Breakfast In A Box

Sorry my lovelies!

I know I have been horrible these past...6 days! And should have gotten a post to you. To quickly wrap up my weekend: Friday night called for Chicago Uno's -with a waiter more delicious than any dish they serve- and an ice cream on the beach from the Banana Boat (Revere Beach that is. Been there forever, go.). Saturday I went to IHOP with some friends from Maine and a few Massholes. They staff already had their hands full until all 7 of us decided to show up. Caught up with one another since it had been about a year or two since we all last saw each other then we booked our asses up Route 1 to Michael's Arts & Crafts. Didn't get anything there but a friend and myself snuck into DSW next door and made away with a pair of heels each. Sunday I found myself in Framingham, MA at another friend's house for some poolin' and pastries. Breakfast that morning was provided by Spinelli's -a potato and cheese panzarotti and an eclair. Sunday night, got home sun drunk and looking to play computer games until I passed out.

But what was I up to today? PACKING. Horrid way to spend a Monday if I say so myself. I'm not a fan of packing- unpacking, I can do. I will be back on the UNH campus on August 27th (10 days and counting), and someone told me I should start packing- I said I would if they helped me- they agreed, so I was stuck packing today. I usually wouldn't begin until oh, the 25th or so. Today was one of those days that you sit on the toilet longer than necessary because the bathroom is the coolest room in the house. I'm not ready for the drama of campus, not at all, here in Boston I live relatively drama free. Here, it's also easy for me to tell those who bring drama with them to fuck-off. They are easily avoided, not-so-much on my campus.

Well that's all I have for you tonight. I'm in the middle of the daunting task of weeding out the bad eggs from my digital music collection. I'll have a better post for you tomorrow with more rhyme and reason. Go listen to some Rancid, make me happy...

Until Tuesday.

Hold your head up high
Love,
-Napalm

Internet Window Shopping: My Musical Loves

I usually never read the band descriptions on interpunk.com...I don't even have a credit card to buy anything off of interpunk but I was sticker searching (Because I'm a sticker/patch whore) and decided if there was a band I'd click on...it'd be OPIV

Operation Ivy

I don't remember exactly how I met him; he was just that bouncy, floppy kid who always had a smile and some excited words for everyone that first spring at Gilman. I knew he'd played in a band called Basic Radio, and I knew that he was bummed that they'd broken up. Then I went away for three months, and when I got back the first thing I heard was that there was this great new band at Gilman called Operation Ivy and that they were playing that night. When I got to Gilman, there was Tim out front, only now he wanted to be called Lint, and he was more excited than I'd ever seen him. "I got a new band, Larry. It's called..." Yeah, you got it. I went inside and watched one of the most amazing shows I'd ever seen, and when Tim got off stage and asked me what I thought, I said, "Let's make a record." At the time there was no Lookout Records, and I didn't have the slightest idea how such a record would ever come about, but I just knew it had to. How important were Operation Ivy to Lookout Records and the whole East Bay scene? I kind of doubt we'd even be here without them. Tim and Matt went on to form Rancid and gain even more fame, but they never forgot their roots: listen to them sing about the Operation Ivy story on the Rancid song "Journey To The End Of The East Bay," where Tim proclaims about Gilman: "That place was sacred ground to me." But though Tim and Matt are the Op Ivy alumni that everyone knows about, it would be foolish indeed to forget Jesse Michaels, who not only penned their brilliant and evocative lyrics and sung them in a passionate, instantly recognizable voice that could soar from throaty growl to angelic innocence in the turn of a phrase, but also created all the artwork that now adorns punkers' shirts and packs around the globe. Anchored by the seemingly effortless, but never less than excellent drumming of Dave Mello, Operation Ivy came and went with the fleeting incandescence of a comet that will remain emblazoned forever on the consciousness of anyone who ever had the privilege of witnessing them in their glory. They stand, and undoubtedly always will, among the handful of bands that truly matter.