A Toast to The New Beginning

Sumhead the Undead (artwork by Sir Ian Dangerous)

There was that time at happy hour when the homeless guy walked in, sat down and then left a mysterious pair of dirty underwear behind without taking his pants off. There was the Fat Tire Phantom, who'd walk in and kill a beer quicker than you could say "D.U.I.". There were Fidel's dollar tacos on the patio, the wild Bart-fight in his first week of work and the time Chip sprayed seltzer all over Jorge's bare chest while he rubbed it in. There was the time Chip and I almost got into a fight because one of my cheap ass friends was getting the hook-up but not tipping. There were the terrible drunken freestyles with Greg Leonard, my failed fireballs and the Halloween where I thought Physics Mike was in Blackface but he was really just a living iPod commercial. There was the fundraiser raffle sponsored by a mysterious green liquor named "Carnivo" that looked and tasted like the piss of many tadpoles and made Malkovich pass out on the sidewalk in front of the bar. There was Jeffrey Dammit coming in to work with a half-burnt beard from reckless fireball blowing. There were the afterhours dances with Truck and Cooper, and Turski handing out lessons on how to dance with a lady the right way. There was Claire flashing her new knockers at the DJ booth, The Wild Men of Borneo screaming "I Hope" for two years straight, and that guy who immediately threw up a Hellfire onto the bar while he was smiling. There was DJ Lee stuffing the air vent full of flyers, the thirsty cougar pits, Old Man Max screaming "Sum and Malk, IN THE HOUSE!" after a few tequila shots, the Venezuelan love affair with Saints and Ian turning into an overgrown three-year-old whenever we played "Da Rockwilder". There was Southy's world-famous Lemon Drop martini that quenched the thirst of many a summertime Thursday....

And there was the occasional flavor of melancholy borne on the winds of change. The disintegration of the Sum-Malk-Southy dream team on Thursdays. There were the times we had to say goodbye to staff and bartenders we'd gotten used to seeing every week. There was the time we came together to raise funds to save one of our regulars lives but couldn't do enough to help her. There was the massive beheading of all weekday DJs from the roster, the opening of a rival bar down the street and the mass exodus of once die-hard regulars. There was the mysterious disappearance of Fidel's, the reluctant retiring of Palms Thursdays and the shady robberies, muggings and attacks we'd hear about.... but all of these things were the nature of Westside Nightlife and the hallmark of evolution.

So it's in the name of evolution that I've decided to take an indefinite sabbatical from the toils of The Palms Weekend and focus all creative chi toward my band, The Milky Way. Gotta make sure the shit blows up like it's supposed to. While I'm off doing that, Malky will continue to drunkenly bear the mighty Palms Weekend flag and charge into the uncertain wilderness of our home bar's future. From what he tells me, he's adding some new tricks to his repetoire, so he can really go monster with the extra breathing room in the booth. Unfortunately, I won't be able to play bad cop anymore and tell Amber who just heard The Police and is asking for The Police, or Joquita who wants to hear more strip-hop, or coked-up Jeff who's asking "what happened to real DJs with vinyl?", to go fuck themselves, which was getting funner by the month. Oh well. I'll be on the other side of things, drinking and talking shit with the rest of you, tossing Malky shots and making good fun of the characters in the bar.

Looking foward, The Palms Weekend will stay alive and move to the next stage of it's evolution. The blog will feature posts from our kinfolks in music, Chris Clarke, Ali Abnormal, and P.U.D.G.E., in anticipation of the Palms Weekend album, which is officially taking shape. The same characters who contribute to the album will be contributing to the blog. Grab a raft and a lifejacket, those floodgates are about to open.

Tonight, with one last tap of the beer-coated spacebar on my laptop, I celebrate my 33rd birthday and the good times I had DJing for my neighbors. After the band is a little more of a household name, maybe I'll come back.....if the flavor of the season is right and if you guys will have me. Either way, I'm a Saints regular for life, so you're not all the way rid of me.

That's if I live past tonight.

P.S. I sure am gonna miss that staff discount.

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