New blog up at a different website, check it out.
http://www.issueoriented.com/justoneblog/trevor-backer-tonight-is-alive-pbc-fest-8/
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Cut Yourself To This
Wrote a couple days ago, don't really remember when....
Today I woke up earlier than everyone else, per usual, in a hotel that actually resembled a small apartment. I vaguely remember what living with your parents ISN’T like so I absolutely know what I’m talking about. Yes, on rare occasions Polar Bear Club will spring for a place to sleep that isn’t a friend or total stranger’s hardwood floor. The way I see it, even a fat girl needs to feel like a princess every now and again.
The last two nights I’ve taken it a bit easy on the booze. Not a conscious decision really. It came down to not being able to bring beer out in front of the club near the merch table. Either way, I rolled out of bed surprisingly not hung over but with a pain in my heart and a bag of fluid in my chest. After pushing Jimmy back on to his side of the bed and off of mine, I stumbled to the bathroom and hacked up a rope of neon green phlegm so thick one could probably climb a tree with it. The aching in my knees has returned and at times it’s hard to stand in the shower. When I’m feeling especially romantic I liken myself to a prizefighter that has hung on way too long and yet still there is some fight left in him. Once that happens I smack myself in the face to remind my failing brain that I’m just a drunk with a pack a day smoking habit that has nowhere else to go.
Of course, once again, like every single morning, the thoughts start to creep in like a drunk Nate Morris in the night. The doubts and second-guessing. As I stared at myself in the mirror noticing the bags under the eyes getting blacker and deeper I wondered – “How much longer can you keep this up for?” “Are you still enjoying yourself?” “Are you doing a good enough job?” “Is it time to go back home and get back into school?” “Every single day you’re getting older, your life is on pause, what the fuck is next?” Other than fist punching my dick and brushing my teeth this is my daily routine.
On long drives and time spent alone I often question where members of Polar Bear Club are going with all of this as well. Jimmy, Goose, and Nate are all involved in serious relationships back in their respective homes. Emmett has a child and well, Chris has his collection of piss jars and his right hand. I wonder why any of them would risk losing the ones they love the most by spending months and ultimately years on the road as traveling salesmen in a profession that almost guarantees failure. After these brief couple of seconds where I’m not actually thinking about myself for once I remember that these younger dudes probably still have hopes and dreams - an ultimate goal to provide a better life for themselves as well as their partners. My goals? Well, I accomplished my ultimate achievement in the year 1999 by finishing 24 Genesee Lights in 24 hours.
So while members of Polar Bear Club are sprinting towards something, I on the other hand have been running away since 2003. I believe that was the year the person I fell in love with chose another and ever since then it’s been a life of substance abuse and the beginning of an epic losing battle between adulthood and myself. Other than parents and a sister, I have nothing back home anymore besides crippling financial debt, a car that I barely even use and a pile of stroke mags. I think the main difference between everyone else and myself is that if I had someone who preferred me to others, I’d probably never leave home again. But my family is on the road, which is a terrifying thought because I hate 80 percent of these fuckers. I once heard home is where the heartaches so all my insecurities and doubts make perfect sense. But the thing is this – every night when Polar Bear Club performs the goose bumps still appear. The butterflies in my stomach still take flight and the pain in my chest is replaced with an explosion. I might be running out of breath but I still have a couple rounds left.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Some Trevor And A Little Bit Of Jimmy
10/08/09 Cleveland Heights, Ohio
Kids, your father had a late night last night and needs his rest. If you as so much breathe heavily, I’m going to smack you and your sister in the mouth, you got it?
I’m hung-over as shit, nothing new there. Currently, I’m typing behind the merch table at a venue in Cleveland Heights named Grog Rock. This venue is actually a lot like the type of girl I’m attracted to – small, dirty, shitty and can fit a lot of dudes inside her.
(Trevor left his computer open at this point and I (JIMMY!!!!) took over the blog posting. So what’s new Internet? Have you missed me? I know you have. I’ll make this brief before Trevor comes back from smoking. Here’s what’s new with me. I really got into the show Tim and Eric on adult swim, I’m on a quest to beat every high-score in Pac-Man across the country and I miss my dog. Ahhhh here comes Trevor. Follow me on twitter JIMMYPBC. Trevor touched me and told me not to tell!!!!)
Jimmy’s short and rarely funny. Anyway, so here we are in Ohio. Last night we were in Pittsburgh and before that, well, I can’t tell you a thing. I may have mentioned before either through twitter or my diary here about how much I enjoy the city of Pittsburgh. I have a couple good friends that live there, it looks like it can take a good punch, and even though I’ve never experienced a hard days work in my life, I enjoy the city’s blue-collar exterior. All of that being said, shows in Pittsburgh fucking suck harder than my prom date with my best friend during Senior Ball. PBC have played a bunch of shows in Pittsburgh, in fact as recently as a couple weeks ago, and no one ever really gives a fuck. Venues ranged from an art space that a troll with gargoyle fingers lorded over to two separate churches that were far too large or had idiotic drinking provisions that kept each show nice, awkward and standoffish. The only reason I should be in a church is for my eventual funeral in 2010 so I insist PBC quit playing that city. What!? We’re coming back in November?! Fuck my dick!
(Trevor left me at the table again and thought closing his computer would stop me from doing this, it didn’t. Anyway, real quick, ten minutes ago I hid Trevor’s beer from him and stood a couple feet away to watch him look for it. WOW, I’ve never seen him more determined and hard working in my life. If his job consisted only of finding beers…wait a second… sincerely, average height and always funny guy)
God dammit, Jimmy. I’d like to point out that I left this time to restock merch, not to smoke again. It just so happens though I did have a smoke while doing that. Ok, moving on. Usually, after each Pittsburgh show PBC dudes stumble to some bar named Rugger’s where we drink to forget, order fried food, play punk music on the jukebox that Browne has never heard of and hang out with good friends (Dan Rock, holler!). So other than Mark, guitarist of Strike, calling me The Crypt Keeper, the night and tour is a total blast. After the bar closed we all climbed into Strike’s hobo wagon and tried to come up with reasons why Rob from Ruiner is so angry. I proposed the theory that Rob actually has some sort of tail that he’s embarrassed and shy about but that wasn’t the popular opinion. Some or all of this may not have actually happened or perhaps I'm just projecting, either way – so far, so good. Turnouts have been great, merch sales are up even with the worst t shirt idea of all time (see above), and the dudes in Strike Anywhere are old but certainly not partied out. However, next time you see Mark from Strike, please remind him Grunge is dead, he’s not in Pearl Jam, and long john’s on stage is never acceptable. Buy me a beer.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Leeds Fest, Kind Of
I'd rather see my mom's best tit than attend, play, or crew for any type of fest again. Or at least that's how I felt while flying from Denver, Colroado to Manchester, England. Ok, here's the plan - four weeks of tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks, hop on a plane literally hours after the Denver show, fly for nine or so hours, touchdown in England, drive immediately to Leeds and play a set on the first day of the annual Reading and Leeds Fest. Terrible fucking ideas all around but that's what Polar Bear Club did.
Before I dive into the actual fest, let me bitch about the flight overseas. Why bother to complain you ask? Well, I'm a spoiled, white, undeserving asshole. Let's just say that previous in flight entertainment to England has provided myself and PBC a seamless trasnsition into other countries and timezones. On past flights I've had my choice of all sorts of movies, episodes of Scrubs and Friends, and even music all at my fingertips due to television screens built into the airplane chiars. I planned on TV being my only solace; television would get me through this permanent zombie like state insomina had placed me in. What's that? Read a book? Fuck you, I graduated college, I'm never reading again.
Stepping on to American Airlines flight 54 broke my spirit more than any she devil ever has (yep, even more than you S). Immediately I knew there wouldn't be any quality entertainment to be had because there were communal tv's with pre arranged movies to be shown. It was as if everyone on board was being forced to share and use the same toothbrush! Briefly, I considered asking the stweardess what year it was. I believed it to be 2009 but it felt like 2003 on that rikshaw with wings. The twist of the knife that was firmly placed in my spine was the reveal of the movie we were forced to watch - 17 Again starring Goose's favorite boy toy Zac Efron. Old enough to me married with at least three children, there I was viewing a movie catered to girls aged 9 -15 years old. However, my love of the body swapping movie plot (i.e. Dream A Little Dream (saw it in the theater), Vice Versa, Like Father Like Son) and a shirtless Efron resulted in a curious erection that kept me watching the whole time. Of course, I love the movie and plan on watching it again but the point is I should of had a choice!
Oh, right, Leeds Fest. Of course I'd never experienced any event on this level or capacity. Sure, I went to Warped Tour from 1996 - 2000 and I've been to the last three Fests but Reading and Leeds is a complete different animal - numerous statges, world known bands, and of course six sleep deprived Americans, five of which had to perform hours after flying over the Atlantic Ocean. PBC was to play on a "smaller" stage which housed mostly the more aggressive type bands such as A Wilhelm Screm, Rise Against and Thursday. The stage itself was a large tented plot of land that at capacity would still allow thousands of people. The more expansive mainstage delivered Radiohead and a bunch of other bands I don't give a damn about. Rainy, wet, and soggy. No, not my underware but rather the theme for our visit to Leeds. However, sunshine, dry ground and complimentary toothy blow jobs probably couldn't have changed my miserable dispostion that day.
We're all fortunate to have made good friends in the UK and Europe and while I was looking forward to seeing everyone, I was more interested in seeing the band Snuff and going the fuck to sleep. But it is always my duty to play the part of drunken clown no matter how out of it I am. So, per usual, I began to drink around eleven in the morning or so. Polar Bear Club actually got their own trailer to hang out in for a couple of hours so most time was spent inside hiding from the rain and cold. I say a couple of hours because once Set Your Goals showed up, it was time to get out and let them take over since they have five lead singers and all. But before all of that and before Broadway Calls showed up to eat all of our free food, Polar Bear Club actually performed a show. The stage was called Lock Up and PBC was the second band to play, the band The Computers were first. Obviously, everyone in the van was pretty drained and Goose's bass equipment failing didn't help the entire situation. Pretty sure Goose wasn't able to play a song and a half due to his amp blowing up and the inept stage crew who weren't able to see through the smoke that the fog machine was pumping out to offer any type of help. Me? Well, I'm a story teller, not a bass tech. So coupling the equipment malfunction, the exhaustion, and the KISS-esque stage show PBC's set was good but could have been better.
Before I dive into the actual fest, let me bitch about the flight overseas. Why bother to complain you ask? Well, I'm a spoiled, white, undeserving asshole. Let's just say that previous in flight entertainment to England has provided myself and PBC a seamless trasnsition into other countries and timezones. On past flights I've had my choice of all sorts of movies, episodes of Scrubs and Friends, and even music all at my fingertips due to television screens built into the airplane chiars. I planned on TV being my only solace; television would get me through this permanent zombie like state insomina had placed me in. What's that? Read a book? Fuck you, I graduated college, I'm never reading again.
Stepping on to American Airlines flight 54 broke my spirit more than any she devil ever has (yep, even more than you S). Immediately I knew there wouldn't be any quality entertainment to be had because there were communal tv's with pre arranged movies to be shown. It was as if everyone on board was being forced to share and use the same toothbrush! Briefly, I considered asking the stweardess what year it was. I believed it to be 2009 but it felt like 2003 on that rikshaw with wings. The twist of the knife that was firmly placed in my spine was the reveal of the movie we were forced to watch - 17 Again starring Goose's favorite boy toy Zac Efron. Old enough to me married with at least three children, there I was viewing a movie catered to girls aged 9 -15 years old. However, my love of the body swapping movie plot (i.e. Dream A Little Dream (saw it in the theater), Vice Versa, Like Father Like Son) and a shirtless Efron resulted in a curious erection that kept me watching the whole time. Of course, I love the movie and plan on watching it again but the point is I should of had a choice!
Oh, right, Leeds Fest. Of course I'd never experienced any event on this level or capacity. Sure, I went to Warped Tour from 1996 - 2000 and I've been to the last three Fests but Reading and Leeds is a complete different animal - numerous statges, world known bands, and of course six sleep deprived Americans, five of which had to perform hours after flying over the Atlantic Ocean. PBC was to play on a "smaller" stage which housed mostly the more aggressive type bands such as A Wilhelm Screm, Rise Against and Thursday. The stage itself was a large tented plot of land that at capacity would still allow thousands of people. The more expansive mainstage delivered Radiohead and a bunch of other bands I don't give a damn about. Rainy, wet, and soggy. No, not my underware but rather the theme for our visit to Leeds. However, sunshine, dry ground and complimentary toothy blow jobs probably couldn't have changed my miserable dispostion that day.
We're all fortunate to have made good friends in the UK and Europe and while I was looking forward to seeing everyone, I was more interested in seeing the band Snuff and going the fuck to sleep. But it is always my duty to play the part of drunken clown no matter how out of it I am. So, per usual, I began to drink around eleven in the morning or so. Polar Bear Club actually got their own trailer to hang out in for a couple of hours so most time was spent inside hiding from the rain and cold. I say a couple of hours because once Set Your Goals showed up, it was time to get out and let them take over since they have five lead singers and all. But before all of that and before Broadway Calls showed up to eat all of our free food, Polar Bear Club actually performed a show. The stage was called Lock Up and PBC was the second band to play, the band The Computers were first. Obviously, everyone in the van was pretty drained and Goose's bass equipment failing didn't help the entire situation. Pretty sure Goose wasn't able to play a song and a half due to his amp blowing up and the inept stage crew who weren't able to see through the smoke that the fog machine was pumping out to offer any type of help. Me? Well, I'm a story teller, not a bass tech. So coupling the equipment malfunction, the exhaustion, and the KISS-esque stage show PBC's set was good but could have been better.
And yes, I did manage to catch Snuff as well as Set Your Goals and maybe even one more. Who knows. After that it was off to our friends Neal and Liena's house to catch up on some much needed sleep. For the first time in forever I was actually passed out by 7pm. Years ago, when I fancied myself a punk my friends would always shout their battle cry "Sleep when you're dead!". Well, fuck that, now that I'm older I go by the creedo "sleep when you're tired". The spiked belt and ambition is long, long gone. And that's really it kids. I didn't say I was going to revolutionize the internet with this entry. It's just a couple paragraphs about some show months and months ago. Time willing, I'll get around to spitting out a couple words about Reading which took place the next day. Until then, I hope you're all listening to Defeater and not Paramore.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
This Distance Is Going To Put Us Under The Ground
I don't even know what this next entry is about. I found it in a stack of papers along with a bunch of bills that I've been neglecting since last month. Actually, it's sort of about our last night on tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and Fireworks right before we left to headline a couple shows overseas. There are a couple of scribbles that I've been meaning to throw up on the internet but that's kind of hard when you no longer have a working computer. I'm actually typing this up at my other job on the company dime. Hopefully, this will get me fired or institutionalized. As always, this wasn't proof read. Also, Ted AB, if you're reading this, move along. My blog isn't funny anymore, remember? Go work on yours instead, those three readers from six months ago can't be left in the dark forever.
Things got pretty stupid right before we left for our flight to Manchester, England. No, not stupid in a "Oh, man, Goose just shat in a Pringles can" but more like "Fuck, I haven't slept in four days" type dumb. What sticks out in my mind the most was the drive from Salt Lake City, Utah to Denver, Colroado which is around nine to ten hours, I don't really remember. Right after the SLC show it was around midnight and we decided it was best to get the fuck out of that shit hole. The show sucked - no one cared about PBC, a barrier bigger than my student loans was in place, the face tattoo to no face tattoo ratio was too incredibly high and their booze had a lower alcohol content than in other states. Fuck you and your made up religion, Utah!
I don't think the initial plan was to drive the entire trek in one shot but that's what happened. Come 9am the next morning I'd been hallucinating for the last couple of hours. Sure, I love a break from reality like most people but when you end up drawing a smiley face on your hand and end up discussing with Mr. Happy whether Valerie or Brenda was the bigger bitch on 90210 , you know it's time for a nap or hibernation. After checking into a Motel 6 and catching two hours of sleep it was off to PBC's final show on the Gig Life Tour.
So hey, I'm a huge pussy who was raised in the suburbs and I probably met my first person of color in the 11th grade. That has nothing to do with my story today, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Anyway, the Denver show was in a pretty fucking sketchy area but I did experience the pleasure of a man wheeling by on a bike offering me crack rock. A different one toothed hobo with a hell of a switch blade "asked" if he could "model" a PBC shirt strictly for our benefit. It broke my heart to turn down such an incredible offer but I did. My favorite street urchin was the one third navajo, one third canine, one third land beast of a woman who offered to fly all of us on her back to Manchester, England for free. Ok, that last image may have been a result of insomnia but I still considered the kind gesture for over five minutes.
The Denver show appeared to be fun, I wouldn't know for sure, I was busy packing records all night in preparation for our flight overseas the next morning. When I wasn't shoving vinyl into cardboard I was loading the trailer whilst fending off zombie homeless people. Maybe you should ask Emmeett how the show was. He seemed to be enjoying himself while sucking down Newcastle's and noshing on pizza. Or perhaps ask our merch guy Gay Dan who three way kissed a pack of tramps and later ended up digging out one of the previously mentioned slags. God, I hate women. (jokes!) But seriously, years (hours) spent behind the merch table has not once yielded me any type of vagina or even a pleasant coversation with a woman. I blame my parents for getting high on mescaline, touching wet spots and producing me - a cross between a bald Finch from American Pie and a harlequin baby. Wait, add a social anxiety complex, bad tattoos and a fear of growing up and we'll call it a day. As of now my cock is announcing its retirement. He'll only unretire when I have to piss or when the bandage needs to be changed.
I don't think the initial plan was to drive the entire trek in one shot but that's what happened. Come 9am the next morning I'd been hallucinating for the last couple of hours. Sure, I love a break from reality like most people but when you end up drawing a smiley face on your hand and end up discussing with Mr. Happy whether Valerie or Brenda was the bigger bitch on 90210 , you know it's time for a nap or hibernation. After checking into a Motel 6 and catching two hours of sleep it was off to PBC's final show on the Gig Life Tour.
So hey, I'm a huge pussy who was raised in the suburbs and I probably met my first person of color in the 11th grade. That has nothing to do with my story today, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Anyway, the Denver show was in a pretty fucking sketchy area but I did experience the pleasure of a man wheeling by on a bike offering me crack rock. A different one toothed hobo with a hell of a switch blade "asked" if he could "model" a PBC shirt strictly for our benefit. It broke my heart to turn down such an incredible offer but I did. My favorite street urchin was the one third navajo, one third canine, one third land beast of a woman who offered to fly all of us on her back to Manchester, England for free. Ok, that last image may have been a result of insomnia but I still considered the kind gesture for over five minutes.
The Denver show appeared to be fun, I wouldn't know for sure, I was busy packing records all night in preparation for our flight overseas the next morning. When I wasn't shoving vinyl into cardboard I was loading the trailer whilst fending off zombie homeless people. Maybe you should ask Emmeett how the show was. He seemed to be enjoying himself while sucking down Newcastle's and noshing on pizza. Or perhaps ask our merch guy Gay Dan who three way kissed a pack of tramps and later ended up digging out one of the previously mentioned slags. God, I hate women. (jokes!) But seriously, years (hours) spent behind the merch table has not once yielded me any type of vagina or even a pleasant coversation with a woman. I blame my parents for getting high on mescaline, touching wet spots and producing me - a cross between a bald Finch from American Pie and a harlequin baby. Wait, add a social anxiety complex, bad tattoos and a fear of growing up and we'll call it a day. As of now my cock is announcing its retirement. He'll only unretire when I have to piss or when the bandage needs to be changed.
Of course the last night of tour was bittersweet. Everyone on tour were genuinely great dudes who all looked out for us. Easily, the best support tour we've ever been a part of (Go fuck yourself, Gaslight!). Either way, after the show, all the bands ended up at Denny's which luckily enough was right next to our motel. Well, not everyone went to Denny's, Gay Dan was busy fucking. But it was late, real late and we were to catch a plane to England in a couple hours. Apparently, Set Your Goals were too as well but I'll let them start their own blog and tell that story. At some point I'll write about the flight over Reading and Leeds Fest as well as my hatred towards fests in general. When? Who cares, I don't owe you shit!
Oh, I was going to add a top five list of dudes from other bands that have become "my boys" but I think I'll just have that be an entry that I'll post sometime this weekend. And lastly, if you don't get a kick of what I write about then just don't read. Most of this shit is made up anyway, it's all in fun. Enjoy it or I'll stop drinking.
***You may notice a new design at the top of this pile of shit. Well, like the last design, it's by my friend Teddy. Polar Bear Club should use his work for t-shirts, don't you agree? Check him out here http://tedcasper.com
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
God, What A Mess, On The Ladder Of Success
The following is one of the many (three) blogs I wrote down on a legal pad while in the United States and overseas. I'm poor so I don't own a Macbook Pro, instead I am the proud owner of a HP Pavilion that seems to break if I even look at it too hard. This is actually the second time that my laptop has shat out on my whilst on tour. Sure, some might blame it on all the porn I download but if that's the rationale, why does my Blackberry still work? So now that I'm back home from tour I'm going to type up everything I wrote while out for about the past five weeks. Either way, HP can suck my sad, sad dick. Apparently, I wrote this first entry on the way to Phoenix. Either way, the new Polar Bear Club record comes out tomorrow. Buy it and maybe PBC will be able to afford me a new computer.
I start once again in the van paper and pen in hand speeding towards Phoenix, Arizona where the promise of 100 degree weather and swamp ass awaits our arrival. I write now with a heavy heart and a badly bruised back.
While in Orlando, Florida a couple of PBC dudes and myself were hanging hard with of friends of Emmett's and Nate's while everyone else on tour went to a waterpark to swim around in a pool of cholera and hepatitis. Even though I went to school for almost a decade, I'm not a doctor but I'm 99 percent sure that's how you get scurvy. Older men such as Nate, Tre Money (me) , and Emmett don't even own bathing suits or enjoy large groups of white people. Plus, much like a Gremlin, it's essential that no water touch my china doll white porcelain skin. Chris Browne opted against the water par, too, though I'm not sure why. As I've mentioned before Chris Browne may have been hatched or created in a lab so perhaps he didn't want to reveal his gills, tail or possible cyborg parts. So instead of of getting a sunburn we collectively did our dirty laundry that accumulated over the weeks while Chris Browne ran into a parked car at 7/11. That's not my tale to tell but what I can tell you is this - the city of Orlando currently owns my brand new Buffy The Vampire t shirt that I had planned on wearing everyday whilst on tour. I left it at someones home and my will to live is about as strong as my desire to tour with The Swellers again - non existent. I'm not sure where I'm channeling the strength and fortitude to even put my thoughts down on paper. I'm a martyr first and a bad lay second. For sure.
Now kids, I've only stage dove a couple times in my life - a Strike Anywhere show, Holly Springs Disaster and maybe at a couple other shows. I don't have health insurance, my bones are actually made out of balsa wood and I don't enjoy people looking at me (EVER) so the desire to toss myself of an elevated stage has never really appealed to me. But friends, beer does weird things to/for me. It gives me courage, strength and the idea that I'm the funniest guy in the world. Of course, beer has also led me to the bed/lair of 200 hundred pound ladies on more than one occasion. (Don't judge me, I love to hump.) Either way, the other night in Dallas Texas booze was once again my catalyst for another bad life decision.
Obviously, I don't remember the specifics of this show but I do recall the venue was quite expansive and packed full of kids. With a diet whiskey and coke in my right paw I stood behind the merch table towards the back of the room next to Old Man Morris and Emmett "I remember my first beer" Menke. Four Year Strong was midway through their set and everyone off and on the stage appeared to be having a blast. I like fun (and weird porn) so I matter of factly finished my adult beverage, tossed it to the floor and announced my intentions to stage dive. Nate didn't care and Emmett was drunker than a sorority girl with an eating disorder so I led my one man wolf pack to the front of the club.
Two keys to a successful show - no security and no barriers. Luckily, the Dallas venue lacked both which was a bit surprising considering how large the room was and how many kids attended. With most of Set Your Goals on the side of the stage watching Four Year Strong once again kill it, I pushed aside a couple dudes, broke into a trot and lept into the air like a gorgeous and liberated gazelle. While in flight, most likely reminding everyone of a mental patient escaped from the local nursing home, I silently hoped that kids 15 years my junior would aide my flight of fancy. And they did. The first time.
Fueled by bottom shelf liquor and a proverbial fuck you to gravity, I decided to have another go with the whole stage vs. man thing. People are always saying that the first or original is always better than the second in regards to movies, sequels and remakes. Well, if my first stage dive was The Matrix, my second was The Matrix Reloaded. Clearly, the kids wised up and realized I was truly not one of them - I was an impostor. During mid jump I noticed kids running for cover as if someone had just thrown a single turd in the middle of the crowd, which in retrospect I guess I did. Creating a whole in the push pit larger than the ones in my brain and scab like liver, I fell flat on my back onto a slab of concrete. Lacking the ability to physically move, the motherfuckers who refused to catch me were now pulling me to my feet in an effort to take out the trash. Maybe it was the state of shock or the alcohol in my blood but I was yet to feel any pain resumed watching Four Year Strong will uttering to myself "fuck the kids".
Slowly but surely as the pain increased over time I also noticed lacerations on my back and I began to bruise up like an old banana left out in the sun. For a couple of days I was pretty tore up and had a hard time sleeping. Perhaps once or twice I begged for sweet lady death to finally end this charade of a life. On the plus side, I complained enough to get out of loading the van for a couple of days - a luxury Browne and Emmett seem to escape everyday. I wonder what their secret is? A week and several non prescription pain pills later I'm absolutely fine. Every once and awhile I'll get a severe jab of pain in my lower back but I figure that's Death's way of telling me we'll be hanging out soon and I'm more than fine with that. But really. Fuck me. I managed to write a whole blog about a misplaced t shirt and a cramp in my back. My dad almost died of heart failure a year ago and here I am bitching about a single bruise. I'm an asshole and I'll be going to hell. I'll save you a seat.
Ok, to end this entry we're doing a new list of PBC members. However, this one differs from the others. While in the van, whomever drives gets to choose any music they want to listen to on their Ipod through the stereo. The following is a list of Ipod selections I can handle the most to least.
1. Goose - I'm the oldest dude associated with Polar Bear Club and Goose is the youngest yet we have the most in common musically - New Found Glory and hardcore. Also, a couple minutes ago we were singing Dashboard Confessional to each other as if we were two overweight girls wearing jelly bracelets and black eyeliner. God, I'm going to marry that kid someday.
2. Emmett- Emmet has an older Ipod touch that doesn't hold many songs but he does have a lot of Face To Face, Samiam and As Friends Rust which are all my favorite bands. However, when he drives we hear the same shit over and over. Ok, we get it already, you were punk before all of us....change the record.
3. Jimmy - This is wear it gets a bit tough. I like Jimmy more than most but i don't really like his music selections other than the lovely and talented Taylor Swift. I've never really looked through his Ipod but I'd imagine it only has bands with the name Jimmy in it i.e. Jimmy Eat World and Jimmy's Chicken Shack. Egomaniac.
4. Chris Browne - Chris has an 80 gig Ipod and the only band on it is Minus The Bear. Pass.
5. Nate - Nate is poor and doesn't own an Ipod. Currently, he's borrowing my mother's. After shows, if you need to get ahold of Nathan, you'll find him looking for change between the couch cushions in the green room. Well, change and dignity.
I start once again in the van paper and pen in hand speeding towards Phoenix, Arizona where the promise of 100 degree weather and swamp ass awaits our arrival. I write now with a heavy heart and a badly bruised back.
While in Orlando, Florida a couple of PBC dudes and myself were hanging hard with of friends of Emmett's and Nate's while everyone else on tour went to a waterpark to swim around in a pool of cholera and hepatitis. Even though I went to school for almost a decade, I'm not a doctor but I'm 99 percent sure that's how you get scurvy. Older men such as Nate, Tre Money (me) , and Emmett don't even own bathing suits or enjoy large groups of white people. Plus, much like a Gremlin, it's essential that no water touch my china doll white porcelain skin. Chris Browne opted against the water par, too, though I'm not sure why. As I've mentioned before Chris Browne may have been hatched or created in a lab so perhaps he didn't want to reveal his gills, tail or possible cyborg parts. So instead of of getting a sunburn we collectively did our dirty laundry that accumulated over the weeks while Chris Browne ran into a parked car at 7/11. That's not my tale to tell but what I can tell you is this - the city of Orlando currently owns my brand new Buffy The Vampire t shirt that I had planned on wearing everyday whilst on tour. I left it at someones home and my will to live is about as strong as my desire to tour with The Swellers again - non existent. I'm not sure where I'm channeling the strength and fortitude to even put my thoughts down on paper. I'm a martyr first and a bad lay second. For sure.
Now kids, I've only stage dove a couple times in my life - a Strike Anywhere show, Holly Springs Disaster and maybe at a couple other shows. I don't have health insurance, my bones are actually made out of balsa wood and I don't enjoy people looking at me (EVER) so the desire to toss myself of an elevated stage has never really appealed to me. But friends, beer does weird things to/for me. It gives me courage, strength and the idea that I'm the funniest guy in the world. Of course, beer has also led me to the bed/lair of 200 hundred pound ladies on more than one occasion. (Don't judge me, I love to hump.) Either way, the other night in Dallas Texas booze was once again my catalyst for another bad life decision.
Obviously, I don't remember the specifics of this show but I do recall the venue was quite expansive and packed full of kids. With a diet whiskey and coke in my right paw I stood behind the merch table towards the back of the room next to Old Man Morris and Emmett "I remember my first beer" Menke. Four Year Strong was midway through their set and everyone off and on the stage appeared to be having a blast. I like fun (and weird porn) so I matter of factly finished my adult beverage, tossed it to the floor and announced my intentions to stage dive. Nate didn't care and Emmett was drunker than a sorority girl with an eating disorder so I led my one man wolf pack to the front of the club.
Two keys to a successful show - no security and no barriers. Luckily, the Dallas venue lacked both which was a bit surprising considering how large the room was and how many kids attended. With most of Set Your Goals on the side of the stage watching Four Year Strong once again kill it, I pushed aside a couple dudes, broke into a trot and lept into the air like a gorgeous and liberated gazelle. While in flight, most likely reminding everyone of a mental patient escaped from the local nursing home, I silently hoped that kids 15 years my junior would aide my flight of fancy. And they did. The first time.
Fueled by bottom shelf liquor and a proverbial fuck you to gravity, I decided to have another go with the whole stage vs. man thing. People are always saying that the first or original is always better than the second in regards to movies, sequels and remakes. Well, if my first stage dive was The Matrix, my second was The Matrix Reloaded. Clearly, the kids wised up and realized I was truly not one of them - I was an impostor. During mid jump I noticed kids running for cover as if someone had just thrown a single turd in the middle of the crowd, which in retrospect I guess I did. Creating a whole in the push pit larger than the ones in my brain and scab like liver, I fell flat on my back onto a slab of concrete. Lacking the ability to physically move, the motherfuckers who refused to catch me were now pulling me to my feet in an effort to take out the trash. Maybe it was the state of shock or the alcohol in my blood but I was yet to feel any pain resumed watching Four Year Strong will uttering to myself "fuck the kids".
Slowly but surely as the pain increased over time I also noticed lacerations on my back and I began to bruise up like an old banana left out in the sun. For a couple of days I was pretty tore up and had a hard time sleeping. Perhaps once or twice I begged for sweet lady death to finally end this charade of a life. On the plus side, I complained enough to get out of loading the van for a couple of days - a luxury Browne and Emmett seem to escape everyday. I wonder what their secret is? A week and several non prescription pain pills later I'm absolutely fine. Every once and awhile I'll get a severe jab of pain in my lower back but I figure that's Death's way of telling me we'll be hanging out soon and I'm more than fine with that. But really. Fuck me. I managed to write a whole blog about a misplaced t shirt and a cramp in my back. My dad almost died of heart failure a year ago and here I am bitching about a single bruise. I'm an asshole and I'll be going to hell. I'll save you a seat.
Ok, to end this entry we're doing a new list of PBC members. However, this one differs from the others. While in the van, whomever drives gets to choose any music they want to listen to on their Ipod through the stereo. The following is a list of Ipod selections I can handle the most to least.
1. Goose - I'm the oldest dude associated with Polar Bear Club and Goose is the youngest yet we have the most in common musically - New Found Glory and hardcore. Also, a couple minutes ago we were singing Dashboard Confessional to each other as if we were two overweight girls wearing jelly bracelets and black eyeliner. God, I'm going to marry that kid someday.
2. Emmett- Emmet has an older Ipod touch that doesn't hold many songs but he does have a lot of Face To Face, Samiam and As Friends Rust which are all my favorite bands. However, when he drives we hear the same shit over and over. Ok, we get it already, you were punk before all of us....change the record.
3. Jimmy - This is wear it gets a bit tough. I like Jimmy more than most but i don't really like his music selections other than the lovely and talented Taylor Swift. I've never really looked through his Ipod but I'd imagine it only has bands with the name Jimmy in it i.e. Jimmy Eat World and Jimmy's Chicken Shack. Egomaniac.
4. Chris Browne - Chris has an 80 gig Ipod and the only band on it is Minus The Bear. Pass.
5. Nate - Nate is poor and doesn't own an Ipod. Currently, he's borrowing my mother's. After shows, if you need to get ahold of Nathan, you'll find him looking for change between the couch cushions in the green room. Well, change and dignity.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Call It An Evening, Just Not Well Spent
Hey! We're On Tour With Set Your Goals, Fireworks and Four Year Strong!!!!
There are so many god damned dudes on this tour and I can’t remember anyone’s name as of yet, this being day ten or eleven of tour. With band and crew I’d estimate around 30 different swingin’ cocks are traveling from state to state and unless your name is unique i.e. Fister, Dick Punch, Shark Tooth or Rib Eye, I’m not going to remember a Chris, Mike or Tim. I’m absolutely incapable of learning new information. When new data comes into my booze soaked brain, old info is pushed out and I’m not willing to risk losing the memory of that one time I put my penis into a va-jay-jay. Sorry Fireworks, I know we’ve toured before but please understand I have no idea what your names are – hence the blank, spaced out stare on my mug every time we speak.
1. Fuck those guys, they won't even give me a copy of their new album. Go listen to my real friend Frank Turner
There are so many god damned dudes on this tour and I can’t remember anyone’s name as of yet, this being day ten or eleven of tour. With band and crew I’d estimate around 30 different swingin’ cocks are traveling from state to state and unless your name is unique i.e. Fister, Dick Punch, Shark Tooth or Rib Eye, I’m not going to remember a Chris, Mike or Tim. I’m absolutely incapable of learning new information. When new data comes into my booze soaked brain, old info is pushed out and I’m not willing to risk losing the memory of that one time I put my penis into a va-jay-jay. Sorry Fireworks, I know we’ve toured before but please understand I have no idea what your names are – hence the blank, spaced out stare on my mug every time we speak.
During July on our month off I began a diet and exercise program in hopes that when tour began in August Jimmy would finally notice me. In total, I’d say I dropped around 13 pounds. Well in less than a week most of that girth is back where it belongs (my mom ass/child bearing hips) and Jimmy and I’s brief dalliance has once again hit the skids. I’ll be alright though; I just woke up in a Motel in St Petersburg to my main man Goose aka my forever number one PBC dude. Aside from the intense heat and me sweating harder than Chris Browne at the mere mention of the word vagina, I’d have to say things are going pretty well for PBC and me on tour. I say myself because we brought out a skinny Englishman named Luke to sling merch thus allowing me to creep about in the deep recesses of each club on the hunt for free alcohol. As of yet I haven’t been able to liberate much booze but I’m pretty sure I turned up that kidney that failed Emmett a couple years back.
And as far as Polar Bear Club, crowd reaction is ultimately positive and enthusiastic. The kids at each show usually consists of tweens and older teens dressed to the nines in neon pink and greet but it seems while they may be confused over their sexuality, they’re pretty positive PBC sounds like nothing they’ve ever heard before . I don't know what the last half of that sentence even means. Anyway, the only downside at shows is that each night, the two hottest girls at a show, with their ages combined, still wouldn’t equal a legal age for me to touch sexually. I’m going to jail. But at least PBC kids are quite easy to spot. Yep, they’re the overweight, womanless, bearded dudes sweating alone in the corner wondering if they came to the right show. I don’t know why I just wrote any of the last couple lines, none of them are actually true. I just like to hurt and creep people out. I swear someone touched me as a kid.
I’m going to keep this entry quite short because my computer is about to die and we’re almost at the venue. We’re actually headed towards Metairie, Louisiana today. That part in the beginning about waking up in St Petersburg was actually from a couple days ago. My writing process, much like my fucking, consists of starting an entry, napping, sweating too much, napping some more and eventually finish with all parties involved forever scarred and dissapointed. So the first paragraph is from awhile ago and the rest of this garbage I’m just making up as I go in the van about a week later. As far as the show tonight, Polar Bear Club played the same venue whilst on tour about a year ago with The Swellers, Broadway Calls, and Crime In Stereo and in all seriousness about eight kids showed up. Now that we cut all that dead weight from that particular tour package, maybe tonight we’ll get sixteen. Worst news of the tour though is tonight’s venue prohibits alcohol. New slogan for the south…..The South, Where We Still Enforce Prohibition And Hate Blacks. See you soon, my pets.
1. Fuck those guys, they won't even give me a copy of their new album. Go listen to my real friend Frank Turner
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
