Diary of a Stomper

Dear Diary,

What a day! Totally random. Here's the breakdown:

• 8:00AM. Met with our photographer Cody for another trash can lid shoot. The ads are always fun, but I'm starting to run out of ways to look totally fierce with these goofy things. This time Cody was like, "show me sly and mysterious." I tried my best:

• 11:00AM. Aja, Blaine, CeCe and I went to the junkyard to find some new prop instruments - or Stomp-struments as we like to say - for the new act. Blaine salvaged these beautiful rusty refrigerator doors that will sound soooo delish with some tasty mallet work. I found some mattress springs. I dunno what I'm gonna do with them yet, but you know. Stuff. 
• 12:30PM. Lunch! Jamba, what else? 
• 1:00PM. Went to Kendall, my clog-connect to fix up my stompers. He added a deadly 3/4 more inches to the soul that will sound so badass on stage. Not exactly Stomp-legal, but fuck it. I'll take the extra edge however I can. Props, Ken-dawg.
• 2:00PM. Practice. Don't say anything, but Palmer, Cheyenne, Trey and Falco were way off on their synchronized broom sweeps. What's so hard about a push, pivot, stomp, turn, push, pull, push, push, stomp? It's not like we're wearing pots on our heads like back in '98. 
• 4:00PM. Got a ticket for drumming on a small child's head. I'm gonna fight it though because anything outside is my drum! The kid was clearly an idiot for being a thing in front of me. 
• 5:30PM. Ran into Drake and Kasha busking at the Broadway Lafayette F. They haven't been doing so well since the layoff. Drake's paradiddles are way loose on his upside-down bucket and Kasha's taken to stomping in some crummy Doc Martens. Big ups to Drake though; his dread-mullet is looking FRESH.
• 6:00PM. Dinner. Don't ever order salads from Grey Dog. Their croutons are pan-fried, not baked. I know!
• 7:00PM. I have such a crush on Colter. It's something about his super tiny wife beater and enormous clown jeans with rolled up cuffs that make me crazy. His boots are so fucking huge. Drool.
• 8:30PM. Someone on 2nd avenue called me a shithead. I'd stomp his ass, but he'd have to pay me $69.00 or ($84.00 through Ticketmaster) for that particular privilege. Loser.

That's about it, Diary. Drums rule. Life rules. 

Stomp On,

Inphinitee "Tee" Jones

Comments

[Coleman]

You love schedules. I can't say I blame you. You do 'em well.

[Brian]

True story, in college I won, via a write-in essay contest to a Boston Theater email list I was on:
2 Tickets to see Stomp
and the best part: Dinner with the entire cast of Stomp at Bertucci's Brick Oven Pizzeria.

I cannot deny it, best night of my life.