(no subject)
So, we played, what may, or may not, be the last Naked Corpse show last night. I'm really not sure. Here's the story:
All the kids went into town to get Justin F a cymbol. I stayed back at the Parent's House, reading the DaVinci Code, which is one of the easiest reads ever, and is actually much better than I thought it would be. They came back, and we all got in the van, and we headed down to Kentucky. I think we got lost on the way, but I was busy reading, and also I was bust trying to just not care. Too many cooks in the kitchen sometimes, ya know. Chris had to do a three point turn with the van, cause we went down the wrong street, and everyone was telling him how to do it. What would it help if I was yelling driving directions too?
So the second we got there, I apparently pissed off Tasha. I say apparently, because I seldom have any idea what she's thinking. But I have a feeling that I did. And then to make matters worse, I was explaining myself to Chris, and also ranting about how much the whole thing pissed ME off, and Chris, as usual, took her side.
Justin F and I went on a quest for some whiskey, and after dealing with some crazy guy who called us liars when we told him that the liquer store he was directing us to was closed, and after marveling at yet another White Castle, we found a place that had Kentucky Something-or-Other whiskey for $8.00 a fifth. We grabbed the bottle, and some Kentucky cigars, and headed over to Starbucks for some coffee. I drank my coffee about half down and then filled it back up with whiskey. A little harsh at first, but it gets that moter running, and it gets them pipes cleaned.
Jerry's friend's band played first, and they were pretty damn good. I witnessed a bit of blasphemy though when the bassist played Anasthesia (the Metallica Bass Solo) WITH A PICK! Cliff would be rolling in his grave. You know. Were he still alive in there. And if he, you know, magically saw the performance. Or something. I totally didn't wanna call him on it, but later, when I was talking to their singer, he kept talking about how great his bassist was, I felt the need to balance the scales by bringing up the pick thing. He hung his head and admitted that he was really a guitar player, and we told him that admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards fixing the problem, and then we hugged, and started him on a 17-step program.
After them, we played. Which I wasn't ready for. I thought we were playing last. After all, we are rock stars. Why else did they give us all that free cocaine, and those naked chicks, and those million dollar bills?!?! I guess they just do that for everyone.
As I was setting up, I realized that I wasn't quite drunk enough. So I downed more coffee. By the time I got on the mic and announced that it was our last show, and so we had decided to play the entire album "Dude Ranch" by Blink-182, I realized that, on second thought, I really WAS drunk enough. We rocked through our set, the highlights being me playing with the delay pedal, and Jerry smacking himself in the face with a chair, being covered in blood, and wiping it on his pants, making it look like he had cut off his dick or something.
This was, for the record, the best show of the tour, if not the best show of the past year or so. I don't think it beats the debacle that was our "last portland show ever" (which wasn't really our last Portland show ever), but it was pretty close.
EATBH was next, and no one could find Justin G. Chris and I had this dialogue:
"Oh, has he just stopped even bothering to show up for shows now?"
"..."(insert dirty look here)
"Jesus man, I'm fucking sick of this. Anytime I say anything bad about either of them, you give me a look like I was talking about fucking your sister."
"You might as well."
What the fuck? Loyalty's one thing, but if you know me for five minutes, you know I talk shit and don't mean anything by it, you know me for eight years, one of my best friends, and yer gonna get all pissed about some stupid comments? As depressing of a fact as it is, it's become painfully obvious to me over the course of this trip that Chris loves Justin G and Tasha a hell of a lot more than he loves me. And I know it's not a competition or anything, but it makes me sad, and it makes me angry, and it makes me feel lonely.
So after that little blah, blah, blah, I entered into what I commonly call, a "heavy depression." I went out to the front of the club, and thought about going back upstairs and launching myself through the window and to my imminent doom. But I didn't. Jerry came down and started talking to me, and I totally forgot all about it! The power of the booze may lead you down some dark paths, but they don't last. Minutes later, and I'm cracking jokes with Jerry.
One thing that sucks about the conversation Jerry and I were having, is that it was a serious conversation, but I was drunk as shit and totally couldn't hold my own. I mean, we were talking about band stuff, and about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happieness, and I couldn't remember what I had said thrity seconds before. I was ambushed dammit! But whatever. Jerry went upstairs, and I followed, and I found myself feeling kinda suicidal again. Really, more than anything, I just wanted to get punched in the mouth. I wanted to get punched in the mouth and knocked the fuck out, so I didn't have to think anymore. Instead, I grabbed the tambourine, and played along by beating myself in the head with it. After a couple minutes of that, I felt much better.
EATBH played a great set, but for some reason, the kids weren't feeling it. Whatever, so be it. It was kind of a nice feeling being the band that people liked best, even if it was just because Jerry's crazy and likes to bash himself in the face with a chair.
By the time the next band was starting, I had a plastic cup filled to the brim with Whiskey and Ice, and I wanted nothing more than to talk to my lady. So I called her, drunk as shit, and realized that I couldn't really concentrate well enough to have any sort of real conversation. Or maybe I did, I can never tell. It just seemed like I spaced out a lot, but maybe I'm wrong. I got off the phone and Justin was all, "Man, if yer gonna drunk dial people, you gotta be quick. Like this."
"Brian. It's Justin. We're in Kentucky and we just shot bottle rockets at cops. I gotta go." click. End of conversation.
I gave it a shot, drunk dialing whoever's number was saved in Chris' phone, telling them hi, and that I loved them, and that we were in Kentucky and the whiskey's great, and then hanging up. It worked pretty well.
After about twenty minutes of extreame (EXTREAME!) drunk dialing, we were told by THE TRIO that it was time to load up. Which was fine by me since I was out of whiskey anyway. We loaded up the van only to find that the pick using bassist had stole, I mean, "accidently taken", Chris' bass. And we had his.
I told Chris that he should keep it, since it had an extra string, but he wasn't really feeling it.
We called them, told 'em we'd meet them near Jerry's parents', and then headed back to the city.
We were all pretty drunk as fuck, minus Justin G, and possibly Tasha, but I think that the three way tie for totally fucking retarded drunk went to Me, Aron, and Justin F. Aron started talking shit to Chris, telling him that he was a fucking pussy for not demanding those kids bring his bass back to the show, and Chris started looking mad. Seriously mad. Justin F and I tried to change the subject to showtunes, and me and Justin F and Aron sang for a bit, until we ran out of songs. I wanted to sing Hair songs, but Aron said that Hair didn't count as a real musical, which damn near made me want to fight him myself.
At some point after the songs, Aron started fucking with Chris again. Just the standard shit talking, nothing really new. And then Aron playfully (at least that's how it looked from where I was) slapped Chris. And then HOLY SHIT, Chris tackeled Aron in the van! What the fuck! How out of left field can you get?!?! I mean, Chris is a fucking rock. He's so goddamn passive that I've never seen him fight ANYONE. It was kinda weird.
Aron got out at Jerry's parents' house. The rest of us went to get the bass, and then to this shitty diner. On the way, I sort of had this conversation with Tasha about my feelings on violence, and anger, and whatnot, but it sucked because Justin F kept interupting me, and because I was too drunk to really have a decent conversation.
I went into the diner, and realized immeadiatly that I wasn't gonna be able to eat anything. I headed back to the van, and passed out. It was a good sleep.
I awoke something like six hours later. The sun was getting to be a bit too much. I headed inside, and here I am. I still have no idea if Jerry's really coming with us for the rest of tour. I have no idea if Aron's gonna be all pissed at Chris, or if he'll even remember it. I have no idea how Justin G and Tasha feel about me, and I'm not sure if I ever will. I have no idea why I'm not hung over after drinking half of a fifth of whiskey. And most importantly, I have no idea why I'm not down stairs eating some sort of breakfast instead of writing this.
Anyway, I love you guys, sorry if I drunk dialed you.
luv.z.
All the kids went into town to get Justin F a cymbol. I stayed back at the Parent's House, reading the DaVinci Code, which is one of the easiest reads ever, and is actually much better than I thought it would be. They came back, and we all got in the van, and we headed down to Kentucky. I think we got lost on the way, but I was busy reading, and also I was bust trying to just not care. Too many cooks in the kitchen sometimes, ya know. Chris had to do a three point turn with the van, cause we went down the wrong street, and everyone was telling him how to do it. What would it help if I was yelling driving directions too?
So the second we got there, I apparently pissed off Tasha. I say apparently, because I seldom have any idea what she's thinking. But I have a feeling that I did. And then to make matters worse, I was explaining myself to Chris, and also ranting about how much the whole thing pissed ME off, and Chris, as usual, took her side.
Justin F and I went on a quest for some whiskey, and after dealing with some crazy guy who called us liars when we told him that the liquer store he was directing us to was closed, and after marveling at yet another White Castle, we found a place that had Kentucky Something-or-Other whiskey for $8.00 a fifth. We grabbed the bottle, and some Kentucky cigars, and headed over to Starbucks for some coffee. I drank my coffee about half down and then filled it back up with whiskey. A little harsh at first, but it gets that moter running, and it gets them pipes cleaned.
Jerry's friend's band played first, and they were pretty damn good. I witnessed a bit of blasphemy though when the bassist played Anasthesia (the Metallica Bass Solo) WITH A PICK! Cliff would be rolling in his grave. You know. Were he still alive in there. And if he, you know, magically saw the performance. Or something. I totally didn't wanna call him on it, but later, when I was talking to their singer, he kept talking about how great his bassist was, I felt the need to balance the scales by bringing up the pick thing. He hung his head and admitted that he was really a guitar player, and we told him that admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards fixing the problem, and then we hugged, and started him on a 17-step program.
After them, we played. Which I wasn't ready for. I thought we were playing last. After all, we are rock stars. Why else did they give us all that free cocaine, and those naked chicks, and those million dollar bills?!?! I guess they just do that for everyone.
As I was setting up, I realized that I wasn't quite drunk enough. So I downed more coffee. By the time I got on the mic and announced that it was our last show, and so we had decided to play the entire album "Dude Ranch" by Blink-182, I realized that, on second thought, I really WAS drunk enough. We rocked through our set, the highlights being me playing with the delay pedal, and Jerry smacking himself in the face with a chair, being covered in blood, and wiping it on his pants, making it look like he had cut off his dick or something.
This was, for the record, the best show of the tour, if not the best show of the past year or so. I don't think it beats the debacle that was our "last portland show ever" (which wasn't really our last Portland show ever), but it was pretty close.
EATBH was next, and no one could find Justin G. Chris and I had this dialogue:
"Oh, has he just stopped even bothering to show up for shows now?"
"..."(insert dirty look here)
"Jesus man, I'm fucking sick of this. Anytime I say anything bad about either of them, you give me a look like I was talking about fucking your sister."
"You might as well."
What the fuck? Loyalty's one thing, but if you know me for five minutes, you know I talk shit and don't mean anything by it, you know me for eight years, one of my best friends, and yer gonna get all pissed about some stupid comments? As depressing of a fact as it is, it's become painfully obvious to me over the course of this trip that Chris loves Justin G and Tasha a hell of a lot more than he loves me. And I know it's not a competition or anything, but it makes me sad, and it makes me angry, and it makes me feel lonely.
So after that little blah, blah, blah, I entered into what I commonly call, a "heavy depression." I went out to the front of the club, and thought about going back upstairs and launching myself through the window and to my imminent doom. But I didn't. Jerry came down and started talking to me, and I totally forgot all about it! The power of the booze may lead you down some dark paths, but they don't last. Minutes later, and I'm cracking jokes with Jerry.
One thing that sucks about the conversation Jerry and I were having, is that it was a serious conversation, but I was drunk as shit and totally couldn't hold my own. I mean, we were talking about band stuff, and about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happieness, and I couldn't remember what I had said thrity seconds before. I was ambushed dammit! But whatever. Jerry went upstairs, and I followed, and I found myself feeling kinda suicidal again. Really, more than anything, I just wanted to get punched in the mouth. I wanted to get punched in the mouth and knocked the fuck out, so I didn't have to think anymore. Instead, I grabbed the tambourine, and played along by beating myself in the head with it. After a couple minutes of that, I felt much better.
EATBH played a great set, but for some reason, the kids weren't feeling it. Whatever, so be it. It was kind of a nice feeling being the band that people liked best, even if it was just because Jerry's crazy and likes to bash himself in the face with a chair.
By the time the next band was starting, I had a plastic cup filled to the brim with Whiskey and Ice, and I wanted nothing more than to talk to my lady. So I called her, drunk as shit, and realized that I couldn't really concentrate well enough to have any sort of real conversation. Or maybe I did, I can never tell. It just seemed like I spaced out a lot, but maybe I'm wrong. I got off the phone and Justin was all, "Man, if yer gonna drunk dial people, you gotta be quick. Like this."
"Brian. It's Justin. We're in Kentucky and we just shot bottle rockets at cops. I gotta go." click. End of conversation.
I gave it a shot, drunk dialing whoever's number was saved in Chris' phone, telling them hi, and that I loved them, and that we were in Kentucky and the whiskey's great, and then hanging up. It worked pretty well.
After about twenty minutes of extreame (EXTREAME!) drunk dialing, we were told by THE TRIO that it was time to load up. Which was fine by me since I was out of whiskey anyway. We loaded up the van only to find that the pick using bassist had stole, I mean, "accidently taken", Chris' bass. And we had his.
I told Chris that he should keep it, since it had an extra string, but he wasn't really feeling it.
We called them, told 'em we'd meet them near Jerry's parents', and then headed back to the city.
We were all pretty drunk as fuck, minus Justin G, and possibly Tasha, but I think that the three way tie for totally fucking retarded drunk went to Me, Aron, and Justin F. Aron started talking shit to Chris, telling him that he was a fucking pussy for not demanding those kids bring his bass back to the show, and Chris started looking mad. Seriously mad. Justin F and I tried to change the subject to showtunes, and me and Justin F and Aron sang for a bit, until we ran out of songs. I wanted to sing Hair songs, but Aron said that Hair didn't count as a real musical, which damn near made me want to fight him myself.
At some point after the songs, Aron started fucking with Chris again. Just the standard shit talking, nothing really new. And then Aron playfully (at least that's how it looked from where I was) slapped Chris. And then HOLY SHIT, Chris tackeled Aron in the van! What the fuck! How out of left field can you get?!?! I mean, Chris is a fucking rock. He's so goddamn passive that I've never seen him fight ANYONE. It was kinda weird.
Aron got out at Jerry's parents' house. The rest of us went to get the bass, and then to this shitty diner. On the way, I sort of had this conversation with Tasha about my feelings on violence, and anger, and whatnot, but it sucked because Justin F kept interupting me, and because I was too drunk to really have a decent conversation.
I went into the diner, and realized immeadiatly that I wasn't gonna be able to eat anything. I headed back to the van, and passed out. It was a good sleep.
I awoke something like six hours later. The sun was getting to be a bit too much. I headed inside, and here I am. I still have no idea if Jerry's really coming with us for the rest of tour. I have no idea if Aron's gonna be all pissed at Chris, or if he'll even remember it. I have no idea how Justin G and Tasha feel about me, and I'm not sure if I ever will. I have no idea why I'm not hung over after drinking half of a fifth of whiskey. And most importantly, I have no idea why I'm not down stairs eating some sort of breakfast instead of writing this.
Anyway, I love you guys, sorry if I drunk dialed you.
luv.z.