Polar Blog Club

Still Alive

2010-05-22T23:52:00.002-04:00

I was going to write a slew of new entries tonight. Instead, I got drunk by myself on whiskey. The way I see it, we all won.

Every Time I Die

2010-04-08T18:12:00.003-04:00

(Wrote this one a couple weeks ago, just getting around to posting now)

I don’t know one single Every Time I Die song title, record name, or lyric. I cannot listen to Four Year Strong without getting a toothache or feeling like an audio pedophile.(Hmm, an audiophile? No, that means something else) And Trapped Under Ice? Come on, you know I hate hardcore.

On our first date of this tour, we headed to Poughkeepsie, New York, and true to form, Polar Bear Club was running extremely late due to me being behind the wheel, my advanced age and cataracts. I remember fantasizing that we would be SO late that the Every Time I Die tour manager would kick us off the tour and tell the lot of us to go home. Why was I already so pessimistic from the onset? Well, first off, the world has done me wrong and owes me something. Other than that though, I wasn’t really jazzed about touring with bands I wasn’t familiar with musically. Yes, we’ve gigged with Four Year Strong and Trapped Under Ice previously, but for the life of me, I couldn’t even tell you what label each band was on. To me, tours are more exciting when I’ve been a fan of the other bands for years and years. To be fair, I’m out of touch with current music. I live in a shell. Instead of posters, upon my shell walls, I hang spite. Rather than art, I choose to show off my anhedonia. So I’m sure you’ll be just as shocked as I was upon realization that I’ve had an incredible time on the tour I’ve dubbed, “Bands That Will Never Grace My Ipod.” (Author's note, I no longer have an Ipod, I left it in a shitty Motel 6 somewhere in the desert. Pity me, it was my mother's)

The routing of this tour can best be described as questionable and you could say this band package is hitting some obscure cities. Quickly browsing our itinerary will reveal a who’s who of areas I’d never, ever think to visit. Sparks, Nevada? No, that can’t be a real place. Lubbock, Texas? Fuck Houston, Austin, or San Antonio! I’m going to motherfucking Lubbock! Regina? Yes. YES, I absolutely want to go to a city that rhymes with vagina. Hell, bring the family! Of course, the reason we’re headed to urban powerhouses such as Kitchener is due to a proximity clause, which involves the summer’s Warped Tour. I’m not a scientist, linguist, or mathematician; I’m a habitual masturbator, so I can’t fully explain whatever that means. All I know is this tour can only play locations you’d probably go to if you needed some sort of illegal back alley abortion and yes, I’ve done the research. But apparently people live in cities I’ve never heard of because the majority of the shows have been bringing out a ton of kids and I like to think that PBC is reaching a whole new audience. But just like unprotected sex will bring untimely warts that you later need to explain to your next girlfriend, along with the good, there has been some bad.

I love Canada. Montreal has the hottest girls that I’ve never, ever spoken to. The titty bars showcase the loveliest strippers with the highest of self-esteem, so I’m told, of course. Degrassi High, as well as The Next Generation, has provided me with countless hours of guilty enjoyment over the years. I’ve never really been to the western part of America’s 51^st state but for some reason, I’ve always wanted to visit Vancouver. Since most of our friends in Living With Lions reside in the area, I was especially excited that our tour would be hitting that exact city. We finally got to Vancouver the night before the actual show. While hanging with friends that night and in the morning, I thought the city looked like a great place to possibly someday live. Like waking up to a pissed bed, the harsh reality of the situation eventually set in.

The venue was in a completely different part of Vancouver. A part of the city we had not witnessed the night before or that morning. Pulling up to the venue appropriately named the Rickshaw Theatre, we unwillingly took in the local culture. Amputees, hobos, drug addicts, and cock whores as far as the eye could see. If I were still in college, this would have been my Xanadu. 105 years later, not so much. Before the show, a couple of us decided to walk around the area and soak in the local scene in order to experience first hand what walking death looks like. Jimmy saw a woman shuffling around with an IV needle protruding from her drug-hungry arm. I, myself, witnessed two drug deals and others observed the actual narcotics being smoked. I even heard tales of two women simultaneously shitting in the alley ways. This was Hamsterdam, but up close and personal. Legend is that if anyone were unfortunate to be bitten by one of the zombies, that person would instantly become homeless and itchy. Once night fell, a pact was made to stay inside and if you had to leave the venue, we promised to use the buddy system. Luckily, all of us left Vancouver unscathed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Eugene, Oregon.

I think the band Guttermouth said it best when they proclaimed, “hippies smell like shit, piss, hemp, and eggs.” While I hate all populations of people equally, hippies hold a special place in my heart as far as loathing is concerned. There isn’t any real tangible reason for my spite, other than possible beard envy. I’m absolutely convinced that if it were genetically possible for me to sprout facial hair that wasn’t a Frank Turner-esque goatee, I could run for Congress. Or maybe Town Comptroller. Either way, a friend told me that Eugene had a pretty big drum circle population. I thought to myself that night, “perhaps tonight’s show will bring out peaceful moshers only interested in the light show.” Never in a million years would I have expected any type of violence, but everything changed in a split second to the tune of Digital Underground’s masterpiece, “The Humpty Dance.” That night, after PBC’s set, Goose was to be found next to the soundboard “shakin’ and twitchin’ kinda like (his leg) was broken” in an attempt to make Every Time I Die’s soundman laugh. Never has one song been more prophetic, for in the blink of an eye, a filthy dirt urchin came up and pulled a Tonya Harding by punching out Goose’s leg with his fist. Instantly falling to his feet, Goose quickly realized that he had seriously injured himself. Shocked and confused, PBC’s best dancer was carried outside of the venue, so he could be brought to an emergency room. Unfortunately, Goose had to fly home for a couple days later. As of now, his knee is fucked and we weren’t really able to find the dude who assaulted Goose. Luckily, Polar Bear Club was able to stay on the tour due to Dan and Alan of Four Year Strong learning and filling in on the bass duties.

So like every tour, we deal with what is given to us both good and bad. Positives have included the usually warm crowd responses for Polar Bear Club. Also, it turns out that Every Time I Die are a great bunch of dudes who put on an incredible live show. Up until now, I’ve never really seen them live before and I find myself making it a point to catch them every night. And of course, we’ve become even better friends with Four Year Strong and Trapped Under Ice. Four Year Strong in particular have gone out of their way to take care of us and are currently rivaling Broadway Calls as our best friend tourmates. (Step it up, BC) Sure, there have been some long drives, some disappointing shows here and there, and Goose’s soon to be amputated leg, but we press on. As of this writing, we have less than a week on this tour. Truth be told, I’m ready to get home and live like a human being again for a couple of months, well, maybe for a couple days. Speak soon.

If Rob From Ruiner Had A Time Machine

2010-04-05T10:34:00.005-04:00

Note from Trevor.

Does anyone remember that website www.buddyhead.com ? A couple of years ago it was all the rage. There was a gossip section on the site that basically talked shit on bands, celebrities, hipsters, and Fred Durst. It was over the top, hilarious and outlandish. After a while though the funniest part of the site wasn't updated regularly and the product suffered overall. Yes, new entries would come every once in awhile but the joke soon got tired and people began to move on in droves and forget. Well, here at polarblogclub.com we're experiencing the same thing. Basically, the joke is over. I've become tired with this site and so have you. However, since I'm still touring and fancy myself the funniest person I've ever met, I'll still plod on. I just need you to know that I get it. I know I'm on my last legs here and that the earlier stuff was better. But since a couple of us remain I present a guest blog from my friend Rob from the band Ruiner. When I say friend I mean a dude who I've toured with a couple times. He's here to remind everyone that while I haven't written anything of any merit lately it sure as hell could be a lot worse.

Your turn, Robert.

So it took me a while to get started on this. I must begin my guest blogging endeavor by explaining a few things: for all his self-loathing, poor choices in friends, bad decisions in life, and war against sobriety, Trevor is a great writer when it comes to this here blog. I continually read it on tour and have quite the “lol” moments (sometimes at my expense). Not too long ago, while stroking my friend Trevor's (or Tracker or Manager/Baby Sitter to Polar Bear Club) ego, he asked me to do a guest blog because he hit a "creative wall.” I had never written a blog before, but I do love letting the world know the things I think. I agreed, but I needed to ponder what I'd write about. The funny thing is Trevor and I share some similarities. Put aside that he is tall (I am of hobbit height) and he has the physical prowess of a 13-year-old girl (I like the gym), he, like myself, is usually a miserable bastard. Also, we both dwell on the past. So I thought I'd continue the water works about self-sabotage and never getting over anything while it relates to being in a band. (So if you want to read funny stuff about Polar Bear Club, go read the Bridge 9 board. Pretty sure they are on the verge of being voted worst band on Bridge 9 records, next to International Superheroes of Hardcore. Hey, what do you expect, they aren't a hardcore band or Title Fight.

I started playing in bands in Middle School. It was an exciting time for me, blah blah... blah blah. Around that time, I also started wrestling. Now why is this important, you ask? Because between playing in bands and being athletic, I was in good favor for having my penis touched much faster than most. Unlike my friend Trevor, who probably didn't come out of his shell until about the time he got those sweet flames on his wrists. Now don't get me wrong, I was not Mr. Popular. I dressed like a circus clown that listened to Pantera (and still does listen to Pantera). It just so happened that despite my cartoonish appearance, I occasionally had a girlfriend (I'm persistent, like an STD you learn to live with). But like Elvis and so many musicians before/after him, I'd meet the one I shouldn't have fucked around on. She was and still is the most attractive thing to ever be seen in pictures with me. She is also the driving force behind many a Ruiner song. She never did anything wrong, never hurt my feelings or "broke my heart.” The only thing she ever did was trust me. Sadly, I was young and stupid—barely 21. No real excuse other than that. Sit a bag of chips in front of my best friend and band mate Danny long enough, he will eat them. Well in this metaphor, the chips are vagina and Danny is me. The result, however, is not greasy fingers and ruining your dinner. It’s starting a new band and deciding to punish yourself by reliving the moment she found out you cheated on her, most nights for 25 to 30 minutes for the past 6 years.

See, my story is not a sob one. I have no one else to blame but myself nor do I try. I just felt I would write something that relates to this blog, but gives a different spin on why someone can be so miserable. You grow older and stop blaming the world for the bad hand you are dealt. Maybe you weren't that great to the person who left you. Maybe they are better off with anyone other than you. Maybe being miserable isn't a healthy way to go through life or make friends. Too bad I take very little of my own advice.So thank you, Trevor, for allowing me to rant to all 6 or 7 people who read this. I will be awaiting your clever diatribes of loving the “D-man” and how you feel your penis is barely a usable appendage on your person.

Oh and Marathon is one of the greatest bands to ever come out of Upstate New York.

Hello Bastards

2010-03-08T09:35:00.006-05:00

Hello! I wrote this weeks ago but was unsure about actually posting the entry. Why? Well, because it sucks!

Today I write out of necessity rather than convenience or want. Wait, I don't actually need to do anything. I type now only to bury my last blog entry at the bottom of this website. It's time to focus on touring with Polar Bear Club instead of my dying inner child or whatever hippie shit I was spouting a couple weeks ago. It's nine in the morning and I haven't even been back in the United States for more than twenty-four hours. There is a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room taller than Jimmy Stadt on a good day. I know I have to pay some bills today, maybe get an oil change, and most importantly hose myself down. I won't do any of those errands. Instead, I'll eat a whole pizza in bed (futon), watch episodes of The Wire (Sex And The City), and etch out a couple sentences about the last couple of weeks in Europe with Title Fight and Shook Ones.

These end of tour entries always fucking suck. I'll be the first to admit it. I'll also admit my best entries are the ones that are mostly about me and not Polar Bear Club. But I'm not the reason why you kids come here, so for once I'll try to stay in line. Anyway, these types of accounts aren't as funny because I attempt to throw three to four weeks of hard giggin' into four or five paragraphs. Of course, I do all this after the actual events have occurred. Being 145 years old, this means that I forget most nights and fail to report anything of any actual significance or relevance. This also means that I make a lot of things up. On the flipside, it's important to remember that nothing exciting ever happens on tour. Polar Bear Club is not Led Zeppelin; no one is getting fucked with a red snapper. PBC is more like a straight edge hardcore band, minus the douchebaggery, rather than a 1970's Rolling Stones when it comes to partying. When you add a group of teenage edge warriors named Title Fight to the mix, alcohol consumption (aka wild nights of dick tricks) was at an all time low. But don't get me wrong—this was one tour I had the most fun being a part of.

I don’t like touring Europe and the UK. That being said, I don’t like leaving my house. The reasons I don’t enjoy overseas are trivial and downright absurd. After all, most shows on foreign soil are some of PBC’s best. Promoters and friends go out of their way to take care of us (well unless your name is Tom Smalley). In fact, we’re treated a thousand times better in England than back home in the United States. However, I’m a creature of habit and detest unusual currencies and unnecessary coins. I don’t appreciate having to pay money to urinate on a motorway (I’m talking about you, Germany). And even though the only person I text or call when I’m back home is my mother’s cat, my biggest peeve is that I’m usually without a phone for weeks on end. All of my petty complaints aside, I truly do appreciate the opportunity to travel, and on this particular tour were some of the best shows of PBC’s career.

Due to restraining orders involving teenagers specifically, I’m not sure If I could have been legally allowed within 1000 feet of Title Fight if we went with this lineup back in America. Out of U.S. jurisdiction and on foreign soil, I was lawfully able to perform my tour managing duties. As I’ve often noted, I don’t like music. However, I remember hearing about Title Fight through the hype vine while we were on tour with Ruiner and Defeater during our previous Euro tour. After listening to the band, like most, I enjoyed what I heard. While not a hardcore band, I knew that Title Fight had a huge hardcore following, much like Polar Bear Club had when they first started out. Also, like Polar Bear Club, Title Fight is receiving a lot of recognition and buzz. I think the best piece of advice PBC gave to the TF dudes was to never put out a second record. Because once you do, the kids turn on you. Right, Polar Bears? Either way, if this wasn’t Title Fight’s first time over to England and Europe, it would have made sense to have them play direct support to Polar Bear Club in lieu of their incredible crowd response. Some nights, TF stole the show. I say this without any type of jealousy or animosity because they are a great bunch of dudes, even if they all suffer from the straight edge (social AIDS).

Shook Ones are currently one of my favorite active bands and have been for a couple years now. To me, they put out the catchiest and most infectious pop punk. I’ve seen the band perform at a couple of the Fests and PBC played with the dudes one time in Seattle sometime last year. If you’re an avid reader of this soul stealer of a blog, you know that I often play favorites when it comes to dudes in other bands. This time was no different as I instantly became a fan boy of Shook One’s guitarist, Shitty Steve Guttenburg, aka Funds. Sure, our love of booze drew us together at first, but what really cemented our relationship was on a drunken night in Trier, Germany, it was revealed that we had both slept with the same girl on different occasions. Think about it. One dude from the East Coast, another dude on the West Coast metaphorically and figuratively touching tips inside a vagina somewhere in the United States. All revealed in a foreign land. It’s almost a better story than “The Notebook.” Almost.

Yes, that’s really all I have to say about three weeks in countries such as the United Kingdom, Belgium, Germany, Holland, and Scotland. One paragraph about how I’m an agoraphobic shut-in who hates other ways of life, another vaguely about Title Fight, and a final excerpt about a girl I had sex with and never speak to anymore. If you’ll let me, I will tell you that most of the shows were incredible, especially in Germany and London where all the bands sold out a 500 capacity room. The only blemish on the London night was the overactive stage diver who almost broke his neck during PBC’s set. I swear to God that’s the last time I ever clean up urine that isn’t my own. While I didn’t forge any lifelong friendships like on previous European tours, I still had a blast and thank Polar Bear Club for allowing me to come along and handle money whilst inebriated… And special thanks to every promoter not named Tom Smalley, Stan, Saker, Noodles, Neal, and Leina—thank you the most for making this all possible. See? I’m not all evil.

Morningleaver

2010-02-25T05:22:00.004-05:00

Prologue
I feel I need to explain a couple things before the actual entry below. First off, the following really has nothing to do with the band Polar Bear Club whatsoever, it's once again pretty much just about me. How can one person hate himself so much then go on about that very same subject matter for weeks at a time? It's probably science. Also, I go on a bunch using gross words about feelings and love. Obviously, it's all fiction. I mean, the only things I actually love is a bottle of beer and a nice fuck film. Lastly, I wrote most of this while PBC were in Australia and I took a vacation to the west coast to clear my head. As always, everything I write is all in fun and mostly untrue. Let's go!

Many moons ago, under this cold, calloused shell of mine, once beat a heart that pumped blood instead of an angry, black, jelly-like ooze. I’m talking about the good old days, back when my mane flowed like a Nordic god’s, the bags under my eyes were not yet tattooed on by time, and going against God's natural order, I actually had a girlfriend. Of course, I'm referring to the early 2000's, but as fondly as I remember the era now, not all was well. For instance, Saves The Day just put out "In Reverie," thus beginning an epic meteoric fall into mediocrity not seen again until Alkaline Trio's recent crawl into non-significance. And soon my salad days came to an end. Looking back, I should have recognized this as foreshadowing of bad things to come. (I half take back the Saves The Day/Trio Joke. The STD part I meant but I like the new Alkaline Trio record a lot. Plus, Skiba and I need to meet in order to discuss booze and pills.)

As for the girlfriend angle, well, I don't want to mention her name here or anywhere else for that matter. Based on previous experiences, if you say or type her name three times, she suddenly appears like a controlled hurricane, destroying everything in her way, including my self esteem, mental health, and most importantly, my checking account. But all those years ago, we lived together, liked each other, and even spoke of marrying each other. For about five seconds.

Easily the hottest girl I've ever had sex with that I didn't have to pay, I somehow kept her interest for about a year, which was quite the herculean task considering I most resemble a pint glass full of plain oatmeal. During a time when I should have been concentrating on graduating college and making positive steps towards our future, in the last couple months of our relationship, I instead chose to stay out late drinking, getting high, and ignoring my partner. But none of that truly matters for I'm the protagonist of this story and she's the dirty tramp that left me for another man when we were still a couple.

As I remember, the "man" she transitioned to straight from me was everything I was not. Neck tattoos, edge to the point of overcompensating for other personal shortcomings, mean, ugly as sin, and from all accounts, a misogynist. Ok, well, maybe we both had the whole woman-hating thing in common, but other than that we were like night compared to day. And if you haven't asked yourself yet, I'm sure you will now. The question that must be on your mind - "Why, Trevor? Why are you telling us all this? This isn't a Livejournal account or your junior high diary. We just want to read about Polar Bear Club tour dates, why do you insist on punishing us like this?" Well, if you don't see the similarities between my attractive ex girlfriend leaving me for another and Polar Bear Club (attractive girlfriend) recently ditching their trusty, yet homely tour manager for Australia (straight edge new boyfriend), well, you're just as crazy as a writer still in love with someone that bailed over six years ago.

One thing time has taught me is that I'm the same exact person that I was in the early 2000’s that I am in 2010, except now I live on a futon that isn't even mine. Oh, God, it's happening all over again! Stupid Australia and their colorful and shocking neck tattoos. I already know how I'm going to handle this one, the same way I handled my breakup all those years ago. First, drunkenly and alone, I'll probably hack my way into Polar Bear Club's Myspace and read all about how great, exciting and new Australia is. To my horror, I'll then stumble upon the messages any ex boyfriend or tour manager should always skip. You know, the ones that will go on and on about all the weird, taboo things Polar Bear Club and Australia do behind closed doors. All the acts that Polar Bear Club would NEVER do with me, even after two glasses of wine.

Secondly, time will go by and I'll tour manage or possibly even roadie again, you know, move on and such. Perhaps a younger band. Of course new band won't be as good looking as Polar Bear Club and they obviously won't be looking to settle down, but it will be a nice couple of months. I'm thinking Broadway Calls? Or maybe Defeater, if they ditch Jay Maas, of course. PBC and my new band, whoever they may be, eventually will have to run into each other on shows and probable tours. And yes, it will be awkward. I'll pretend to be having the time of my life, you know, laughing extra hard at the new lead singer's jokes and pretending to enjoy the new band's songs more than anything off Chasing Hamburg. The whole time, of course, I'll be dying a thousand deaths inside knowing that Goose is being told what to do by another.

And who knows? Someday down the line PBC and the drunk formerly known as Tracker may even work together again, much like the ex and I tried to work it out over the years. However, in both instances, it just won’t be the same. You see, life just isn’t like the movies. Up on the big screen, Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything stands outside Diane Court’s bedroom with a boom box outstretched over his head, pleading for his woman to come back and naturally, it just works out splendidly. In real life, well, in MY life, when I pull the same move, the ex girlfriend finishes blowing her new boyfriend and immediately calls the cops in search of an immediate and permanent restraining order. As far as Polar Bear Club goes, we’ll try doing weekend ventures here and there, but after a couple of beers I’ll insist they write down the name of every single tour manager they’ve been ever been with. It just can’t work; jealousy is an ugly monster, but not as ugly as a drunken Trevor.

The thing is, Polar Bear Club and I are actually still together with no plans of breaking up. (Well, until I get my grad school applications of course.) We have a lot of great things coming up, including the “Tour Of Bands I’ve Never Owned A Record By” with Every Time I Die, Trapped Under Ice, and Four Year Strong. Most importantly, I might actually wiggle my way into a pair of shorts for Warped Tour 2010. The lineup for Warped Tour? Well, a bunch of bands with members born when I was a college quadruple senior but I could use the sun. Unfortunately, as far as the ex, well, that never seemed to work out. Seven years later, I only think about her every second, every day. Eventually, hearing "no" was too much and all I could do was hop a plane to the west coast to start over. And with that, well, my flight to Portland is about to board. See you when I'm back, if I come back at all. (Clearly I came back, I’m finishing this up in Germany, nerds)

Shorter, Faster, Sadder 2/22/10

2010-02-22T12:22:00.002-05:00

It happened again this morning. That flash of panic and nausea in my stomach. A couple seconds of bewilderment, confusion and terror. Once again I wake up have no idea where I am. Luckily, this time I came to in a comfortable bed. What I do remember is that I didn’t even drink that much last night - just a couple beers. But this is how it goes now. While my brain deteriorates and breaks off into tiny pieces I struggle to remember most nights and yet I can still recite every word to The Humpty Dance by Digital Underground. I rush to find our tour laminate that lists every city Polar Bear Club performs in. A rush of warmth and calm shoots through me when the note card tells me we are in Rosswein, Germany.

It’s almost eight AM and I hate myself for being up this early. I hate the Shook Ones and Title Fight’s driver even more since his alarm clock is to blame for jolting me up at such an hour. He seems like a nice enough dude but no one should have a Led Zeppelin song on repeat as a way to get up in the morning especially since it took ten minutes to actually do the trick. I wish I could remember his or anyone’s name but once again I blame the drink and the chemically abused brain.

The promoter for last night’s show put every band and crew member up in a hostel located near the previous night’s venue. I search around the room and see Nate in one bed and the driver in the other. I’m starting to remember checking and settling in just a couple hours before. I peer through the windows to discover outside and I’m reminded of winter in western New York albeit briefly. Snow covers every inch of the ground and I quickly realize there is nothing similar between this part of Germany and Rochester, New York. While I’m no expert on the manner, buildings in this sleepy and cozy town look centuries old and distinctively German.

I once again proceed with my morning rituals, which consist of making sure I haven’t lost my passport, wallet, and sanity. Two of the objects I still have. I trip towards the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror again even though I know it’s a terrible idea that I’ll soon regret. While we haven’t been gone even two weeks, I’m already putting on significant booze weight. Before we left for this expedition I spent ten days in Portland, gargling down alcohol and shoving down all sorts of unhealthy food. This trend continues overseas. Shows offer a large amount of free food and enough hooch to take down Matt Skiba in his prime. Every god damn day I tell myself to take it easy, to slow down, but it seems I can’t even breathe without getting a healthy load on. This happens on each tour and during downtime I get back into shape and drop the pounds. However, right after this tour concludes there isn’t any type of break. As soon as we fly home, a couple days later Polar Bear Club heads out for a month with Every Time I Die. Come April I bet I’m twenty five pounds overweight and longing for the days when I could still see my penis.

I love touring Europe and the UK and at the same time I cannot stand the whole ordeal. Shows have been incredible. People are coming out, singing along, and buying merch for every band. Promoters take care of us and cover every guarantee. I’m seeing some old friends but not meeting anyone new which is fine because all I need is my parent's cat Haley. The drives haven’t been that long but I still get anxious and my knees begin to ache while sitting stationary in the van unable to lie down or get comfortable. For some reason a bit of me longs for home. There isn’t a girl, dog, or a life waiting for me there and I don’t know if there ever will be. Maybe it’s my Xbox 360 I miss so much. Remind me to buy her something nice when I get back. Possibly, a sweater for her hard drive. Unlike other tours, I haven’t really bonded with any other bands members. Where is my Frank Turner, my Derrick of Defeater or even Mark of Strike Anywhere? Well, at least Nate’s here. He’ll do for now. I quickly tell myself to grow up, my inside voice shouts “you’re traveling the world and you have a job many people will kill for. Enjoy it while you can”. And I’ll do that today with a large bottle of lager. But for now I’ll try and get back to sleep. Or maybe the Title Fight driver will get out of the bathroom so I can finally touch my dick – the most important of my morning rituals. It's all for you, kids.

I Wrote This Post While NOT Drunk, It's Long And Boring (That's What She Said)

2010-02-19T14:57:00.005-05:00

Listen, I know how you're feeling. I understand that overwhelming disappointment that sweeps throughout your body - starting in your chest an then down to your stomach. In fact, I've caused this feeling before. Specifically, five years ago when Myspace still got people laid. After chatting up a girl on the internet and then meeting the lady for the first time. The emotions the poor girl must have felt when a person resembling a six foot wilted penis spilled into the room. That exact horror and shame must be what I'm putting the readsers of this blog through right now. I'm sorry but there will be no Jimmy today. Trevor is back.

Sure, it was nice while it lasted - video updates and self-confidence. Well, as of a few days ago my sabbatical, my forced leave of absence, my personal time of reflection and marathon masturbation is now over. Much to Emmett’s dismay, I'm back on tour with Polar Bear Club.

This wouldn't be a PBC tour without setbacks, crisis, and general ball break-ery On February 10th our plan was to meet at Emmett's house in Syracuse, New York, sort some merch, sleep for a couple hours and head toward the airport for a 6:15am flight on the 11th. From there we would hop on our plane, fly to America's armpit New Jersey and eventually fly over to London, England. Well, around five in the evening on the 10th it became apparent that snow, sleet, and karma would have a hand in possibly delaying our trip overseas.

In the north east part of the United States that we all live in, winter seems to last ten months out of the year. It’s one of the many elements that lead to my opaque skin tone and general positive outlook on life. New York and the surrounding areas were once again experiencing an influx of snow that was closing down most airports. When we all convened to Emmett’s house early in the evening our plane from Jersey to Syracuse was already delayed four hours. This meant if we waited around for our first flight, we would absolutely miss our connecting flight overseas to London, which for some reason was still scheduled and on time. Added to all of this was the issue of Nate not coming with us at all for the first couple of dates due to a family emergency. So while I knew we would eventually get to our destination, not having Nate around the first couple of shows was a drag since he’s the only one in PBC that still puts up with my antics.

On a night that was as bitter, cold, and unforgiving as a step mother, the Mensa think tank known as Polar Bear Club decided to skip the first flight altogether and brave the elements. Around 1:30am, now on February 11th, we all piled into our van and headed straight to New Jersey to cut out the middleman and just grab a straight flight to London, England. Not really thinking about how much it would cost to house our van at the New Jersey airport for almost a month, Jimmy decided to helm our ship through icy conditions that almost derailed the entire expedition permanently. By this time, I was drunk so I was ready to die if need be. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you’re related to me, we finally made it to the airport alive and certainly not well.

I’d love to regale you with all the fascinating details of the security check in, the wackiness that only a seven hour flight can bring, the vegetarian meal that tasted like chewy, bad sex and the sleeplessness that led to the bags under my eyes being permanently tattooed upon my face but this blog has already gone on longer than anyone would ever want. If you’re still reading this and not jerkin’ it to a big breasted African American on www.spankwire.com, well, I don’t even want you coming to my website anymore. Just know that we made it here alive, without Nate for a couple shows.

I often bitch about how when we tour I never really get to see or experience any sights other than the venue of the city we’re in. While others often get to walk about each city and soak in the local conditions, I instead stay trapped between four walls in a pub, club, or basement. I prefer this since I hate going outside, despise exercise and would rather stay stationary at all times while snacking. However, our fist show was scheduled for Dublin, Ireland. I don’t know anything about Dublin or Ireland other than it’s where Lucky Charms cereal was clearly born but I must admit I was excited about going to a country I’d never been to before. Of course, PBC were supposed to play Dublin a couple times before but for all sorts of reasons I cannot remember, the shows were always cancelled. This was the first show where PBC would play without Nate.

Down a guitar player in Dublin, Polar Bear Club played without Title Fight and Shook Ones. Chris took on all guitar parts while Goose had the freedom to roam around on stage right like a free-range chicken. The venue was a pub with a curious stage that lacked any type of lighting. Luckily, the show was a matinee so daylight through the main window illuminated the bands. Rooted deeply in the back of the venue was yours truly refusing to move or leave the building. However, I did experience a bit of the culture I denounced earlier, Polar Bear Club’s manager bought me a Guinness. Not only am I clearly now an expert on Irish diplomacy, I’m pretty much a US Ambassador on foreign policy.

That night we stayed with a bunch of local new friends and headed out bright and early to catch a boat back to the United Kingdom. By this time due to early ferry and load in times, no one in the band, myself or are driver Stan actually received a proper night’s rest. More importantly, while I had officially been on tour for many hours, I was still sober as a X’d up Jimmy Stadt at age 18. Luckily, the day after the Dublin show was a day off used to travel and hang out with our British parents Niall and Liana. Drunk on pizza and suffering from exhaustion, I showed my age for the first time in years and went to bed at 8:30pm. Boarded up in an attic next to Jimmy, I laid my head down to rest anticipating the upcoming day when we’d finally meet up with Shook Ones and Title Fight.

Still sans Nate, PBC and myself descended upon Manchester, England to once again play the club known as Moho Live. We’ve actually been to Moho twice before. Once to play a show with posi peaceniks Ruiner and once to hang out and drink beers with The Gaslight Anthem. Being a creature of comfort, this night I once again refused to battle the outside elements and plodded down behind a merch table and watched the night’s events unfold. Well, for a good five minutes I did at least. Emmett took over merch duties and I was unleashed into the crowd searching and coveting warmth that only seven to nine beers could bring. Opening band Basement opened the show and primed everyone up for hype machine Title Fight. For some reason kids choose to mosh to Title Fight even though they’re either pop punk or straight up rock depending on whom you ask. Hey, I’m not here to judge considering back in the late 90’s I skanked more than my fair share but at least with those bands there was a horn section. Either way, kids went off for TF and rightfully so. Those dudes are alright in my book, they like Texas Is The Reason. Next up was Shook Ones who as it turns out are one of my favorite bands for the last four years or so.

If you like pop punk or melodic hardcore and Shook Ones aren’t your favorite band you need to sort your lives out. One of the best bands going and the only band I’ve ever seen pull off a Descendents cover, Shook Ones didn’t have quite the energetic response as the band before them did. In front of the stage was an empty area of floor that kids more or less refused to move up in to. Sure, there were a couple sing alongs and finger points here and there but ultimately I was disappointed in S.O.’s Manchester reaction. Shame on you, kids. Lastly, Polar Bear Club sauntered on stage and showed nearly 300 kids why they’re still the king.

Finally, on February 16th in Norwich, England Nate returned to us. Nate and I try and make it a rule to never touch so there were no friendly embraces or pats on the back. Instead, Nate only asked how many dudes Id blown since I saw him last and as always I answered a baker’s dozen. One of our favorite venues, The Marquee somehow allowed almost 200 kids into an area no bigger than most living rooms. This night, Shook Ones got the reaction they deserve and Title Fight once again gave every band on the package a run for their money (whatever the fuck that phrase means). I’m told PBC played their Weezer cover and I vaguely remember an epic stage dive from a mantle. This could all be fiction since I now black out for hours after drink three.

So once again everything is good on this end. Uk kids and promoters really go out of their way to support bands and I’m glad to be back here. It’s exciting to see Title Fight go over so well on their first time overseas. It makes me with Polar Bear Club had done a tour of this type of caliber when we first ventured over. Clubs of this size would have helped us a million times more than the Gaslight/Frank Turner tour, which mostly consisted of large barriers and blank faces. However, one cannot change the past and if I could I still would have banged that hooker in the Netherlands. Speak soon? No, probably not.

Final Aussie Vid

2010-02-06T14:12:00.004-05:00

Here it is, the final tour video from Australia. Enjoy! YouTube won't allow this video to post with audio for some BS reason so it's only going to be on here, sorry. Thanks to everyone who we met and who was involved with the tour. We leave for England and Europe next week with Shook Ones and Title Fight. It’s going to rule! And also Trevor will be re-joining us after our stint down under without him. It’s going to be awkward and all “Do we shake hands, do we hug, do we french?” But I'm confident that we will get back in the swing of things rather quickly (french). Bye for now.

Jimmy

Watch it here.

Australian Tour Entry 2

2010-02-02T20:13:00.003-05:00

Hey there. It’s time for the next installment in our Australian tour videos. I plan to do one more after this but my camera and iMovie have both been kind of weird and flakey (hence the lack of updates). Even in this video the audio gets off a bit at the end but I couldn't fix it because iMovie deleted the project. If I were a douche I would say "fuck my life" but I'm not...sort of. Enjoy!

Jimmy

Watch the video HERE

Australian Tour Entry 1

2010-01-18T17:22:00.002-05:00

Unfortunately as PBC embarks on it's first Australian tour our trusty, lusty, musty tour manager had to stay behind and protect the home-front. He asked me (jimmy) to fill in the gaps of his beloved blog and provide my perspective on the aforementioned tour and the events that follow. I thought it would be a good idea to provide our happenings via my flip cam (Trevor didn't want the internet to think I was a better writer than him...I am). I'll try my best to update and edit has much as I can and also post the videos on our youtube account. For now I've posted a short segment documenting and mockumenting the first day. Enjoy.

Jimmy/Australia/HJ's

2010-01-18T17:12:00.002-05:00

Exciting news! Well, wait, it's neither exciting or news actually. In any event, we all know that it takes me weeks and/or months to update this site and when I do, there's always the eventual feeling of dissapointment when one is done with the entry. You may also be aware that Polar Bear Club is on their way to Australia for a couple of weeks. What you might not know is that they're actually stuck in Los Angeles, California dealing with delayed flights and seperation anxiety from yours truly. I'm not accompanying PBC on this venture which may be the exact reason they're trip has been delayed by at least one day as of right now. A more bitter person might chalk this up to karma for not having me come along but I'd never suggest such awful, awful ideas. That's neither here nor there, cause for the next couple of weeks Jimmy Stadt, lead singer of Polar Bear Club, will be posting up videos and hopefully writing a bit about his adventures on the other side of the world. Enjoy!

2009 To 2010, One Foot In The Grave

2010-01-14T02:20:00.004-05:00

If I were a superhero my extraordinary powers would consist of procrastinating, being late, or just giving up. For instance, it took over six years for me to earn my bachelor's degree when most people conclude in four. Another example, I didn't start fucking for the first (and what feels like the last) time until I turned twenty years old. Nowadays, you kids start with the sex around what, when you're a toddler? Filthy fuck beasts. And as far as giving up, I can't even count the number of jobs I stopped showing up to so I could drink, hang out with a girl, or just masturbate. Where am I going with all of this?

As of this writing the date is January 14th, 2010 and I'm finally rolling out my best of 2009 list. You know like all of those shitty lists you saw on Punknews? Unlike their lists, on mine you won't find the new Tegan And Sara because that shit is unlistenable. I'd rather go back in time and rape my infant self than hear their warbling ever again. (It's ok, I'm an expert on T&S, my sister is a lesbian, it's cool.) While I love the band Cheap Girls, they don't place here because "My Roaring 20's" can't touch "Find Me A Drink Home". American Steel's "Dear Friends And Gentle Hearts" bows out solely because Rory forgot who I was at The Fest and wouldn't give me his phone number. Lastly, The Sweller's latest full length is snubbed because, well, I like chicks. Polar Bear Club? Apparently, it's no longer cool to like that band which is a shame because they put out their best work yet in 2009. In fact, I believe I put "Drifting Thing" on a mix tape or two this year. I just hope that soon Jimmy tells his girlfriend that he wrote that song about me and not her. Either way, they're not further mentioned in this piece because they (sometimes) pay me and I certainly wouldn't want to be biased or one sided.

I really tried to write an actual entry that wasn't gimmicky and another list of things I either love or hate but with Polar Bear Club on break, I have nothing, absolutely zero to write about. I could write about myself but do you really want or need to know that I haven't actually worn pants in about three days? Does it need to be public knowledge that every night after work, I'm so depressed I drink whiskey, alone in my room, until I either pass out or pee myself? YES. YES IT DOES.

But it doesn't. So here is what you get, a list of records I actually enjoyed in 2009. Well, it's a list of records I could make jokes about. Take it or leave it, either way, I'm not putting on pants.

Strike Anywhere - "Iron Front"
I might be in the minority here but I've loved every single Strike Anywhere release, even that last one and uh...the one before that. But sure, I can admit that there was a certain energy lacking as of late. With "Iron Front" everything feels right again except my increasing age especially in regards to songs like "Opposite Number", that one song about oppression, the other one about mean, mean cops and lastly the tune about upping the punx and smashing the state. Sometimes, while playing Modern Warfare 2, a game about murdering foreigners and minorities, I play this record and I know somewhere that Ewok Thomas is smiling.

Defeater - "Lost Ground"
Sure, it's not an actual full length but I haven't taken or passed a math class since the early 90's so who is counting? It's all just space on my Ipod anyway. However, this record accomplishes what every girl in the last seven years has failed at - it gets my dick hard. And speaking of girls and dicks, this record would be ranked higher if Derrick sang about women instead of fictional characters that I don't give a fuck about. I need to hear about shit I can relate to - heartache, mistrust, and gonorrhea. If I want to hear about World War II I'll ask my god damn grandfather. But I can't. Because he's dead. Thanks a fucking lot, Derrick. (Author's note, as I went to publish this entry I've been informed that my grandfather is not dead, I'm just a shitty grandson).

Ruiner - "Hell Is Empty"
Ruiner used to be one of my favorite bands until I actually toured and met them. (To be fair, Rob is really the only asshole. Steve said I looked like Kiff from Futurama so he's dead to me. Dustin fucking rules, their squirrely drummer certainly means well, and other guy is yet to speak to me). No, nothing will ever touch "What Could Possibly Go Right" but this release certainly comes close. Well, a whole hell of a lot closer than "Prepare For A Fitting Album Title" did. For reasons I cannot explain when I listen to this record I feel like

a.)I was born in raised in Pittsburgh
b.)I'm either in a Nine Inch Nails or Tool video
c.) my parents worked in a steel mill all their lives
d.)I hate my previously mentioned parents
e.)I love pro wrestling

All of those add up to a warm fuzzy feeling cause hell, at least I'm not from Baltimore.

Broadway Calls - "Good Views, Bad News"
First off - brutal honesty. I hate the name of this record. Not sure why, it just doesn't grab me by the ass hairs. The name couldn't be more boring unless BC sired the full length "Joe Smith". Also, that one song about Obama or some shit? NO. I don't vote and either should you. Voting is for white people. And soccer moms. However, this is leaps and bounds ahead of their self titled release (especially since there isn't a horn to be found this time round!). Every other song is a pure pop punk gem. The first time I ever met these dudes I hooked up with a hot girl directly following their show. She, like the others, eventually left but Broadway Calls stuck around. Turns out I should have spooned them instead that night. Except, the bassist Matt. He's straight edge. Fuck him.

Shook Ones - "The Unquoteable A.M.H"
Last time Shook Ones came to Rochester, I couldn't go because this girl I used to have sex with was going and we were no longer on speaking terms. I've forgiven Shook Ones for appealing to her and as it turns out, years later I would sex with that same girl in a van. Life is tricky lobster, don't you agree? Shook Ones manage to be catchy and poppy while still coming off aggressive. No, this record isn't as good as "Facetious Folly Feat" but to me, a Shook Ones record is a lot like a blow job. Even if you're not a fan of blow jobs, like me, at the end of the day, hey, it's still a mouth on your penis. Hell, makes sense to me.

Attica! Attica! - "Napalm & Nitrogen"
Aaron from A!A! used to be in a band with Nate and Emmett called Marathon which just so happens to be the best band no one ever gave a fuck about. Marathon got me into touring and along with Aaron are the reasons I'm still stuck in this mess/poor as fuck. One day, I'm going to write about Marathon and what they meant to me, however, that day is not today. Aaron is balder than me so I like to have him around. He's also an inspiration and I recently advised him that when he was done touring, so was I. His latest album is heartfelt, smart and most importantly - funny. No, wait, most importantly it's free. Go to http://www.atticaattica.org/ and offer up a donation if you're feeling snarky.

So there it is, kids. Six records, not the usual ten or twenty you'd expect. Like my senior quote said "I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep everyone’s expectations". But really, my pornography is done downloading and it's date night with Dr. Three Balls. But for symmetrical purposes, here's my top four records from the greatest punk band of all time, The Bouncing Souls.

1. Anchors Aweigh
2. Maniacal Laughter
3. The Good, The Band, And The Argyle
4. The Gold Record

Thrice Related Blog Post...

2009-12-07T01:29:00.005-05:00

...at a different website yet again. http://www.bluntmag.com.au/
I'll post it here as well in a few days. They left out all my hyperlinks but they're Australian criminals so they cannot be faulted. Thanks to Kelly and for everyone for reading.

Ah, fuck it, I'm posting it now.

Here we go, kids. My name is Trevor. I don’t know any of you and you certainly don’t want to know me. However, I work for an American band called Polar Bear Club and in light of their upcoming visit to your lawless country, I thought it best we get better acquainted. Well, I’m not actually making the visit in February, I’ll be back home too busy enduring a soulless winter and working a separate job that along with alcoholism and a pack a day cigarette habit will surely acquaint me with an early, much needed grave.

As an icebreaker of sorts, I thought I’d spin together a couple paragraphs about one of our recent trips out. Literally days after spending an entire month on the road with hippie drum circle all stars Strike Anywhere, Polar Bear Club felt it was a good idea to once again climb into our filthy sink hole of a van and head towards the West Coast with some band called Thrice. Nine shows all together, the first starting in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and ending not even two weeks later in Anaheim, California. Sounds pretty wild, right? Well, not actually. If I were to compare this tour to an ex girlfriend, Thrice dates would be Denise. Ah, Denise. On the outside she seemed like a good idea. However, behind closed doors Denise was a complete bore in the sack. In fact, I’ve fucked corpses with more signs of life.

One of the biggest (only) perks of touring with Polar Bear Club is we often tour with bands I’m already a fan of. Such has been the case on dates with Strike Anywhere, Gaslight Anthem, American Steel, and Broadway Calls. This means during downtime, I can always sneak away from my business duties (beer) and sing along to some of my favorite songs. This time around, was a bit different. No offense to the guys in Thrice but I’d never, ever actually listened to the band. I absolutely do not know one song by them. This isn’t an affront to the band itself or any of the members, I just happen to only give a damn about Avail, pain pills, and light beer. At my advanced age, I have no time to add a fourth interest. So since that perk was missing, I had to look to other avenues for fun.

I continue to tour because I love all (some) of the dudes in Polar Bear Club and believe in their music. Like everyone else in our camp, I hoped PBC would draw a significant and dedicated crowd each night. When PBC goes over well, I feel much better about my life choices as well as theirs. There were a total of three bands on this particular package with Polar Bear Club opening up first. Most shows began an hour after door time, which meant PBC was lucky enough to usually play to a packed room. As it turns out, other than a couple of friends, no one was there early to ensure they caught the opening act’s set. It was more a matter of arriving in order to get the best position near the front to catch Thrice. Of course, playing to sold out rooms has its advantages. While most of the faces in the crowd were glazed over with eye lids half shut, one hopes that the name Polar Bear Club will stick in the minds of either the under 18 and close to 30 age demographic that made up each night next time we come to town. Plus, unlike our previous tour, no one fell asleep during a PBC set or texted while sitting on stage as PBC performed. It’s the little things that make life such a delight, kids. Ok, let’s see here. So I don’t know any songs by the headlining band and Polar Bear Club is getting a lukewarm response most nights. No worries, I’ll find a dude in one of the other bands to hang out and get sloppy with. I WILL have fun, like it or not.

With such a short span of tour dates and long drives, for the first time ever, I wasn’t able to really bond with any other tour members. For one, Thrice was on a gigantic tour bus as big as your continent. I don’t bring up the bus as an insult, If I had the option, hell, I’d have two tour busses – one for me and one for my ego. I guess I just missed past tours where all the bands toured in vans and were forced to sit in a common dressing room, like it or not. That way, friendships are forged faster and common interests are shared. Since Thrice spent most of their time on their Death Star sized vehicle, I wasn’t able to really communicate or actually learn anyone’s names. For the first time in my life I actually missed touring with such bands and Ruiner and Crime In Stereo. Both being bands we’ve toured with extensively and shared many a cramped room with. However, those nostalgic moments were fleeting and quickly forgotten when I was able to take a shower backstage without Rob from Ruiner trying to capture dick pics on his cell phone.

With all the bitching I’ve done here, one would think there weren’t any highlights. Or one might think I’m just a complete asshole who likes to hear/read himself complain. While that may be the case I’m quite grateful to all of Thrice’s crew who went out of their way to help us out in all facets. This includes Thrice’s tour manager who absolutely took care of us and treated us like a co-headlining band. Every night we had enough food to keep all of our bellies full and enough beer to keep me drunk enough to not quit PBC and go back to University. We’ve been on bigger tours before and hands down, this is the best we have ever been treated. And that’s really all there is folks. Nothing too shocking, revealing or even excited. But most times, that’s how tour is - like boring sex with my ex girlfriend Denise. The real story of this trip actually began right after our last show with Thrice in California. Immediately, four of the six PBC dudes hopped in the van and drove two days straight back to New York with very little sleep. And if you’ll have me back sometime, I promise gory details of debauchery. Nope, that’s a lie, more boring sex.

Down With Women, Up With Dudes!

2009-11-19T18:06:00.007-05:00

Often, I get told my show goers and friends that I don’t update my blog enough; that I need to write more. Well, after explaining that I don’t owe them a fucking thing, I also point out that I’m actually on pace to write more this year than I did last. I then kindly ask my detractor to “suck it” and I make my way to the nearest bathroom stall to either cut or purge. But here’s an offering to satisfy the seven readers that are nice enough to check in with me every once and awhile. No, it’s not a blog about our current tour with Thrice. I’m delivering that piece to some Australian rag I’ve never heard of or read for my friend Kelly. This is absolutely not about Polar Bear Club’s tour with Face To Face and Pegboy, in fact, I’m never going to write about that experience. Why? Well, I drank too much and ingested too many pills to remember even one date. Call me King College, fuckers. The following is more fodder until someone starts paying me for this shit. Then and only then will I put in effort. Be nice.

Every tour there's usually one dude in one of the other bands that we're on tour with that I hit it off with really well. Imagine that, dudes liking me but not women? Shocking! Either way, I don't mean in a "Yo, lets do a standing 69" but more in a "Hey, let's drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and make fun of Chris Browne." In most instances, Nate gets really jealous for a couple reasons. First off, Nate thinks he's my best friend (untrue) and secondly Bastard Nate believes I actually steal these dudes from him. Nate delusion-ally believes the cool dudes in the other bands should like him more than me. Joke's on him, I'm a drunker, cooler James Dean and Nate's like a shittier, less funny Urkel. The following is my list of top dudes in other bands we've toured with.

1. Frank Turner - This is a weird one because Frank and I don't have much in common. Frank is highly educated whereas Trevor doesn't know the difference between their, there, and they're. Even the mere mention of the word alcohol gets Frank drunk and stumbly while I fancy myself a bit of a boozehound. Frank wears white Jnco's and may get a perm every six months. Me, well, I wear pants that are too tight and haven’t had hair (sex) since the late 90's. Somehow though we looked past our difference and oh fuck it, Frank's on Epitaph and I want to meet Milo. That’s why he's my number one dude-man.

2. Every dude in Broadway Calls. Ok, so we're on tour right now with Thrice somewhere in California. I was sitting behind the merch table when a lightning bolt of panic struck me from out of nowhere. I forgot to put my homeboys in Broadway Calls on my list initially. A mistake such as this is worse than a mother murdering her own children. Ty, Josh, Matt, Lazer. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm hammered right now so this makes no sense. Anyway, the first time we met Broadway Calls they played with us at the Westcott in Syracuse, NY. I didn't hang out with them that much because, per usual, I had my eyes on a devil woman that turned me into a weeping mess for a couple months. Anyway, that soul sucker is gone but Broadway Calls remain.

3. D-Man of Defeater - Unlike Frank, D-Man and me have a lot in common – self hate, a drinking problem and we’re both really annoying when drunk. Another positive is that Derek is covered in horrible tattoos that make me feel a lot better about the shitty ones I have. He’s like a third degree burn victim but with ink instead of scars and grafts. Derek would have made it to the top of my list I he were currently returning my text messages. But really, check out the new Defeater record, it’s incredible. I hear the lyrics are about a character in a Dean Koontz book Derek once read.

4. Sleazy aka Alex of The Gaslight Anthem. Once upon a time, Polar Bear Club toured with the biggest band in punk rock/rock and roll. Well, twice in face. Sure, they might deny it now but it did happen. Ask Frank Turner, he was there. Anyway, during our two tours, Alex, the bassist, took a liking to me. Not sure why, really other than we shared a common love of rejecting reality and instead choosing a tour life of whiskey and red bull. Often, well, quite often, when I needed a stiff drink, Alex was there to make me a cocktail stronger than my love off big assed porn. I don't think you've ever seen two bigger opposites attract in a total non sexual way. Ever see that Saturday Night Live skit with Patrick Swayze and Chris Farley as erotic dancers? It was exactly like that. The ripped and buff Swayze as me and Alex as Farley of course. If you haven't witnessed what I speak of, check it out here.

5. Mark of Strike Anywhere. Strike Anywhere was one of my first favorite bands. The band used to play Rochester, New York on what seemed a daily basis and everytime I was there up front singing along. In fact, the first time I ever stage dove was at a Strike Anywhere show. But none of that matters because Mark wasn't in the band then. Mark wears funny hats and clocks in at about eight feet tall. On stage Mark resembles a giraffe in head to toe long johns. So why does he make it on my list? Well, when I was out of cigarettes he'd bum me a couple. It's the little things, kids. Give me cancer or liver failure and we'll be friends forever.

6. Joe of Four Year Strong. I've never heard the band even though we toured for over a month with the band. I'm told they get ragged on for the type of music they play. Don't care. I stopped trying to determine what was punk and what wasn't around the time my hair began to fall out from dying it too much. The only time I ever even use a studded belt anymore is when I'm spanking a dude on the ass with it. Soak that image in, kids. But yeah, the common theme here is booze and smokes. Joe and I love to drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes and play the bass. Well, I own a bass. Doesn't mean I play it. On that note, check out my band Mayflower, I play bass for them. I once made Brian Fallon of Gaslight listen to us and he almost quit music.

PS. Honorable mentions go out to Joe from Set Your Goals (mostly because he's at the show tonight), Baby Bradley formerly of The Swellers, and Aaron from Attica! Attica!

Issue Oriented

2009-11-10T23:31:00.001-05:00

New blog up at a different website, check it out.

http://www.issueoriented.com/justoneblog/trevor-backer-tonight-is-alive-pbc-fest-8/

Cut Yourself To This

2009-10-15T19:23:00.003-04:00

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.

Some Trevor And A Little Bit Of Jimmy

2009-10-12T01:23:00.004-04:00

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.

Leeds Fest, Kind Of

2009-09-26T14:49:00.013-04:00

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.

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.

This Distance Is Going To Put Us Under The Ground

2009-09-09T19:28:00.011-04:00

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.

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

God, What A Mess, On The Ladder Of Success

2009-08-19T21:43:00.004-04:00

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.

Call It An Evening, Just Not Well Spent

2009-08-11T19:49:00.004-04:00

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.

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.

Favorite PBC Member List From 1 - 5
1. Fuck those guys, they won't even give me a copy of their new album. Go listen to my real friend Frank Turner

Always Mailing It In

2009-07-30T23:45:00.006-04:00

A couple weeks ago I started to write up the events that took place on PBC's last UK tour with fellow Bridge 9 bands Ruiner and Defeater. I dug out my notes, read through them and realized I'd pretty much used the same exact jokes in the previous blog I posted last time I was bored enough to log into blogger.com. Sing my Friday nights now consist of working until ten, consuming a pint of Cherry Garcia and watching either Buffy The Vampire Slayer or "Love Actually" on reapeat, I now have all the time in the world to scrap the original UK tour wrap up and start anew. But fuck all that, I don't remember a god damn thing except the following details. You're welcome.

UK Bridge 9 Wrap Up
A man crush was developed between Defeater lead singer D-Man and your friend Tracker. Jimmy from PBC became extremely jealous and somehow developed the first known case of simultaneous bulimia and anorexia in an attempt to win me back. D-Man and myself talked at length of getting a studio apartment together but alas, tour ended and so did that dream. I haven't talked to him since. In my eyes, Jimmy is still yesterdays news.

Rob from Ruiner was usually pissed about something and then took to the stage shirtless singing his angry songs about how much he hates cats.

On some night I was at my most obnoxious at perhaps drank too much. Nate tried to choke me to death while Goose played my beer belly as if it were some sort of pale, flabby bongo. I later went on to flip Goose's mattress at a hotel, spill water everywhere and grind chips into his hotel room rug. For about one day Nate and Goose didn't talk to me.

So there you have it, that's all you get and now we move on. In the beginning of July, after a Foreit gig, I was at my best friend Goose's apartment in Syracuse for a bbq. Everyone's favorite hardcore frontman Ted from Another Breath showed up on his Vespa and was kind enough to inform me that my blog was no longer "fresh". Per Ted, my little journal here had run its course. Ted owns an iphone and went to an expensive college so I immediately knew he was correct. So, I was actually going to change things up a bit and write about that one time I exchanged money for sex acts but then I realized the world isn't ready to hear about my penis that's been in a permanent state of hibernation since the early 2000's. (Think Han Solo frozen in carbonite). Also, fuck Ted AB. The result? More of the same kids. Here's how I spent my summer vacation with a couple cameos from the dudes in some band called Polar Bear Club.

All sorts of weird feelings have been swirling around in my big ol' giant bald head as of late, I gotta tell ya. After months and months of time off (weeks) Polar Bear Club and myself leave tomorrow afternoon for a lengthy tour of the United States. Summer is almost over and I'm starting to get anxious and tense. As Fall approaches I feel like I'm preparing to go back to college. Instead of waking up next to a random dude and sleeping through my 8am remedial math class like in the old days, on tour I'll be up by 6am every day thanks to Nate's deviated septum. While at college it was the Dean of Arts and Sciences I had to beg for forgiveness and rentry after scoring a 0.33 for the academic year of 2002. But come tomorrow, after spending all of the merch money on ribs and corndogs for prefrosh Goose and Super Senior Me it's Professor Menke and his T.A. Jimmy I'll have to answer to. If I could have somehow relate Chris Browne as the Bursar to tour life this whole paragraph would have turned out a lot funnier. But here we are again, both writer and reader are both left wanting more.

Earlier I mentioned that this post was going to be about how everyone spent their July/summer vacation. That's not going to happen since I barely talked to any of those dudes while I was at home. So here's what I did - I worked. As per usual, my employer stole tiny bits of my soul and desire to live on a nightly basis - nothing new there. To tell you the truth, if I had written this out about a week ago you'd all be getting an entirely different attitude out of me. The longer I'm home, the longer I think about perhaps actually acting my age and finally growing up. You know, quit living like a borderline hobo, go back to school, get a place of my own again, and finally buy a Boston Terrier that I'd name Larry Bird. Keep losing the hair, finish the ongoing physical transformation of human to turtle, and continue the streak of not having a girlfriend in over two years going strong. However, the eve of tour with bands I've never actually heard besides Fireworks, I am a changed man! Well, sort of. Wait. Here's to changing back to my old self and here's to digging my rut even deeper. This I promise you....every night I'm going to be a sloppy drunk mess. Every night I'm going to sweat and leer over girls ten years my junior. Every night I'm going to annoy the piss out of Emmett Menke. Every night I'm going to promise Nate that tomorrow is the day I finally quit smoking. And every night I'm going to feel like the luckiest dude in the world because I'm surrounded by the best dudes and best band currently in punk rock. While home I dropped a couple pounds. By the time this is over, I'm ballooning back to 200 lbs. Why? Because while I might hate myself, I love booze and burritos.

Oh, I did see Chris Browne a couple times while home and he was nice enough to pose for me as I took a picture of him, check it out here. Please know this entire entry was just a vehicle to post that link.

This entry may have sucked but the next couple of months won't. I mean, I get to see Face To Face for about a week! Touring until the end of the year, dates up at www.myspace.com/polarbearclub
Here's to living forever. Or at least two more years, whichever comes first.

Take It Or Leave It

2009-07-07T21:21:00.012-04:00

God dammit. This thing is still here? People aren't checking to see if there is an update, are they? Well, this is the last place I want to be. No, I'm not talking about work, I'm talking about blogger.com That reminds me though, god, fuck work. Only about an hour or so until I'm free of the soul crushing. Of course, around these parts hours last longer than seasons. From here on out I'll be referring to my job or work in general as "Dream Ender", cool? Ah, I've already started to drone on. As I was trying to say, I don't want to write anymore. Yes, it's mostly due to laziness but there's another factor hindering my ability to hunker down in front of my computer. If I were an actual writer I'd probably call it writer's block but since I'm a bull shit hack and grammar con artist I'll just call it - "I'd rather play video games".

Of course there's a flipside to all of this - the fact that I crave attention. Positive, negative, unhealthy, healthy. Any and all of it - give it to me. So if I'm going to get anyone to stop by this here http://www.polarblogclub.com/, I guess I'm going to have to scribble out a couple more stories/lies. Please understand that the timing of this entry has everything to do with PBC's recent seven inch and Strike Anywhere tour announcement. But I'm pretty sure you knew that already, I'm a part of you. Think of me as that piece of food in the back of your throat that you just can't swallow or hack up, only balder. Actually, I'm sort of still working on an entry that vaguely summarizes and wraps up out last l tour of the UK with Ruiner and Defeater. Well, that piece is currently located in the back of my car trunk (next to the chopped up hooker) and I’ll be damned if I go outside for you people. So instead of finishing what I started, per usual, I'll just start a new couple paragraphs about our recent "adventure" in Erie, Pennsylvania and Canada. Take it or leave it, that's my new motto!

Little weekend "tours" do as much for me as non anal porn - nothing. Of course, it's great to get out of town for a couple days. You know, get away from the wife, the kids, the corporate office. Wait, I actually mean the parents and the sexless boss. Seriously though, I've been to Switzerland. You really want me to get off the futon and head to Erie, Pennsylvania? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Free beer? Ok, I'm in! Actually, even leaving my town for a couple hours is completely worth it. It's just tours are more fun when you're gone for an extended amount of time with other bands you know you need to watch every night. This time around, PBC was doing a date with Everytime I Die, playing a Canadian Fest and then finishing the weekend in Toronto with a bunch of bands I'd never heard of. However, as often is the case with me, after having a negative outlook in the beginning, I ended up having the greatest weekend of my life. (That's a complete lie, the best weekend I ever had consisted of watching every Star Wars movie back to back, LSD and a complimentary hand job. More on that....never)

Our little adventure begins in a little city called Erie in the state of Pennsylvania a.k.a. the state that never seems to end while you're driving through it. Either way, Erie is a city best described as "filmy". No, not because Erie would be a great place to shoot a film but rather due to the layer of filth or film you're encased in as soon as you enter the premises. That's an extreme exaggeration and I'm not sure why I wrote that. I guess I'm just feeling mean. Headlining the show was Everytime I Die a band I have no interest in and a band that didn't seem to have an interest in meeting any of us. Ah, no worries, I'll just drink in the van instead. Luckily for us (me) there was a bar right across the street from the show. Pennsylvania is a strange place that sends mixed messages. It's like that girl who lets you slap her boobs around for awhile but refuses to kiss you. In the Keystone State you can go into a bar and smoke yourself silly but don't you dare try to buy beer from a gas station. Instead one must either go to a beer store or purchase take out beers directly from previously mentioned smoky bar and that can be pretty pricey. While I am the smartest man of all time, I am not the richest. However, I'll always sacrifice money for my disease so the remainder of my evening involved drinking van beers and not watching one single band. Of course this meant that I skirted one of my many, many responsibilities - the selling of the merch. Well, it was way too fucking hot in the venue anyway and a girl my size shouldn't be subjected to such bands with such big X's around their names so Goose was kind enough to pull double duty as bassist and merch gal. As far as PBC, well, technical issues combined with a lot of time off equaled a pretty shaky set - good but could have been better. This is coming from a guy who doesn't even play an instrument so you know my opinion matters.

After our brief visit in lovely Erie, PBC was scheduled to perform at an all day fest called S.C.E.N.E in St. Catharine’s Canada. Because you never know what the border police are going to throw at you we all got up bright and early just in case Chris Browne decided to lie to an officer again. As it turns out getting into Canada took little effort and now the only anxiety I was to face was at the actual venue. You see, I fucking hate all day music events. Everytime PBC plays one I'm constantly on the verge of a panic attack. Most times these events are poorly organized and I spend my time running around, sweating, sober and actually working. Well, working for a good 15-20 minutes and then getting drunk but believe me, I sweat! And how! I'm told there were over 150 bands playing all on the same day in all sorts of venues in and around the stage PBC played at. Of course, there were only a couple bands I had any intention of catching, those being Cancer Bats, The Artist Life, The Flatliners, and....well, that's about it. Thanks to my new best friend Goose "merch mogul" Henning, I was able to actually catch one of those bands! Clearly, I watched Polar Bear Club; they were on the main stage which was both exciting and awkward. PBC played earlier in the fest and being on the main stage meant that a lot of people who had never seen them before were able to watch, like it or not. But along with this came a large stage, larger barrier, and general ho-hum response from the crowd other than the diehard mainstays. In a smaller venue with no distance between band and crowd, sweaty dudes piling on top of each other, and Jimmy shirtless, I think PBC would have gone over well. So well in fact that the last sentence I just typed wouldn't have sounded homosexual at all. Other than the mild disappointment of not running into a cast member of Degrassi: The Next Generation and piling up a bar tab close to 100 Canadian dollars (daddy gets generous, as well as touchy, when sauced up), everyone had a lot of fun and ran into a lot of good friends. Overall consensus? Success!

The next morning I woke up on a couch hung over and swearing to myself that I was not going to drink that day. PBC had a photo shoot to pose all pretty for but other than that we just needed to get to nearby Toronto for the show with Carpenter, Sights And Sounds and a couple of other bands I cannot remember due to my pickled brain. Our friend Travis was putting on the show at the Kathedral, the same venue PBC played at on the Have Heart/Trapped Under Ice tour this past March. Considering the close proximity of Toronto to the previous nights SCENE fest in St. Catharine’s, no one was really sure how the show’s turnout was going to be. To be honest though, I didn’t care whether five or five hundred kids were going to show up because Travis provided us with a Mexican dinner and I made a death pact with myself to overdose on guacamole. The show did start slowly with only a handful of kids watching the opening band. The drunker I became, the more the venue began to fill up. At the end of the show there were at least 120 kids all psyched to see PBC, Carpenter and Sights And Sounds. Briefly, I considered stage diving for Polar Bear Club due their great performance and fantastic crowd response but then I remembered I prefer to sit on my ass instead of moving, so sit I did! Earlier in the evening, however, I did waddle up towards the front of the stage to watch Carpenter a band I’d never heard of until that night. Mix vocals that sound like non shitty River Bed era Small Brown Bike, a love for John Mellencamp, and straight up indie rock and you’ll get Carpenter. I often talk about how if I ever owned an Ipod again I would only fill it up with Johnny Cougar so you know I loved this band. Check them out if you can.

The ride home from Toronto back into the United States proved uneventful and I drunkenly slept away yet another van ride. Proving yet again that I’m only lying and hurting myself when I promise to not drink that day, your friend Tracker eventually ended up at my parent’s house and back into the loving folds of my girlfriend – the futon. And now here we are at home, bumming around until tour with Set Your Goals, Four Year Strong and a bunch of other bands I’ll not watch while drinking beer in the van begins. No offense to either of those bands, I'm sure they're great but I only care about Avail and booze. I’ve been working at Dream Ender, Emmett had his wrist operated on, Goose is busy being my number one PBC’er, Jimmy is in Washington, DC and for the rest of the guys….well, I forget their names. I’m sure they’re both working hard wherever they are. Hopefully, I’ll manage to find some time before we leave again to pop out a couple more blog entries that use the same old jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before . Hell, perhaps I’ll even get around to wrapping up the UK tour. Until then, listen to Samiam.

Dear Diary,

2009-06-02T11:38:00.006-04:00

I hate tour Trevor. Everyone else probably does too but I'm not about to take a band poll. Whenever we head out for a substantial length of time I turn into an excess monster. Booze, food, cigarettes. I must consume all of everything. This usually turns into self hate around one week in and that pain can only be medicated with the previously mentioned vices. It's a vicious cycle that will only end when I die of a heart attack or when PBC breaks up, both of which will happen within the next two years. Sure, I could do the right thing and start making small positive life choices everyday but then I'd be a completely different person than who I am, an adult if you will. But we all know I am absolutely not a grownup. Think of me as a Peter Pan without the tights and flying, well, without the flying.

Tour is almost over, we fly home this coming Friday and then it's back to real life for a couple months. The pleasant surprise of the week is the crowd reaction Defeater receives opening up the show each night. Surprising because this is their first time over here, not because they're a terrible band. I'd go as far to say that they're my new favorite hardcore band, a spot that once belonged to Ruiner....awkward. Lead singer D-Man opens up each set each night with a cry for attention, er, solo type song on his acoustic guitar before the entire band breaks into one of their songs of the full length Travels. I'd love to give you a break down of their set list each night but I don't actually own the album. I mean, I have Witness and My Love, My Way so I figured "Why get the third?" Hey-o! (You see, the joke here is, Defeater is a Modern Life Is War rip off band)

Last night, for the first time in my life, I was in Scotland. On the drive to Glasgow from wherever the fuck we were the night before, green pastures and sheep went on for miles and miles. Unfortunately, when on tour there isn't much time to take in local sites and landmarks, the only site seeing is done from a tinted van window. This is better than nothing and will have to do for now. Yesterday, for maybe the first time ever, I thought to myself about how lucky I am to be able to venture all across the globe all thanks to punk rock and my best friends, well, business associates. Then I began to feel a tad bit guilty for the opportunity I've been given when there are people in my life who truly deserve the chance to get away from the crushing weight that everyday life brings down upon oneself. Specifically, I'm talking about my parents. Whereas they struggle to make ends meet everyday, their ungrateful lot of a son, a son who refuses to grow up or move out, gets piss drunk every night and alienates most people around him. So of course the self hate began to creep in again and how did I handle such feelings? Well, as always, I drank enough alcohol to medicate a cutter and threw beer bottles, pork chops and oranges off of a fifth floor apartment we stayed at that same night. Why? Because I'm an idiot. Clearly, I've revealed way too many personal thoughts and feelings in a public forum and D-Man just gave me whiskey. I guess it's time to start the downward spiral again tonight. Sorry Mom and Dad.

(Hi, Sarah S., you big brat)

Untitled Because I Can't Think Of Anything Witty

2009-05-28T09:19:00.002-04:00

After an uncomfortable attempt to take a nap I now find myself hung over, cranky, hungry and headed towards Bristol for day three of Polar Bear Club’s UK tour with Ruiner and Defeater. I’ve borrowed Goose’s Ipod since all I have on this tour is my mother’s Shuffle (thanks, Kate!). So now you know where I’m at, tell me what you’re doing, my dear reader. Oh stop, I don’t want to know. We can all agree I only care about myself and my drink.

This morning I was looking at my blog and noticed there haven’t been many updates recently or in general. The last thing I ever want to do is write. Or move. In fact, my only current interests are Sex And The City episodes on my computer and snacking. I absolutely do not wish to accomplish anything. I suppose it’s this attitude that has landed me surrounded by eight dudes, forced to sleep standing up with the gentle tug of nausea and vomit at the back of my throat. My lack of comfort is your reward so here we go.

This tour can already be deemed a personal success because I did not pass out in the aisle of the plane unlike our last trip over the ocean. While once again I did get drunk before our flight, I decided to switch it up and not take sleeping pills as well. This was my key to avoiding another public humiliation. Ok, break time from writing, I’m getting car sick. And we’re back! The lot of us arrived in London around 10pm this past Friday. I must say my now favorite airline is Continental based solely on the in-flight television choices. At my disposal were episodes of Friends, Scrubs, and House – all three of which I watched. Everyone else in PBC watched He’s Just Not That Into You, well, except for Goose whose television was broken and this small detail made me smile wide. Goose can be a mean little man child who WILL say terrible things about one’s mother. Be on your toes.

Let us fast forward a couple days mostly because I forgot I even started an entry. Here we are now in Birmingham, UK and it’s been a couple of great days. Kingston, Bristol and Brighton were all great shows put on by great promoters. I haven’t been behind the merch table since we brought along our friend Tom who has dutifully handled the aspect I avoid most tours. The cluster fuck of the tour was clearly in Leeds where PBC, Ruiner and Defeater all played Slam Dunk Fest. If you’re unfamiliar with Slam Dunk, it’s basically a one day Warped Tour that goes all day and night. This particular year, the fest took place on a college campus with bands playing in different rooms all within the same building. For some reason kids here actually give a damn about Cobra Starship and Anti Flag so the event brought in over 5,000 people. This was the first time I had been on university ground since early 2002 so I quickly declared myself “Big Man On Campus” (aka B.M.O.C) and drank enough free beer to kill a fraternity president.

While pulling myself out of haze and stupor brought on by Heineken as well as underage hot girls, I managed to catch PBC’S full Slam Dunk set which went over splendidly. The room PBC played in had at least 125-150 on lookers. Stage barriers seem to be common place at shows over here in England so like any event where Goose is involved there was a touch of awkwardness. While I absolutely intended to catch Ruiner and Defeater that day there was just no way to maneuver around the building. If a fire had started, the Great White incident would have seemed like a carnival or birthday party in comparison - a birthday party with happy clowns, not the scary kind. So what I did instead was sit in the backstage room and take in my surroundings. Surroundings which included dudes using devices to straighten their hair as well as products to sculpt previously mentioned hair. Hardcore lives.

Over the process of this entire week Emmett, PBC’S drummer, developed either another testicle in his wrist area or perhaps was bitten by a spider because he has a large growth/infection near one of his hands. Personally, I hope he was attacked by a spider whilst sleeping because it’s always been my dream to witness an obscene amount of arachnids crawl out of Emmett, it’s just who I am. Either way, Emmett has been in pain this entire tour. No, not the pain brought on by unrequited feelings for his tour manger – actual physical issues. The goiter/spider nest got so bad that he had to be brought to a hospital today, the night of our show in Birmingham. Basically, Emmett is going to be ok but just to be on the safe side, he won’t be performing tonight. Thankfully, Defeater’s drummer Andy is filling in for a couple songs along with our merch dude Tom who will handle the rest of the lot. While the set will be shorter, I don’t think the 25 kids who actually showed up tonight will mind too much. Adding to the uncomfortableness is a stage barrier as tall as Jimmy’s ego. In fact, I’d rather have my parents catch me touching myself (again) than sit through tonight any longer. On the bright side, I’m now camped out at the merch table, drunk and bored enough to actually ramble on a bit.

But here’s hoping Emmett starts to feel better. Even though him and I fight the most out of anybody and even though he used to live in my ex girlfriend’s vagina for awhile, I guess he’s grown on me these last five or six years. And speaking of growing, I’m in love with all the Defeater guys – mostly because more than half of them booze it up. Plus, they’re all attractive dudes, especially Shitty Dan Yemen aka Mike. Sure, all of Ruiner is also fantastic dudes but Rob scares me more than my credit rating and student loan debt combined. So here’s to the rest of tour where my quests to either marry or impregnate a slightly chubby girl with an accent continues. The following is a list of my top 3 bands Polar Bear Club has toured with. This list will change the world and break the hearts of others.

Broadway Calls – Ask anyone in PBC, I can’t remember anyone’s names. It’s due to brain damage brought on by excessive drinking but I guess that’s not a reliable excuse. Broadway Calls is a three piece and only travel with one other person. Thankfully, I can handle four names. Well, no, not right by now but maybe later tonight. The easy list of names accompanied with lead singer Ty being the type of guy you want to move to New Hampshire and start a life with put Broadway at the top.
Living With Lions – As I’ve mentioned in a previous entry, Lions party as if it’s their last night on earth. No, I don’t remember any of their names but last tour we did with them, one of them smuggled a condom of weed across the Canadian border just for the story. That sounds like something I would do if a.) I did any type of drug or b.) ever used a condom in my life.
Anybody not named The Swellers.