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And click here to see pics from James’ wedding

So it’s Friday morning and I’m driving up to the Sacramento area for James’ wedding.  We’ve got rehearsal at 1:30 that afternoon, so I figure if I leave 3 hours early that should give me plenty of time to get up there.  No.  Wrong.  I hit Vacaville and it’s a parking lot.  All the fucking way to Davis.  And I hit it again in Roseville.  Yeah, I was late.  And it’s 110 fucking degrees outside.

I finally get there and a short rehearsal later we’re sitting at the bar.  I mean, where else would we be, right?  We’re drinkin’ and we’re drinkin’…  And now it’s time to go get ready for dinner.

Il Fornaio is an Italian restaurant in Roseville, right next to Ruth’s Chris.  What the…?  Roseville has a Ruth’s Chris?  Fancy…

Dinner was fantastic.  I had the steak with veggies and taters and plenty of beer to wash it down.  After our meal we went across to the street to P. F. Chang’s bar to rage.  I lost track of time after that.  I made the switch to salty dogs (vodka and grapefruit juice with salt around the rim of the glass) and descended into drunkenness.

Saturday morning and it’s time to get ready.  It’s 10am and it’s already 100 degrees outside.  I go for a quick swim in my hotel’s pool and take a cold shower before heading over to James’ mother’s house to get ready.

It was then that James gave me the nicest gift anyone has ever given me.  I stainless steel flask with a leather exterior, replete with engraved tab that reads “B.F.L. – Brothers For Life”.  Filled with nice, cold SoCo, no less.  James’ had a little wedding ettiquette guidebook that his wife gave him to help plan, and it the book it specifically states that flasks are not appropriate gifts for the groom to give his groomsmen.  Obviously written by a woman, eh?  Or at the very least by someone who doesn’t know us at all.

The limo took us over to the community’s ballroom.  Thank goodness they moved the wedding inside.  It was 115 degrees outside.  That’s dangerously hot for the elderly folks in attendance and anyone who *ahem* might have been drinking that day.  Pictures still had to be taken outside however.  As soon as I stepped out of the AC and into the sweltering heat I could feel the rivers of sweat pouring down my face.  Even stepping outside for 5 minutes was miserable.

The actual wedding ceremony was very nice.  James was flanked by his best man Kevin Berkowitz, then Dave, then me, then Kevin Gibson, and finally Kurt Lind.  From my spot on the stage I could see Ange and Scott with their wives.  Some old friends were there as well–Randy Cabral and good ol’ DJ Dan.  It was over quickly and then it was time to party.

WOOOOOOOT!!!  OPEN BAR!

Each table in the reception was named after a golf course (nice touch, James).  During dinner the DJ (who was awesome by the way) went to each table and took requests and song dedications to the newlyweds.  Each time he played the table’s song, the whole table jumped up and whooped and hollered…  On my way the bar I passed the DJ booth and took a look at his equipment: 3 iPods, a MacBook, and a USB drive.  Whatever happened to the good ol’ days of turntables and wax?

I was drunk.  Not sloppy drunk, not slurring my words, not spinning–but I had a nice buzz.  Just enough to let down my inhibitions.  I danced the night away with whoever was within my arm’s reach–mostly my friend’s wives!

After the reception we went over to Thunder Valley casino.  I played a little blackjack and some slots, but quickly reached my limit and stopped gambling.  The rest of the night I spent in their famous Falls Bar; lounging, socializing, and drinking.

Sunday morning I woke up and my throat was so hoarse I could barely speak.  My eyes were watery, my nose wouldn’t stop running, and my throat hurt so bad I couldn’t swallow.  I was worried I might be getting sick so I skipped the VIP brunch at James’ mother’s house.  The last thing I wanted to do was get the newlyweds sick before they went on vacation.  Could you imagine?  Wouldn’t that just suck?

So a good time was had by all.  It was great to see some old friends and party with all.  I’m really, really, really happy for my buddy James and his wife, Jen.  I like her VERY much and I wholeheartedly approve of their marriage.  Congratulations, buddy.  I love you both very much.

At any rate, here it is Monday evening and I’m not sick.  I took a 6 hour nap yesterday and slept for 12 hours last night.  I feel fine, actually.  Like, I’m ready to drink.

Few things in life can compare to seeing your FAVORITE band up close, live, and in-person.

I am a rabid 311 fan. I have all the albums and countless imports and bootlegs. I know all the words to all the songs. I have many gigabytes of storage space devoted to 311 music videos. I own all the 311 DVDs.

I went to the 311 show tonight at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz with my cousin Kym. I had to warn her beforehand… I sang loudly, danced and pranced around, and pumped my fist in the air to every song. I can’t say which she enjoyed more: the show, or me making a fool of myself. At any rate, I had a blast and I’m SO glad Kym came along. She’s a cool chick and a good friend.

311 rocked. This was my first time seeing them live. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to see them in the past, but could never find anyone to go with me. This time, however, I just went ahead and bought the tickets. Fuck it. I was gonna go alone if I had to.

The Catalyst is a great place to see bands. It’s big enough to house a good crowd and just small enough to be intimate with the band. The lighting tonight was just perfect. It fit in well with 311’s trippy, psychedelic, reggae-infused rap-rock dubs. But the liquor is quite expensive–two pints of Sierra and a shot of Crown was $18 (oh, how I miss $1 drinks every night somewhere in Chico).

311 played a lot of old shit tonight, which to hardcore fans like me is just awesome. Thanks, guys. I had a great time. I’ve been dreaming about this day since I first heard you guys way back in 1996. For an “old” band (every member of the band is my age, 34-35 years old) you sure attracted a young crowd. AND you guys can still rock the fucking house.

“The day we turn to pop the show will stop…” — S.A. Martinez, 311

Keep rockin’, guys.  And I’ll keep buying your albums, DVDs, t-shirts, and keep going to your concerts.