Freeing the Fat Head

There has been a serious conflagration regarding our band’s ability to output anything – music, blog entries, complete sentences – over the last few months. The reasons have been very well justified with our guitarist getting married and going on a prolonged moon of honey, the holiday season and its redundancy of parties, events, and jaundiced obligations, and, of course, the third season of The Office in full swing. All these diversions brought a sputter to our splutter.

Additionally, we were derailed by one other thought – to embark upon a tour in 2007.

Yes, we agreed to let the creative process bubbling over in Gene’s basement to ferment for a while. Instead, we will be turning our attentions to actually learning a satisfactory chunk of our work and preparing to play in front of a handful of adoring fans. Or the homeless in a captive soup kitchen on a frigid night.

Dubbed the “Before the Snow Melts Tour 2007,” our aggressive road goals are to (1) play out before this alleged winter’s snow melts, and (2) play at least one show on the tour.

Grueling, yes; I know. It is, really. If you realize how hard it has been for us to get together once a week during this autumn and winter, you would recognize that trying to schedule a single show out in the next few months and be ready to play is akin to trying to fit Joe Liebermann’s head inside a barn.

Besides the practicing and the scheduling and the returning of all the empties, we also have to:

• Buy a van or old school bus and paint our logo on the side and drive through wheat fields in Kansas for our documentary.



• Develop addiction habits for drugs, groupies, canned tuna, AM radio, Handiwipes, and Satan and Satan-like byproducts, such as Suduko.



• Consider bathing and brushing teeth optional.



• Refuse to talk to the media except the really pretty media, like the elusive and dark-haired Nicole Petallides of Bloomberg News or the elusive and dark-haired Taina Hernandez of ABC World News Now.



• Wave our hands in the air like we just don’t care.



• To always thank our fans, friends, families, God, Joey Ramone, Bob Crane, and Tom from MySpace.



• Look pensive and wear crummy shoes for all photo opportunities.



• Proactively campaign for an environmental or otherwise liberal cause, like “Free Joe Liebermann’s Head from the Barn.”



• For our documentary, come up with a silly-yet-endearing pre-show ritual where we join hands and chant in unison. Or vomit nervously. Hence, the crummy shoes.



• Go on a spontaneous-yet-filmed shopping spree in whatever city we are playing in to make an awesome montage of us trying on crazy outfits, feeding each other Slivered Dung Foo Chicken in Slippery Kelp Sauce in the Food Court, and wading in the mall fountains and splashing each other with such frivolity that you can feel all the gusto of a CSPAN Senate vote. All while something goofy-and-delightful is playing in the background, like Neal Sedaka’s “Laughter in the Rain,” or Terry Jacks’ “Seasons in the Sun,” or Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer.” And perhaps Dan is wearing a halter top.

Exhausting, you must admit. And that’s all for one show. Imagine if we did more. That’s a lot of montages.

We are currently in the process of “gearing up.” We bought a new PA head to practice with. Ray has new drums. Fog machines, laser lighting, pyrotechnics, white albino tigers, the Soul Train Dancers, flags from every nation, a roller coaster, zombies, and five thousand hamsters (four thousand alive, one thousand lightly fried) are also on our shopping list.

So you may want to camp out now for tickets, as we expect them to sell briskly. Get in the proper line, too; the one in front of Gamestop filled with ashen-skinned, lonely males clutching a Darth Vader-shaped ceramic piggy bank filled with loose change are waiting for November’s release of Halo 3 (“The Arbiter Opens the Bill Gates of Hell and Decides to Work at Sony”). Our ticket line more closely resembles the one in front of a soup kitchen. You know, the one filled with pensiveness and crummy shoes. Just head for the vomit.

Super Sunday Hamster Blender's first tour stop is at the Grady Tavern in Manchester, CT (622 Middle Turnpike East). Visit them even when we are not there. Our show is being booked by the good people at Rock Yer Socks.