind enough to lend me some internets was Sky Harbor in Phoenix Arizona. Now, the interesting thing about this is that in order to gain free access you have to fill out a small survey. The survey asked you to name a Sky Harbor employee and then say how they helped you in some way… Here was my dilemma: no employee had helped me. Alas, my desire to check my faceybook and mespaces pushed me to fabricate a man. This man’s name was Ricardo, and he is one amazing man.
(Note: I actually submitted this fictional survey.)
Please take a moment and tell us about an Airport employee that has helped you during your stay here at Sky Harbor.
Employee’s Name: Ricardo
And in what way did He/She help you:
Agitated and in need of relieving myself, I entered the men’s bathroom on the B concourse located in terminal 4. Two minutes earlier, a snippy airline teller had told me my flight was canceled, and during the plane transfer my bag had been ripped open, leaking my expensive dress socks all over the runway. I was almost too flustered to speak, and I am sure you could imagine that I was feeling less than confident in Sky Harbor’s ability to safely transport me to my destination.
As I finished up in the bathroom, a prim dressed bathroom maintenance man handed me a paper towel. He looked at me with kind eyes and asked me what was wrong. I explained to him my story, and in a soft voice he said, “is ok, Ricardo is here.” Now, I am sure you can understand how this was extremely awkward, but as he bent down and mended my bag with thread from his cart, all my fears were allayed.
This man was an amazing listener. With every soft motion he made feel better about my trip, and how I was headed to El Paso Texas to mourn the death of my Grandfather. Here was a soul who has spent G-d knows how many years cleaning up trash and bodily filth, yet he could still connect with me on a personal level. I realized I had over 4 hours until my next flight, and I was determined to spend it with Ricardo.
Ricardo slowly pushed his cart through the terminal, pointing out the lesser-known facts about airport life. He told me about the drama he’s seen, celebrities he’s met, and lovers he had in moments of passion and on which seats. At one point, when he bent over to pick up a Burger King wrapper, I swear the piece of trash jumped at his fingers, as if possessed with desire to touch Ricardo’s outstretched arm.
We stopped at a newsstand aptly named “PhXpress,” and with a wink and a smile he coaxed the attractive attendant to give me a book and a pack of gum. I felt as if he was a political figure, a mayor even, Ricardo the Mayor of Sky Harbor. I tried to ask him about his family, and where he was from, but he only shook his finger at me saying, “no, no, no, you mustn’t ask about Ricardo.” I found his third person references charming.
Soon I told Ricardo that I had to stop walking. I had developed Plantar Fasciitis after a tractor accident in 1993, and the tendons in my ankle were far from capable of walking for so long. I found a clean seat to rest, took off my shoes, and massaged my injured limb . “May I?” asked Ricardo. “May you what?” I said back. Ricardo reached for my foot, and for a brief moment I resisted before resting my cold foot in his warm soft hands. He whispered something under his breath in a language I could not understand, and pulled a small bit of herbs from a pouch on his cart. After his incantations and a few brief moments of hard tissues massage he let go of my foot. I swear to you, to this day, I am able to painlessly jump higher than I ever could.
I sat for a moment in amazement at this strange archaic medicine that had cured my condition, but as I lost myself in Ricardo’s mustache I remembered my grandfather and slipped into a depression. “Is ok, friend, is ok,” said Ricardo in a low calm voice. I soon realized that Ricardo had walked me to my gate, and I was sitting staring at a sign that read “Flight 1033 to El Paso.” But how did he know? I never told him which flight I was on.
A young tattooed man running down the length of the concourse carrying a purse suddenly broke my daze. Behind him followed a screaming lady tripping on her heels, and clutching to the railing for balance. In a flash, Ricardo stood up and focused all his attention on his green Indiglo wristwatch while again reciting words in a foreign language. At this moment, I found out that Ricardo could stop time. Ricardo did not let me get a word out as he rushed me over to the frozen man, and grabbed the purse. We then picked up the hoodlum’s lifeless body and placed him face down in a nearby trashcan. Before I could even breathe, Ricardo had again focused intently on his timekeeper, and I found myself staring into the tear-laden face of the gorgeous female victim.
When time again began (which I have to say is an expression I never though I would utter), everyone seemed a bit dazed. Cops in the background were arresting the trash-covered man, and the lady who now looked at me with gaping eyes embraced me and sobbed into my shoulder. She offered me a reward; I took none besides her phone number. Dumbfounded, I floundered over to Ricardo, sat down, and stared at the crumpled piece of paper. “what… what are you?” “I Ricardo,” he replied with a grin on his face.
Ricardo then focused again on his watch, and I watched the hands of the big clock on the wall spin and the world whiz around me. In this moment, Ricardo and I sat in peace. He told me he loved me, and that I loved him. The clock stopped at 7:05pm, exactly 20 minutes before my flight was to leave. I looked down to see that I now had a blue pre-boarding slip, and that my ticket had been upgraded to Business Class. Ricardo and I only had a few seconds for a brief goodbye, and I told him I would never forget him. He only touched my hand briefly and said “Ten Tacos for a dollar.” This cryptic phrase I have still yet to decipher.
I barely remember getting on to the plane. I was so tired from my ordeal that I slept the entire flight. However, when I woke up taxied in the El Paso airport I turned on my phone to find three new text messages. The first was from the woman in the airport. She was moving to my hometown, would be living in the apartment next to me, and was waiting for my return. The second message was from my work, saying that I have received a raise due to the submission of a project I had yet to even finish. And t he third message was from my family, saying that my Grandfather was not actually dead, he was only rendered unconscious by quasi-deadly poison from a painful Texan spider. Thank you Ricardo. Thank you. Wherever you are, from the bottom of my heart.
Man, I wish I was there to see their face when they read this. ha.
And here are some pictures from the trip to AZ:
I miss the Sunsets, not the heat.
The view from the hill:
Me and My Crazy Dog:
Marisa loves Whales, even in Arizona:
I love my mom:
I miss mountains: