Never Forget

This entry is a bit old, this is the first time I've had access to the internetz in about three days, enjoy.

Goodbye, Germany. You were quite kind to us. Well, some of you at least paid attention. The same cannot be said for Sweden and Denmark. Perhaps Finland would have been different but I guess we’ll never know. I’m sure you already heard, but the night before we were to take a ferry to Finland, Gaslight’s van was broken into. Luckily, none of their possessions or equipment were stolen, there was only damage done to the van’s windows. However, it recently came to light that a bag full of Frank Turner t shirts were nicked by the incompetent thieves. This, to me, is good news. I saw those hideous rags. Starving and naked children in third world countries wouldn’t be caught dead in such designs.

Let’s slow down before we get too far ahead of ourselves. Back to the missing of the ferry to Finland. So, Gaslight wasn’t able to make the ferry from Stockholm to Finland due to the local police taking their sweet ass time in regards to the incident report. We were already in Stockholm, hoping Gaslight could defy space and time and somehow arrive in time to make the boat ride. Apparently, the show in Finland was sold out and when the hell will I ever get another chance to step on Finnish soil? The answer is never because my liver is shutting down as I type this. Gaslight Anthem eventually did arrive at the dock just in time to watch their ferry begin to sail away. Now everyone was more or less fucked because we didn’t have an actual show for four days in the city we were already in, Stockholm.

We had no choice but to stay in the city of Stockholm until our eventual show later on in the week. On this tour, Polar Bear Club is like a dead beat dad. They have no money, drink too much, and once in awhile slap the wife and kids around. So, holing up anywhere for an extended period of time was going to financially ruin us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find anyone stupid or generous enough to put up seven total strangers for almost an entire week. At the end of his rope mentally, Emmett offered to pay for a hotel room for the first night at a fancy hotel. While the accommodations were indeed swanky and geared towards client’s that don’t piss in water bottles, the actual room we were to stay was a four walled, windowless coffin…in the basement.

So there we were seven smelly dudes, one hard wood floored room, for three days. Can you even imagine the smells that go along with so many people who are fueled by fast food, beer, and sweat? No you cannot but if you want to get some sort of idea of what our room stunk of, go find your pet, light them on fire, and then let the body lie out in the sun for a week. Only then will you have a slight hint of the pain we all had to endure for an extended period of time. Of course, there are worse cities to be held up in so I can’t complain too much. We were able to stop in and have a drink in a couple of pubs and spend a lot of time with The Gaslight Anthem who were within the same hotel. Like I mentioned before, money was a concern and I no longer have a tax return. However, I suppose the time spent in the only hotel we’ll get on tour was worth it. There were truly beautiful aspects of the city including the pubs and restaurants. I know I’ll never forget that Pizza Hut across the street that we hit up twice.

Today I type from the back of the van, headed towards Milan, Italy. It’s a Monday afternoon, we have no show tonight and I’m on at least day 14 of my monthly life destroying alcohol bender. I haven’t seen the sun since we’ve been here and I consume at least 5,000 calories daily. As a result of the last two issues, I now resemble an industrial sized jar of mayonnaise without a label. Except balder. Clean laundry is now non-existent and the boxer briefs that I’m wearing are going on day six and would remind you of a pair of Jnco’s. Yes, yes. I’m just as shocked as you by the fact I haven’t had sex in months. In some sort of stupor I lost my toiletry bag so I push on by sleeping in my contacts, not brushing my teeth, and I go undeodorized. People, I literally smell like a female cat in heat crossed with an Italian submarine sandwich. Fear me.

Anyway, let’s get to the “weekly” list of my current favorite Polar Bear Club members. Last time I created such a list, there were a lot of hurt feelings. Here’s hoping for a recurrence of resentment and disdain. Live fast, die alone.

1. Nate – Old reliable, Nate. Mainly he keeps his number one status because I’m sharing the hotel bed with him and I’m pretty sure he’s reading what I type over my shoulder. He also has a moustache growing that makes Lieutenant Dangle look straight.

2. Emmett – Emmet moves up a couple spots this week due to his incessant bitching ever since my previous list was issued. I don’t want to hear about it anymore so I bumped him up a bit. Also, Emmett shows me noodz on his phone every once in awhile. Who doesn’t love mobile boobs?

3. Jimmy – Jimmy’s like that ex girlfriend you still bang every once in awhile. Nice to look at, easy, and after time spent with them, you remember why you cheated on them with that younger, better looking broad. No idea what any of that means. Deal.

4. Goose- Goose is all angry with me because apparently, last night, I got all drunk and started pissing on his leg. Goose has made me feel bad about it all day and won’t stop guilting me. He knew daddy was drunk! It’s his own fault for getting in the way of my piss!

5. Chris – Chris got all mad at me the other day for throwing a snow ball at him. Chris continues to love the Yankees as well. That’s all I got. Wait, after reading 4 and 5 it has become apparent that I’m a fucking prick.

New Post Tonight

yeah, new blog entry tonight. for now, enjoy a shot of chris browne's ass.

Hello internet friends. Here I am behind the merch table while frank turner is about twenty feet away, on stage, crooning about an ex girlfriend or his dead dog, I'm not exactly sure. Anyway, last night and tonight PBC played Sweden. It's pretty here and I'm grateful not to be working my dead end job back in New York state but I must admit, Sweden has been the weakest as far as crowd response. Hell, I'm not even sure if this country is actually pretty because I've been trapped inside each club each night. However, there are beautiful women everywhere, women I'd gladly take back to my parent's futon if we were back in the states. Sure, that's not saying much, I'd find a women in a burn victim ward at the local hospital attractive at this point but that's probably a story for another time.

This is the first time I've actually written an entry drunk so I hope you will bear with me through this grammar nightmare. Speaking of drinking, I've come to the realization that I am a full fledged alcoholic. Shows and traveling just isn't fun if I'm not on some next level shit. I like to tell myself I'm still a functional alcoholic but the rest of PBC would probably beg to differ. It's ok, they knew I only tagged along to do two things – drink beers and start shit. Mission accomplished.

While Sweden clearly hates Polar Bear Club as well as fun, our two shows in Germany were fantastic. PBC went over great and we were able to sell a lot of merch which helps the cause. To be honest, we're not making a lot on this tour as far as guarantees. I won't get into details but let's just say I'm not going to be able to afford any type of present or bouquet of flowers for my special lady on Valentine's Day. When I say special lady please understand I'm talking about the only woman I know – my mom. I'm trying to talk the rest of the dudes into letting her go on tour with us when we head out with Have Heart in March. I need her ATM card and I just know she'd hit it off with Trapped Under Ice.

As always, if you're looking for more in depth information as far as shows, PBC in general or shit doesn't involve my self hate, you won't find it here. If you want that boring shit, e-mail the band. I'll end this once again pointless entry on a high note. What follows is my top five PBC members list. Like most things in my life, this list is based on what they've done for me lately. Send beer, loose women, and American cigarettes. Please, kill me.

1. Nate – He's my actual best friend, has a mustache as well that reminds me of that uncle who taught me all about foreplay, and puts up with my jokes even though he's been hearing the same one for the last six years. Plus, he was in Marathon. Kudos.


2. Goose – He has a mustache right now, he'll show me his balls at the drop of a hat and he makes me feel skinny even if I am currently 20 pounds overweight.


3. Jimmy – Talent and good looks only get you so far on this list. Jimmy forgot my birthday this past January. Jimmy also has the grossest neck beard that sadly reminds me of ball hair. I don't even know what that means but I'm drunk and high on this girl in front of the merch table's butt. What?


4. Emmett – While Emmet was the only PBC member that was willing to hang out with me on my latest birthday, he was also balls deep in my last ex girlfriend for a spell. Sure, who wasn't, but I'm like an elephant – grey, large, and never forgetting.


5. Chris – Chris likes the Lakers, Yankees and may have voted for John McCain. That last part isn't true but everything I write on this thing is a lie anyway so why stop now?

Happy Friday the 13^th, please think of me on the 14^th, you're all I got.

This Entry May Suck A Little Less Than The Last One...Maybe

I'm pretty disappointed in my last entry so I thought I'd make up for "phoning it in" and throw another one at you. Most of the time during tour, there isn't really anything exciting happening, especially with Polar Bear Club. It's difficult to write a couple paragraphs about your daily activities when our adventures consist of eating, driving and waiting around. Our van is currently at capacity with eight people packed inside including Frank Turner and our driver. In our cramped quarters, like I mentioned before, we wait. We wait to get to the show. We wait to get to the restaurant of choice. We wait at whomevers house we are crashing at for the night. Time is passed by either listening to ipods, reading (Goose colors), chatting, napping or farting. Real exciting stuff, no? While the last two days haven't brought anything completely out of the ordinary, there were still some highlights that I never would have experienced if I was still stuck in a cubicle. Shall we discuss those?

This past Sunday Polar Bear Club played a venue rooted in history. It was called Shepherds Bush Empire and my trusty friend wikipedia.com tells me that it's been around since 1905 or some wild shit. The club is located in London, UK and holds 2,000 people. Not to bore you with details but bands such as the Rolling Stones and The Smashing Pumpkins have performed on the same exact stage. Now I don't give a fuck about either of those two bands but that information will come in quite handy when I tell that fact to the next girl I con into believing I sing for Polar Bear Club. The inside of the place had three balconies if I remember correctly and just seemed to have an energy about it that was contagious. What a silly sentence to write. Moving on, I knew this would probably be the biggest crowd PBC would play to other than the Third Eye Blind show they opened sometime last year.

And it was the biggest crowd. The show sold out and while once again everyone was there to see Frank Turner and The Gaslight Anthem, there was still a noticable crowd of PBC die hards. Other than the middle of the song in "Our Ballads" where Emmett decided he wanted to turn Polar Bear into an improv jazz fusion band, PBC played an incredible set that was obviously aided by such a professional sound setting. Highlights about the venue for me included 24 beers in our dressing room rather than the usual 12 or so. As tour manager, this is the equivalent of being in Polar Bear Club and playing to a sold out room.

Clearly, this is a tour of firsts for me. First time fainting on a plane, first time being overseas and hopefully soon this will be the first time I speak to a girl who isn't my mother or sister. However, the dream of being in a foreign country, meeting a local girl who totally digs old dudes with no real job or home, falling in love with said fictional girl and never coming home is quickly fading. That's all fine and good, dying alone is the new 20. Either way, I achieved another first in my life. Today was a travel day which meant just what is says - we traveled. Both PBC, Frank and The Gaslight Anthem all had to get from the UK to Brussels or someplace near there, not exactly sure. So to achieve our goal we all boared a ferry, something that I had never done before. After my incident on the airplane on the way here I was a bit hesitant about traveling by boat.

But travel I did my friends! And do you know how I got over my anxiety and travel sickness? My best friend in the world since my dog died in 12th grade - sweet lady booze. Not only is she my best chum, she's also my lover. If that didn't make you cringe, I don't know what will. The ride only last a bit over an hour and all three bands got to hang out and enjoy eachother's company which is something that doesn't happen often enough due to everyone's various schedules.

Ok, kids. It's 4am here in Belgium and later today we're off to somewhere in Germany. Goose is lying next to me and wheezing like I will in 3 more years due to my smoking habit. He sends his love, goodnight.

This Is The Most Uninspired Entry Yet.

So we've been over here in the United Kingdom for about a week now. The first show we were supposed to play in Portsmouth, UK with gaslight anthem was actually canceled because the area was blanketed with the most snow seen here within the last 18 years. It's funny, hailing from western New York, we all deal with feet and feet of snow every single winter. Every single winter. However, in these parts, a couple inches brings entire cities to their collective knees. After a long flight where I publicly embarrassed myself the last thing myself or any of us wanted was to have our first show shut down. Obviously, these events were entirely out of our control. With the help of our friend and driver Stanley we managed to schedule a last second show at a pub about two hours away. We knew the turnout wasn't going to be stellar but it was less about that and more about playing a show to a couple of people in order to break the monotony of bumming around a strange city all day. So, that's what happened, Polar Bear Club played to a couple of people. I got drunk, smoked too many cigarettes and stared at the bar maid.

Since that night PBC has played four shows with Gaslight Anthem. The shows have obviously been well attended with crowds ranging from 500 people all the way to over 1000. We're indirect support for these shows which means Polar Bear goes on about a half an hour after doors open. Because of this the club is just starting to fill up when PBC begins their set. Clearly, kids are here to see Gaslight Anthem and the direct support, Frank Turner. Yes, there are always a handful of gracious and well appreciated PBC fans that come out, sing along, and show their support by picking up a couple bits of merch. Thank you all for that. I know all of the dudes are stoked. I also know it must feel pretty awkward up there for the dudes behind a barrier on a five foot stage away from everyone. Coming from a punk rock and hardcore background, such accommodations are deemed mostly unnecessary and invasive . However, this is to be expected with shows this size.

Like I mentioned before in a previous post, the UK isn't that all different from what I've experienced back home in the states. Other than some older building that I spot every once in awhile near the club, everything looks the same to me! Sure, it's entirely possible that this is just me being an uneducated and idiotic American but as I often tell my ex's, I can't help the way I feel! Mainly, I enjoy the differences in language, especially the slang of the English. Who knew that pants meant underwear over here? That fanny is actually a vagina! My god, bell end means dickhead! Currently, I'm doing the best I can to come back with an English accent. The motivation behind this, like everything else, is getting laid. So when I get back home, if we run into each other and I tell you to “Sort your life out you bloody cow” in a heavy English droll, please go out of your way to sleep with me. If not for me, do it in the name of tourism, thanks.

This is our second tour with Gaslight Anthem so we're actually really good friends. The night before last was probably the most fun I had with those gents following a show. Once the performance concluded, PBC and some TGA dudes headed down the street to a local club in order to wet our whistles. Anytime you enter any type of establishment and you're greeted by a pack of drunken midgets, you know you're in for a good night. Yes, that was actually the case. I'm not one to judge others but when short people are stumbling, getting stuck in revolving doors and yelling at you for being too tall, one tends to point and laugh at the vertically challenged. This is more than enough to make a good evening great but what added to all the fun was the dance performance of Goose and the others that actually cleared out the entire bar. America.

Last night's show in Kingston was the most exciting and energetic as of yet by far. Polar Bear Club actually played a headline show without Frank Turner or The Gaslight Anthem. This venue was more their style and only held about 120 kids. Attached to a pub, The Fighting Cocks was the name of the place. With low ceilings and a “stage” a couple inches high, the atmosphere reminded me of a basement show more than anything else. The show ended up selling out and I was reminded again why I'm still out here doing this – for fun. Everyone in the place was either pumping their fist, singing along or both. I wanted to stage dive or at least cause some sort of uncomfortableness for others but I couldn't even get near the front. You'll be glad to know that Polar Bear Club is still a punk rock band.

Today, just like in college, I'm up early and surrounded by dudes. We're in some family's house that may or may not know we're actually here. The vibe is awkward and I've had to piss for the last three hours. I'm too afraid to leave this room for I am afraid of getting caught with a pee boner by a confused father who may think I'm here to visit his daughter. Either way, we're in London today and back with the Gaslight Anthem and Frank Turner. Should be a huge show but I know everyone is going to miss the special quality that small shows bring. If I stage dive today, hit the barrier and break my neck, don't tell my mom I wrote the phrase pee boner. Cheerio.

Getting To Europe

Well, it's been a long couple of days, at least for me. Our fellowship started out at 9am on January 31^st in Rochester, New York. From there we headed towards Syracuse to pick up the rest of the crew. Our plane was leaving on Kuwait airlines out of JFK airport in New York City at 9pm on the same night. First we needed to get to Long Island in order to park our cars and dock them for five weeks. Luckily, our friend Duncan from the criminally under rated and lazy band Thieves and Assassins offered to house our cars at his house and drive us to the airport. By the time we arrived in long island, most of us were already emotionally spent from spending five hours in a car with each other but we pushed on.

Check in and security at JFK airport went a lot smoother than expected so we were almost two hours early for any type of boarding. To calm any type of pre flight jitters and nerves PBC and myself bellied up to the closest airport bar and decided to get loose. After a bar tab that bordered on 200 dollars it was time to board our 9pm flight. All six of us were seated right next to each other on a rather large plane. I've never flown overseas so I was a bit apprehensive about spending the next seven or so hours in a metal tube seated next to Chris Browne. What I was looking forward to was the free in flight meal. Choosing to live dangerously for the first since the last time I had unprotected sex, I decided to go with the lamb and curried potatoes.

At first everything ok. I popped my headphones into my ears, turned on my ipod, threw down a couple Tylenol PM's, and laid my head against the window looking out across the ocean. Twenty minutes later, I began to emerge from my drug induced slumber. I felt myself begin to sweat (more than usual), my stomach turn and my bowels drop. I shot a look at Goose croaked “I'm going to throw up.” Quickly, I needed to climb over Chris Browne and the previously mentioned Goose in order to get to the bathroom near the end of the plane. Something was wrong here. My whole body became clammy, fuzzy and warm all at the same time. By this time I had actually reached the bathroom but unfortunately the space was occupied. A foggy white veil began to close over my eyes and then everything went blank. I went down. Hard.

The next thing I remember was a 200 pound guardian angel reaching out his hand and pulling me off the ground and onto my feet again. My stocky life saver then guided me over to a closer seat where I could spread out and began feeding me cold water. Thank you, Goose Henning, you saved my life.

I don't know what happened. Maybe it was my first of many upcoming heart attacks. Maybe it was the lamb I ate. Perhaps it was the Tylenol PM and booze. Who knows, I don't have health insurance. Just know I haven't stopped smoking.

After throwing up twice and barely sleeping a wink, myself and the rest of the plane finally landed in London England at 9am on February 1^st. Our new friend and and driver for the tour Stan was awaiting our arrival and took us to our Sprinter Volkswagen that would be our home for the next five weeks. Looking around London while at the airport, I felt nothing. I thought I'd feel an excitement or at least positive anxiety about being in a new country and new environment for the first time in my life. The weather, gloomy and cold, reminded me of back home or at best Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I suppose I am disappointed in myself for not being able to shed my cynicism and jadedness but fuck, I fell down in front of a group of people. On a plane. Thousands of feet in the air. A grown man. Get off my back.

The remainder of the day was spent observing London through a rainy window, shuttled around in a vehicle that was clearly on the wrong side of the road! Eventually, we made it back to accommodating new friends who agreed to put all of us up for the night. Being Americans it was absolutely essential that we watch the Super Bowl. So that's where we are now. Being American. Explaining the rules of the game to confused and bored Englishmen. I like the way they talk. I haven't fainted again in almost 24 hours. Things may get better from here.