Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Who saw this coming??

I like surprises. Don't you? My favorite surprise of late has to be the COMEBACK OF HANSON! Seriously, listen to "Great Divide." It will change your life. Word on the street is they tested the song in a few radio markets, not telling the listeners which band they were listening to. It shot to number 1 on the request lines for three weeks straight before the DJs revealed it was by none other than our beloved Hanson. Makes you think, huh? Mmmm bop, indeed.

It's a little known fact that a certain lead singer of the Subsidies is in the midst of a comeback of his own. Through careful planning (and maybe a little outercourse) our very own Collin Hummel is making his way back to fame and fortune after waiting idly on the sidelines of the music business for far too long. You see, Collin originally rose to celebrity as a key supporting member of the early ninties supergroup Color Me Badd. The Badd lads enjoyed 5 U.S. hit singles from their debut album C.M.B. throughout 1991 and 1992. These were "I Wanna Sex You Up" (U.S.#2), "I Adore Mi Amor" (U.S.#1), "All 4 Love" (U.S.#1), "Thinkin Back" (U.S.#16) and "Slow Motion" (U.S.#18). "I Wanna Sex You Up" was also on the New Jack City soundtrack, and hit number 1 on the UK Singles Charts.

Collin clearly appears below in this band promo shot with the yellow arrow pointing to him:

as well as in the picture below, taken at a recent family briss event:

Subsides fans, I implore you; help Collin once again attain his dreams of pop stardom. Come to Tiff's this Friday and be damn sure you're in costume, as there are some great prizes to be had.
1st place: $300 bar tab
2nd place: $75 gift card
3rd place: $50 gift card
4th place: one on one conversation with a former pop idol about living up to the so called "Boys II Men industry standard of excellence"

Monday, October 29, 2007

Posters, pink eye and cropdusting (oh my!)

A few of the Subsidies spent last Saturday afternoon doing a little promotion work for our upcoming Halloween show at Tiff's in St. Paul.

This started out with a little poster plastering around St. Thomas and Macalaster. Since our posters weren't approved by the Office of Propoganda at these schools, they were probably torn down seconds after we left. Communists!

After jaunting around the two campuses for a while, we then headed to Tiff's for a quick burger and beer. Tiff's has your standard bar fare, but as far as standard bar fare goes, they rank pretty high. The black and bleu burger is dynamite. And well, beer is always delicious.

From Tiff's we stopped at a near-by wine shop, as they were having one of their bigger sales of the year. Now, she will deny the hell out of this, but someone at the wine shop, quite possibly our bass player Laura, had a serious gastro-intestinal disorder and was cropdusting the shit (pun intended) out of the place. It was awful. The bandit was dropping clouds all over the place, and they were so potent that you could actually feel the texture of the gas. Seriously, who the hell goes to a relatively sophisticated wine shop and shits themselves? Walmart, yes, but a wine shop? About a quick $200 later, we all bolted for fresh air.

Our final stop was at one of these party shops that was freakin' packed with Halloween costume goons. It was great that we found this place, as according to them, they were the Official Halloween Headquarters. What are the chances that we found THE official Halloween store? My goal for this adventure in commerce was to find a foam-skull head to dress up my amp for Tiff's. Despite being at the Official Halloween HQ, there were only 3-4 rows of halloween crap, and most of it was Sexy Nurse or Naughty Plumber costumes. My favorite was the naughty Raggedy Anne costume. I don't remember her being that slutty, but I could be wrong.

Fear not. I found my skull.

My favorite part of the day was when we were checking out, and the mother in front of me kept rubbing the eyeball of her young daughter. The mother said with concern, "Boy, that's really pink." She then rested her pink-eye laden hands all over the checkout counter, including the one pen available to sign your checkcard receipt. I frantically dug through my pockets to dig up cash, as I surely wasn't going to touch anything. Thankfully, I found just enough cash. And no pink-eye. Yet.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Rave Reviews

It's exciting to see these reviews start to come in. We've been doing this Cover band "thing" for a bit over a year now and we're at a place where we're not only getting big shows (re: Tiffany's Halloween Show 11.2.07), but we're also getting recognized by local media for our energy, talent, and overall je ne sais quoi.

What started out as 5 people getting together to simply play music has now evolved into a real entity - one which puts on a great show, playing music from 5 decades.

Here's a sampling of the press we "Minneapolis's best new Cover band" have received:

"Damn it! I wanted to hate it. I wanted to laugh at these hacks - The Subsides - who asked me to pay to see them perform other bands' material. How contrite. I couldn't though. Their energy was, from the outset, palpable and contagious. Their skill was evident, even on some of the trickier tunes, such as Don Henley's summer classic "Boys of Summer," Good Charlotte's "The Anthem," and the new Matchbox 20 song, "See How Far We've Come," a rousing, get off your feet and dance tune. I spent a good deal of the evening being bounced around by other 20- and 30-year old dancin' and singin' partiers, all hell-bent on getting front and center to experience the Subsidies' talents and penchant for including the audience in its want for a "night to remember." I'll be back, most definitely, but not as a journalist, but as a participant - hopefully they'll let me play the part of the "Livin' on a Prayer girl" - as tacky as it sounds, it's too damn fun to want pass up!
Kristin Orlensky
Start Tribune - VitaMN

Sometime between 11:30PM and 12AM last Friday, I officially became a member of the building frenzy that is The Subsidies Following. As I sang my heart out along with the 5-member group from Minneapolis on ColdPlay's "Fix You" and screamed out on The Killers' "All These Things I've Done." I got to thinking - "Hey, why do I bother with the over-priced, Ticketmaster-fixed tickets to watch performers yawn their way through yet another night in another new town, playing the same music over and over again, when I can instead watch The Subsidies blast their way - skillfully, mind you - through 3 sets of pure energy, bliss, and well, fun." Take, for example, their cover of Jackson Browne's famous - at least, in part because of the seminal 80's youth flick "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" - "Somebody's Baby." Here's a song which holds no real, at least at face value, energy, nor reason to even cover for that matter. However, as the chorus builds and the front 3 members of The Subsides - Joe, Grant, and Collin - nail the "YEAH's," one thinks they are witnessing something new, original, and potentially famous - or at least semi-famous, but in reality it's simply a group of 5 friends whose only desire is to perform and perform well. I'm hooked.
Terrence Newan
The Rake

As a band, I thought The Subsidies really hit their highest points midway through their second set with some of their grittier gems like "Harder to Breath," "My Own Worst Enemy" and especially a cover of The Killers' giant "Mr. Brightside." I never thought a Cover band could, nor would even attempt to match the excitement and talent of the original performer's takes on these classics, but they did on ColdPlay's "Fix You" and many others. I think the "real" bands could learn a thing or two from The Subsidies - both in putting on a show and encouraging the crowd to participate in it. Hands down The Subsidies are top dog in terms of showmanship and talent. See them soon. They'll be headlining a show in St. Paul at Tiffany's on November 2nd, then back at O'Gara's Pub on January 5th. If you feel like traveling, check them out in Rochester on November 17th at Rookie's, Decoy's on the 6th of December, and at The Inferno in Mankato January 19th.
Joe Hensley

Minneapolis-based cover band, The Subsidies - a horrible, yet catchy name of the "Costanza-ilk" - is made up of front man Collin Hummel, Lead Guitarist Joe Lover, Joe's brother and techno-drummer Dave Lover, Bassist and group "hottie" Laura Van, and Grant Wright, vocals and multiple guitar playing mass of electricity (I would think a toaster could be plugged into his anus and be able to spit out toast lickity-split. He's one big bag of energy). The group has been performing for a year, but damnit if it doesn't feel and sound as if they've been honing their craft for a decade. If it wasn't known, one would guess they were here as a showcase from Hollywood, but instead they're made up of "the people, for the people." At their Saturday show in Rochester, at Rookies (they'll be back on November 17, so get there - trust me!), the group performed a 3-1/2 hour show of adrenaline, confidence, and songs that you'll either dance to, sway to , or go, "Damn, I can't believe they're covering that and blowing its doors off." I had to slap myself, literally, as a reminder that these were covers and not some hot, up-and-coming band from Seattle or LA, stopping by for a one night show. On their 3rd and final set, the group - it seemed - was hell bent on sending its crowd home drenched in sweat. A back-to-back-to-back-to-back-back onslaught of jump-sing-and-scream songs and showmanship had the crowd almost wishing for a timeout (almost), only to towel off, slam a drink, and run back out for more. It was the most fun I've had at a show in years. The crowd, a mixture of young twenty-year old dressed-up-for-a-big-night-out girls, to mid-thirty-year olds, and middle age bar goers, were equals tonight. Each set made up of music spanning 5 decades, giving everybody that one (or more, to be sure) moments of "Hell yeah, this song?! WOW!" This was evident on their covers of "American Girl," "Since You've Been Gone," Anyway You Want it (Journey for Christ's sake!)," the sing along "You and I Both," and the night's closer, "Sweet Caroline." I haven't had to drink honey-water in a long time, but my vocal chords were not used to singing for 3+ hours.... well worth the damage. After all, we're all gluttons for punishment - sweet, fun, relivable punishment! I'll be back on the 17th!
Cyn Smith
Rochester Daily Press

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Top Ten lines used on the bass player

10. "Excuse me, I'd like to treat you to a steak and lobster dinner"
While this definitely demonstrated a take charge attitude, I thought it was quite odd that it was his first statement to me.

9. "Let's arm wrestle!"
When did arm wrestling become the new foreplay?

8. "You're great and all, but I'll take her"
This was said by a girl to our singer. I think that gives me bragging rights for a year.

7. "I'd like to get more spiritual"
So I killed him.

6. "Let me buy you a vibrator"
Nothing more needs to be said about this one.

5. "Let's start a family"
Said with a whisper and gentle, but very obvious "poke" into my lower back.

4. "What kind tattoo do you THINK I have?"
This gentleman asked if I had any tattoos. When I returned the question, that was his response. It was said with a cocky, WAY over confident look on his face......The tattoo was the Superman symbol.

3. "I'll always have her attention when i'm handling her equipment"
What can you do but just shake your head.

2. "Do you like what you see?"
Said as he stood above me, wearing his tank top, rubbing his chest, and finished it off with several hip thrusts.

1. "Would you come home and watch my husband and I have sex?"
My response could only be....Well, what does he look like?

Women Must Get Stomach Aches

I don't get women. There. I said it.

Unlike the majority of men - as well as homosexual women - I run into, I admit my lack of understanding when it comes to the opposite sex. I would've said "fairer sex," but we all know women, when speaking generally, are much less important than us men in the overall scheme of things.

Why don't I get women, you ask? I don't get them for a multitude of reasons; dress, makeup, having to go to the restroom in pairs, crying, musical-tastes, having to eat Lean Cuisines each day in the hopes of shedding 70 pounds, their desire to quit giving oral sex as soon as they get engaged, and much, much more. I don't get why women - again, in general - bottle everything up, only to unleash frustration/anger/fear upon you 1 minute before you have to leave for a 5-day trip with your friends. They had, let's say, 12 months to vent, even the ability and time to simply "not allow you to go," but alas, they wait until your foot is literally out the door and WHAMMO, they unleash a rant, including tears, as to why you shouldn't go, how immature it is that you actually agreed to go and want to, and that any self-respecting man, with a heart full of love for his wife/lady, shouldn't have to have her say no - he should want to.

But, aside from women being crazy, I also think they may be unsafe. Here's why:

Women, it seems, do not pass gas. At least in public, around men, or during any hour they are awake. Men, on the other hand, are ripping ass as they read this for god's sake. Hell, in the time it takes me to type this, I will have broken wind 43 ti... whoops, 44 times.

Men have no shame. Take my coworker, Jeremy, for example. At work, he'll drop wolf bait in our cube and laugh in blissful glee as he watches me a) sniff at the first signs of a "stink" b) curl my face up in horror and c) cough as his vile stench overpowers the cubical I reside in. He has no fear, nor worry, that another coworker, not even a female one, may enter our space as this smell lingers. Nope, couldn't care less.

Women, on the other hand, will, I imagine, hold gas in. It could be weeks before they are confident that no man will invade their space until a good 12 weeks have passed from the passing of the gas. I once had to fart in a meeting and was forced to fidget said gas from leaving my body for an hour. My stomach cramped up. My forehead started sweating. My eyes flickered. My anus clenched and clenched and as soon as I was able to leave, I released the pent-up "winds of change."

Women eat what we men eat, correct? They basically have the same body parts - at least in terms of the digestive track.

It's funny though. Women do fart. That's true. However, women will go to places they know no man would ever go, such as a TJ Maxx, and, knowing full well a man won't be there, they'll all drop anchor as they shop the clearance racks.

But uh oh! What happens when a man enters this fart-Xanadu? I have, from time to time, ventured into a TJ Maxx-type store and have been overwhelmed by fart cloud upon fart cloud. Mouth fulls of the stuff. So much that the actual air quality in these stores hovers around that of a mid-July 90-degree afternoon.

But nothing tops last night's venture to the Cliff Road Target store to pick up a - and no, I'm not lying here - satin blouse for my wife who was at home with our two sons and "just had to have something for her new suit. I made my way into the women's clothing section and as soon as I made my way about 3 racks deep, I ran straight into a cloud of air-feces SO powerful, my knees gave way and I bent over almost to a fainting-level. This wasn't simply a fart, but a fart for the ages, my friends. This was one which HAD to have been festering for weeks inside this particular woman. It actually had texture. When you think about it on an atomic level, I ate shit. I actually ate poop. Yeah, it was that bad.

Adding to the misery was the fact that it appeared as if I DID IT! As the culprit had left her "work behind" and I was the only one there, when a small pack of young women entered the area and gasped in horror at the smell before them, surely they thought it was me.

Women, for the sake of your bodies, your fellow cohabitants on this planet, and that of the air quality of our many fine discount stores, please make it a point to fart on a frequent basis. Seriously, we won't mind. Hell, fart in our faces like my male counterpoints do. We'll all laugh and have a gay old time.

Please, go and fart... for the children.

Litter for Litter's Sake

Would anyone mind if I were to open my driver-side window, when driving next, and throw an old TV or perhaps some discarded paint cans out?

I imagine the general response, aside from the derelicts in Mississippi or any of the bible-belt states, would be "hell no!"

Why then, I ask, is it acceptable for people to throw out lit cigarettes as they drive, watching as they careen off my windshield in all of their lit, bursting essence?

How many of you, like me, have been driving along, singing along to one of any love songs being played during the 102.9 "Delilah" show when all of a sudden, from the car ahead of you -usually a Pontiac of some sort - a small torch, one able to ignite a fire for the ages, comes zinging at you like some sort of Hezbollah missile? Why just last night, on my way home from picking up some Thai food, a Marlboro-missile came at me and burst onto my windshield, looking like some Michael Bay explosion. I actually shit my pants a little bit and swerved into the next lane. Luckily for me said lane was empty. This puppy must've had half of its life left as it was a serious "explosion."

The sad thing is that had I gotten into an accident because of this, it would've been MY FAULT - not the white trash a-hole in the Grand Am who threw it. He would've been able to keep driving back to his Rosemount trailer park and able to resume beating his wife for drinking the last juice box.

If I were to open my window and throw some old McDonalds' garbage out, I could and would be ticketed. Cigarette-tossers on the other hand get off Scot-free because their butts are environmentally friendly, aside from the obvious fire hazard of throwing a lit cigarette into some dry brush.

Next time this happens, I may have something ready for these bastards: I'll have a cup of gasoline and a few matches. I'll pull ahead of them, open my window, light a wick of some sort and toss this "grenade" out ye old window. I'll watch in my rear view window as the front of their car becomes engulfed in flames. "Ha, ha, " I'll chuckle as their car blows to kingdom come.
I'm not going to. maybe. No, I won't. Probably not. No. Yes. Probably. not. Maybe....

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Why Am I Tipping Everyone?

Damnit all to hell!

I am tired of tipping everybody. Seriously, this is turning into an epidemic. There are tip jars everywhere nowadays! Tip jars at Subway, at KFC, at every conceivable food provider, including Kwik Trip stores.

I'm thinking of putting a jar on my desk at work with a cute little sign which states, "college fund," or "hemorrhoid surgery fund." All I'll have to do is start each day with a crisp dollar bill of my own in there to welcome the onslaught of giving I will receive.

"Hey, there's a dollar in there," they'll say. "Let's add to this fund! It must be a well-needed one, no doubt."

With this added income I can finally replace my 19" rims with some 20" dubs! Maybe I'll have enough dinero left to buy my lady a carton of Palmals.

How did this happen? Did some high school kid, working the 6-midnight shift at Taco Bell decide one day that the minimum wage he was earning wasn't enough money to offset his meth addiction and therefore put a tip jar out? "Hey, you know what? Thanks for putting the tacos in the bag for me. Here's a 20-spot." Puh-lease!

Everywhere I turn now, I'm tipping people. Hell, I half expected to see a tip jar during my last dental cleaning. "Here's a couple extra bucks for not scraping all of my enamel off."

I saw tip jars at the Valvoline service station, at the liquor store, at Hallmark, even the Customer Service desk at TJ Maxx had a jar asking for "Lasik Eye Surgery Fund."

I get tipping people at restaurants and bars - to a certain extent - but why at places where people are making a decent wage? Don't come to me with that BS about minimum wage not being enough. I made $3.75 working at the Cub Foods produce department, but you didn't see me with a tip jar. "Hey, thanks for separating all the apples."

If you provide me a good service at a restaurant, I'll tip you well. What I will not do is tip the "Sandwich Artists" at Subway. Come on. Really? It's going above and beyond putting all the condiments on my sandwich? Piss off.


That's where it comes from. People began tipping in restaurants when their server provided them prompt and courteous service, not when their gynecologist warmed the lube up.

I'm done with it, that's for damn sure. Don't glance at the tip jar and then back at me. I aint fallin' for that anymore.

"Hey, Mr. Policeman. You know what, I am going to give you a little something extra. Hell, it's not everyday you bust me with a speeding ticket. Thanks for going the extra mile."

Friday, October 19, 2007

I wish...

I wish I were cooler.

I wish I came across as one of "those" guys. I'm just not, nor have I ever been one of "those guys."

I remember in High School, there was a kid named Jeff. Jeff could not only draw really well - you should have seen his drawings of Anna Nicole Smith (he mastered the shading around her breasts) - but he also had a car. And, not just any car. He had a red Trans Am with a huge Firebird painted on the hood. I didn't have anything quite as cool. I had to share a Geo Metro with 2 brothers. It was and remains one of the least safe cars ever produced, even rating worse than those Ford Explorers which rolled over and burst into flames for no apparent reason. Every night I left my mom would yell, in jest (I think), "Is your will in order?"

Jeff was much cooler. Jeff would be able to pull into the school parking lot in his sparkling red Trans Am, mullet-laden in all its golden splendor, holding a fresh batch of pencil drawings of the latest Guess girl. People clammored to Jeff.

I used to watch him - study him, really. I always tried to mimic him in everything from dress to style. I did well enough, getting through high school by making my name known as the king of outercourse and having a few friends less cool than me. The problem was, I wasn't, and still am not, looked at or remembered as one of those "cool guys."

I don't have a cool job. I don't drive anything all that great. My clothes are nice and all, but I can't pull off that wrinkled, cowboy look very well. I still can't draw sweet pictures, nor can I pull of a faux hawk.

Man, I just SO wish I was cool.

You know whom I'd like to be more like? The guys who work at the Verizon or Sprint Mobile kiosks at the mall. You know the type, right?

The cell phone kiosk guy - we'll call him "The Brad" - is so god damn cool. He works for a large company, but doesn't have to dress like it. He wears rockin' faded/ripped American Eagle jeans, a radical graphical tee - something with a pinata and text stating "I'd Hit That" - he has motorcycle boots, but doesn't own a motorcycle (I could NEVER pull that off). His hair is faux hawk to the 10's, appearing as if he just jaunted out of the shower and "Blammo," his hair was just perfect - you know, the whole "Hey, I don't care, but really I care" look? He's, obviously got more cell phones than he needs to have, but what the shit, he can. He's got a blackberry, a Razor, a Krazor, Sidekick, and just to make me feel less "cool," he has a sweet-ass iPhone. Dick.

To really add to his non-Collinness, he completes his look with a leather wrist band, a leather wrist band watch, and the coup de gras, a coral necklace. Just one look and you know - FOR SURE - that this guy, even though he's 26 - 38 years old, still rocks Spring Break in Cancun and STILL waxes a ton of ass.

I wish I was cool.

The kiosk worker even walks, stands, and talks cooler than any other guy - including car salesman. He acts like he doesn't even need your business. Hell, with all the hotties stopping by to hang, I imagine he has enough business as it is and surely - as the restraining order says - "doesn't need a dork hanging around soaking up all the cool vibes."

Just seeing him and the cool guy who works the remote control helicopter kiosk together you know your in the company of awesomeness.

I suppose had I spent more time drawing chicks in high school or saved enough money to buy a Ponitac Fiero or something cool, I could be hanging out with these dudes. i just bet.

I wish I was cool.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Arch of Urine

Well, my rights have been, at least temporarily, un-suspended by our ever-negative curmudgeon for a drummer - Dave "Lover" Lover. I was forced to the sidelines as I tended to be "too negative" in my pointing out the different types of audiences a live band encounters. Anywho, with this great power restored, I thought I'd get "back into the old swing of things with a blog post on the men's room, specifically the area in front of a urinal or toilet.

As many of you know, men have penises and use said attachment to alleviate themselves of bodily fluids. I'll focus on the yellow, more fluid of these bodily functions - urine.

Each day, around 5AM - or the time Laura is waking up and plugging new batteries into her friend "Vibey" - the local Custodial Engineer (we'll call him Fred) finishes cleaning the many bathrooms at our company. As he walks out of the last cleaned "John," he looks back and thinks to himself, "Man, in about 40 minutes, this place will start getting destroyed by these bastards!"

Men at my work, it seems, have a tough time with aim.

One of the issues supporting this is that the majority, say 98%, of the employees of our company are of the Caucasian persuasion (great band name, by the way!). If we follow this logic and any pre-conceived well-known realities about us "white dudes," we'll all agree that most of us, ahem, are not blessed with penises which have a lot of length (yeah, but we make up for this by having skinny ones too). I'm OK with this. Because of this, we're forced to make up for a reduced amount of length - or reach, if you will - by getting as close as possible to the urinal. This is easy when the bathroom is clean, but later in the day... not so much.

Because men are dirty, nasty bastards and because us white dudes have smaller "members" than our non-Caucasian brethren, we create a horrible effect.,which we'll call "Urinal Arch."

The urinal arch starts out as a couple of measly drops. A man will piss and during his "shake-shake-shake" will drop a couple of droplets of urine on the once-pristine floor in front of the urinal. Well, two drops become four. Four become Nine. Nine become a small pool. A small pool becomes a river. By the time mid-day rolls around we're forced - unless we want to stand directly in a pool of HIV (it's clean I suppose, but I always default to the thinking it's worst disease) - to stand back of the arch and try to aim for the urinal. Now, instead of being able to stand right in front of the potty and make up for any size problems, we're forced to act like Chad Pennington and "heave" the urine into the urinal. It's not as easy as one would think. Ladies, you get to hover and dump, we aim.

This only makes the arch larger.

By the time "Fred" gets back to clean the next day he's faced with a 9'x5' river/pool of urine and he's pissed. Add this to the fact that a person or two have decided to miss hit the toilet and drop fecal matter onto the floor and he's as close to going postal as it gets.

One more thing:

Because our office has limited urinals, many men are forced to use the shitters for their urine-removal needs. Now, when you have to actually use a sit down toilet, you are either forced to have your shoes rest comfortably on a the aforementioned pool of piss or try and hold your feet up like a woman giving birth. Either way is not conducive to a proper poop.

Men, I urge you - AIM BETTER! Please.

Oh, we have a HUGE show coming up at Tiffany's in Highland Park. It's a Halloween show and if you wear a costume, you'll get great drink specials. Plus, we have beads and neon-thingys.

Check us out on-line at http://www.thesubsidies.com/.

Peace out and piss in....

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

It's Official

Due in large part to my permanent medical record, I will never live this down:

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

They're creepy and they're cooky

It's time to purchase that Flash costume. Or the naughty kitten costume. Or the Lando Calrissian costume. Halloween is just around the corner, and The Subsidies are playing at THE Halloween party of the season -- Tiffany's in Highland Park of St. Paul on Friday, November 2. Doors open at 8:30, with live music to start around 9:30. Get there early and get your boozin' on.

There will be free swag like glow bracelets and mardi gras beads. There will be drink specials for those wearing a costume. And of course, there will be great live music from us, The Subsidies. This is the place to be for your Halloween festivities, so start planning your costume and come out with us!

November 2, 2007
Doors at 8:30