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.