STEPH DEROSA: HOTROD-A-RAMA >>>
Hotrod-A-Rama was where it was AT this weekend. Thank goodness for the Marty Campbell and Buzzard Discs for adopting the Volcano Lounge, or else I would have nowhere else to host this week’s Dinner with DeRosa. It wasn’t after I used his private restroom 15 times (damn Pabst Blue Ribbon) that I realized he was keeping tally and going to ask me to return the favor by buying him an equal amount of drinks.
I’m hoping that Marty will once again let us use his private restroom as we embark on another Hotrod-A-Rama themed Dinner with DeRosa.
Friday night’s Hotrod-A-Rama party at The Swiss gave me an ample reminder of old college days, beer soaked floors, sweaty drunk men, and crowded bars. There was no band-aid to repair anyone’s busted body bubble as asses were accidentally groped and elbow checks were to be had left and right. Fortunately there were numerous familiar faces, such as my good friend Lindsey Silver. Lindsey and I together have survived being in Packwood, Wash., at the epicenter of an earthquake, fights over fund-raisers, and many drunken nights. She will definitely be in attendance for this week’s DWD.
Shawn Wheelock was in the house Friday night for sure. Hell, he was in the house and around the house all weekend at the Hotrod-A-Rama. Thank you Shawn for the fantastic hugs, positive smiles, and all the exhausting work you put into the event to make it so incredible. I’d love for you to be a part of our imaginary dinner this week. Pretty please, would you?
Just as the crowd was at it’s thickest, and the stench of body sweat began to permeate your clothes â€" Farts O’Toole steps up to plate. We’re pretty sure Mr. O’Toole was the culprit in clearing the room Friday night at The Swiss. A reeking odor of rotten eggs and worm-infested cantaloupe singed our nose hairs as our gag reflexes started to kick in. Farts O’Toole tried his hardest to play innocent and look around as though he was disgusted as well, but you’re not fooling us. You’re invited this week to dinner because you’re pretty darn good-looking, but don’t show up empty handed when we open the door. You better be packin’ the Gas-X in your back pocket, brother.
The Red Hot wasn’t the only hot dog game in town this weekend. Look at these dogs! This tiny lady carrying a heaping plate of large wieners was instantaneously a picture I needed to take. We’re chowing on those suckers for dinner this week. Unless they give Mr. O’Toole gas, then he gets none.
Donna Bleed and MyTai Smashya of Tacoma’s very own Dockyard Derby Dames will be in attendance. Why? Because they kick ass. That’s the only reason I need.
Lastly, and most importantly, Sue Walla will be dining with us this week. I’m honored to have had the conversation I had with her seeing as how she is the mom of Chris Walla, Death Cab For Cutie’s guitarist. As some of you may know, I am not a fan of the band. It’s even become a running joke that I dislike their sound. Even after Sue became aware of this, she still talked to me with nothing but grace, compassion, and understanding. I can’t even begin to tell you what positive light her words brought, and what they meant to me. The respect I have for this woman, and the newfound respect I have for Death Cab For Cutie, is immeasurable. No, their tunes still don’t strike the right personal chords in my heart â€" but as musicians and human beings I have gained nothing but a newborn admiration for this little Seattle band called Death Cab for Cutie.
Mangiamo!
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