one more beer, then grow up.
i was online and jules IM'ed me, asking if i knew what time the show would be starting. after a few seconds i finally connected his inquiry to the fact that the show was indeed today and not tomorrow. "holy shit, i can go!" he said he was leaving for the light rail at 5:30, and would give my phone a buzz when he arrived at hoboken terminal.
mom was sick and sleeping in her room. after dad came upstairs, i left and ran/walked to newark street, then strolled into rejuicenation to tell carlo the news. a big black man stared at me from behind the counter, across the line of two yuppies, and i quickly fiddled for bills in my pocket. seeing carlo at the register smiling made me happy, and i gushed about my new plans. we were both upset he could not go. rejuiceanation was short of workers that day, so i sat at the counter and sipped a mango tango while carlo stocked and did juice-bar type things. jules gave my cell a buzz. i waved at carlo, and left for the terminal.
it took a few minutes to find jules. we awkwardly tried to walk down the staircase while people walked in our way, and finally found the turnstiles. he quickly went through, but i was stuck with a 20, so he passed me his metrocard [after carefully removing it from his key chain] and i slid it into the machine the wrong way. he corrected me and we went onto the train.
sitting and chatting with jules on the train was so awkward. i was very nervous, and i told him so, but he kept up conversation quite well. i felt like i was annoying him with my talking, so throughout the day i became quieter and quieter, until as i sat in his father's car, it finally reached a silent crescendo.
we got off the PATH and went on the L-train. i was tripping and falling with the train's stops and departures. eventually all of this clumsiness gave me a boob cramp.
we emerged from the subway chamber in cloudy, seven PM brooklyn. jules expressed his love for the place, as it was a reminder of his childhood and bayonne plus bergenline. the hospital a block away from the subway looked exactly like his grammar school. we walked along stockholm street looking for sealab 187. after several blocks, and passing a group of kids playing in front of their house ["this reminds me of my friend's birthday parties," jules shared. "at every one of them, we would play wrestling near a big tree until someone got impaled."], jules realized we were walking the wrong way. i was much too absorbed in listening to him and observing the streets, the houses, everything. it was simply beautiful. we walked the opposite direction until the house numbers skipped from 290-something to 57. after walking back and forth, trying to make use of google maps and jules's phone's keypad ["this is what happens when you buy a phone on ebay."], we got up and just kept walking.
along the way, jules told me about some things i would like to record so i don't forget them.
he hates skateboards. he likes skate-punk, but hates skateboards. "it's the same as taking the escalator and expecting to get their faster than walking up the stairs."
"... i live in a city of hills, and when i was little, i would always fall down them."
we passed a group of kids playing wallzee's, or red-ass, or some game, and jules remembered that he used to play that game with his friends, except the walls weren't tall enough so they just threw balls on the roof.
finally, we found sealab 187! an apartment building surrounded by metal bars surrounded a door with a sheet of notebook paper stuck to the glass reading: "sealab". an older blonde man wearing brownish vans walked in before us, and we followed the directions the notebook paper gave through a kitchen and out into the backyard. first, we had to pay $5 to two girls at the entrance of the yard. one of them ran off to find a sharpie, and then marked us with "187". she wrote her 8's so oddly, as circles instead of an upright infinity.
at first, we timidly stayed on the steps, and then ventured into the crowd. we went from the back [where we watched chotto ghetto. jules: "i think i have a new favorite band."] to the front, right as bomb the music industry was setting up. i was front and center, facing jeff rosenstock. his face was wild. his hair was curly and brown. he nursed a dirt lip. i did not realize how honored i was to be standing right in front of him, until he took off his sock and tried to cover the mop-and-plastic-bag microphone stand with it. the owners of the apartment gave him a fresh sock, and he slipped his foot back into his red-blue-and-yellow checked vans.
finally, after much anticipation, the show began. i still can't remember the exact order of the songs, but i am pretty sure he started with old and unprofessional. i remember turning to my side to see the girls with eyeliner mustaches and unibrows singing every rushed and blurted word. behind me, i felt elbows and bodies pushing into my back, and i struggled to lose the rock awkwardness i held, but i could not. i couldn't dance, but after being pushed, i slipped into the mess of bodies behind me and starting pushing and swinging my arms. it didn't do much good. i was pushed out of the pit [or what i thought was a pit, and could have been many people skanking], and got back in there, as i was having fun pushing people. finally i was pushed out into a skanking circle, where i jumped away and hid behind a cute blonde in the back. i almost nuzzled his shoulder after he [what i believe was good-natured-ly] chuckled at me. between songs i slipped away to find jules and regain my place in the crowd, but after being embarrassed by the possibility that i pushed harmless skanks, [and after being pushed out of the wild crowd again] i hid behind another cute blonde in flip flops. from my stance i watched the crowd devour every word jeff screamed and spit it back to him. with fists raised and pumping, throats stretched towards the sky, we shouted, "HEY, GO AHEAD AND GET FUCKED!"
i watched jules skank like a happy woodland creature from my spot under the patio umbrella. it was pretty cool. i thought about asking him to teach me how, but i couldn't stand looking any more nooby. tis a sad tr00th.
this blonde boy with his arm in a sling tried to skank, and kept getting pushed to the outside. later on, as i was waiting with jules to get our things spray painted, i told him he had the biggest balls ever. "how do you know!? you can't see them!" i laughed, unsure of if he was joking or drunk, and replied, "i just know!"
there were many moments that struck me, and almost every one of them included fists pumping.
excerpts of fist-raising lyrics:
"Hey, go ahead and get fucked!"
"No thanks! No thanks!"
"Nice going asshole! Nice going asshole!"
"Blow your brains out on live TV!"
"Who cares?! Not me!"
"You don't own me! You don't own me!"
the show [almost, i think] ended with Syke! Life is Awesome. i scrambled with lyrics that earlier, i had been trying to correctly place with noah. the ending was amazing. the men and women and two kids screamed with all the shit inside, built up and breeding for years in their lungs,
"'Cause if I wasn’t a fat kid in high school, I would have never listened to punk rock.
And if I knew how to throw a football, I would have never played any music.
And if never got my heart broken, I would sing 'blah blah fucking nothing.'
And if you didn’t fuck my ex-girlfriend, I would still owe you three-thousand dollars.
And if I never lived in that van I wouldn’t have met Chris or Steve or James, Alex or Middagh.
And if I never worked in a basement I would have never moved out of my house.
And if I had a big emo band or dropped out of college, I would have never met you, man."
i am pretty sure i got lost during this, until clapping hands guided me back to, "and if i never lived in a van..". in the several second gap after "i would have never met you," the arm-sling boy wailed an early, "man!" the sigh of "man" echoed everywhere, and i supressed the urge to hug the flip-flopped blonde, jules, and the man with OCD who could not drink out of a wine bottle. this opression was thrown aside a few minutes later, when i hugged jules and collected the balls to hug the blonde. throughout the show he deflected backs that got too close to us, maybe for his own sake, but i would rather think it was for both of us. a number of times, he would apologize for someone bumping into us. i poked him. "thank you for standing next to me, and semi-protecting me!" i gushed. "oh, no problem!" he said, smiling; he sounded much more excited than he had expressed during the show. i felt proud when he finally raised his fist, after only nodding his head to the beat for so long. i noticed how tall he was when he bent down to hug me.
i am not sure, but i don't think syke! life is awesome was the last song.
the songs i can remember them playing are as follows, obviously not in order.
Syke! Life is AWESOME!
Blow Your Brains Out on Live TV!!!
Congratulations, John, On Joining Every Time I Die
Dude, Get With the Program
King of Minneapolis Pts I & II
King of Minneapolis Pts III & IV
I'm A Panic Bomb, Baby!
Showerbeers!!!
Old and Unprofessional
Ready... Set... No!!!!
It's Official! We're Booooorrrrring!
Bike Test 1 2 3
I Don't Love You Anymore
So far as I can remember, 'tis all.
After the show, Jules said, "I want to find Jeff Rosenstock and give him a hug." So we did. We waited until he slipped away from a small crowd of people, then approached him across a chair. Stepping closer, I met his still wild eyes. They didn't flicker; he was expecting me to say something.
"Could I have a hug?"
"Sure, but you don't want one." He motioned to his sweat-drenched shirt, which I failed to notice before. "I'm disgusting."
I assured him I didn't care, and he reached his huge arms to hug me. For a second, I could feel his sweat soaking through my own shirt.
Needless to say, it was pretty sweet. Jules got a hug soon after.
I sat with Jules for a while as everyone talked and stood around after the show. The singer from Chotto Ghetto came up to us and handed us stickers with, "we fuck 110%" in bold print. We waited for Jeff to begin spray painting shirts. Finally, he picked up the small pile of shirts in the corner and laid them out. Two of mine were the first to be done. The white tank, sprayed with red paint, came out pretty sweetly, as Jeff noted. Jeff almost missed Jules's back patch. After it was done Jules almost left, but I stopped him because my last shirt was still waiting to be sprayed. Yes, I did get three shirts spray painted. Fuck you. I am greedy. These shirts are now going to two Bomb the Music Industry! fans who couldn't make it, Noah and Carlo. They can't make much use of them, unless they cut it into pieces, because I doubt either would enjoy squeezing into a girl's XS. Anyway, after I picked my green shirt up, I squealed an ignored "Thank you!" and sliced through the crowd with Jules.
We went outside, to the Bodega or Deli or little store on the corner, where he bought Fanta and I bought a Push Pop.
His father picked us up in his van. I tried to close the door, but failed, and as Mr. Mercuri pulled away it slid open and tried to gain enough air to pull me out into a windy vortex.
In the car, I could not speak, not just because I hate talking in cars but because I couldn't find anything to say. Besides, people's parents frighten me. Through the tunnel, Mr. Mercuri told us about his stupid friend in college who shattered his hand on the street cone's skinny vertical cousin. The shadows and spotlights blinked and danced, and I sat thinking.
I was content.
I am content.
goddamn, that was amazing.
i am so thankful to everyone who made it possible, and i've thanked jules a thousand times. i've also thanked bomb the music industry! on a lousy comment.
i felt like a douchebag. i felt awkward. i screamed my heart out. i hugged jeff.
it was one of the best nights eva'.
pictures, courtesy of jules mercuri
this just took me about two hours to type. goddddamnnn. this is like the only public entry i will ever post. i hope it doesn't suck too much. i noticed i switched between capitalization and not and shit, and yeah. ionno. i am just nervous. if my parents find this, my ass is dead.
mom was sick and sleeping in her room. after dad came upstairs, i left and ran/walked to newark street, then strolled into rejuicenation to tell carlo the news. a big black man stared at me from behind the counter, across the line of two yuppies, and i quickly fiddled for bills in my pocket. seeing carlo at the register smiling made me happy, and i gushed about my new plans. we were both upset he could not go. rejuiceanation was short of workers that day, so i sat at the counter and sipped a mango tango while carlo stocked and did juice-bar type things. jules gave my cell a buzz. i waved at carlo, and left for the terminal.
it took a few minutes to find jules. we awkwardly tried to walk down the staircase while people walked in our way, and finally found the turnstiles. he quickly went through, but i was stuck with a 20, so he passed me his metrocard [after carefully removing it from his key chain] and i slid it into the machine the wrong way. he corrected me and we went onto the train.
sitting and chatting with jules on the train was so awkward. i was very nervous, and i told him so, but he kept up conversation quite well. i felt like i was annoying him with my talking, so throughout the day i became quieter and quieter, until as i sat in his father's car, it finally reached a silent crescendo.
we got off the PATH and went on the L-train. i was tripping and falling with the train's stops and departures. eventually all of this clumsiness gave me a boob cramp.
we emerged from the subway chamber in cloudy, seven PM brooklyn. jules expressed his love for the place, as it was a reminder of his childhood and bayonne plus bergenline. the hospital a block away from the subway looked exactly like his grammar school. we walked along stockholm street looking for sealab 187. after several blocks, and passing a group of kids playing in front of their house ["this reminds me of my friend's birthday parties," jules shared. "at every one of them, we would play wrestling near a big tree until someone got impaled."], jules realized we were walking the wrong way. i was much too absorbed in listening to him and observing the streets, the houses, everything. it was simply beautiful. we walked the opposite direction until the house numbers skipped from 290-something to 57. after walking back and forth, trying to make use of google maps and jules's phone's keypad ["this is what happens when you buy a phone on ebay."], we got up and just kept walking.
along the way, jules told me about some things i would like to record so i don't forget them.
he hates skateboards. he likes skate-punk, but hates skateboards. "it's the same as taking the escalator and expecting to get their faster than walking up the stairs."
"... i live in a city of hills, and when i was little, i would always fall down them."
we passed a group of kids playing wallzee's, or red-ass, or some game, and jules remembered that he used to play that game with his friends, except the walls weren't tall enough so they just threw balls on the roof.
finally, we found sealab 187! an apartment building surrounded by metal bars surrounded a door with a sheet of notebook paper stuck to the glass reading: "sealab". an older blonde man wearing brownish vans walked in before us, and we followed the directions the notebook paper gave through a kitchen and out into the backyard. first, we had to pay $5 to two girls at the entrance of the yard. one of them ran off to find a sharpie, and then marked us with "187". she wrote her 8's so oddly, as circles instead of an upright infinity.
at first, we timidly stayed on the steps, and then ventured into the crowd. we went from the back [where we watched chotto ghetto. jules: "i think i have a new favorite band."] to the front, right as bomb the music industry was setting up. i was front and center, facing jeff rosenstock. his face was wild. his hair was curly and brown. he nursed a dirt lip. i did not realize how honored i was to be standing right in front of him, until he took off his sock and tried to cover the mop-and-plastic-bag microphone stand with it. the owners of the apartment gave him a fresh sock, and he slipped his foot back into his red-blue-and-yellow checked vans.
finally, after much anticipation, the show began. i still can't remember the exact order of the songs, but i am pretty sure he started with old and unprofessional. i remember turning to my side to see the girls with eyeliner mustaches and unibrows singing every rushed and blurted word. behind me, i felt elbows and bodies pushing into my back, and i struggled to lose the rock awkwardness i held, but i could not. i couldn't dance, but after being pushed, i slipped into the mess of bodies behind me and starting pushing and swinging my arms. it didn't do much good. i was pushed out of the pit [or what i thought was a pit, and could have been many people skanking], and got back in there, as i was having fun pushing people. finally i was pushed out into a skanking circle, where i jumped away and hid behind a cute blonde in the back. i almost nuzzled his shoulder after he [what i believe was good-natured-ly] chuckled at me. between songs i slipped away to find jules and regain my place in the crowd, but after being embarrassed by the possibility that i pushed harmless skanks, [and after being pushed out of the wild crowd again] i hid behind another cute blonde in flip flops. from my stance i watched the crowd devour every word jeff screamed and spit it back to him. with fists raised and pumping, throats stretched towards the sky, we shouted, "HEY, GO AHEAD AND GET FUCKED!"
i watched jules skank like a happy woodland creature from my spot under the patio umbrella. it was pretty cool. i thought about asking him to teach me how, but i couldn't stand looking any more nooby. tis a sad tr00th.
this blonde boy with his arm in a sling tried to skank, and kept getting pushed to the outside. later on, as i was waiting with jules to get our things spray painted, i told him he had the biggest balls ever. "how do you know!? you can't see them!" i laughed, unsure of if he was joking or drunk, and replied, "i just know!"
there were many moments that struck me, and almost every one of them included fists pumping.
excerpts of fist-raising lyrics:
"Hey, go ahead and get fucked!"
"No thanks! No thanks!"
"Nice going asshole! Nice going asshole!"
"Blow your brains out on live TV!"
"Who cares?! Not me!"
"You don't own me! You don't own me!"
the show [almost, i think] ended with Syke! Life is Awesome. i scrambled with lyrics that earlier, i had been trying to correctly place with noah. the ending was amazing. the men and women and two kids screamed with all the shit inside, built up and breeding for years in their lungs,
"'Cause if I wasn’t a fat kid in high school, I would have never listened to punk rock.
And if I knew how to throw a football, I would have never played any music.
And if never got my heart broken, I would sing 'blah blah fucking nothing.'
And if you didn’t fuck my ex-girlfriend, I would still owe you three-thousand dollars.
And if I never lived in that van I wouldn’t have met Chris or Steve or James, Alex or Middagh.
And if I never worked in a basement I would have never moved out of my house.
And if I had a big emo band or dropped out of college, I would have never met you, man."
i am pretty sure i got lost during this, until clapping hands guided me back to, "and if i never lived in a van..". in the several second gap after "i would have never met you," the arm-sling boy wailed an early, "man!" the sigh of "man" echoed everywhere, and i supressed the urge to hug the flip-flopped blonde, jules, and the man with OCD who could not drink out of a wine bottle. this opression was thrown aside a few minutes later, when i hugged jules and collected the balls to hug the blonde. throughout the show he deflected backs that got too close to us, maybe for his own sake, but i would rather think it was for both of us. a number of times, he would apologize for someone bumping into us. i poked him. "thank you for standing next to me, and semi-protecting me!" i gushed. "oh, no problem!" he said, smiling; he sounded much more excited than he had expressed during the show. i felt proud when he finally raised his fist, after only nodding his head to the beat for so long. i noticed how tall he was when he bent down to hug me.
i am not sure, but i don't think syke! life is awesome was the last song.
the songs i can remember them playing are as follows, obviously not in order.
Syke! Life is AWESOME!
Blow Your Brains Out on Live TV!!!
Congratulations, John, On Joining Every Time I Die
Dude, Get With the Program
King of Minneapolis Pts I & II
King of Minneapolis Pts III & IV
I'm A Panic Bomb, Baby!
Showerbeers!!!
Old and Unprofessional
Ready... Set... No!!!!
It's Official! We're Booooorrrrring!
Bike Test 1 2 3
I Don't Love You Anymore
So far as I can remember, 'tis all.
After the show, Jules said, "I want to find Jeff Rosenstock and give him a hug." So we did. We waited until he slipped away from a small crowd of people, then approached him across a chair. Stepping closer, I met his still wild eyes. They didn't flicker; he was expecting me to say something.
"Could I have a hug?"
"Sure, but you don't want one." He motioned to his sweat-drenched shirt, which I failed to notice before. "I'm disgusting."
I assured him I didn't care, and he reached his huge arms to hug me. For a second, I could feel his sweat soaking through my own shirt.
Needless to say, it was pretty sweet. Jules got a hug soon after.
I sat with Jules for a while as everyone talked and stood around after the show. The singer from Chotto Ghetto came up to us and handed us stickers with, "we fuck 110%" in bold print. We waited for Jeff to begin spray painting shirts. Finally, he picked up the small pile of shirts in the corner and laid them out. Two of mine were the first to be done. The white tank, sprayed with red paint, came out pretty sweetly, as Jeff noted. Jeff almost missed Jules's back patch. After it was done Jules almost left, but I stopped him because my last shirt was still waiting to be sprayed. Yes, I did get three shirts spray painted. Fuck you. I am greedy. These shirts are now going to two Bomb the Music Industry! fans who couldn't make it, Noah and Carlo. They can't make much use of them, unless they cut it into pieces, because I doubt either would enjoy squeezing into a girl's XS. Anyway, after I picked my green shirt up, I squealed an ignored "Thank you!" and sliced through the crowd with Jules.
We went outside, to the Bodega or Deli or little store on the corner, where he bought Fanta and I bought a Push Pop.
His father picked us up in his van. I tried to close the door, but failed, and as Mr. Mercuri pulled away it slid open and tried to gain enough air to pull me out into a windy vortex.
In the car, I could not speak, not just because I hate talking in cars but because I couldn't find anything to say. Besides, people's parents frighten me. Through the tunnel, Mr. Mercuri told us about his stupid friend in college who shattered his hand on the street cone's skinny vertical cousin. The shadows and spotlights blinked and danced, and I sat thinking.
I was content.
I am content.
goddamn, that was amazing.
i am so thankful to everyone who made it possible, and i've thanked jules a thousand times. i've also thanked bomb the music industry! on a lousy comment.
i felt like a douchebag. i felt awkward. i screamed my heart out. i hugged jeff.
it was one of the best nights eva'.
pictures, courtesy of jules mercuri
this just took me about two hours to type. goddddamnnn. this is like the only public entry i will ever post. i hope it doesn't suck too much. i noticed i switched between capitalization and not and shit, and yeah. ionno. i am just nervous. if my parents find this, my ass is dead.