Let me take you back, people, back…
Back to a time before the National discourse was not virally infected by Joseph Kony’s goddamn mug: 
Back to a distant time when we didn’t know the current location of that fucking Rock rolling into LACMA , or what, exactly, Kat from the Hunger Games was gonna look like!
Yes, I’m talking about all of 2 weeks ago!
Tell me, don’t ya think we’re doing some sort of permanent damage, with this frenetic attention span?
We flit along, tweaker hummingbirds, taking up the latest fad in the media spotlight, abandoning yesterday’s focus.
What ever happened to Angelina’s meaty thigh, huh?
But I was just catching up with all the photoshopping hijinks!
Heh.
After a bit of a layoff, we are told to report to the wilds of Reseda, a night at Weber’s.
Time to catch up with old pals Mad Parade and the Dirty Filthy Mugs!
We’ve been bad, we haven’t been out to the Valley in a couple decades.
So what, that the skanks with teased out hair in convertible Corvettes have been replaced with soccer moms in sensible shoes?
This nutty town still rocks…or should I say, ROX!
Ya know, I miss stage fright. Or any emotion, really....
In the scant 4 days before a quick jaunt out to Pomona and our beloved Character’s, we learn of Snooki’s pregnancy and the untimely (newspeak for blow-related) death of Andrew Breitbart.
Somehow related? hmmmmmm!
No time to ponder the cultural hailstorm on the horizon, for it’s a gig with them Oi Boys of greatness, The Business.
It’s a night of brown liquids and footbally chants, and before long we’re huggin it up with the crowd and calling the band The Bidness!
Oh, we yuck away the rest of the night, not knowing that in the foggy night just beyond these sticky walls, the onslaught grinds away.
A Private Donor-endowed boulder glides ever closer.
Davy Jones will soon lay down to his final night of sleep……
Only a day between to sober up and prepare for the OC Music Awards, and it’s hard to take much more.
We stay off Facebook.
As we change guitar strings, we switch the flat panel to mute.
Still, the images bombard us:
Romney grins down at us as only the truly rich can.
Demi Lavato show us the scars on her forearms.
As we hit the red carpet for the swanky affair at The Grove, a tornado touches down in Indiana.
We’re honored to be here for Rodney’s Lifetime Achievement Award.
About time!, we’d say!!
We file backstage and wait for the curtain to rise.
Out front we can hear The Adolescents receiving their 24th yearly award for Best Punk Band.
Us?
No awards, again, no.
But there’s a keg of free BudLight out back, baby, and free sausages up front.
We’re good.
It turns out to be a grand night!
Rodney seems in great spirits, still surprised after all these years of the genuine love there is for the man……
An easy night for us: one quick song, the rest of the night filing empty guitar cases with RedBulls and Vitamin Waters.
We load out into the night, a weird week behind us, but 3 great and different gigs.
But as we lay our heads down, finally, to rest, the news, she comes:
Remains of an amusement park have been discovered on Mars.
Kelsey Grammer announces plans for a gender reassignment surgery.
A Facebook campaign has started, overnight, to ban Blues Traveler from ever playing live again.
When we awake, there are already a million likes, and the OC Weekly has identified us as 7 Seconds.
Well played, media. Well played.
The CH3 Blog 