We were on a mission.  Lost on the dark, windy streets of Worcester Massachusetts we were frantically searching for an ever elusive CVS.  Looking left and looking right, we failed to notice what was right in front of us: a set of speeding headlights.  After an elongated, Wayne’s World-esque monotone unison scream we swerved out of the oncoming traffic and spun into an abandoned grocery store parking lot. Sighs of relief were released.

Why were we in this precarious position?  Simple: We had one shot, one opportunity to hand our demo to the best band ever:  Guster.    There was only one problem:  We forgot to bring our demo.   It had literally been three hours since our new Sea of Leaves EP was recorded.  I decided to burn a couple in hopes of handing them off to the band after the show.  After an hour ride to Worcester, MA, whistling “All the Way Up to Heaven” the entire way, we failed to notice the lack of the aforementioned CD’s in the car.  Upon joyfully skipping into the venue I grabbed my empty pockets and felt my stomach sink into them.  I had forgotten the CD’s.  I had passes to meet the band after the show, but NO CD’s to hand off to them!!

Me and manager Yon went into a state of panic.  We ran back to our car in order to scour it for any trace of the CD’s. We tore his VW apart until the floor mats were dismantled.  The Sea of Leaves EP was nowhere to be found.  Not wanting to waste this great opportunity, Yon proposed we drive back to Boston to pick them up.  Being a die-hard Guster fan I proposed staying in order to catch the entire set.  We decided to play the Australian drinking game, two up, for the decision.  Yon called “obverse” (heads) and I called “odds” (one heads, one tails).  The coins landed obverse!  We gathered up all the debris we tore out of the car tossed it in the front seat.  Then a light bulb went off in my mind!  Sitting on my lap was my IBM Thinkpad, the standard Babson College computer, and on the hard drive were the newly downloaded tracks to the EP!  We simply needed to find a CVS to buy CD’s to burn them onto.  Simple.

We jogged down the parking garage stairs and asked a police man the location of the nearest CVS.  He pointed us down the road one mile and told us to make a right after three lights.  Just to make sure we found the closest CVS on our TomTom (who happens to be programmed to C3PO’s voice) and pulled out of the parking garage.  After three lights, C3PO told us to “turn left master” where the cop told us to turn right.  I obviously chose to follow the advice of an advanced multi-lingual droid instead of the policeman who is most likely not fluent in the tribal tongue of the Ewoks.    Turns out C3PO was wrong.  Instead of heading up the road a mile we were aimlessly wondering around the shady streets of Worcester.  As C3PO continued to shout meaningless directions, we somehow we ended on the ramp onto a random highway.  This wouldn’t have been a big problem except for the fact that the gas light had been on for about 30 minutes.  We couldn’t risk running out of gas on the highway so pulled a ballsy U-Turn in front of the ramp.  Turns out our U Turn was more of an L turn and this puts us back to the beginning of this blog where our lives were dangling by a thread in the shadows of oncoming traffic.

We quickly composed ourselves.  I ran down a cart pushing grocery store employee zeroing in on the closest CVS and we reprogrammed our TomTom to zero in on it.  Eventually we found the CVS and were ready to burn the CD’s.  I flipped open my computer and realized I had 13% battery left.  Luckily I had my charger on me so we decided to race back to the garage and plug into an outlet I spotted out before leaving.  After hitting literally the most consecutive red lights in the history of driving we pulled into the garage.  I hopped out of the car while it was still moving and darted towards the outlet.  I DID NOT want to miss “Ruby Falls”!  I grabbed my computer, plugged in my outlet, and crouched down on the questionably looking parking garage floor.  In five minutes we would be in the Hanover Theatre rocking out to Guster.  The CD’s burned and slammed my laptop shot.  Mission Complete.

We rolled into the show midway through “Two Points for Honesty” and enjoyed one of the best concerts ever.  A ukulele literally was summoned from the ceiling of the theatre by a melodic harmony sang by Ryan.  After the show we caught up with the band and handed them off our demos.  Little did they know, we went through near death experiences in order to bring them our music.  Now Guster has officially heard our music and we’re hoping good things come of it!!

Moral of the story:  Robots lie.

“What is frolf?” You may ask.  It is the love child of Frisbee and golf.  I stumbled upon the greatness of frolf thanks to the late great Tiger Woods, the year 2010, an anamonapeaia (ana-mana-pee-ah) of a gaming system, and the child-like curiosity of three hippie band mates.  The game is called Tiger Woods Golf 2010, the system is called the Wii, and the hippies are called The Day Life.    Combined emerges the instant classic of Digital Frolfing.  This form of Frolf has acute side effects including knocking over lamps and the strange disappearance of time.  Though I have yet to take this game into the realm of reality, I did look into purchasing state of the art Frolf gear.

When not crafting tasty licks, Dallas Hosey can be often caught Frolfing in the wilderness of Tyler State Park located in Bucks County Pennsylvania.  Wearing his Frolf hat and Frolf Shorts he skips hole to hole tossing his disc with zeal.

Currently, I am on an avid search for a Framingham Frolf course, but the search has been fruitless.  It seems as though the craze has not hit the city of Boston quite yet, but I see myself being the ambassador of Frolf.  Armed with a Frisbee, a tie die shirt, and a Donovan record I’ll spread the joy of Frolf* to the people of the world one disc at a time.

*The word “Frolf” was used 17 times in this article.

A lot of the time people ask me, “How do you come up with your songs?”  I usually answer, “Well they just come to me” or “Divine Intervention.”

BUT, these are both bold faced lies. Here is the real story of how a song is created, step by step:

First, I rise early in the afternoon and apply Japanese rubbing oils to my forehead. These stimulate brain activity and enhance the creative process.

Next, I spend between 1 to 3 hours in a hot shower, humming to myself. I enter the shower prepared with a bass drum and harmonica, for they are often times necessary in the creative process. By the end of this step, I usually have anywhere from 1-3,000 song ideas.

From here, I take the potential songs to my sound guru, Alan.  Alan is my moderately sized pet anteater that fancies dressing up in jean jackets with fuzzy lining. Alan is a musical genius and my dear friend.

If Alan dances, I play on.

If he sticks his tongue out, I stop and reapply my lotion.

I continue and repeat this process for days on end until I have written enough songs to keep Alan dancing for approximately twenty four minutes.

DANCE ALAN, DANCE!

NEW YORK is a place full of cars and people. Sometimes the people are famous, sometimes they drive in limos. Sometimes the band van takes side view mirrors off of these famous people’s limos. This was precisely the case this past week in New York.

CAPTAIN WILL HOSEY, in charge of navigating the conversion van full of musical equipment, happened to misjudge a sharp turn onto Houston street when an unsuspecting limo came out of nowhere making mirror to mirror contact with The-Day-Life-Mobile. Seeing as our van is made out of iron and the tears of rugged lumberjacks,

the meek and meager limo’s side view mirror was instantly decimated. This navigational miscalculation might have been caused by acute post show drinking, a drunk rhythm guitarist sitting shotgun, or a combination of the two.

REGARDLESS, being an ethical musician, Will pulled over and tried to reason with the disgruntled limousine driver. A phone call to the NYPD was made in order to assess the damage, and captain Hosey and the Star Trek The Day Life crew just sat and waited. Well sort of. Shane ended up passed out in the back of the van while Dallas struggled to hide certain items in his shoe. Eventually, we found out that Mr. Limo-Man was a drummer in a rock band, and gained a little sympathy and empathy for the automotive damage.

AFTER AN HOUR’S WAIT, our friend, fellow musician, and limousine driver let us off the hook and we were on our way back to Philly. It seems that some brotherly love seeped out of Philadelphia into the boroughs of New York. Thank you Mr. Limo driver, your favor is much appreciated.