7th Annual roshambowinery Rock Paper Scissors Tournament

JUNE 6th 2009

High NOON till Done (all day event)
At Cornerstone Sonoma aka roshambowinery

23570 Hwy 121. Sonoma CA 95476 (just 30 minutes or so from SF, depending on how heavy your foot is)

$1700 Purse +funny money prizes
$20 to compete, $10 spectators

Get yer tickets right here!

“All You Need Is One Hand and a Dream” was the title of yesterday’s blog post on Jaunted.com about our forthcoming Rock, Paper, Scissors Tournament. The pop culture/travel blog is owned by the internet division of Conde Nast and sees about 550k unique visitors a month. Not to be too nitpicky, but given the size and budget of such a blog, I’m surprised that hotshot writer Dan Ricciato didn’t do a little fact checking. For if he did, he’d surely know that all you really need are (three fingers on) one hand. And a dream. But who’s counting?

That said, I’d like to take this space to STRENUOUSLY suggest you sign up asap for Saturday’s $1600 RPS Throw Down. Tickets are going fast and with the plugs we’re getting on Alice Radio tomorrow morning, 7×7 magazine, Press Democrat, Bohemian and in the Chronicle’s 96 Hours section, we expect to fill our competitor brackets. Besides, for all you seasoned vets to our sport, this year brings added interest as it’s being held at our splendid new home at Cornerstone Place in Sonoma. Think of it as our Welcome Back bash. (Which is ironic, since we never really went away.)

After years of making house calls to ink rock stars and Roshambuddies alike, our good friend Gabriel Alcaraz is opening Art & Mayhem, a new tattoo shop/art gallery/chill spot in Los Angeles. His goal has always been to push the limits of art - either on skin, the canvas, or with a needle and thread - and his new digs reflect that creative spirit. “Tattoo shops can be so cold and intimidating,” he says. “I wanted to create a space that people can feel comfortable and relaxed and open to new possibilities.” The tattoo shop will double as a rotating art gallery and performance space, featuring local artists in quarterly events. We are really excited for Gabriel… so excited, in fact, that we are bringing the Roshambus to his opening.

If you are in Gloss Angeles this weekend, come party on the Roshambus at the Grand Opening of Art & Mayhem. Or to book an appointment with Gabriel write him at artandmayhem (at) gmail.com.

When? Saturday, November 17th 6-9PM
Where? 3416 Glendale Blvd. Los Angeles, CA
Cost? Free
Why? Do you even need to ask?

Follow this map to all the fun.

This is a ROUGH SKETCH for a story I am pitching. Like every national magazine pitch in this heartbreaking industry, it’s a loooooooong shot. But a story like this needs to be told.
**

In case you haven’t noticed, Rock, Paper, Scissors has suddenly become the new Texas Hold ‘Em. Thanks to the 3000+ members of the World RPS Society (WRPSS), and a slew of high profile news stories like the $20 million dollar bet between Christie’s and Sotheby’s - the “sport” is surging in popularity. Tournaments are popping up everywhere. Hell, there’s even a screw cap bottle of Chard and Merlot that’s named Rock, Paper, Scissors.

So one might think that the founders of the WRPSS and authors of Simon & Schuster’s “Official Rock, Paper, Scissors Strategy Guide,” Doug and Graham Walker, would be smiling all the way to the bank. But these connectors, mavens and salesmen who are largely responsible for the rise of rock, paper, scissors in today’s pop culture weren’t the ones cashing in.

Back in 2004, while working with a Hollwood producer on the Fox Sports Net’s broadcast of the their Toronto-based World RPS Championships, the Walkers unwittingly served him their master plan to bring the tournament to Las Vegas. In short order, this guy swiped their business model, repackaged it as the USARPS and sold it to Bud Light, culminating in the $50,000 U.S. Championship in Vegas this past April. “He cashed in on all the hype we had been creating for all these years,” says Doug, 34, a web consultant for a major public relations firm. In a forthcoming documentary about the Walkers and their WRPSS, the backstabbing businessman with the Bic-slick scalp virtually confesses: “I learned everything I needed to know in 10 days with them and knew how I could make a lot of money.” The man offered to cut the Walkers in on his deal, but it came with some barbed wire strings - namely a 50% claim in ownership of the WRPSS and equal say in the marketing of their brainchild.

The Walkers walked. “We didn’t want anything to do with the tacky, ‘Spring Break on Bud Light Island’ bastardization of the sport,” says Graham, a 38-year-old ad executive living in Prague. Doug agrees: “the U.S. league is whoring itself out and jumping the shark, big time.”

Of course, with Bud Light’s budget and Hollywood’s hand, the Walker’s “little art project that could” became what they most feared. A cheap, ugly marketing ploy complete with the token Playboy stamp courtesy of Brandie Roderick and the other “Girls of the USARPS.” None of this sits well with the Walkers who have dedicated the past six years of their lives, and considerable resources to the promotion of the sport. And now with another $50,000 Bud Light/USRPS Tournament set for May, they will have to get creative to keep the indy spirit of their organization alive.

The future of Rock, Paper, Scissors is anyone’s guess.

**
The Wall Street Journal’s Page One story about the dispute barely scratched the surface. Back then the Walkers were biting their tongues in the slim hope of working out some financial settlement with the USARPS League. But now that it’s clearly not going to happen, they are aren’t afraid to talk about what went wrong and how the brand they created was ripped away by the shark. In my piece, I will weave a cautionary tale of greed, intellectual property theft, and the cashing in on a kid’s game. With a colorful cast of international characters, I will paint a real, raw and vivid portrait of the sudden rise of the ancient sport… and of the dark cloud that is the USARPS League.

As a finalist in the 2003 Southwest Pro-Am RPS Tournament at Roshambo Winery, I am well positioned to write this story. For the past several years I have been tracking the rise of RPS as both a spectator and competitor. And while I was knocked out in the first round of my past three major tournaments, including the World Championship in Toronto last month, I still fashion myself as one of the sport’s elite talents. More importantly however, I have access to just about everyone who makes up the fabric of the modern day RPS movement – on both sides of the border.

**
Scott Keneally’s humor stories about such matters as his chronic bedwetting, hypersensitivity to Dove commercials, and Jessica Simpson obsession, regularly appear in Jane. When the 29-year-old Northern California writer isn’t outting the things most people keep to themselves, Scott writes treatments for some of the top directors in music videos and commercials. Oh, and he’s at least partly responsible for Paris Hilton’s infamous burger campaign and both her videos. Every so often she sends him an unintelligible Blackberry message.

This is me and my friend Katie Malia.

I would like to thank her for peeling herself off this Sunset Boulevard billboard…

…and flying up from Los Angeles for our Pirate Prom. We like it when silhou-celebrities pop in on our events.

If you wanna know more about this Ivy-League dropout, click here to read the bio I wrote for her website.

My list of neurotic tendencies is crowded and well-documented, like crying while watching a Dove commercial. And I just discovered another one to add to it. Hostess syndrome. There’s always some behind-the-scenes hiccup that makes it hideously impossible for me to enjoy the party. It’s kind of like having a zit spring up between your eyes and feeling like a unicorn horn is growing out of your skull. Even if nobody else can see it, the bump creeps into your foreground and eclipses all reason.

Last year, it was the conspicuously long bathroom lines and so this year we tweaked it and voila… we had two blue plastic poopers on hand. And last night it was the complete lack of amplification for the gypsie band we booked. Shiri from the Sour Mash Hug Band said they didn’t normally plug into amps and so, being the niggardly and shortsighted guy that I am, I didn’t press the matter and rent cords and mics, stands and a sound tech. This was okay when they were playing inside the tasting room as their sound carried…

…But not so much outside. When Zack cut the turn tables so that the band could have their promised 30-minute outdoor jam, it felt like we had all been thrown into a sensory deprivation chamber. A vacuum seized the space and instantly sucked all the air out of the meteor showered sky. You could practically hear the whistle of the party’s last breath. Without amps, you couldn’t hear the acoustic band and the silence was so severe and thorough that all I could hear was… da-dumb, da-dumb… the fight-or-flight beating of my heart. And all I could see was people reaching for their car keys.

It was like that moment when the adorable young tap dancing duo that you’ve been photographing and filming for ten minutes as they tip tap smack for tips finally passes around the fedora and you suddenly glaze over with instant amnesia and pretend like you weren’t paying any attention to them before wandering away. Know the feeling?

A song or two later - roughly ten minutes into the band’s thirty minute set - one DJ made the troubling, but game saving announcement - “Let’s hear it for the band!” He cranked on the sound system and the beats ripped through the valley once again. The gypsies in the band were visibly stunned that they’d been cut off so swiftly.

Sure, the party was saved and the starry danceland was teeming once again, but to be quite honest, given the circumstances it was a little tough to enjoy this revival.
I know that these kinds of things happen, that sometimes the cookie crumbles all over your nice white shirt or you burn the toast, but until the Sour Mash Huggers send me a smoke signal, a text message, or something, anything to let me know that they understand, I think I’ll need to hit up my doc for some Ambien.

NOTE: This post will evolve as we receive your stories and photos from the event. Please SEND ME THINGS LIKE YOUR COOL PHOTOS and I’ll try to incorporate some of them on the site. I can’t stress this enough… your participation in the blog - your comments, stories, ideas and images - is what we need for takeoff. We’ll fly higher than an eagle, if you’ll be the wind beneath our wings.

**

In Dumb and Dumber the lovable loser Lloyd Christmas famously asked, “Hey, wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?” I think most moviegoers would pretty much agree that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound in the world and that he should please, please, pretty please STOP doing that immediately. But last night’s Pirate Prom might have set a new gold standard with the cacophonous chorus of three hundred revelers ARRRRRRRRRRRING themselves through the night. And leading the charrrrrrrrrrrrge was our very own Desiree. (FYI, she is very single and begging me to pimp her out on the blog. We’re accepting applications from both guys and gals).

And while I am postively repulsed and allergic to a whole slew of sounds - like that of the pug snoring right now on my right foot - few things wear on me like advanced exposure to Pirate Talk. (This says alot since I grew up in New Joise where people tawked like this). ARRRRRRR!!! just ain’t my thing. And nothing shivers me timbers more than a glass of charrrrrrrrrrrrrdonay. In fact, as far as I’m concerned the only time this pirate talk is anything other than irritating is when my kinda-sorta-stepson Justice tells his new joke: “Have you heard about the new pirate movie? It’s rated arrrrrrrrrr.” That’s cute. But he’s three. So unless you are Captain Jack Sparrow, my vote lies with David W. Boyles and his annual International NEVER Talk Like a Pirate Day!.

BUT, I must admit that there was a bright and shiny and secret treasure in every last Arrrrrrr last night. It was, after all, the sound of hundreds of plumed and costumed women and men unleashing their inner girls and boys… the echo of a cultish winery “Fighting for Fun in a Winey World.” And of course, it was good fun in the name of a really good cause - helping the folks at 826 Valencia teach kids to write more gooder.

Our condolences to the neighbors though, who called us for two and a half hours until just after 1 a.m. when we finally pulled the plug. I guess there’s something about the combination of Mackie Subwoofers and DJs Zack Darling and Malarkey that doesn’t add up to sleep.

And this is to say nothing of the people howling in love and lust at the spontaneous appearance of sexy fire dancers…

So, again, sorry neighbors! Our Tasting Room manager, Steve, will stop by in a few days with apologies and wine. But don’t worry, he cleans up well. He doesn’t always look like a bloodthirsty raptor.

And sorry to people like Stan who might have been offended by the porn I projected onto an opposite building. How could I resist a pirate porn flick with the industry’s all-time biggest budget? (Unfortunately, Blockbuster only had the R-rated cut but still, it provided an occassional eyeful).

The Pirate Prom was just one of those experiences where anything could happen. And some strange things did. Like at the end of the night when someone decided to stage his own little Burning Man and TORCHED OUR FUCKING PIRATE.

Thanks Larry Lighter. You saved us from having to pack up (the brand new prop Naomi and I scored last week in NYC) and store it for the next party. Luckily now all I have to do is sweep the ashes into the waterwall. You’re the best.

Oh, and I’d also like to give a BIG shout out to the two drunk guys who I caught striking the outdoor lights and roshambo sign with what looked like nine irons. You were totally awesome. Laughing and loud and maniacal like I imagine the Duke Lacrosse team to be. Woohoo! Two points for you! Can’t wait to have you back again.

Ya see? All sorts of good fun! Now, if you didn’t make it and are now left feeling weak, peaked, and robbed, like you missed out on the wildest party bubbling up from wine country, well that’s because you did in fact drop the ball. BIG TIME. You can’t say we didn’t try to warn you. Hell, Stephen Colbert even put you On Notice.

We’re not promising that Steven Colbert will be there himself (especially since we created this ourselves on a crafty website), but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t read and heed the sign. Take our advice. BUY YOUR TIX. Oh, and did we mention that it’s a benefit for kids who can’t write so good? Well, it is, and we’d like to be able to donate some booty to 826 Valencia so that the world becomes a better place, one typeo at a time.

So, are you with us or against us?

Do you want kids to write good or not?

For all of you who missed last year’s Pirate Prom, we’re hosting yet another wild and crazy fundraising event for 826 Valencia. Staged in the winery’s sleek space lounge of a tasting room, the night promises beats, dancing, and a pirate band singing sea shanties. And of course, the party wouldn’t be complete without our fine fermented grapestuff. So, what are you waiting for? Dust off your eye patch and plumed hat and get on up to starry Sonoma County for an unforgettable adventure. Oh, and if you don’t have wheels, a San Francisco Pirate Party Bus will bring you up and back. BUY YOUR TICKETS HERE.

Captain Bennetthook organized last year’s “Peg-Leg Dance Off.” I was off playing didjeridoo with Jimmy Gnecco of OURS or something, but the word on the street was that it was “definitely one of the top five or six peg-leg dance off’s in wine country in all of 2005.”

(Thanks to all the OURS fans that showed up in droves on such short notice for Jimmy’s special acoustic appearance).