Whoo! Tim Reynolds AND a block party!

This weekend has just been nuts, kids, and it's only Sunday morning. Here we go:

FRIDAY NIGHT: Chris' brother in law, Justin, got us tickets to see Tim Reynolds at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano. Michelle had forgotten her ID, and had the telltale black X's of Death on the backs of her hands. Which took me right back to the last time I was there-- I was a teenager, there with my parents and their friends to see a British R&B band called Nine Below Zero. Apparently giddy with authority, the bouncer saw lil ol' 15 year old me coming, and produced his newest, blackest, juciest magic marker, and marked up my hands like you wouldn't believe. Let's recap. I was like 15. With my parents. But anyway.

We got four acts for the price of one, which was a nice surprise. The first guy was That One Guy. Run, don't walk, to his site and check out the video (you need quicktime but if you don't have quicktime, well you obviously don't have iTunes and there's something wrong with you. IT IS THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY. YOUR BRAIN MUST BE GROGGY FROM THAT LONG NAP IN ITS CRYOGENIC CHAMBER. DON'T WORRY, WE'LL HAVE YOU UP TO SPEED IN NO TIME. NO, THE MONKEYS AREN'T IN CHARGE YET. WHAT'S THAT? FINE, WE'LL THAW YOU OUT AGAIN WHEN THEY ARE.) So That One Guy And The Magic Pipe are freaking incredible. He's got this, well, magic pipe that my music major techgeek boyfriend could probably explain better but basically he can record sounds and throw them on a loop and create a whole song with just this weird piece of cobbled-together equipment. And at one point he plugs in and plays a cowboy boot. Really, this guy is just amazing. He's like a one-man Primus that you expect to see in Venice Beach, or on 3rd St. in Santa Monica, or in Mallory Square in Key West... you get the picture. Stop reading right now and go watch the video again. Buy his CD, too, "Songs in the Key of Beotch."

The next girl was so... sweet. Jewel does Stevie Nicks. She was okay, but it just pains me to think of how sincere she was. I know that I tend to bandy about "sincere" like it's a dirty word, but she was squirmingly so. There's a bunch of butterflies and stuff on the little program that was on our table. It went in depth as to what each song meant to her. Here's a few of my favorites. I think the typos and awful syntax add to the preciousness:

Strangers -- This song is very personal to me. I guess it goes without saying that emotions can run deep. When somone you love let's you down, it can leave scars that are deeper than any flesh wound. Please take to heart that this song has healed me greatly and I am glad that I wrote it!

See what I mean?

The third band, the Ken Garcia Band, were totally cool, great groovy chillout music consisting of a guitar, mandolin, and upright bass. It was even better because the three guys were so mismatched. Ken, the guitar guy, was joe standard big friendly cholo guy. The mandolin guy weighed about 85 pounds, and had on a stupid hat but was WAY into the music. And the bass guy? Well, he looked like Milton, the Swingline stapler guy from Office Space. But they rocked.

And Tim? Tim was absolutely amazing. He played for almost two hours, moving from a 6-string, to a 12-string, and then he rocked out on a Telecaster for almost too long. You see, we had been sitting in these hard chairs, dealing with the New Girl Waitress for 5 hours at this point, and were a little squirrely. Highlights: Tim likes to dress up. He came on in a brown monk's robe and a full-head wolf mask. Also for his last number he dressed up like a bat. With wings. It was crazy, especially because we had been drinking for four hours and we were extra woozy from the bad service. [Editor's note: the head waitress, you know, the one who's been working at the Coach House for 25 years, comped us 3 different desserts for our troubles, so it's all good.]

PB Block Party was on Saturday--I don't get it. They take the trouble of blocking off like 1/2 mile of Garnet, put up live bands and trinket stands, and then proceed to disallow open containers. You have got to be shitting me. So what you're telling me is that I am at the summer kick-off party in the most beautiful weather possible, enjoying the sunshine on my shoulders, browsing Gucci knockoffs, and you're telling me that in order to enjoy a refreshing alcoholic beverage, I have to go into some dank dark bar to wait in line for a plastic cup of beer? They've got this thing all wrong. If you people need pointers, look no further than the World Famous Orange International Street Fair.

But anyway, we went into one of these dank, dark bars. Because naturally, we wanted a refreshing alcoholic beverage. And actually, it's not dank at all ("But the dank, Moe! The dank!" -- The Simpsons where Moe turns Moe's into his Uncle Moe's Good Time Foodporium or whatever) But we had a pitcher or two there before we had the brilliant idea of just taking our own booze down to the beach, and that was the end of the block party.