The last time I went to a concert was Mac DeMarco at the Orpheum Theater on September 22nd, 2019. That might as well be 20 years ago. Mookie Betts was still a Boston Red Sox; Tom Brady was leading the undefeated New England Patriots; I weighed like 275 and didn't have this burst blood vessel monstrosity ruining my cute, button nose.

​A LOT of horrible things have happened since my last live music experience, but tomorrow that is all in the rearview as I'll be at Jazz Fest exclusively to see Khruangbin with my boys, and I cannot fucking wait. Could I name another artist playing for all the money in the world? Of course not, but I wouldn't want that pressure anyways, although I would use it for good, unlike the dick rocket cowboy. Regardless, I'll be groovin'.

I'm sooo pumped to be in a concert setting again. I miss that energy. I might even talk to a few strangers. I was supposed to see Thundercat in Boston on March 21st, 2020, but then all of society took a few month break. I've actually never been to a music festival before. I had tickets to Boston Calling 2020, but again society took a few months off. Be sure to follow my IG @dozonlife to skip through all the stories I post!

Back in March, Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars teamed up to create to funk/soul/baby-makin' music duo Silk Sonic. Their debut single, "Leave the Door Open" became the first #1 hit of Anderson .Paak's career. They even performed it live at the Grammys less than 10 days after its debut.

Since then, there hasn't been a single note of new Silk Sonic music despite plenty of cryptic posts suggesting that would soon change. Fans have begun to wonder if they're ever going to release an album together.

They've even poked fun at the fact they haven't written or recorded an album yet. (I guess this technically counts as another note of music?)

It appears that fans of Silk Sonic might finally get their wish. It might not be a full album, but Silk Sonic is dropping something on Friday as we've been invited to Silk Sonic's Summertime Jam.

I'm not getting my hopes up, and it would be a hilarious troll if it were just another "Leave the Door Open" performance or remix, but I've got a feeling we may finally get a second Silk Sonic song (perhaps about roller-skates??) on Friday. I'll be busy grooving to Khruangbin at Jazz Fest, but if any news breaks, I'll be sure to let you know a few days later!

I consider myself a podcast guy, I'm always open to new suggestions, but currently, I never miss two pods; Pardon My Take, and Snake Draft Mondays on Barstool Chicago's Dog Walk. 

This Monday, Carl returned from a multi-draft hiatus that included trips to Charleston (town?), the College World Series, and beers with me in Newport.

During said beers, we discussed what goes into one of Barstool's most successful pods; strategy, logic, banter, competition, etc. I look forward to being a guest someday when I'm #HiRedDozo, but enough of wedging myself into the conversation; there's plenty of time for that later. 

As for Monday's draft, Marty Mush was the guest, and the topic was Carnivals/Fairs. The sub-categories were: ride, game, food/drink, musical act, and miscellaneous. If you're unfamiliar with the Snake Drafts, you have to draft one thing for each category. Each draft is different; some don't have any divisions. I highly recommend listening, and since I'm a pro, I'm going to link it in right HERE. This was a pure nostalgia draft; it brought me back to the carnivals held in the parking lot of Narragansett Town Beach and other various parking lots and open fields across the Ocean State.

My brain is a weird mess of selective memories and trauma suppression, clouded by fear and shame of the piece of shit I used to be. Spiked up blonde hair...

But hearing them draft carnival/fair-related items joggled my brain. It helped me recall a story of an experience I had at a 2004 fair in Florida that, frankly, I've never forgotten, despite my best efforts.  This is why you should never be confident or try to act cool because it will ultimately backfire.

My mom, sister, and I moved to J-ville in the fall of 2003. In retrospect, I did not fuck with Jax, but my time there undoubtedly shaped me as a person; where do you think I got my bangs dyed blonde? In fitting southern fashion, I was there for about 3/5 of 6th grade and all of 7th, before moving back to Rhode Island for 8th grade. I wasn't there long, but these were seminal years in my development as a human. It was there that I learned the Yankees were not just a baseball team. I can vividly remember a 6th-grade teacher calling me a Yankee, and I angrily replied, "NO, I'm a Red Sox fan!"

At some point in 2004, all three of us went to this big fair at least an hour's drive from where we lived. Some details are shady given the time, but I remember this giant field full of rides, games, food stands, and country musicians. I want to say there was a rodeo too, but there were certainly farm animals present. Do horses count as farm animals? Idk, but they were there too. If you could name it, they probably sold a fried version of it—Oreos, twinkies, cheesecake. My 12-year-old ass was in clogged artery heaven. This fair was my first full-fledged southern experience.

At this point in life, I thought I was a little badass. Rollercoasters were one of my favorite things about being alive. I loved going to Six Flags. Whenever we would visit cousins in New Jersey or Pennsylvania, we were sure to hit some kind of theme park. I loved going to Hot Topic despite Christianity being force-fed to me. I listened to a ton of pop-punk and nu-metal; I loved watching Fuse. I was obsessed with skateboarding despite only being able to ollie in place (sort of) while also really starting to get into team sports to hold onto a piece of home. To put it in lamens terms, I was a stereotypical piece of early 2000s tween trash. 

Being a little (well, actually chubby) thrill-seeking piece of early 2000s tween trash, I did not think about the repercussions of going on rides supported by cinderblocks after shoveling fried desserts and corn dogs down my gullet. I got into a ride that was the equivalent of a Ferris Wheel on meth. We were in these little smart-car-sized enclosed compartments that spun around like spider-tack sliders. After further research, it's called The Zipper.

So I get into this wheelless smart car, and I'm waiting for the ride to begin. Before it does, a cute girl around my age is heading towards my cart and asks if she can ride with me. I replied with these famous last words, "sure, but you don't throw up on these things, do ya?" Even at 12, that's a king hardo line.​

It doesn't take a screenwriter to guess where this story goes next, but I have to reiterate for you that the Zipper featured enclosed little carts that had an angled windshield about eight inches from your face. Perfect for a ricochet. We were on the ride for maaaybe 30 seconds before I went full Exorcist on this poor southern girl who asked ME, a 12-year-old, blonde banged, walking jerk-off machine if she could sit next to me. I had the nerve to try to be Mr. Cocky Cool Guy and repaid her southern hospitality with barf-coin. 

Since we were at a fair, it's not like they would stop the ride just because one kid threw up; nobody would ever get to ride anything. So I'm just spinning around next to a screaming 12-year-old girl covered in a combination of beans and fried Oreos for what felt like an eternity. 

I feel about two feet tall at this point, and again, I was 12 years old. 12-year-olds have killed themselves over far less than this. I had just thrown up on a stranger after trying to flex; people would have totally understood if I took the early check out. Once the ride stopped, the girl ran away, likely never to be seen again, and I got hosed down like I was fighting for civil rights. Still, even that only could do so much. I needed lye. The puke was everywhere; I could feel it in my fucking socks. I'm surprised my mom could even recognize me.

Now I put my mom in a really tough spot. Do we go home to delouse me, ruining the day for my sister who wanted to see the horses and all that shit, or do we stay and ruin the day for the rest of the fair allowing this puke-covered adolescent boy to go on with his day like nothing happened?

Luckily, my grandparents had moved down to Florida a few months before us, and my grandma came to pick me up while my mom and sister stayed, but again, this isn't Rhode Island where everything is 25 minutes apart. We were a solid hour from our house, and my grandparents lived like 35 minutes from us. I had to wait (soaked in a combination of hose water and my own vomit) in the remnants of probably $40 worth of fried fair food.

I have since learned my lesson to not be overconfident in a social situation because it will clearly backfire, just like I did on that poor girl. I think this story explains a lot.

I've said it for years, but Dan Smith (lead singer of Bastille) has one of the most underrated voices in music; his pipes are on full display in the futuristic, HVAC draped, trip of a performance.  I love the message (or at least my interpretation of it) of how phones, filters, and technology have warped the lines of what reality actually is. According to Dan Smith, their message is a tad different while sort of in the same ballpark. “For us ‘Distorted Light Beam’ soundtracks dancing through some twisted, euphoric futuristic club space.” 

“It’s a song about limitless possibilities – which isn’t something any of us actually have in real life right now, so it’s been fun to explore that idea while experimenting with new sounds in our music.”

Enjoy.

​Well, men, women, and theys cannot go backward in streaming! You can't have streaming services going around dropping entire seasons of shows for like eight years, then decide we're going back in time like Huey Lewis and the News with the best new shows.

​Sure, it probably keeps the show in the spotlight for longer and avoids spoilers, but not everybody is a spoiling piece of shit. Some of us like to smoke a couple bowls and watch TV for six hours straight, and as a tax-paying American citizen, that's my Constitutional right!

The toothpaste cannot go back into the tube. This isn't fucking Fraiser; we're in 2021, for God's sake. The earth is on fire, and we still can't go the entire population to agree that fascism is bad. Time is clearly running out. Let me get my fucking stories in before society self-destructs like Voltorb. It's not like you're still filming. Please do the right thing and drop entire seasons at once for people to view at their own pace. If you want to be a weirdo with discipline and self-control, wait a week to watch every episode. I'm trying to binge that shit.

Since it's summer, I've been absolutely dominating the ub** streets in beautiful Newport. The entire situation has me torn like Natalie Imbruglia because I know short-term this EZ ubah money is fucking incredible, but long-term, I need to get my career(s) in order, and the job makes that quite difficult.

Driving irregular hours has decimated my sleep schedule and blogging routine. Nearly every meal is fast food. The majority of my pisses are in Arnold Palmer Bottles. How I'm currently living is unsustainable.

The hole is a lot bigger than you'd expect.

I want/need to use summer break to make more content, but I've made more money in three weeks ubin than I do in about two months of teaching (plus I've been high key depressed and questioning the point of everything, lolol). I'm trying to bank as much as possible to put back into content creation/leave education for good/make up for years of spending every cent I ever made. In the past year, I bought myself a new Macbook for blogging and an Adobe membership that admittedly I've been slacking on, but there's still plenty of time. Luckily, today (yesterday at this point, I wrote 95% of this blog Monday) I did write something that generated income for the third time ever, so things are only looking up for Ole Dozo!

It's no secret that my life's mission is to become a Barstool blogger. I'm not cut out for "the real world." I know I've got what it takes. I have the kind of weird brain that thrives at BSS. I've written about that plenty and don't need to retell my pitch here; I'll let a hyperlink do that (although I do need to write an update Manifesto to cover the last year and a half).

​So this weekend, my two worlds collided when one of my favorite Barstool personalities, Carl of Barstool Chicago, was in town for a wedding. ​

​I wasn't like on the prowl trying to find Carl. That's super creepy and, more importantly, detrimental to my ubah rating.

My rating has since returned to 4.95 and I won't be taking questions at this time.

​After no reply from that inquiry, I honestly wasn't giving it that much thought. I knew Carl was on the same island as me, but I had a job to do and he was not there to meet Ole Dozo. If somehow I ran into Carl or the algorithm put him in my Pontiac, then it was meant to be. 

What ended up being my last ride brought to 41 North on Thames St. (which is a one-way if you're unfamiliar). I was going to go up Ann St., next to the artist formally known as Via Via to turn around and who do I see crossing the street with his wife, but Mike "Carl" Sterk himself. 

Well, as fate would have it, I just hit my quest (ride incentive bonus) for the weekend (I completed 70 rides over Friday and Saturday). As my own boss, I can technically stop driving whenever I want, but now I was officially comfortable with stopping for the night; FTR, I was planning on staying out since it was a busy Saturday night.

At first, I wasn't 100% sure if it was him because Carl didn't have his mustache, but I was like 94% sure and only had seconds to react. As I rolled down the window, I said to him and Mrs. Carl, "Hey Carl, you gotta look both ways before you cross, brotha." Usually, I would be yelling this at a stranger without the friendly brotha because oblivious pedestrians are the bane of my existence, but I wasn't about to roast one of Chicago's finest couples in downtown Newps. 

Carl was clearly a little surprised to get recognized on fucking Thames St. He gave me a greeting that I frankly do not remember because after he said I have great flow, so naturally, the compliment is all I can recall.

Just realizing now there's a typo in that tweet and yes I noticed on in the Biz Markie tweet too :(

​At this point, my heart was racing like Danny Ricciardo, and I was not in a clear headspace. I couldn't believe how this happened. Unreal odds. If I had spent 5 more or fewer seconds yelling at pedestrians throughout the day, we might have never crossed paths. I was just driving doing my job and had a brief encounter; some may even call it a meet-cute with the Carls. I was highly considering DMing him to offer $500 and comped drinks to try and pitch him about why Barstool should #HireDozo but in a moment straight out of The Nice Guys, Carl beat me to the punch.

Thank God he did too, because with the gift of retrospect and texting my boys I realize offering that would've been incredible desperate and unbecoming! 

​So at this point, my heart is beating out of my chest. I was more fired up than a kiln. I was trying to find a place to park in Newport after 10 on a Saturday night which was more unlikely than happening to spot Carl and the Mrs in the first place.

Since I had already accepted my next ride during this whole exchange, I debating taking it but didn't want to miss out on a beer with a Barstool employee, so I had to cancel and put my rating at risk. The only problem was, for the first time in the history of my career, someone on Upper Thames spotted ME out and jumped in my car.  This legit never happens. Normally I'm waiting for at least three minutes worrying about being illegally parked. Instead this guy sprinted to my car like he was running to freedom before I had the chance (I was looking for potential parking spots) to cancel. So this bro is in the backseat, and I'm like, "dude, I'm sorry, but I cannot take this ride. I've got a huge opportunity that I cannot miss." Thank fucking God it was some 20 something white bro or I would've had a real life Curb Your Enthusiasm moment. I'm sure he was v confused, but damnit, I'm more than just a driver! I then opened my center counsel, where I keep all my cash tips (until I post this blog). I offered to give the dude $10 for canceling on him while he's in my car because I genuinely felt bad about it (hashtag good guy). He said, don't worry about it, so on the bright side I already saved $510 that night.

I get super lucky and find a parking spot right by Red Parrot; throw on the tan shorts in my trunk to cover my ratty gym shorts so I'm a tad more presentable and walk towards the bar.

I was just at Red Parrot for my dad's birthday dinner on Wednesday, so I know there's an upstairs and downstairs bar. I briefly worried about having to search the place for him, but I see Carl and his lady at the bar and take the Barstool next to a real-life Barstool blogger. 

I'm not exactly a conversationalist and am crippled with anxiety, so ya boi's brain was going wild. I felt nerves similar to how I would before meeting a young lady on tinder, except slightly less likely to get some play. I didn't want to seem like a Stan, but I also wanted to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity. I was hoping to let a little of my personality shine!

So I walk up to Carl and the Mrs., and right off the bat, I'm setting the stage for my textbook awkwardness as he puts out a fist for a pound while my hand is prepared for a shake; after a quick fist bump, his wife reached out for a shake. She complimented my shake, then Carl and I shook hands as well. 

It was such a whirlwind that I really can't remember that much of the conversation, but Carl was super personal, friendly, and drunk. I didn't wanna be too pushy, so I let him do most of the talking and interjected when appropriate. I didn't even tell him about how I basically co-hosted KFC & Feits COVID show. Here's what I can recall and share from our 40ish minutes together: their trip to R.I., Newport, where I'm from/my story, how he got to Barstool, #43Burgers, The Red Sox trading Mookie Betts and the Cubs upcoming similar fire sale, podcast rankings, inside Barstool stuff, @URIprobs, weird fan interactions, Miller Lite, balancing life between content and being a real human being and how to make a name for yourself at Barstool. I told him about my Wonder Why idea in confidence, and he said that has potential, so if Barstool ends up stealing that, just know Ole Dozo thought of it first. 

Two of my best friends were texting me during this whole time, and I really wanted to answer, but I wasn't about to spend whatever time I had with Carl talking to them. The last thing I wanted to do was text the whole time. That's super rude. Since my brain tells me that everybody hates me, the entire time I was worried if I said one wrong sentence that he'd be like, "And for that reason, I'm out!" like it's Shark Tank. I was nervous AF at first. Fun fact: I was to Carl's left on what has to be one of the highest French Onion reviews to date. Yeah I wanted to take a picture of him taking the picture, but again I PLAYED IT COOL.

​I really didn't want to overstay my welcome or drink at my normal pace, but I gotta say I think it went pretty well. I had two Miller Lite bottles that I nursed to get as much face time as possible. Carl said he doesn't have much pull (which I feel like was just being a humble mid-west guy, although I trust him) but to send him some of my stuff which I will certainly being doing at some point this week after debating for a couple hours/days what I should send. Please help ya boi out by commenting some of your favorite blogs in the comments. 

During our conversation, I felt bad that Carl's wife was sort of out of the loop because they were out here for a wedding, but she said she has plenty of time with him which helped ease my nerves a bit. She was a super nice and beautiful girl; I'm quite happy for the Carls. So down to earth. She took a few pictures of us that will not see the light of day, but I ended up snapping a quick selfie to not display my Vince Wilfork-sized gut.

I might have to start giving my internal clock a little more credit. I woke up naturally a solid seven minutes before my 11:30 AM alarm went off. Within my first 20 seconds of consciousness, I was like, "I gotta get this Carl blog out before I hit the roads," BUT, I have to follow the format precedent I've set the last few months (and like first two years of DOL) with a Song of the Day to pump the numbers; although, I think we all can admit they've evolved into legit blogs with more than just a video and title.

John Mayer's long-awaited Sob Rock came out last Friday, so I figured something from that might actually be click-worthy for all those "link in bio" IG stories that people can't swipe up on since I'm about 9,890 followers short. Aka I independently decided to use a John Mayer song today. Then while checking FB and snap memories, as I do every morning to see what cancelable mischief I was getting into x years ago, there it was; two years ago tonight I saw John Mayer at the Dunk in the Nat Grid box; thanks to free tickets my daddy didn't want. Woah. Way to go internal clock! I had just started a liquid diet (again) like the week before and ate all the ice in the box. Fun night. 

As for the song itself, I LOVE this whole 80s vibe John's got going on right now, although TBH Last Train Home sounds like a Toto ripoff (I thiiink that might've been intentional).

I hate to make my fullish time return to the blog in such a controversial fashion, but just so the readers know, I am firmly anti-COVID. Idc who knows it... I'm not too fond of COVID; in fact, I can't stand that bicccch. If it were up to me, this whole pandemic situation would've tossed in the writers' room like post-October 20th Ringo Starr fan mail. Hard pass from Ole Dozo. Do you remember how good I looked in early 2020?

Despite a rough 15 or so months, as optimistic in training, I can admit there are undoubtedly some good things to come out of the big C. For example: In any other typical year, the NBA would've been long gone by now, and us sportz fans would be stuck with just MLB to watch/bet on.  ​

Instead it's late-mid July and the 2021 NBA Finals have officially begun after the Bucks won Game 5 in Phoenix Saturday night to take a 3-2 lead. That means Tuesday's Game 6 in Milwaukee has the potential to be the last non-baseball professional sporting event in the U.S. until the NFL kicks off  September 9th (August 5th for preseason).

With one, two games max left in the season, there isn't much time left to get in some NBA bets. Maybe you're new to the gambling game and want to jump into the wagerin' waters while you still can? Perhaps you've been taking advantage of loosened health and safety protocols and don't know what state you'll be in Tuesday night but are just itching to place a bet on Game 6? Well, this handy dandy guide will tell which states already legalized sports betting. 
​
​Of course, you'd assume that in the "home of the free," it'd be legal to bet on anything and everything in the sporting world in any of the 50 states that make up the U.S., but unfortunately, as of July 19th, that's only true in 21 states + Washington, D.C. Luckily, eight more states have passed some sort of sports gambling legislation and are just waiting on the approval of regulators and all that official mumbo jumbo.

​All states are different; some offer in-casino and mobile gaming and some may only offer one of the two options. That guide is the perfect cheat sheet for a gambler, but as an educator, if you're a visual learner this graphic is for you.

​Best of luck on whatever you wager as long as you're on the #Bucksin6 wagon.

Song: Just a Friend (1989)
Artist: Biz Markie
Album: The Biz Never Sleeps

R.I.P. Marcel Hall aka Biz Markie. 

Biz Markie passed away Friday the 16th at just 57 years old. I still can't believe the timing of his death (admittedly I didn't know he was in the hospital). I tweeted this right when I found out the news and yes I'm aware my sleep schedule is in shambles.

I was en route to New York for Red Sox-Yankees on Thursday, like 20-30 minutes outside the city, when the game was canceled due to COVID. That entire ordeal is worth its own blog, but after the bad news, my friend who drove brought me to this hole-in-the-wall DVD/record/VHS tape/cassette shop in CT that he frequents since we were already so close. 


It was super cool and, frankly, a tad overwhelming with how large the selection was. I wasn't trying to read 15,000 Blu-ray sleeves. I'm on summer vacation. But it was like walking into a nostalgia factory; so much cool decor. I even touched a plastic VHS copy of Cool Runnings like the one I had as a kid. I hadn't heard the pop of plastic VHS case in close to 20 years. If they had "old-timey" snacks like Wonder Balls, it would've been perfect.

​There was sooo much cool shit; my handful of pics don't do it justice, but I moved into my new place almost a year ago, and my Blu-ray collection is still in storage containers. I have too much shit as it is. I could be considered a hoarder in the right circumstances. I had to be careful to not come home with another box worth of shit. ​

​​I love music and want to support musicians, but it's hard for me to get behind the whole vinyl revival thing. My roommates have a bunch of records, and I'll admit it's a cool concept to own a physical copy of an album and all that jazz, but from a convenience standpoint, give me a Bluetooth speaker. I can appreciate the pageantry, but it's not for me.

That was until I saw this and had to ironically cop. 

My record collection now consists of one (1) authentic USA For Africa We Are the World: Plus Nine New Superstar Songs record. However, not everything in the shop was incredible. Somethings that were better left in the shelf/garbage.

I considered buying them just to break 'em, but didn't want to risk that conversation with the cashier/my $3.00 going towards his estate.

Unfortunately, those are all the pictures I took, so there's no photographic evidence of the Biz Markie "Just a Friend" cassette. This thing was literally older than I am, and it showed. I wanna say it was only $5, and I was really thinking about grabbing it just to have but figured it'd just end up collecting dust and opted not to. 

Boy, did I make a mistake as the next day, the Biz was dead. Eerie AF.

Of course, this blog sounds a lot more like a shitty story by yours truly than an homage to the late great Biz Markie, but I have a point and am just about to get there.

There are countless examples in my life where I ended up cheaping/pussying out in a situation only to have it backfire. I was offered a ticket to the Chargers-Patriots Divisional Round game and said no cause I was sort of broke. It ended up being the final home playoff win of Brady and Gronk's Patriot career. I wish I bought that cassette, and I wish I hadn't procrastinated with my awesome One Hit Wonder content idea, but I'm done pushing it back. I turn 30 this December and need to start truly living again, something that Biz Markie clearly did in his time as the Clown Prince of Hip Hop. The man simply had fun with his art. 

I've been obsessed with One Hit Wonders since I memorized the VH1 list in 2002 (Just a Friend was #81). In honor of Biz Markie's death, I am finally getting my Wonder Why idea out of development hell. You never know when life will end, and all I've done is waste time being in my own head. Biz's death, meeting Carl from Barstool Saturday night (that blog will come out today as well) and stepping on the scale today really woke me tf up. It's time to stop being such a pussy start living again. Thank you for all you did in music and pop culture, Biz Markie. I'm sorry you never got to your dozah year.