Drank - "Slow your roll"

I know now that I would never want to be a door guy at a club.

This revelation occurred to me as I wiggled my fingers inside of my jacket pockets for warmth, listening to a horde of my friends cajole and attempt to coerce the door guy who couldn't let me in at the Cavern because the club was past capacity. Every person who was throwing the show, my friend Leah who asked me to come, and a bunch of drunk friends from an internet forum all stuck their heads out the door and gave the door guy a handful of "Come on"'s and "Look, some people just left, you can let him in now."

It felt nice to be wanted somewhere, granted, but I felt worse for the door guy. This literally went on for over twenty minutes, non-stop, and the guy just kept shaking his head and saying, "Take it up with management." People who arrived after me tried to first use their gender to get in, and then a name drop of one of the DJ's playing at the show.

After the door guy turned them down and resumed trying to ignore the club patrons all vying for their friends to get in, I looked at the one who did the talking and said, "You know I wish I'd thought of that before. I should totally play the girl card!"

OOOOOoooOOOooo hiss, someone better watch out, kitty's got claws. She simply unfocused her eyes at me and actually did a pretty convincing dramatic performance of being unable to see that I existed at all. Frankly, I was impressed. Happily, the door guy let me in first, probably because I just kept my mouth shut and waited patiently. Standing in the cold for 20 minutes was WAY better than what I was doing earlier in the evening.

I agreed a few weeks ago to be the host/dramatic centerpiece for the S4 Christmas party at one of the manager's homes. I wore most of the parts of a Santa outfit: boots, red pants, beard, and hat, sans the shirt to make me a "sexy, dirty Santa". I gave out tickets for the order of the White Elephant exchange, and then walked around and took pictures with guests. This was all fine and good until the party thinned out a little, and the remaining gay club staff started getting wasted and slutty.

I actually had the "stripper does a bachelor party by herself at someone's house" nightmare scenario come true, when I was in one of the bedrooms after having used the bathroom, and three people started putting their hands down my pants simultaneously. Twisting away, I turned to see a fourth person looking into the hall as they started to shut the door. Just as it almost closed, in burst one of the bartenders, my big gay knight in faded black jeans, rescuing me from a rabid mass of horny, probing fingers.

After that wave of boundary violation dissipated, I managed to get paid and leave relatively unmolested. That's when Leah sent me a text about the show I did a Chilly Willy scootch in front of, listening to people try to use different degrees of rave scene importance to gain me passage in. Too bad rave credits aren't accepted wherever ten-dollar-an-hour door guy jobs are sold.

After I got in, I was floored to find there was a week-night electronic music show packed to capacity. Music was awesome, and I got to see a lot of people I used to see twice a week, but now only run into every six months when I manage to get out to Dallas for fun.

After the show ended I hung out with Leah and friends at Taco Cabana and tried to explain Neuro-Linguistic Programming to three very intoxicated, albeit intelligent, but definitely drunk girls. Then I went back to Denton and used the remaining energy drink buzz to buy a bunch of shit at Walmart for my trip to Portland and SF. On Christmas day I'm going to be rockin' my new Dr. Scholls gel inserts as I walk through security at the airport. Living in luxury. Nothing but the finest in medical footwear enhancements for my slender arches.

And now we come to the end of the blog entry, where just ahead is a narrative tie to the title of the post. For all your cracked out hyper-caffeinated needs, drink Drank. It slows your roll.

Seriously, this shit is awesome. I had one when I got home, and apart from the horrible purple flavor (What. I said "purple flavor". Say somethin' motherfucker.), it really does help with jittery late-night insomnia. I'd recommend it to any idiot who gets jacked up enough of red bulls to stay up the whole next day.

-Sean

Sean Sparks Live Set Downloads!

I'm finally joining the internet revolution, and have started encoding old demos and sets into web-friendly downloads (Most recent to oldest):

ZOMBIES!!! (Zombie theme party at Haileys Feb-2008)

Now Fuck Off (Burning Man Orphaner Set Aug-2007)

Live @ Minc (Summer 2005)

Using birthday powers to drop a bomb on your parents

So on Tuesday night I had dinner with my parents for my birthday... regular thing, but this time it was just us. No little brother, no girlfriend or friends, and we actually had a lot of really good conversations. The wine flowed, mom got silly, and I suddenly decided that if ever there was a moment in time where I could easily segue into explaining my intimate life to them, this was it.

So I reminded them of Thanksgiving, when I brought female friend who I introduced as my friend, to join us and hang out. My little cousins saw her and kiss at one point, and asked my mom about my "girlfriend". My mom has met this girl on several occasions before, and had never seen her and I do anything but be chummy, and so she said, "no guys, that's just Sean's friend."

After premising this, I explained to my parents that in actuality, this girl and I had been friends and lovers off and on for 8 years, part of that time while I was dating Meredith. My mom looked like I'd shot her in the kneecap.

I told them that Meredith had known about this, and had also dated other people while were together, that we had had an open relationship. My mom asked why I never brought girls around, if this was the case, and I told her that if I had it would have just confused them or made them think there was something wrong with me, because it would have probably been a different girl every other time.

My dad laughed at all of this, and my mom said, "Monty, this isn't funny, your son is telling us something important!"

He just shook his head and said, "Gail, I was around in the 70's. Remember the 70's? I do, especially taking my Vette out to the street races and taking home some girls. I did this shit too."

Fucking awesome birthday present. I managed to score a level up in disclosure and trust with my family, way better than the Gphone I got.

Also, I got a Gphone.

-Sean

Wanting to build something amazing...

...and not knowing how to do it by myself is the hardest thing in the world to deal with. My brain is like a super-tangential-idea-machine, and never stops kicking out ideas for inventions, story plots, art, performances, music, promoting myself and others, and most importantly, theme camp ideas.

I'm an idea man. I'm good at it.

I wish I could find someone in the community who's type A and willing to help me realize my concepts. Between my disorganized approach to manifesting what I dream and facing the final semester of school, a Mount Everest towering 18 credit hours of all 4000 level (graduate level) classes, I can't make it happen without an implementer.

So far people in the core cell of theme camp members have been helpful and very cooperative, and Jason T has been amazing at pushing the envelope and making the connections we need to make in Dallas for our fundraisers, but I wish there was someone who's done theme camps before and knows how to organize basic projects:

1. Booking a venue (preferably free) for a fundraiser, putting together fliers and promotion and appointing key people to be responsible for disseminating the information like it's their job (and staying on top of them to do it), organizing the sound system setup and the creation or acquisition of any items to be used for decor, performances, or to sell to make more money. Fucking bumper stickers that say "I like to burn shit." ... I dunno.

2. Being the go-to person for scheduling the group and special team (DJ booth construction team, art team, hexayurt construction team, etc) meetings, or being able to find someone else who can and making that their job.

3. Organizing saving the money, possibly through a tax ID and LLC status, and setting up some easy way for people who need it to purchase materials or tools to get it (and be accountable for what they spend it on).

4. Setting up or finding someone who can set up a means for the group to communicate effectively via a wiki or website for the group with a forum, and keeping everyone updated via an email list about important dates, including when to buy tickets.

5. Organizing or finding someone to organize the transportation of the camp materials effectively and cheaply to Austin, via a rented truck or our own vehicles with trailers (I think we've learned our lesson, finally, though. Moving truck = way to go.)

I'm just rambling now, describing things I wish I had the time and resources to accomplish, when all I have is ideas, themes, concepts, inventions...

I need an implementer. THE implementer.

Universe? Are you listening? I want to make something beautiful and amazing to share with 3000 other incredible and enlightened people, can you help me out? Tony Stark had Pepper Potts, and he was an asshole. I'm not asking for a flying exosuit or anything, just some pyrotechnics.

-Sean

Asleep at my Feet

Asleep at my feet, you're curled up in a little ball. You've fallen asleep on my stuffed alligator, Rumba, and are holding your head up a little with your arm propped against your chin. Romulus, my cat, is sitting up right in front of your face, his right side to you as he sits and idly takes in the details of the room.

The sun is sliding over the hardwood in my kitchen, creeping nearer to my foot propped up on the coffee table with each glance. It's reaching out to me, clutching at my toes ensconced in warm, wool socks, trying to draw me out into the chilly morning air. I leave my foot there, letting is move toward the bait leopardlike, sliding behind cracks and peeking out across small expanses to jump to the next point of cover. It's almost here, now, tickling at the dry, calloused botooms of my feet.

You're very beautiful when you sleep. Your lips pursed just so, slight but full, almost kissing your hand. I remember what it felt like to kiss them earlier, feel them slipping and pressing against mine, licking them softly, wetly, with my tongue, then kissing them fully, our tongues dancing lightly around each other, tips darting across and over each other, then our lips closing, me biting your bottom lip just a little, with the softest tug. Our eyes opened, and it was like we'd just finished having a conversation. Intimate but cordial. This was as far as you wanted to go, and you were telling me with those eyes.

We stayed up and talked, ran our fingers over each others bodies, occasionally wrapping together and just sliding our legs together, hugging close. Beautiful, temporary, tomorrow has no expectations for us, just this moment of closeness and indulgent kisses.

It's caught me now, pulling me out into the cold, and you're still holding my hand. We'll go out together, smiling at the uncaring sun and dancing to the wind singing in the trees.

-Sean