Band Journal Entry: 7/11/91

Okay, once again, here's another entry of my journal. As I re-read this, some parts are a bit dated, as it was reflecting the times. God, can I sound more old?

This was only in the 90's! But that's about 15 years ago! Was it that long that I played on a stage? As I read this once more, I seem to miss those days.

Setting up you're own electronics and equalization. Wiring up your effects and checking cables, doing that last check of harmonics to see if you're in tune. Taping a list of songs on the floor near your mike and one on your guitar, and amp, and foldback speakers, etc. Taping two dozen picks to the mike stand. Hearing the people filter in and planning what to open with to grab the audience with a few notes...

Yeah. I do miss it.

(historical note: Bill Davila was the chairman of Albersons Supermarket in the 90's, and was trying to be the spokesman of Albertsons for all their commercials. Trying for Orville Redenbacher legend status I guess...)

(Another note: strangely enough, the spellchecker of "Davila" suggests "devil". There may be something into this...)

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Band Journal Entry: 7/11/91

So, we're standing at the checkout line at Vons with our week's groceries: one can of dolphin-friendly tuna in this huge but otherwise empty shopping cart - like a crouton at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Anyway, we glance up at the tabloid section and notice that, once again, we are not on the cover of Rolling Stone. In what has become a monthly ritual, the band launches into a scathing vocal bombardment of the magazine and everyone connected with it. But just as the tide of discussion turns to the sexual practices of the editors mom, we are interrupted by the store's manager.

Apparently, this person pegged us as musicians at first sight and just happened to be in need of someone to write a commercial jingle for the store. Aghast at the mere suggestion, we vigorously lecture Mr. Manager on Artistic Integrity, the environmental practices of his store, and the fact that Bill Davila is the worst spokesman we ever saw on TV. Mr. Manager then offers us $50, and we jump on the case faster than you can say, "fill the shopping cart".

About a week later, they play our jingle on the air; but a complication arises. Unbeknownst to the band, one line in our recording - if edited just right and played backwards at 173 rpm's - sounds something like, "Satan buys all his fresh produce here.". This information leaks to the local chapter of the Moral Majority, who descend on the store in an effort to save the broccoli from eternal damnation. As the religious fervor intensifies, a member of the flock claims that the bell peppers are heretics and must be cleansed by fire. One thing leads to another, and, well, the whole store burns right to the ground.

So much for our careers as jingle-writers...

See you at the show...

Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. I do believe in fairies