I first met Brackett (codenamed) in high school. A class clown, making everyone laugh, writing hilarious essays for assignments like how How to Kill a Mockingbird was a alien conspiracy cover-up or advocating for multisex gym locker rooms. He also sat outside the Music wing of the building in the lobby by these benches made out of trees, cleverly nicknamed the Treebenches, playing guitar. Long story shorter, we made friends.
As a freshmen of 14, I'd just received my first electric guitar ever for my birthday, and it wasn't long until the following Christmas when Santa drove me to the guitar shop again and hooked me up with an electric-acoustic. Epiphone PR-5E. All black, Les Paul cut, was real quiet which I dug since it didn't bother the 'rents when I rocked out in room at all hours of the night, composing overemotional ballads about girls I'd never ever play for them. It was a typical scene, but man I was into it at the time. And watching Brackett play aloud in front of his friends tempted me to develop my skills, learn some songs, and bring my guitar to school.
The Treebenches became a musical nexus after school. The respective Bands and Choirs would come in and go out of their respective practices. I wasn't deeply involved in the drama club at the time, so I just wasted time during the "after school" hours until the late bus there on the benches with my guitar and Brackett. We'd trade it off, playing the handful of songs we knew poorly, showing each other the limited new things we knew the other didn't and so on. And as our friendship thickened, so did the idea.
A band.
I was invited over Brackett's house with mutual friend hereby referred to as Billiam (sorry, Will). Billiam was a well trained piano player and we had a keyboard. Keyboard, two guitars, and a crappy computer microphone plugged into Brackett's PC. We listened to some songs Brackett had recorded all by himself for some inspiration and playfully struck at chords and melodies and riffs and ultimately recorded nothing.
It took a longer time hanging out with them before we were comfortable enough to actually admit this sounded good or that sounded bad. And it took even longer before we had to stop caring about concerns for quality altogether.
One fateful day of "practice," we had Billiam's sister over and our other friend who's image will forever be scarred in my memory from his not-brief-enough stint with a mullet haircut. Sorry dude, but you're Mulletberg forever to me, and so I will dub you on the Internet. Did the Queen dub Knights? Was that "dubbing"? OK. Sir Mulletberg. We cool? Cool.
We all gathered and were just messing around with guitars, keyboards, a recorder, a kazoo, a violin and a tape measure that could sound like a makeshift maraca. And Brackett started recording for the pure fuck of it. Twenty four tracks later...we had songs. And Brackett and the Drill Bits was thus born.
Aaaaaaaaannnnddd so:
Enter "Rock 4 a Cause."
A highschool student group founded for the pure purpose of putting on local rock shows and donating the proceeds to charity. Also, an excuse to get any band we wanted to come play a show in our town for a legitimate reason. The members of R4AC also were in bands themselves and now had legitimate excuses to play live shows. Ofcourse I'm part of this group. Ofcourse the first show R4AC organizes, I instantly mention Brackett and the Drill Bits and we're slotted to open for the larger acts. My bandmates weren't exactly thrilled at the idea of a live performance, since over half our songs had only been done once for that recording. But the core three, Brackett, Billiam and I, we were down. We took our best ones and added a cover of "Mary Had a Little Lamb." Luckily playing before us was another "joke band" called xBaSHx, for Becky and Shelly Heather, the band members, and their loud obnoxious parody of hardcore punk rock. This took some of the edge off.
So we practiced. We practiced hard. Our set list was nailed down. The day came. It was time to rock.
The show was booked in the basement of the Unitarian Universalist Church in Norway, Maine. We had some big names showing up and lots of people came as well to help set it up. The group rented almost all it's audio equipment from the now-defunct Muscle City Productions, back when it was way indie and legit and run by two kids from my high school. Things were looking good. Some bands even arrived a bit early, which is a rare commodity in the local rock show scene.
But when doors opened at 7:00 and xBaSHx took the stage...the crowd was approximately nine people, all from R4AC. Our friends. xBaSH was over in like three minutes, then we were up. Our big moment. Setting up and sound check took a bit, we were borrowing the amps from the band after us, Caligula. Billiam's keyboards took a while to plug in and adjust the levels on, but before we knew it...we had to play. Oh boy.
We opened with "We Suck," one of our strongest tunes and really set the mood for the rest of the set. We wanted the audience to know what we were all about. There was even a tiny, tiny guitar solo before the end by yours truly. I tore my Epiphone to shreds, I tell you what. The crowd had grown incrementally more than nine, and they reacted positively. But they had to. They were our friends.
Next we played "Transcendentalist Blues," a song Brackett composed as a Social Studies project on Henry David Thoreau. Billiam played rhythm guitar. I had no defined role in this song, so we made up a percussion part, which I performed using the Percussion setting on Billiam's keyboard, keeping the beat with the cowbell. After that we had "My Guitar's Out of Tune," Brackett wrote it in his bedroom a long time ago when he couldn't tune his guitar. Billiam back on the keys, and I whipped out my bongoes as a surprise move. The sound guy really wasn't ready for a bongo mic, but we made due very quickly.
After that, we finished the set off with our cover of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" with some extremely distorted guitar and extremely distorted (read: awfulawfulawful) vocals provided by me. I even switched a verse to German. 'Cause I know some German. It wasn't a translation. Just the German I know. Phrases like "Supermarket." "Dresden." "I Love You." and "The Boat."
And that was it. Our first and only live performance. The 9-12 folks present were enthused.
After us was Caligula, made up of other friends of ours, some heavy duty Latin rock, then the more popular local acts from the Southern Maine area. Eating Alone, who were way cool and I'd seen around a lot and even been that one kid who wanted to be cool so he helped load out their drum kit a couple of times. I knew their names. No big deal. Then came Every 40 Seconds, another big name. Closing out the night was the most famous. Animal Suit Driveby. They recently got signed to some major label, I'm not even sure if they're still on it, but they changed their name to The Killing Moon and became way cooler. Changed their sound a bit, but that's what happens. Anyways. They were Animal Suit Driveby then, and were kickass. We even got to hang out with them after the show. We wanted to go illegally sledding at the inner-tubing place but people were there, so instead we went to a big, big scary abandoned mill of notoriety. They definitely don't remember, but that was as basically close to fame as Brackett and the Drill Bits ever came.
R4AC ended up raising a good hunk of cash and donated it to an organization helping homeless teens, which is a great cause to rock for. And Brackett and the Drill Bits helped.
We still have a website up. I had to make it in order to pass my Advanced Communications class and I really didn't want to so I had Billiam show me how to construct the barest minimum of design on Dreamweaver. None of the mp3's you can listen to on the site involve me, just Brackett's home recordings, but that's perfectly fine since he's infinitely more musically talented than I am. Regardless, I'll regretfully link to it. Here you go: Brackett and the Drill Bits.
It occurs to me now that linking there has deemed my traditional use of codenames completely moot, but whatev's. I'm not even sure if you can get a CD through that means anymore. I still have one copy of Bionic Telemusic, but it's sealed away to never be listened to ever. Just kidding.
Showing posts with label brackett and the drill bits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brackett and the drill bits. Show all posts
5.14.2008
12.17.2007
80's Night
I almost got in a fight last night. In the middle of a totally classic top billboard hit from the ‘80's.
The chorus was “‘Cause I don’t want to lose your love to-niiight!” but I don’t know whether that was the title or not.
It was 80's Night at Bubba’s Sulky Lounge, a slightly shady dance club in the Parkside area of downtown Portland. Every Friday night is 80's Night, and the people dress up and dance and there’s a costume competition at the end. My friend, hereby referred to as Charge, won 50 bucks one night. But tonight was the Finals Competition, where the winners came out, mingled with the judges, answered 80's trivia, and of course, had a dance off.
And I, of course, was there getting my boy’s back. Aviator’s and this brown and tan velour longsleeve with these retro stripes on the shoulders. PBR tallboys. My hair still had some gel products in it from the performance earlier that night, and was slicked into a major part.
Oh yeah, should probably mention Charge had also choreographed a piece for DanceUSM, a dance battle with themes from the 80's, early 90's hip hop, electro-pop and modern dance. I was part of Charge’s posse and we rolled up on my other friend, hereby referred to as Tails, I had this little bit where I sort of “announce” the dance battle drawing influence from southern LA’s krump dancing scene. It’s pretty intense, but this isn’t about that.
I’m at Bubba’s, busting some moves, too legit to quit, getting my drink on, supporting the intensely 80's-ified dancer extraordinaire ex-Resident Assistant of mine, having a great time. Tails is there. He’s having a great time. One of my best friends from high school, hereby referred to as Mothernight, is there. She is having a great time. Amelia Airheart is there. She’s having a great time too. There’s a large assortment of other random acquaintances of mine speckled about the light up dance floor. These are great times happening.
But things got not so great. Mothernight, a friend of mine in pretty much a sisterly sense, started to have not so great a time. This 17-year-old kid, hereby referred to as Douchebag, with a fake ID was dancing with her and coming on a little too strong. She was legitimately dancing with him and it wasn’t a huge thing at all yet, but I told her she just had to say the word and I would do my best to pretend I was every dominant masculine archetype I’ve ever seen on TV and tell this kid what’s what. Mothernight can take care of herself, but she told me my support was appreciated. I mentioned Douchebag’s unwelcome advances to Tails and he became very excited at the prospects of getting into a fight for something noble like a woman’s honor, and frankly I was too. We had a posse. This could go down.
That wasn’t the primary focus here. I was dancing with AA, grooving to the jams of a decade long past. A tumultuous and confusing time for our country’s culture. A lot of shit happened in the 80's we weren’t ready for. My roommate, hereby referred to as Juniper Bush, or JB, said that to me, and he’s right. Somehow in the mix, the young and hip started wearing big hair, acid washed jeans and fashion choices now considered vaguely homosexual. Reagan was in office, the Taliban was getting American funding to fight off Soviet Russia, a bunch of people were held hostage inside an airplane in Iran. The B-52's named an album “Rock Lobster.” On one dark morning, rain poured down over the bricks and asphalt of Portland’s building and streets, the streetlights incandescent, lightning struck, and in a fluorescent lit hospital room I was brought into this world. Oh, to be back in ‘86.
Instead I’m here, dancing like a dance machine with the children of this crazy era The same decade responsible for Cyndi Lauper. (But that’s okay, I fuckin’ love Cyndi Lauper, and would father her children and start a family with her whenever she desired. Cyndi, if you’re reading this, we belong together. I will be waiting. Time after time.) There is a trivia contest for the finalists only. Not every question is answered. Nobody here has studied Three’s Company extensively. Charge told me he got one right, and that made me proud. Then they had the dance competition. The judges were dispersed among the audience, only the finalists are allowed on the light up dance floor, and what does the DJ play? “Blister in the Sun,” by the The motherfucking Violent Femmes. I freak out. This rocks too hard. Charge did a damn swell job, the other finalists clearly did not dance much outside a drunken bar setting. The song ends, we all cheer, they tell us the winners will be announced shortly.
We all flood back onto the floor. The dancing recommences. And it’s not long before I see Douchebag kissing Mothernight’s neck, and deep within me the urge is summoned to simply approach the two and knock him directly in the face with my fist. But that’s just the testosterone and secret desire to see how well I’d hold up in a fight. I weighed the good idea vs. the bad idea and realized punching Douchebag in the face was not the appropriate course of action. I’m having a great time, I don’t want to get kicked out of Bubba’s, maybe Mothernight is starting to dig on him. So it gets brushed off into “Whatever. Just dance”
But Mothernight comes up to me a bit later, still peeved at this kid. She doesn’t want to be a bitch and tell him off, but also doesn’t want anything to do with him, and at this point he’s definitely getting the wrong ideas. So things are set in motion. Tails’s girlfriend moves in between the two, soon followed by Tails. I have Mothernight switch places with me, to my right, further from Douchebag, and given the crowded dance floor, there is some solid distance placed between the,.. I’m still dancing with and paying attention to AA, but some side glances tell me this kid is searching the crowd. He locates her and stops dancing and pushes his way up to her. Words are spoken, he begins to dance up on her again, but she pushes him off with a full two arm extension shove. Awesome. Grand slam. Ace in the hole. Peace out, kid. He sort of disappointed wanders off past me, and we meet eyes. This is my moment. I have slicked hair and aviator’s and do a silent and simple one, two head shake. A very clear and orderly "no way, pal." It looked pretty funny. Douchebag just smirks and pushes me to the side a bit and walks off. I laugh and continue with getting my dance on.
Five to ten minutes later, I check back around the floor. And there’s Douchebag, grinding up against this random taller chick than him and staring DIRECTLY at me. It was ridiculous sight and I grinned at him and didn’t see much of him the rest of the night.
They announced the winners, there was a Fancy Feet award, then a second place, then a first place, with a prize of 1,000 dollars. Charge nabbed second, and $500 big ones. The grand prize winners were this friend of mine Ben, and his other friend. They both wore dark blue biker suits laced with those glowsticks you can attach at the ends into necklaces, also interwoven into their bike helmets, and around frisbees they had. They danced like robots the whole night, and would throw the frisbees up and around and catch them in different dance positions. Real cool. They deserved it. Charge deserved his 500. I deserved not getting into a fight with a stupid kid way younger than me.
So I didn’t actually almost get into a fight. Kinda lied with my opening sentence there. But that’s the hook, y’know? If Douchebag kid had handled the situation differently, we might have thrown down outside in the slushy parking lot and cold winter night, or right there on the floor under and over the bright flashing lights in between everyone. Am I upset I didn’t get in a fight? No. Not really. I had an awesome time. There’s still the bottled rage testosterone wanting to legitimately fight a man urge, but maybe that will happen another time, in another place, hopefully over a lady’s honor, and then I’ll write a Travipedia article about it. Just for you.
The chorus was “‘Cause I don’t want to lose your love to-niiight!” but I don’t know whether that was the title or not.
It was 80's Night at Bubba’s Sulky Lounge, a slightly shady dance club in the Parkside area of downtown Portland. Every Friday night is 80's Night, and the people dress up and dance and there’s a costume competition at the end. My friend, hereby referred to as Charge, won 50 bucks one night. But tonight was the Finals Competition, where the winners came out, mingled with the judges, answered 80's trivia, and of course, had a dance off.
And I, of course, was there getting my boy’s back. Aviator’s and this brown and tan velour longsleeve with these retro stripes on the shoulders. PBR tallboys. My hair still had some gel products in it from the performance earlier that night, and was slicked into a major part.
Oh yeah, should probably mention Charge had also choreographed a piece for DanceUSM, a dance battle with themes from the 80's, early 90's hip hop, electro-pop and modern dance. I was part of Charge’s posse and we rolled up on my other friend, hereby referred to as Tails, I had this little bit where I sort of “announce” the dance battle drawing influence from southern LA’s krump dancing scene. It’s pretty intense, but this isn’t about that.
I’m at Bubba’s, busting some moves, too legit to quit, getting my drink on, supporting the intensely 80's-ified dancer extraordinaire ex-Resident Assistant of mine, having a great time. Tails is there. He’s having a great time. One of my best friends from high school, hereby referred to as Mothernight, is there. She is having a great time. Amelia Airheart is there. She’s having a great time too. There’s a large assortment of other random acquaintances of mine speckled about the light up dance floor. These are great times happening.
But things got not so great. Mothernight, a friend of mine in pretty much a sisterly sense, started to have not so great a time. This 17-year-old kid, hereby referred to as Douchebag, with a fake ID was dancing with her and coming on a little too strong. She was legitimately dancing with him and it wasn’t a huge thing at all yet, but I told her she just had to say the word and I would do my best to pretend I was every dominant masculine archetype I’ve ever seen on TV and tell this kid what’s what. Mothernight can take care of herself, but she told me my support was appreciated. I mentioned Douchebag’s unwelcome advances to Tails and he became very excited at the prospects of getting into a fight for something noble like a woman’s honor, and frankly I was too. We had a posse. This could go down.
That wasn’t the primary focus here. I was dancing with AA, grooving to the jams of a decade long past. A tumultuous and confusing time for our country’s culture. A lot of shit happened in the 80's we weren’t ready for. My roommate, hereby referred to as Juniper Bush, or JB, said that to me, and he’s right. Somehow in the mix, the young and hip started wearing big hair, acid washed jeans and fashion choices now considered vaguely homosexual. Reagan was in office, the Taliban was getting American funding to fight off Soviet Russia, a bunch of people were held hostage inside an airplane in Iran. The B-52's named an album “Rock Lobster.” On one dark morning, rain poured down over the bricks and asphalt of Portland’s building and streets, the streetlights incandescent, lightning struck, and in a fluorescent lit hospital room I was brought into this world. Oh, to be back in ‘86.
Instead I’m here, dancing like a dance machine with the children of this crazy era The same decade responsible for Cyndi Lauper. (But that’s okay, I fuckin’ love Cyndi Lauper, and would father her children and start a family with her whenever she desired. Cyndi, if you’re reading this, we belong together. I will be waiting. Time after time.) There is a trivia contest for the finalists only. Not every question is answered. Nobody here has studied Three’s Company extensively. Charge told me he got one right, and that made me proud. Then they had the dance competition. The judges were dispersed among the audience, only the finalists are allowed on the light up dance floor, and what does the DJ play? “Blister in the Sun,” by the The motherfucking Violent Femmes. I freak out. This rocks too hard. Charge did a damn swell job, the other finalists clearly did not dance much outside a drunken bar setting. The song ends, we all cheer, they tell us the winners will be announced shortly.
We all flood back onto the floor. The dancing recommences. And it’s not long before I see Douchebag kissing Mothernight’s neck, and deep within me the urge is summoned to simply approach the two and knock him directly in the face with my fist. But that’s just the testosterone and secret desire to see how well I’d hold up in a fight. I weighed the good idea vs. the bad idea and realized punching Douchebag in the face was not the appropriate course of action. I’m having a great time, I don’t want to get kicked out of Bubba’s, maybe Mothernight is starting to dig on him. So it gets brushed off into “Whatever. Just dance”
But Mothernight comes up to me a bit later, still peeved at this kid. She doesn’t want to be a bitch and tell him off, but also doesn’t want anything to do with him, and at this point he’s definitely getting the wrong ideas. So things are set in motion. Tails’s girlfriend moves in between the two, soon followed by Tails. I have Mothernight switch places with me, to my right, further from Douchebag, and given the crowded dance floor, there is some solid distance placed between the,.. I’m still dancing with and paying attention to AA, but some side glances tell me this kid is searching the crowd. He locates her and stops dancing and pushes his way up to her. Words are spoken, he begins to dance up on her again, but she pushes him off with a full two arm extension shove. Awesome. Grand slam. Ace in the hole. Peace out, kid. He sort of disappointed wanders off past me, and we meet eyes. This is my moment. I have slicked hair and aviator’s and do a silent and simple one, two head shake. A very clear and orderly "no way, pal." It looked pretty funny. Douchebag just smirks and pushes me to the side a bit and walks off. I laugh and continue with getting my dance on.
Five to ten minutes later, I check back around the floor. And there’s Douchebag, grinding up against this random taller chick than him and staring DIRECTLY at me. It was ridiculous sight and I grinned at him and didn’t see much of him the rest of the night.
They announced the winners, there was a Fancy Feet award, then a second place, then a first place, with a prize of 1,000 dollars. Charge nabbed second, and $500 big ones. The grand prize winners were this friend of mine Ben, and his other friend. They both wore dark blue biker suits laced with those glowsticks you can attach at the ends into necklaces, also interwoven into their bike helmets, and around frisbees they had. They danced like robots the whole night, and would throw the frisbees up and around and catch them in different dance positions. Real cool. They deserved it. Charge deserved his 500. I deserved not getting into a fight with a stupid kid way younger than me.
So I didn’t actually almost get into a fight. Kinda lied with my opening sentence there. But that’s the hook, y’know? If Douchebag kid had handled the situation differently, we might have thrown down outside in the slushy parking lot and cold winter night, or right there on the floor under and over the bright flashing lights in between everyone. Am I upset I didn’t get in a fight? No. Not really. I had an awesome time. There’s still the bottled rage testosterone wanting to legitimately fight a man urge, but maybe that will happen another time, in another place, hopefully over a lady’s honor, and then I’ll write a Travipedia article about it. Just for you.
4.27.2007
Travis Curran's.
This summer I purchased Richard Hawthorne's 101 Things to Do Before You Die, a marvellous little handbook that is exactly that. Complete with forms to be filled for each acheivement and gold stars. It's really quite cool. I've completed about four of the 101 things already (#3. Win an Award, #9. Learn an Instrument, #15. Stage Dive or Crowd Surf, and #83. Skinny Dip at Midnight), but after some advanced research cough google I am one step closer to adorning a page with a Gold Star sticker...
Number Thirteen: Meet Someone With Your Own Name.
It'd be most difficult to find Travis Curran Beta ( I am Alpha) because a bunch of other people are looking for him too who he does not want to find him. When the coppers do catch him, he might be the easiest to find since I could always visit the Placer County Jail (helping me accomplish #53. Complete a Coast-to-Coast Road Trip Across America). But then again if he's smart at all, which I'd hope someone sharing my full name would be, then he'd be well aware he's on Placer County's Top Twenty Most Wanted List and would be nowhere near Placer County, California.
Travis Curran Gamma, also in California, actually goes by the full name "Travis Curran Talley" so I am not positive if he counts. He holds a nice job as the Recruiting Manager for the Los Angeles Chapter of Risk and Insurance Management Society Inc. The site gives his full contact info, including phone, fax and email address. He does not seem too tough to hunt down and arrange a meeting with.
Travis Curran Delta is a student at Kansas State College, but, it appears here that he is studying abroad in Prague, Czech Republic. I've always wanted to check Prague out. Good excuse for potential Eurotrip-esque scenariod? I think so. (That would also help me complete #36. Visit Every Country).
Travis Curran Epsilon goes to UC Davis and plays ultimate frisbee for them. But I found that here, he played for the "Dogs", and here, he played for a team called "Trouser Fiesta". What an awesome title for anything. He seems like a pretty cool dude. UC Davis is also in California. Weird, huh?
Travis Curran Iota is a little boy. He is the son of Dean and Shannon Curran, who own the Curran Cattle Company in Saskatchewan, Canada. They'd be totally cool to visit, since I like Canada's farmlands and while I'm there, I could Milk a Cow (#47).
And finally, we come to the most famous Travis Curran out there...Travis Curran Kappa. If you were ever so inclined to google my first and last name, there would be about upwards to fifty sites in reference to this fellow here. He plays Men's Tennis for University of Toledo. He's pretty good too. I get envious of his website percentage...but yours truly is the next existing Travis Curran on the Google Search Results page for my old highschool band Brackett and the Drill Bits. I designed the website years ago dicking around in an Advanced Communications class. Good times. Anyways, Toledo's in Ohio, and an easy stop on any road trip to make. And I'd probably have to travel in a van to do it...(#97. Live Out of a Van).
I almost made a joke about finding all these people and killing them, then making a Highlander "There can only be one!!" reference and ending the update on a mediocrely funny joke, but then one of these peoples or someone close to them may find this site and take it as a serious death threat and sue me or something crazy like that and I don't think that'd be very funny at all in the end.
Number Thirteen: Meet Someone With Your Own Name.
It'd be most difficult to find Travis Curran Beta ( I am Alpha) because a bunch of other people are looking for him too who he does not want to find him. When the coppers do catch him, he might be the easiest to find since I could always visit the Placer County Jail (helping me accomplish #53. Complete a Coast-to-Coast Road Trip Across America). But then again if he's smart at all, which I'd hope someone sharing my full name would be, then he'd be well aware he's on Placer County's Top Twenty Most Wanted List and would be nowhere near Placer County, California.
Travis Curran Gamma, also in California, actually goes by the full name "Travis Curran Talley" so I am not positive if he counts. He holds a nice job as the Recruiting Manager for the Los Angeles Chapter of Risk and Insurance Management Society Inc. The site gives his full contact info, including phone, fax and email address. He does not seem too tough to hunt down and arrange a meeting with.
Travis Curran Delta is a student at Kansas State College, but, it appears here that he is studying abroad in Prague, Czech Republic. I've always wanted to check Prague out. Good excuse for potential Eurotrip-esque scenariod? I think so. (That would also help me complete #36. Visit Every Country).
Travis Curran Epsilon goes to UC Davis and plays ultimate frisbee for them. But I found that here, he played for the "Dogs", and here, he played for a team called "Trouser Fiesta". What an awesome title for anything. He seems like a pretty cool dude. UC Davis is also in California. Weird, huh?
Travis Curran Iota is a little boy. He is the son of Dean and Shannon Curran, who own the Curran Cattle Company in Saskatchewan, Canada. They'd be totally cool to visit, since I like Canada's farmlands and while I'm there, I could Milk a Cow (#47).
And finally, we come to the most famous Travis Curran out there...Travis Curran Kappa. If you were ever so inclined to google my first and last name, there would be about upwards to fifty sites in reference to this fellow here. He plays Men's Tennis for University of Toledo. He's pretty good too. I get envious of his website percentage...but yours truly is the next existing Travis Curran on the Google Search Results page for my old highschool band Brackett and the Drill Bits. I designed the website years ago dicking around in an Advanced Communications class. Good times. Anyways, Toledo's in Ohio, and an easy stop on any road trip to make. And I'd probably have to travel in a van to do it...(#97. Live Out of a Van).
I almost made a joke about finding all these people and killing them, then making a Highlander "There can only be one!!" reference and ending the update on a mediocrely funny joke, but then one of these peoples or someone close to them may find this site and take it as a serious death threat and sue me or something crazy like that and I don't think that'd be very funny at all in the end.
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