So Brian tells me we are heading to another kick ass tribute band gig, possibly better than even Who's Bad. Sistah, please.




Young William Crockwell, Esq. decided to join us for the festivities. First Brian googled directions to some burger joint he first discovered in Virginia. Did he print out the map? Does the Pope shit in the woods? Brian claimed he had the directions locked in ''the vault''. More on that later.




While Brian was entangled in the World Wide Web I broke into the Christmas candy. Say hello to my little friend. Actually, say goodbye because in moments he will be eaten.




Bill chose a thoroughly tasteless homoerotic pose which I include only because it would be journalistically irresponsible not to.




He then wisely settled on a Kit Kat.




Talk about marketing manipulation.




Safety always comes first in the Minivan of Magic.




After hearing of our one hour $15 foot massage, Bill joined us for a... wait for it... hour long $9.99 foot massage! Seriously, if you were planning to move to France as both a literal and symbolic protest of our remaining in both Iraq and Afghanistan despite the many promises by Barack Obama, tear up those nonrefundable and notransferrable plane tickets and revel in the fact that you are a citizen of the greatest nation in the history of human civilization. And that includes Atlantis just in case it is more than a figment of mythology.




We were shown to our massage seats and offered tea.




Cheers.




Do I detect a hint of chamomile?




Bill was the first to be serviced.




The future Mrs. Crockwell? I jest, of course, especially since because they were not expecting the three of us they only had two girls available. I nobly agreed to be massaged by a guy since I am comfortable with my masculinity. This turned out to be a mistake because the dude had very strong hands and my muscles are... well, let's just say I don't get mistaken for Mike Tellez very often. I think my guy may have been recently laid off from his interrogator job at Gitmo and was having difficulty acclimating to civilian life. I believe the experience constituted a civil union back in the old country.




Ok, so this is where it got weird. At the end of our hour my dude tells us we get a free ten minutes, which confused the hell out us. We were led into an adjoining room and split up into small cabana-like cubicles blocked off my curtains. So much for the ''buddy system''. Let me go back a bit for a moment. A few minutes earlier, when we were nearly finished with our massages, some guy came in, apologized for not calling ahead, and asked who was available. He was told that ''Julie'' could take him, and he seemed satisfied with the answer. As it happened, Bill was in the room next to this guy. Bill reported that he heard strange sounds coming for that side, and it turned out this guy was finished about a minute before we were, and that was with our extra ten minutes! So the way we figure it, these free ten minutes were a chance for us to get a ''happy ending'' if we so chose. Oh, by the way, I stuck my camera into BrianŐs room just before his time was up so you can see how small the area was.




We took the stairs up and the elevator down.




Before the main event we picked up Brian's brother, Chris, after he was finished at work.




It still took him some time to get off the phone.




We hopped on the 605 South and headed for the food joint that Brian had bragged about.




Oh, and remember when Brian chose not to print out the directions... he was forced to call information for directions after he failed to find it. The vault, baby!




We finally found the place. Five Guys is apparently quite popular on the East Coast.




When a place has boxes of peanuts for you to enjoy it can't be all bad.




Chris sneakily affixed a drawing to Brian's back.




The back-story to the picture: Brian had attended an Academy Awards get-together the previous weekend and smoked everyone in the Oscars pool. Dwayne Musick, who is an accomplished artist, was so bitter at being totally dominated that he sketched a picture Brian, complete with a I Heart Oscars t-shirt. What you don't see in the photo is the bottom of the drawing because Chris folded it under. Had he not done so I would have been forced to censor that part because Dwayne had Brian wearing only the I Heart Oscars shirt. I will leave it at that.




The food was pretty good, by the way.




We made to Downtown Disney.




And picked up our tickets at the House of Blues.




Brian.




Bill.




First up, True 2 Crue, a pretty good Motley Crue tribute band.



''She Got the Looks that Kill''



''She Got the Looks that Kill''




Although, I think ''Vince Neil'' was wearing a wig.




Some of the not-so-hot groupies.




Including no bra...




...and no chonies.



''Girls Girls Girls''



''Girls Girls Girls''




I'm especially glad I was not at the stage because ''Nikki Sixx'' kept spitting into the crowd.




Then came the headliners: Fan Halen.



Ooo yeah!




This dude really looked like David Lee Roth.




What so captured the attention of Brian and Chris?




Could it be Diamond Dave's package?




Close-up for the ladies.




There are two things that make this a classic shot: Bill's 80s pure metal twosome of the Ronnie James Dio devil horns and the Gene Simmons tongue, in addition to the dude in the background...




...acting like his soul just got stolen by my Canon PowerShot SD1100.




DLR.



''JamieŐs Cryin'''




''Eddie Van Halen''.




Costume change.



''You can't get romantic on a subway line...''



''Everybody Wants Some''




Solo.



''Panama''




I caught one of ''Eddie's'' jumps.




Zoom.



Intro to ''Hot for Teacher'' with the jump.




On the way home Chris reminisced about his Five Guys cheeseburger. There were three guys who nearly lost their lives.



Brian and Chris bet on which side of the lane this erratic driver would end up driving Braille on the 605 South.



The bet continues.



Not drunk, just stupid.




We dropped Chris off at his truck and he wished us safe passage on our journey home.




A few minutes later we came up next to him at 50 miles per hour and scared the hell out of him with my camera flash. But then, in typical Chris Day fashion, he scared the hell out of us a couple minutes after that by nearly ramming us after we thought he had turned and gone home. Well played, sir.




Brian, Bill and myself decided to head for Sierra Madre because Brian had heard from some students that there was a hidden midget village. Yes, your eyes did not just toy with your emotions... I said midget village.




Ok, when I said ''we'' decided, that was Brian and me. Bill wanted no part of a dark and creepy Sierra Madre with possibly murderous midgets.




This was the bridge we were supposed to cross.




Then Brian started to get scared.




He started up this very narrow dirt road labeled ''Not a Through Street'' and pussed out. He said he was afraid that he would be unable to turn the Minivan of Magic around if we dead-ended. I think he just panicked. Sadly, he reversed and we headed home sadder but not wiser... traveling back in the Minivan of Pussy.