You're not punk, and I'm telling everyone

2006-10-26T11:04:00.000-05:00

SINGLIKEYOUTHINKNOONESLISTENING.

Have you ever pulled up next to someone, say at a stop light, peered over into their car, only to see the driver looking like he or she is auditioning for American Idol? Well, chances are that person was me.

I love singing in my car. I can't help it. When I drive, I simply must have a CD in my player, and it must be cranked, pushing the limits of my sweet, sweet factory speakers. I belt out tunes that I know every word to. I make faces and clench my fist as if I were on stage. I play drums on my steering wheel. (Did you know that as you drum on a steering wheel from left to right, the pitch actually decreases, just like real drum set? It's true.)I don't even want to know what other drivers are thinking as they watch me thrash my right arm in the air, riding an imaginary crash cymbal during a sick breakdown. Many mornings, I'll make a quick mix in iTunes before I leave the house, then rock that mix for a couple days. (In the days of yore, I would have simply created a playlist on my iPod, but my iPod and I are not exactly on speaking terms right now.) Other days, I'll throw in a CD of a band I am just discovering and give them a good listen.

But my favorite thing to do is to put in a CD I know every word to and just belt it out. Especially on a long drive. I sing my guts out. My voice gets raspy because I am crooning so hard. I have a few favorite CDs that I do this with. Yes, they're all "pop punk" CDs. But isn't that what pop is? Yes, I love At The Drive-In and Poison The Well, but I'm not gonna sing along with nearly as much heart as I would with the following discs. And if I catch shit for it...well, eff you. So without further postponement...

THE TOP 5 SING-ALONG CDS OF ALL TIME ACCORDING TO THE KID.

Blink 182. Dude Ranch. "Holy fuck here it comes" moment: but what did you expect from me?/what am i supposed to do?/you say that you're starting to feel like you're getting lost/well, i do too.
New Found Glory. Sticks And Stones. "Holy fuck here it comes" moment: It's burning up in here/even though the bed is cold on your side/I'd rather die/than spend this night here without you.
Saves The Day. Through Being Cool. "Holy fuck here it comes" moment: Did you know my sweet/that I once took the liberty of/watching you in your sleep?
Fall Out Boy. Take This To Your Grave. "Holy fuck here it comes" moment: Let's play this game/called when you catch fire/I wouldn't piss to put you out.
Taking Back Sunday. Where You Want To Be. "Holy fuck here it comes" moment: She says live up to your first impression/well my best side was your worst invention/can't you live without the attention?/can't you live without the attention?

So yeah. Keep in mind, these normally go in when I've got at least a 45 minute drive ahead of me. Or I've had a couple drinks. Then it's even more fun.

Oh, and there's nothing better than the warehouse crew having an impromptu reggaeton party. That's a fact.

2006-10-22T13:42:00.000-05:00

36 HOURS.
I had some free time this weekend, so I decided to go out with my very good friends in Monty Are I for a few shows. Currently, they're out on tour with Story Of The Year, Anberlin and Greeley Estates, and the party train was rolling through Providence, so I figured I'd hop on for a couple stops.

Many will recall that in June, I toured with them for two weeks and kept a running photo journal, and I vowed that every opportunity I had to go out with them would be well documented in the photovisual sense. (You can check out that journal by scrolling down a few posts, or by making with the clickety.)So the following is an account of the past 36 hours with some of the finest gentlemen to ever grace a stage.

Here's some pre-show preening backstage. I've never seen five guys use so many hair products. Then again, I'm one to talk. But their coiffures are always perfect, and chicks and dudes alike apparently dig it.

I didn't get any live shots of Monty from this show. I had my camera at the ready, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) my services were required during the set. Justin was having problems with his kick pedal slipping off the hoop during the second song. So I fixed it. And it fucked up again. So I spent the whole duration of Anchor And Hope holding the kick drum with my right hand and the pedal with my left. When the song was done, my arms felt like I had just done 74,638 push ups, but I fixed the pedal yet again. And 15 seconds into Dublin Waltz - Houston, we have a problem. So I spent the last three songs underneath Justin's drums holding his kick pedal in place with my hands. It was very sexy. Oh, and at somepoint, water had been knocked over, so I was kneeling on a soaked carpet for the duration of my time beneath the mustachioed Muir. Ahh, the things you do for rock.

Two great conversations that occured this night:
FIRST-
Outside the smoker's door between two dudes
Dude 1: Tell All Your Friends is by far the best record made...
Dude 2: By any band?
Dude 1: Yeah. By any band. It's just the best record ever.
Dude 2: No way. The best record of all time is Take This To Your Grave.

OK. Great records? Yes. Deserving of superlatives? Debatable. Best records of all time? No way.
Ever heard of a little record called Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band? Pet Sounds? London Calling? Milo Goes To College? Rocket To Russia? No? Ok, we'll move on...

Actually, I'm gonna wait a few minutes to impart the second conversation upon ye.
So here are some pics from the Story Of The Year set to tide you over!

Justin making with the video.

SOTY's encore was "Enter Sandman" which was tremendously well done. The execution was perfect. Somehow, Steve ended up ripping the solo at the end.

I'm just going to say that SOTY has one of the best live shows I've ever seen. They interact with the crowd at all times, do wacky shit, and the whole time they play flawlessly. They're pretty much my new favorite band right now. So yeah.

OK! Here's the second conversation, as promised.
Same smoking area between myself and Matt, MAI's manager extraordinaire, after discussing whether or not other bands should be allowed to cover Descendents songs. (Verdict - Only Me First And The Gimme Gimmes have such a right.)
Matt: So I'm going up on the wall at Spike's tonight.
Me: You know you have to eat six dogs and buns to go up on the wall, right?
Matt: Dude, I'm promising you ten.
Me: Ten?
Matt: Ten.

FINAL TALLY: 3.5 dogs.

Saturday was spent in Connecticut. It was nice drive down. I got the high score on Tetris on my phone, so that was pretty cool. The boys were doing an acoustic promotion at the FYE at a mall in Milford. Pictures ensue...

After that was finished, we loaded into Toad's Place in New Haven. It was an early show, so they ended up playing early. Great sets by all the bands. After the show, the club turned into a dance club. Our entire Montourage was exhausted, but we decided to to stay for the booty shaking. It was so much fun. The entrie club was filled with people dressed to the nines in their best club gear - except for the 30 or so punk rock dudes boogieing (sp?) down together. We were certainly a sight. And it was hella fun.

But 1:30AM rolled around and it was time to drive back home. So we all piled in the van and began our sojourn. I rolled into my driveway at 4:30 this morning, spent, but completely content. And longing for the open road once more.

Thanks, doodz. And girl doodz.

2006-10-20T15:32:00.000-05:00

I don't carry grudges. Not at all. I don't quite understand why, but I am so forgiving that sometimes it bothers me. Some say it's a virtue. Others say I'm just weak.

There are people who have done stuff to me that should be unforgivable. And, yes I get mad. But eventually, I get over it. And I forgive that person. And then I go out for a night of drinking with them and we have a grand old time, even though that person was the reason that my significant other and I were no longer together. Maybe I'm afraid of burning bridges, but whatever the case, I try hard to be understanding to everyone.

That being said...

Last weekend I ran into someone who I hadn't seen in a long time. We were friends at one time, or at least I'd like to think so. When my engagement broke up, he was one of the first people to offer a solution to me: pack up your drums and drive to San Francisco. It made sense at the time. Of course I didn't do it. But some things happened - I won't say what or present my argument or anything - but it was between me and a mutual friend or ours. And this person ended up mad at me. That was three years ago.

So I was at this party on Saturday and we avoided each other all night. Buy eventually he pulled me aside. First, he complimented my ability as a musician, which is a huge compliment, but coming from him, it means alot more, because he is very well respected within several musical circles. Then he launched into the fact that I owe this other person some money. Which I admitted then and will admit now. The amount doesn't matter - it's really not much, but it is the principle of the thing.

What struck me is, after all this time, he still holds this grudge over me. Every single other mutual person we know doesn't care - it's between me and my old friend. But somewhere along the line, I became this complete fucking piece of shit because of money. I lost two friends over it, which bafffles me.

A few years ago, I opened a credit card to buy two amplifiers for the members of my band at the time. I wasn't paid back for years, and subsequently, my credit suffered heavily. But I am still friends with these people to this day. Yeah, it got paid back eventually, but during the time where I was still owed, I had no problems with them. I knew the money was coming eventually. I guess I just don't get it. I don't how something like that can ruin friendships. I mean, I can see if it were thousands of dollars. It's not. Not even close.

No one has to forget, but what's so hard about forgiveness?

2006-06-25T13:28:00.000-05:00

NEWPORT.

Good times in Newport last night. Every time I go there, it strengthens my resolve to move there. It's beautiful there, and some of my favorite people in the entire world live there. Some day it will happen. Sigh.... But on to the pictures!

Ray does his best Fresh Prince impression.

BFC <3's Sambuca.

Impromptu Metallica air guitar sesh.

The victims....

And the culprit.

This is so not what it looks like...at least I'd like to think so.

Me and Jesse watched a little Jackass.

I accidentally took this picture, but I ended up really liking it for some reason.

George and Jesse.

H-Con puts the moves on me. She was rebuffed, so...

She turned her attention to Sully.

I kept getting yelled at for being on the phone with the girl. Whatevs. <3

The night ended, as usual, discussing the latest Bill Simmons column.

Yep. These are my readers.

2006-06-13T18:46:00.000-05:00

FIN.

So this is the final entry in my tour/photo journal of my times on the road with MONTY ARE I. Without further adieu, and for your viewing/reading enjoyment...the pictures.

So we last left you in Atlanta. After a long and uneventful drive, we rolled into Norfolk, VA, and set up camp for the evening at The NorVa. The NorVa has a wood floor in front of the stage that is very reminiscent of a high school gymnasium. In fact, it reminded me of my high school gymnasium. Which brought back chilling memories of the one full year of gym I participated in and all-school masses. Shiver.

Yes. You so know it's porn. Duh.

So the backstage, or the back upstairs, was so money. At our disposal, we had, ahem: a pool table, ping-pong, arcade games, a big screen TV (which we used to watch Home Improvement...WTF), saunas. like three bathrooms, foosball, an empty hot tub, and a basketball court. (Note: the boys schooled RJA at hoop. And Steve got a nasty blister in the process.)

By the way, the kids in Norfolk are fucking awesome. Just about every other scene should visit there and take notes. Word. Here are some of them.

Afterwards, we went out with one of Andrew's friends from college. He took us to this bar called the Red Dog. Times ensued.

We're hungry.

Mike decides that he is not pleased with the aroma in the men's room.

Steve determined that Justin looked homeless. So I decided to help him out with some spare change.

Mike refuses to waste a drop of adult beverage.

So here's a funny moment that I didn't realize happened until I was flipping through the pictures later. I was trying to determine whether or not the pictures were coming out better with or without the flash on. So I tried both for this particular pose. First, without the flash...

And then, not more than five seconds later...

But where the FUCK did the waitress come from?!? Seriously, she just appeared out of nowhere! I am, to this moment, completely baffled by this. Muy interesante...

Soon after that picture was snapped, my photography skills began to lapse a bit. So I put the camera away, and hopped in the van for the all night drive to New Jersey.

Mike's roommate from college and his awesome folks were kind enough to put up with our shennanigans for the whole day, so we took the opportunity to play some volleyball, do some laundry, hop in the pool, and, um, drink. Because that's how we do.

Mike does his best "Neve campbell from Wild Things" impression.

So their dogs had these training collars with electric prods on them. One could control the intensity of voltage on a remote control, and then, with a press of a button, deliver a slight (or large) shock to the dog. Steve decided it would be fun to try it on his hand...

...which led to this quote:

STEVE: "That like, totally made my ass go in. Like, it went in.

It's hard to straight thug in a middle-to-upper-middle class Jersey township. But somehow, we manage.

Our Rhode Island crew surprised us by showing up and totally representing.

The next morning, we departed for NYC.

I was so super busy during the show, that I actually did not to get any pictures. So everything that happened at The Continental was not captured by me. I was saying boo-urns. But deal. Here we go...

Half of us decided to go out to eat with Matt, the boys' manager and all-around awesome dude. We were told we were headed to Chinatown. Andrew and I wanted to eat here:

But instead, we ate here.

Afterwards, we hit the town and went to this great Irish bar. Unfortunately, I had left my camera at the hotel. Whatevs.

The next morning, we woke up and invaded Matt's office.

Steve and Mike had brandy-new gee-tars waiting for them, so we decided to caress them like beautiful women. And try them out, too.

I attempt to crush Ryan's head. I'm wicked lame, I know.

Oh! BTDubbs - There was a Chipotle around the corner of the office. I'd never had it. Let's just say it was life-altering.

After that, it was off to Island Records! The boys had an interview with a cool video magazine made for teens by teens. It was pretty cool. And Justin still looked homeless.

Next was promo poster signing!

I got bored, so I decided to let you all know that the new Thursday album is out...

Ben, Andrew, and I hit the CD closet. (It's where I got the new Ghostface Killah CD, which was the soundtrack to this here blog-authoring)

And finally, I leave you with the Island elevator lobby. Note the "Wall of People" promo posters on the right hand side.

And that's that. 13 days on the road with the five fucking awesomest dudes in the world. I had an absolute blast, and I met tons of incredible people, (especially you). Thanks to everyone who was reading along with our adventures, and check back often. You never know what will pop up on here. Love you all. -JB

2006-06-09T08:30:00.000-05:00

Round three...

So we find ourselves about a half hour outside Raleigh, NC. We're on our way to Norfolk, VA, and as usual, I am the only one up so far. Here are some updates from the past couple dayz.

Today, our journey will begin in Tallahassee. We played at this place called Floyd's Store, which is a venue completely devoid of any "vibe" whatsoever. Plus, it was 6/6/06, so that definitely did not help matters out any. Nonetheless, some epic photos were snapped.

Just so you know, I'm using the free intnet to post this up. (From our hotel in Tallahassee)

Hootie attempts to usurp one of my several duties.

Everyone wants a picture with me.

I put the moves on Steve.

While Mike attempts to put the moves on my junk.

Afterwards, we went to some girls' apartment to hang out with the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus and tie a few on.

Pictures ensued.

At one point, Ryan thought it would be a wonderful idea to light his jeans on fire.

The party ended uneventfully, so we went back to the hotel so we could make the drive to the ATL the next day. Atlanta was not at all what I expected (of course, I didn't see all of it) but it was actually really nice. When you're on a highway coming into the city, they have these signs over the road that lets you know how long to expect until you hit your destination (8-9 minutes to exit A, 12-13 minutes to Exit B, etc.) which is cool. But I imagine when there is traffic, it's misery. I'm sure the signs will just taunt you...(Next exit 1/2 mile. Estimated wait time: 45-50 minutes....) I would kill someone.

This dude was eyeing Hootie all night. Luckily, he minded his own business, lest there be a throwdown....

I guess this place was inside an old church, and there were actually two clubs inside (upstars=heaven, downstairs=hell) and we played downstairs. It looked like a dungeon or something out of Lord of the Rings. Complete with a cage.

Steve does his best Gollum impression.

Here are some rock shots, just because.

Outside the club, Ryan really needed to pee. So he did so behind the van. Only it was on a hill. So, his urine river snaked its's way towards the unsuspecting crowd.

Our friend Naomi was kind enough to put us up for the night, but before we called it an evening, we went out for some drinks and pizza.

We went to this pizza joint called Fellini's. Which is weird because there is a Fellini's in Providence, and this place made pizza the same way - by wood grilling it. Some would argue it is the best pizza in the city. I would be one of those people.

And here we are in the elevator on our way to sleepy time.......

So that's it for now. Stay tuned for the last installment, which will be coming up shortly, and will include Virginia, NJ, and most awesome of all.....NEW YORK CITY! <3

2006-06-06T09:21:00.000-05:00

THE MARK OF THE BEAST!!!

Hey everyone! So it's 6/6/06, and I'm sitting in a freezing cold hotel room in Tallahassee, FL so that I might post my second in a series of photojournals from my tour with MONTY ARE I. It's been an interesting couple of days out here. Florida is a) wicked hot and b) wicked buggy. No word of a lie- yesterday, I almost befriended a spider the size of a silver dollar pancake. They also have these bugs (I guess they're called "Love bugs") that swarm around while doing the hibbity-dibbity. Kinda weird. And very gross.

But enough of that - everyone wants to see pictures! So here goes....

The boys were scheduled to do a performance on the morning show in Tampa called "Daytime." Here are the boys practicing the songs outside the hotel as Mike checks in.

None of us had ever been inside a real TV studio before - it was kind of surreal. Then, one of the production assistants informed us that the other guest on the show was Paul Mooney - Negrodamus. We were stoked.

Here they are playing "Between The Sheets." On live TV. In Tampa. For a bunch of housewives. Sweet.

So the show progressed, Paul Mooney showed up, did his interview, then promptly left (hence, no picture). There was a special interest piece that one of the correspondents did on dragon boat racing (?) in Tampa. And who was said correspondent?

That's right, Lindsay from the Real World:Seattle.

And here we are with the anchors. The girl was exactly like the character that Cheri O'Teri played on the morning show skit on SNL. It was awesome. Also, she got zzzzzinged by Vince Vaughn, who did a satellite interview as part of our show.

After that, it was off to the State Theater in St. Petersburg. I don't have too many pictures from there because I was busy putting my first post up, so these will have to suffice.

Here's Jack's Mannequin performing a song (I can't remember exactly which one), buuutttt.....

Here is Ryan performing the same exact song.

So the show ended, and we ended up staying at some awesome place owned by someone the boys know. Turns out that it was a set of condos located upon the 14th hole of a country club. This is also where we had our first run-in with the dreaded love-bug.

Mike practices his swing. I tell Justin that I want him.

FYI - it is impossible to be bad-ass whilst standing on a golf course. Especially when wearing a polo.

So, we drive to lovely Ft. Lauderdale. Uncomfortablest. Drive. Ever. And yes, I made up that word.

We get to the venue - it's called Revolution! - and see that the show will be outside! So awesome. I guess it's part of this whole nighclub complex (there's an inside to it, as well) but we were going to play outside. Sweet.

Here is Steve checking out Justin's purse as Jack's soundchecks.

Here is my view every night. And that's just fine with me.

So Jack's had been doing a couple covers to end their sets- mainly "American Girl," "Message In A Bottle," SC's "Punk Rock Princess," and "All I Have To Do Is Dream." Which Andrew lovingly crooned to Steve during soundcheck. Single tear.....

Here's what I saw from my perch as Monty melted faces. Even though there are no faces to melt yet.

So after the show, everyone partied while I got a personalized tour of Ft. Lauderdale. We crashed shortly thereafter, and parted ways with Jack's in the morning and began the trek to Gainesville Rock City. But not before we finally found a DUNKIN' FUCKING DONUTS!!!!!

To the dome, son!

Gainesville was hot and smoky and completely unlike what we'd been doing so far, but it was cool nonetheless. The guys from Red Jumpsuit Apparatus are great - and they have the best hair in the world.

For some reason, I didn't take any good pictures in Gainesville. Except this one. Some drunk girl had an actual film camera (gasp!) so Justin decided he wanted to capture the essence of his gallon of water as it basked in the soft glow of the flourescent lighting of the club.

We had a day off yesterday, so we exited Gainseville. But not before stopping at Panera for lunch where we discussed how Justin's facial growth rivaled that of Peter Griffin's in the episode when the endangered birds nested in his beard.

So that brings us up to date! We're currently, as previously mentioned, in lovely Tallahassee. We're playing here tonight, then up to the ATL, and onward north from there. I shall leave you with a couple of the pictures from the photo "session" we had yesterday. The dudes needed a picture of them and the van and the WOW trailer for an upcoming magazine spread. So dis what they look like. I'll catch up with you in a couple days, and as always, drop me a line!! <3

2006-06-02T16:18:00.000-05:00

So Wednesday morning I took off for sunny (an stifling) Orlando, FL, to begin my two week odyssey touring with Monty Are I. The flight was relatively uneventful. I did, however, share a row with two lesbians, who, while nice enough, I originally mistook for dudes. But that was really it - and I'm fine with that.

Here's what touchdown in Orlando looked like. Yeah.

I was thinking about taking the Park and Bark. Just because. But I decided it better to wait.

And what is going on as I enter the hotel room? Partying? Debuchery? Gay porn? Nope. The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants.

So after debating whether or not to TiVo the rest of Sisterhood, we departed for The House of Blues, which is located entirely inside Walt Disney World. Awesome. I didn't rerreally know what to expect of the House of Blues, but as soon as I stepped into the venue, I was completely blown away. It's amazing inside.

Here I am outside the "Artists Only" entrance to the House of Blues.

Our dressing room - complete with awesome homemade nachos. I consumed many.

>

Hit it.

So we unloaded. Shortly thereafter, we were presented with a buffet of culinary wonders - salad, mashed potatoes, green beans, etc. Aaaand I ate too many mashed potatoes. Because they were fucking awesome.

Stuffing our gullets.

Jack's Mannequin soundchecks.

Straight to The Dome, Son. (If you look closely, you can see that Dr. J's shirt has that phrase emblazoned upon it, along with a flask.)

Here's Andrew interviewing some folk at the head of the line outside. That line actuall wrapped around the front of the House and up the side street - 2200 kids. Quite a sight.

The most accessible place for a set list is on your pants. FYI.

These young'uns were quite underage, and apparently autograph hungry, which led to this exchange:
15-year-old: Can you sign my boob?
Justin:Um, no.
15-year-old: Wellt, then can you sign my belly?
Justin: No again.
15-year-old: Okay, how about you sign my belt?
Justin: Only if it's not around your waist.

Justin and Steve try to convince Andrew to let S. Borstein mend his ripped jeans.

After this photo was snapped, the booze began to affect my abilities slightly, so I stowed the camera for the night. We ended up at an IHOP where I, to my detriment, had another black bean and salsa omelette, which I paid for dearly the next day, and then went back to the hotel where I slept with a strange man. Or Mike. I'm not quite sure.

The next day, we drove to Tampa and lounged around. I spent the day taking no pictures and reading The DaVinci Code (which took me all of two days to finish)

As I write this, we're at the State Theater in St. Petersburg, FL, and the guys are about to soundcheck. I guess I should go fucking do something. Stay tuned for more in a few days!

2006-05-09T20:11:00.000-05:00

So, again I was away all weekend (hence the posting hiatus). This time, I found myself in Paramus, NJ, at The Bamboozle. I won't go into too much detail about the weekend, but here are some things that I witnessed whilst on the road (in no particular order):

New Jersey roads are back-asswards. There are these u-turn connectors that you have to use to switch directions on divided highways. Only thing is - they're poorly marked, so you have to just kinda guess if an off-ramp will allow you to switch directions. Otherwise, prepare to be completely fucking lost.
Bamboozle was held in the parking lot of the Meadowlands. Or Giants Stadium, whichever you'd prefer. But all the signs on the highway say "Sports Complex." That's it. No mention of either monniker on any of the signs. Just Sports Complex. It could be Giants Stadium. It could be the Little Stevie Van Zandt Memorial Little League Sportsplex. Take a chance, highway-goer!
Bands and the like received catering inside the stadium. As we were leaving, Pete Wentz and one of the dudes from P!ATD were play fighting and almost knocked into the water cooler I was about to get water from. Pete Wentz is a small dude. (I'm referring to his staure, not the other thing, which we've all seen.)
The moment that Monty (Are I) finished their set, the wind blew the roof off the Hurly/Hot Topic stage we were on. Bungee cords rained down upon us like fire and brimstone. I think it was all a ploy to provide security with an opportunity to flex some muscle on an otherwise uneventful day. ("No way buddy! You're not gettin' on that stage to get the rest of those cables! Get off the stairs now!"
Five syllables - un-der-age-boo-bies.
I really wanted to see Motion City Soundtrack. So Andrew and I trekked over to the main stage and situated ourselves near the sound board. So, as Hawthorne Heights finished up on the other main stage, the crowd filled in around us. Some old dude in a yellow jacket comes out and says "Please welcome....MOTION CITY SOUNDTRACK!!" Cheers. Applause. Car horns? It sounded like traffic was coming through the PA. As the initial applause dies down, a single note begins to well... and I'm like "I know that note..." and then I hear it:

"They say that the classics never go out of style, but they do - they do...."

And I lose my shit. And I start clapping and yelling, and all of the confused teenagers around me are giving me funny looks. It was awesome. I now love MCS 10x more than I did. I wish I had copies of "The Shape of Punk..." to give them, just so, within a matter of moments, I could change twenty people's lives forever.
At the after party we went to, Halifax played an awesome, drunken cover of Paula Abdul's "Straight Up." It was sick.

So those were the highlights. I should be a music journalist.

2006-05-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

WEEKEND UPDATE!

What a weekend! Well, more like: What a Friday night/Saturday morning! So my buddy Nathan was training to DJ the hip hop room at The Complex. As I had no plans, I agreed to go along with him. I knew full well what I was in for, but the extent of douchebaggery that I witnessed that night far exceeded my tolerance threshold.

The night started off uneventful enough. The club was half full by 11:00, so I could walk around freely and get drinks at the bar with no problem. It was such a surreal scene, though. The girls who actually were in the club at that point were dancing in the middle of the room, while the guys (read: douchebags) stood in a line along the bar, leering at the dancing females. All I could do was shake my head for fear of one (any one, it doesn't matter)of them removing a fake gold chain from around his neck and flogging me with it. So I just chuckled to myself and paid too much for beer.

As the night progressed, the club filled up and I started to just freak the fuck out, like I was witnessing the collapse of all civilization. So around 12:30 or so, I decided to go up to the WBRU "Alt Vault," which is one of the four sub-clubs within The Complex. There weren't nearly as many people there, and the music being played did not want to make me beat small children with puppies. So I sat at the bar, ordering beers from a bartender with cans the size of those foil ballons they sell at the supermarket with pictures of bears and hearts and Spongebob Squarepants on them. (Which, in my eyes, made her way less hot. Plus, I heard her talk, and she was a complete idiot.)

Well, as I sat, random girls would get up on the bar and start pole dancing. Most wore skirts and had no shame in showing what (if anything) was underneath them. It would have been hot had I paid an enormous bouncer $10 to get in and then another $10 to get into the all-nude room where the girls would collect my dollar bills with the place that babies come out of, but since I was at a trashy dance club in Providence, it came off as fucking sad.

The night ended and we went outside to witness the eventual fights that were occuring/about to occur. I like to think of it as a "heathen's natural selection." Eventually, they'll just drunkenly fight themselves extinct. Well, I can dream, at least. We ran into these two edge kids who were pretty cool. They said they came up to us because I was wearing my Bane hoodie and figured we were on the level. I hope they didn't notice I was plowed. Oh well, whatev. So the four of us (me, Nay, and the hardcore kids) ran around the Jewelry District for a bit looking for fights. We found a couple. The cops were everywhere, so they were pretty much just pissing contests. So we got in the car and as we were driving, Nay and I had this exchange:

Nay: I think I just witnessed what the end of our society will look like.

Me: (drunk) Dude. Yeah, dude.

I love you all.

2006-04-26T21:51:00.000-05:00

Buy The REFUSED Are Fucking Dead DVD. Now.

That is all.

2006-04-25T16:23:00.000-05:00

Are you ever sitting alone, just pondering the little things in life, perhaps sipping on an adult beverage, and wonder to yourself: "Why Avenged Sevenfold?" Yeah? Totally! Me too! I was forced to listen to the radio for a good part of the afternoon and the new single from City of Evil came to me over the airwaves and I almost threw up in my mouth. Just food for thought.

So I stopped into the record store this afternoon to pick up two things that were released today (yes, I still purchase albums I really believe I should own) - Taking Back Sunday's new album, Louder Now was the first. The second was the heavily-anticipated-by-me The REFUSED are Fucking Dead DVD. It wasn't in the new release rack. I became stricken with a light episode of panic. So I went to the music DVD section, you know, just in case. Nope. So I brought TBS up to the counter and asked the girl if they had received it yet. They had. They got four fucking copies. Four. Like they weren't going to sell them all within the first hour or two they were available to the populous. I had my night all planned out. And now it's ruined. I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

My wonderful girlfriend thinks I need a haircut. At first, I agreed, but alot of people are telling me not to cut it. I took some pictures today and, after looking at them, I kind of agree with her again. Maybe she's just a little weird about it because my hair is longer than hers. But then again, maybe just a trim.

So as I've been writing this, I've been listening to Louder Now and it's pretty much blowing me away. It needs a few more listens before I can review it properly, though, and then it needs several hundred listens after that.

2006-04-24T17:16:00.000-05:00

FRIDAY
So I went on the road with Monty again this weekend and had a blast, as usual. The plan was to leave in the mid-morning on Friday and arrive in Dover, DE, sometime around 7:00. Unfortunately, NYC and the Jersey Turnpike had other plans for us, as shitty weather (namely a cold, raw rain) turned 95 into a sludgy stream of traffic. The delay, however, did provide the boys plenty of time to deliberate about their pending name change, and they did so by debating loudly and then stewing silently. We ended up arriving at the venue (which was a Christian center/church type place) at around 8:30. Here are highlights from that evening:

The band that played before Monty were a Christian metalcore/punk band. The guitar player and bass player were brothers who looked to be 17-19 or so years old. Cool enough. The drummer, however, was their father, who also happened to be the pastor of the place we were playing at. During the middle of their set (and right after he performed a drum solo that was both horrendous and completely unneccessary), he gave a little sermon. He picked out a teenaged couple in the crowd and used them as props during his pontification. I'll paraphrase the exchange, which will come in somewhere in the middle:

Pastor Dad: ...and if he pressures you to do things that you don't want to, if he asks you to commit sin, you dump him, ok?
Teenage Girl: (slightly confused) Um, sure.
Pastor Dad: Would you die for him? Would you take a bullet for him?
Teenage Girl: Um, I guess so.
Pastor Dad: (addressing the dude) And would you take a bullet for her?
Teenage Guy: (in his head) What was the name of the bad guy from TRON?

They were selling bottles of water and pizza from a kitchen near where I had set up the merch. There was an older lady and someone I assumed to be her husband manning the counter, and they both believed that their role in the nights' festivities was God's charge. The woman would take an order, then promptly yell "

Pizza!" or "Water!" to her apparent underling, who stood a mere three feet from her. He would deliver what she demanded, then reassume his sentinel-like position by the refrigerator.

The highlight of the evening was Capsized and Drowning, who besides being way cool dudes, put on a sick

live show. The songs on their MySpace page don't really do them any justice, so trust me - they kick ass.

Also, that night we went to IHOP. Justin and I got the Vegetarian Black-Bean and Salsa Omelette. It was amaaaaaazing. In the middle of the omelette were the black beans, like a slice of heaven wrapped in a pillowy yellow blanket. On top, the salsa, Monterrey Jack cheese, and sour cream were piled so high that they made me go "Ohhhh maaaan," when our waitress placed it in front of me.

After IHOP, we piled into the van and took of for Lancaster, PA. We arrived at 4:30 AM and took shelter at a local Holiday Inn Express. It was the first time I had ever slept in a hotel bed with another man. Or any bed for that matter. It was real cute.

SATURDAY
Lancaster, PA, is the oldest city in America not located on the ocean. It is nuzzled in the heart of the Susquehanna Valley, and is home to the prestigious (?) Franklin & Marshall College. We arrived at the school around noon and began furiously unloading so as to beat the oncoming rain. The space we were to play in was actually the college's athletic center and gymnasium, so we trekked all of the gear across the vast expanse of parquet and began the set up process. We were playing their Spring Arts Festival, which was supposed to be held outdoors, but, with the weather being uncooperative, they were forced to move the event inside.

So as we unpacked, workers set up amusements around us. There was an inflatable climbing wall, an inflatable velcro wall, sumo costumes, and our personal favorite, a set of mini-basketball hoops. Now, I suck at basketball, but I am a mean motherfucker when it comes to H.O.R.S.E. and get-the-most-in-out-of-ten (which is the official name of that game) and I trounced my opponents soundly in those contests.

As we were pretending we could actually play basketball, the first band kicked off the music for the day. They were playing a brand of epic metal that conjured visions of wizards and serpents and maidens in distress. I'm not sure if they were serious or not, but it was executed so perfectly that it really didn't matter. The 15 people who were actually in the gym at this point ate up every second of it.

Best part of that band's performance: The lead singer (who could pull off an 80's-metal vocal tremolo with incredible skill) was clad in red leather pants and a black vest with no shirt underneath. After the performance, he quickly changed into his street clothes - basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, a white F & M basball cap worn backwards, and blue sandals. He totally Abercrombie-and-Fitched immediately after his set. Best. Costume change. Ever.

Next up was Permanent Me, who are labelmates with Monty. (And that label would be Stolen Transmission.) I had first seen them at the December 30th show that Monty put on at The Living Room, and I liked them. They were fantastic this time around, too, although their basketball skills were slighly worse than ours were.

Monty played after that (their set included splendid covers of Living On A Prayer and some Survivor song), and after hoarding all the food we could possibly stuff into our cheeks (or the van, whichever), we packed up and set off for home. It was on this drive home that I was introduced to the newest love of my life: High-Low Jack, which we played for most of the ride home.

We arrived in Narragansett at 2:00 in the morning. I spread my sleeping bag on the couch and quickly crashed. One more day to go.

SUNDAY
So I am ecstatic that every Dunkin Donuts location now offers smoothies. Previously, the only place I could find them was the flagship new-looks-like-a-Starbucks-to-me store near my work in Pawtucket. I began my day by sippping one of these down and thumbing through a Rolling Stone magazine.

Monty was supposed to perform as part of URI's Living Proof Festival, with 20-some-odd bands slated to play on four separate stages throughout the day. Shitty weather forced the promoters to move the event indoors and cancel all but five of the bands. We didn't have to arrive until 4:30, so I spent the afternoon playing cribbage on my phone and watching Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel (which is a fine, fine program). For the third time in as many days, we unpacked in the chilling rain. I believe that the storm system just followed us around all weekend like a groupie.

Food was needed at this point, so a Spike's run was made by one of the organizers. I went with the old stand-by: the Veggie Samurai Dog (carmelized onions and teryaki sauce being the toppings). She returned with our food and told us that our names were on top of each of our hot dogs, and when I went to retrieve mine, I saw that it was in fact true. On the table before me were six white, styrofoam containers with six names, one each, emblazoned upon them - Ryan, Justin, Steve, Mike, Andrew, and Samurai. I joked that "Samurai" should be my new nickname. Justin agreed and said he was going to try to make that happen. I'm glad that the idea left him shortly after our discussion about it ended.

Steve and I decided that I should tech for this show. Basically, that required me to tune Ryan's guitar after each song that he played on. So, Ryan wrote down the set list and marked the tunings next to each song, and the show began. On the second song, his mic stand fell apart, so I went out, gathered the remenants, and pieced them together again. On the third song, the stand disintegrated once more. Upon further examination, I saw that all of the threadings were stripped, so I furnished him with a new one. Before the fourth song could begin, the mic clip broke. "What the fuck?" I muttered as I replaced it. Luckily, nothing else went wrong during the set, and all I had to do from there on out was tune that Fender.

Monty's set ended, and some jammy-band played. Whilst smoking out the back door during that band's set, I had the privilege of telling Mike Doughty (Soul Coughing) how to get to the on-campus Spike's. Sage Francis then played, and we packed up and left.

After a few rounds of drinking back at the house and a few horrific games of pool at the bar, it was time to call it a weekend and go to sleep. The ride back to URI provided me with a chance to finally reflect on the weekend and come, yet again, to the realization that I need to play music for a living. Or write about it. Perhaps both.

Thank you, boys, for another wonderful weekend. I'm counting the days until Warped Tour. Maybe you'll get a book out of it rather than a stupid little post.